Chapter XV: At Riverside

"MARY, this is the prettiest place, I think, that I have ever seen!"

They were standing at the bottom of the garden, looking down the stretch of shining river, which shone like silver in the morning sun.

"Lovely! Is it not, Vincent? Who would have thought after all my grumbles, and want of faith, that I should be given my heart's desire like this!"

"Oh, well, Mary, I don't know about grumbles and want of faith! We all have our little grumbles at times. But one thing I do know, and that is that when once you set out to do God's will, you went at it."

Mary smiled at her twin, while she shook her head.

"I don't know, Vincent; sometimes I think God has had more patience with me than with any of His children!"

Vincent pondered. But after a moment or two, he answered, "Don't you think we all of us feel that, knowing a little of our own hearts? He has patience with us in our different ways, and leads us on that we may be 'conformed to His image' more and more."

"Yes—" she answered slowly. Then turning to him, she said—

"Let us go up and sit on the garden-seat where the maids will see us. They will think I am lost to be out at this time in the morning."

She led the way back over the field and through the pretty shrubbery till they came in view of the house.

"Now, Pollie!" he exclaimed. "Tell me all about yourself."

"I don't know where to begin," she answered, smiling. "I'm so happy, Vincent!"

"You look it," he answered.

"Yes, I never guessed that I should have His 'more abundantly,' as Arthur says, like this—"

"Well, I'm glad," he answered heartily.

"But tell me about your doings," she responded. "Mine are all summed up in what I have told you, and you see the filling in of it all in this sweet house and garden, and my happy surroundings."

"My doings are on the old style. Mr. Brown is very kind, and I am getting on first rate. How funny, Pollie, that Arthur's partner should be my Mr. Brown's cousin!"

"Yes, is it not? You have heard that Dr. Brown's daughter is my little friend?"

"A rival to Ada?" he asked mischievously.

"I don't deal in rivals; I never did. My heart has got sort of chambers, Vincent, which hold different people. No one takes from anyone else! The more people I love, the bigger my heart grows."

Vincent laughed. "What's she like?" he asked.

"Not like anyone we know at home," she answered, shaking her head. "But you will see for yourself, I expect. She is sure to come in presently if she can."

Then Mary told him about Ruth's trouble over the Indian children, and also that she had not seen her since their arrival.

"How long can you stay?" she asked at length. "You have never told me that."

"Perhaps I was waiting to be asked," he answered.

"Oh—well," laughed Mary, "perhaps you were! That would not be like the Vincent of old days."

"But then you see you've got a 'better half.' Suppose he does not want me?"

"Nonsense!" said Mary. "Think how he greeted you last night. You are a naughty boy, Vincent."

"Well, if I am to tell you how long I can stay, I can be here over Sunday, if you'll have me. Mr. Brown had a particular parcel he wanted to send to your Dr. Brown, and he thought I should like to see you, and so—here I am."

"I never was more surprised, or I think more glad. I have been longing to see you."

Meanwhile, Ruth had despatched her housekeeping duties, and had seen her cousins comfortably settled in the garden, and excusing herself for a short time, she drove down as usual with her father.

"I shall have to give up my lessons, father," she said, as she sat by his side. "I shall not be able to be out all the morning, shall I?"

"I am afraid not," said Dr. Brown slowly. "But we will talk that over this evening. You and I shall quite value our little bits of time together, my dear!"

"Ah! Shall we not," answered Ruth happily.

"How have you got on with them this morning?"

"Quite nicely. Heston is so kind; and Judith means to be nice, but she is evidently rather suspicious. Norman is a dear little fellow. I have learnt some of his finger-talking already."

"It is not difficult; but I am glad you have taken to him."

"He is so helpless! And he looks so pitifully at you when he wants you to understand."

"I am longing to have Arundel up to see him. But we must not be in a hurry."

"No—I want him to feel confidence in us. If it were not for Mala, I think all would be smooth. The servants cannot bear her, Morris says."

Dr. Brown looked earnestly at her, but at the moment, the carriage drew up at Riverside, and Ruth wished him a hasty good-bye and sprang out.

The maid seemed surprised to see her so early, but on her enquiry for Mrs. Arundel she answered, "She's in the garden, miss; shall I call her?"

"Oh, no, I will find her," said Ruth.

And so it came to pass that Mary and Vincent, still sitting on the sunny seat, saw a vision of a little figure coming through the garden door and flying over the lawn towards them.

When Ruth paused in front of them and looked up from under her shady hat, her amazement knew no bounds.

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she faltered. "I thought you were sitting with Dr. Arthur—"

"It is my brother Vincent," said Mary, smiling; "you have often heard of him—"

Ruth shook hands, but she was much annoyed with herself for her mistake, and it was some moments before she had recovered sufficiently to bear her part in the conversation.

Mary, however, was always too natural and downright to let small mishaps trouble her long. She laughed the matter off, and begged Ruth to tell her how she had fared with her guests from India.

We know the story, and Ruth soon began to lose her shyness in telling Mary about the ayah and about Norman, so that before very long they were chatting away as if they had known each other for years.

"There will be something for you to do," said Vincent, in his straightforward way.

"For me?" asked Ruth. "Did you mean that I could aid in his recovery?"

"I was thinking so too," said Mary.

Ruth coloured with pleasure and surprise.

"I should 'like' to—"

"No one will have so much chance, I should think," said Mary.

As Ruth went home, walking up that long hill, she pondered very deeply on what the brother and sister had suggested.

She had taken a great fancy to Norman, and he evidently had taken the same liking for her. If she could indeed be the means of doing him any good, what a joy and delight it would be! But what could she do?

She set herself to consider the matter in all its bearings. She thought if she were dumb, what would she wish done for her—how would she like people to treat her?

All at once, the instinct of nursing seemed to spring up in her heart. She had never guessed at its presence till now, and it came as a revelation. Her mother used to say she nursed beautifully, but all the sorrow and misery she had gone through had made her forget it till this moment. She remembered now that if her father had been indisposed, she had always been able to devise palliative measures, and to carry them out with great comfort. Could it be that this was a gift?

And if a gift—her heart leapt to another thought. She would thank the Giver of the gift, and ask Him to bless it!

She stood still beneath the fir-trees, and looked over the lovely prospect to be seen between them.

"Help me to be the means of blessing to Norman!" she prayed with clasped hands.