menu_book Chapter 50

Chapter 50 of Lover or Friend by Rosa Carey This Libavox recording is in the public domain. Booty's Master And she to him will reach her hand, and gazing in his eyes will stand, and know her friend, and weep for glee, and cry,

Long, long, I have looked for thee. Matthew Arnold Kester had spent his Christmas holidays at Woodcott. Audrey loved to have him with her. Somehow he seemed to belong to Michael, and the boy warmly returned her affection.

Do you know that Mr. Abercrombie is coming home in March? He said to her the day before he went to Brighton. He is quite well now, and Captain Burnett says he is in a fever to get back to England. Do you think Captain Burnett will come too? And Kester looked anxiously in her face.

Audrey could not satisfy Kester on this point. Nevertheless, she felt a secret hope stirring in her heart that Michael would not stay away much longer. After all, was it likely that he would wait for the message when he must know how impossible it would be for her to send it? He had been away seven months, and by this time he must be growing homesick. Almost the same thought occurred to Michael, as, early in March, he sat in the lodger of an old Florentine palace,

where he and his friend had a suite of rooms. How long had he been away, he wondered, as he looked out on the sunset? seven, nay, eight months, and as yet there had been no recall. Had he really expected it?

Would it not be as well to go back and plead his own cause and see what these months of absence had done for him? Or should he wait a little longer? Michael's self-imposed exile had not been unhappy. His companion was congenial to him.

The varied scenes through which he had passed, the historic interest of the cities, had engrossed and interested him. and perhaps for the first time he tasted the delights of a well-filled purse, as he accumulated art treasures and pictures,

but above all a latent hope, to which he gave no voice or a title, kept impatient and cheerful. It was too soon, but by and by, she will find it out for herself, he would say as he strolled through the galleries, or stood by some moss-grown fountain to buy flowers from a dark-eyed Florentine girl.

Should he go back with Abercrombie next week, or should he push on towards Greece and the Holy Land? It was a little difficult to decide, but somehow Michael never answered that question. Fate took the matter into her own hands,

as she often does when the knot becomes too intricate for the bungling fingers of poor mortals. Somehow Audrey became convinced in her own mind that Michael would certainly accompany his friend back to England. They had started together.

Was it likely that Michael would allow him to return alone? and when March came she began to look anxiously for a letter announcing this intention. She was thinking of this one afternoon

as she sat talking to her mother. It was a cold, dreary day and Audrey had just remarked that no one in Rutherford would think of leaving their fireside

on such an afternoon. When Geraldine entered flooring from the cold wind and looking cosy and comfortable in her warm furs.

Oh dear, what a day to venture out remonstrated her mother. Even Audrey says the wind is cruel. "'I'm not such a foe to the east wind as Michael is,' returned Geraldine cheerfully, as she seated herself at the range of the fire.

"'And Percival never likes to cosset myself. "'That is why I never take cold. "'By the by, I heard something about Michael a little while ago. "'Just as I was talking to Mrs. Charrington, "'who should come in but Dora Abercrombie.

"'You know Dora, Audrey. "'She is the second one, but she is not half so good-looking as Gwendolyn. "'She is related to Mrs. Charrington, is she not, Gage? Yes, a step-niece or something of that sort. Not a very near relationship, but they are very intimate.

She says her brother is expected in Portland Place tomorrow or the day after. Here, Audrey gave a start. Take care, my dear, the urn is running over. You're filling the teapot too full. Will I ring for Crawford?

No? Well, as I was saying. Rather absently, for her eyes were still following the thin stream on a tea tray that Audrey was hurriedly wiping up. Master Dick is expected back, and Heodora was a trifle mysterious,

and it came out that he was engaged, had been engaged for the last eight months. Only the mother of his lady love had turned restive, but now things were smoother, and she hoped that they would soon be married. Poor Michael, I am afraid he has not had a very cheerful companion all these months. Did Miss Abercrombie mention Michael? asked Dardry, speaking with manifest effort.

A tiresome gage was, as though anyone wanted to hear about Dick Abercrombie's love affair. Oh dear, yes, and that is the worst part of all, returned Geraldine, with a zest that is always shown by the bearer of bad news, even by a superior person like young Mrs. Harcourt.

I had no idea Michael would play truant for so long. Actually, she says her brother is coming home without him, and he's going to spend the summer and autumn in Greece and the Holy Land, and perhaps winter in Algiers. In fact, Dick Abercrombie says he does not know when he means to come back.

What is that you say, my dear? Asked Dr. Ross, who entered the room in time to hear the last clause. Were you speaking of Michael? Yes, Father dear. And Geraldine willingly recapitulated the whole of her speech for his benefit.

And I do wish someone would write and give me good scolding for staying away so long, as though no one wanted him. And we've all been missing him so badly. By the by, that reminds me that I was called away just now to speak to Ferguson, and I have actually left my letter to Michael open on my study table

and I meant it to go by this post. Do you mind just slipping it into its envelope, Audrey? It is already directed. Thank you, my dear, as Audrey silently left the room. Was Dr. Russ really anxious about his letter?

Or had he noticed the white look on his daughter's face and feared that others might notice it too? Audrey never knew how long she sat before her father's study table. Neither could she have recalled a single thought that passed through her mind. A dull, throbbing pain was at her heart.

A cold numbness that had crept over her as Michael had bidden her goodbye, and which kept her dumb before him, was over her now. Some strange pulse seemed beating in her head. He was going still farther away from her. He was not coming back.

He would never come back. Something would happen to him. She would never see his kind face again. Never. Never.

Never. Perhaps this long silence had angered him. Michael, who had always been so gentle to her, on whose face she had never seen a frown. Michael had grown weary of endurance

and had given up all hope of winning her. Oh, if he had only trusted her, if he would only have believed that she would have done her very best to make him happy. How could he be so cruel to himself and to her?

How could he have the heart to punish her so bitterly as though she were to blame? Could she help her nature any more than she could help this separation from her dearest friend? And then there came over her the deadly feeling of possible loss, and the desolation too terrible to contemplate.

She had mourned very tenderly for Cyril. But if Michael died, if any ill should befall him in those distant lands. Oh, I could not bear it, was her inward cry. Life without Michael would be impossible. And as this thought flashed through her mind, her eyes suddenly fell on an empty space at the end of her father's letter.

With a sudden impulse, she took up the pen and wrote three words across the page in her clear, legible writing. Michael, come. Audrey. She was almost breathless with her haste as she thrust it into the envelope and carried it to the boy who was waiting for the letters. Then she went back to the drawing-room, for she dare not trust herself to be alone another moment. What had she done?

What would Michael think of her? What must she think of herself? No wonder Geraldine looked at her in surprise as she crossed the room and took up her work. What a time you have been, Audrey,

she said a little reproachfully. I have been waiting to bid you goodbye. Father is going to walk with me to Hillside, so Percival will not mind my being so late. How cold your face and hands are,

and I am as warm as possible. You have been running about those draughty passages and have taken a chill. She looks pale, doesn't she, Mother? Come, come, interrupted her father impatiently.

You must not keep me waiting any longer, Geraldine. Sit down by the fire and warm yourself, my dear. And for one moment Dr. Russ's hand lay lightly on Audrey's brown hair. Yet he guessed the real meaning of the girl's downcast and sorrowful looks. And why was there a pleased smile on his face as he followed his eldest daughter out of the room?

I shall write to Michael and tell him to come home, he said to himself as he buttoned up his greatcoat. promised him that I would watch over his interests, and I shall tell him that, in my opinion, there is some hope for him now. The next few days were terrible to Audrey.

More than once she feared she would be ill. She could not sleep properly. The mornings, the afternoons, the evenings, were endless to her. Mally's merry chatter seemed to draw on her.

Her mother's kindly, commonplace remarks seemed devoid of interest, And yet, above all things, she dreaded to be alone. Was she growing nervous? At any sudden sound, an unaccustomed footstep,

even the clanging of the doorbell made her start and drove the blood from her heart. Would he write or would he telegraph? Should she hear one day that he was on his way home? Audrey was asking herself these questions morning, noon, and night.

She felt as though the suspense would wear her out in time. If anyone had told Audrey that for the first time in her life she had all the symptoms that belonged to a certain well-known disease, that these cold and hot fits, this self-distrustfulness, the new timidity that were transforming her into a different Audrey

were only its salient features, she would have scouted the idea very fiercely. That she was in love with Michael, and that her love for Cyril was a very dim, shadowy sort of affection compared with her love for Michael.

Such a thought would have utterly shocked her. And yet it was the truth. Michael had always been more to her than ever she had guessed, and this long absence had taught her the unmistakable fact that she could not do without him.

Audrey struggled on as well as she could through those restless, miserable days. She would not give in. She had never given in in her life to any passing tide of emotion, and would not be weak now.

Every morning, after a wakeful, unrefreshing night, she braced herself to meet the day's duties. She read French and German with Molly. She superintended her practicing, and only wandered off in a dream when Molly's scales and exercises became too monotonous.

She went up to Hillside and played with Leonard in the nursery. And though Geraldine's sharp eyes discovered that something was amiss, and that Audrey was not in her usual spirits, she had the tact and wisdom not to press for an immediate confidence, and Audrey was very grateful for this forbearance.

Audrey's sturdy nature could brook no self-indulgence, and though the march winds were cold and the braille lanes deep in miry clay, she persisted in paying her accustomed weekly visit to Thomas O'Brien. Molly had a cold, and so had established a claim to remain by the fireside, but Audrey would listen to no weak persuasion to ensconce a serf,

comfortably in the opposite easy chair. On the contrary, she put on her thickest boots and, tucking up her skirts, braved wind and mud and even a cold mizzle of rain on her way back, and had her reward for the walk freshened her,

and in cheering her old friend, she felt her own spirits revive. She was in a happier mood as she let herself in and shook out her wet cloak. She was in far too disreputable a state to present herself in the drawing room.

Besides, she was late. She must get ready for dinner. She went upstairs lightly, but at the top of the staircase she suddenly stopped as though she had been turned to stone. And yet there was nothing very astonishing in the fact

that a small brown dog with very short legs should be pattering in a cheerful manner down the corridor, or that he should utter a whine of friendly and delighted recognition when he saw Audrey. And if she stared at him as though he were some ghostly apparition,

That was not Booty's fault. But the next moment she had caught him up and had darted with him into her own room. Oh, Booty, Booty! She gasped as the little animal licked her pale face in a most feeling manner.

To think he has come, Booty! And if the application of a warm tongue could have given comfort insurance, Audrey could have had plenty of both. For a little while she could do nothing but sit there hugging the dog and making little plaintive speeches to him

until she heard Molly's step at the door, and then she put him down hastily. Oh, Audrey, dear, exclaimed Molly, breathless with excitement. Have you really got back at last? They're all asking for you. Dinner is nearly ready, and you have not begun to dress yet. And who do you think is in the drawing-room?

Ubuti, you always knew when he was not wanted, had patted softly out of the room, thinking it high time to rejoin his master. Is it Michael? asked Audrey, with her face well hidden in her wardrobe. To think of your guessing like that, returned Molly in a vexed tone. Whatever put Captain Burnett in your head, Audrey, everyone else is so surprised.

Mrs. Ross nearly jumped off a chair when she heard his voice. He's been here two hours, and we've all been so busy getting his room ready. I'm very glad he has come, returned Audrey, trying to speak as usual. But now will you go down, Molly dear? I shall dress more quickly if you do not talk to me.

You may give me my dress if you like. There, that will do. For Molly's chatter was unendurable. How was she to go down and meet him before them all, she thought, as her trembling fingers bungled with the fastening.

Her cheeks were burning, and yet her hands were cold as ice. Would he see how nervous she was, and how she dreaded to meet him? And yet the thought that he was there, in the house, and that in a few minutes she should hear his beloved voice, made her almost dizzy with happiness.

and as she clasped the brilliant cross on her neck she hardly dared look at herself for fear she should read her own secret in her eyes. The gong sounded before she was ready and she dared not linger

for fear Molly should come again in search of her. Without giving herself time for thought she hurried down and stood panting a little before the drawing room door. Yes, they were all there

a father and mother and Molly and someone else imperfectly seen through a sort of haze, was there too. Audrey never knew what word of greeting came to her lips as Michael took her hand. Her eyes were never lifted as she felt that strong, warm pressure.

His low, toned, I have come, Audrey, might mean anything or nothing, and was met by absolute silence on her part. Perhaps Michael felt this meeting embarrassing, for he dropped her hand in another moment and spoke to Molly,

and Audrey took refuge with her father. But dinner was on the table and she must take her seat opposite to him. It was Molly who was beside him. Happily, no one spoke to her for the first few minutes.

Dr. Ross was questioning Michael about his route and Michael seemed to have a great deal to say about his journey. Audrey recovered herself and breathed a little more freely. He was talking to her father

and she could venture one glance at him. How well he looked. It was not so pale and his moustache seemed darker. She had never thought him handsome before.

But at this point, and as though aware of her scrutiny, Michael turned his face full on her and a flash from the keen blue eyes made a head droop over her plate.

During the rest of dinner she scarcely spoke and more than once Mrs. Ross looked at her in some perplexity. Audrey was very strange, she thought. But she and Michael quarrelled

that they had met so coldly but not even a cousinly kiss after his long absence, and now they did not speak to each other. Dinner was later than usual that night, and the prayer bell sounded before they left the table.

Audrey whispered to Molly to play the hymn, but she was almost sorry she had done so, when she found that Michael had no hymn book, and she must offer him hers. He took it from her,

perhaps because he noticed that her hand was not steady, and she could hear his clear, full bass, though he could not utter a note. He was still beside her as they left the schoolroom, but as she was about to follow her mother and Molly,

she felt his hand on hers. Come with me a moment, he said. I want to show you something. And there was no resisting the firm grasp that compelled her to obey. He was taking her to her father's study,

and there he shut the door as though to exclude the outer world. He was trembling with the fear of what he would say to her and how she was to answer him. when he came up to her and said in his old familiar voice, Are you never going to look at me again, Audrey?

Something amused, and yet caressing in his tone, made her raise her eyes, and the look that met hers said so plainly that he understood everything, that her embarrassment and shyness passed away forever. And as he took her in his arms,

with a word or two that told her of his deep inward gladness, a sense of well-being and utter content seemed to assure her that she had found her true rest at last.