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<h3>Chapter Twenty Five.</h3> <h4>A Comforter.</h4> Think of it! Think of it! The grey, inhospitable skies, the rain-swept stage, the feeling of hopeless loneliness, as one traveller after another was greeted with loving exclamations, and borne away by friendly watchers; and then suddenly to feel your hand grasped, and laid tenderly on a protecting arm, and to see, looking into your own, the face of all others which you would have wished for, had the choice been given! To feel no longer a helpless unit, belonging to no one, and having no corner of the earth to call your own, but to know that someone had watched for your arrival, and to read how you had been missed, in the flash of eloquent eyes. “Oh, Jack!” cried Sylvia involuntarily; “oh, Jack!” and clung to his arm with a sob of pure joy and thanksgiving. “Oh, I’m so glad! I was so lonely. How did you—whatever made you come?” “A great many reasons, but principally because I couldn’t stay away!” replied Jack, not smiling as was his wont, but looking down upon her with an intent scrutiny, which aroused Sylvia’s curiosity. She did not realise how changed she was by the experience of the last few weeks, or what a pathetic little face it was which looked up at him between the dead black of hat and cape. The brown eyes looked bigger than ever, the delicate aquiline of the features showed all the more distinctly for their sharpened pallor, and Jack looked down at her through the mist, and thanked God for the health and strength which made him a fitting protector for her weakness. The sound of that involuntary “Oh, Jack!” rang sweetly in his ears, and gave a greater confidence to his manner, as he steered her through the crowd. “Miss Munns told us when you were expected, and we talked of meeting you at the station, but I decided that I had better stay away; then I wrote a letter to welcome you, and tore it up; then for no purpose at all I began looking at Bradshaw, and it seemed there was a train which I could catch. And it rained! It’s dismal arriving in the rain. Next thing I knew I was in the station, and the train started when I was sitting inside, and—here I am!” Sylvia laughed softly, it was such an age since she had laughed, and it was such a happy, contented little sound that she was quite startled thereat. The custom-house officials were going through the farce of examining the luggage, and while the rest of the passengers groaned and lamented at the delay, Jack and his companion stood together in the background, blissfully unconscious of time and damp. “Are you glad to see me, Sylvia?” he asked, for the joy of hearing her say in words what voice and eyes had already proclaimed; and she waved her hand round the bleak landscape, and said tersely— “Look! It felt like that; black and empty, and heart-breaking, and all the others seemed to have friends—everyone but me. I think I was never so glad before. I shall bless you for coming all my life!” Jack laughed softly, and pressed her hand against his arm. “Poor little girl! I knew just how you would be feeling; that’s why I came. Wouldn’t you have come to meet me, if you had been the man and I the girl?” “Yes, to the ends of the earth!” Sylvia replied, but not with her lips, for there are some things which a self-respecting girl may not say, however much she may feel them. Instead she murmured a few non-committal phrases, and gave the conversation a less personal tone, by inquiring after the various friends at home—Miss Munns, Bridgie, Pixie and the boys, and Jack answered in his usual breezy fashion, relating little incidents which made Sylvia smile with the old happy sense of friendship, repeating loving speeches, which brought the grateful tears to her eyes. The world was not empty after all, while she possessed such faithful, loving friends. When the luggage had passed the inspection of the custom-house and received the magic mark in chalk, Jack led the way down the platform, before which the train was already drawn up, and passed by one carriage after another, until at last an empty compartment was discovered, of which he immediately took possession. “Now we can talk!” he said, and sat himself down opposite Sylvia, looking at her with compassionate eyes. “I have gone through it myself,” he said. “Tell me all you can.” And as the train steamed onward, Sylvia told the story of the past weeks, told it quietly, and without breakdown, though the dark eyes grew moist, and tears trembled on the lashes which looked so long and black against the white cheeks. It was a comfort to tell it all to one who understood, and was full of sympathy and kindness, and strange though it might seem, separation, instead of widening the distance between Jack and herself, had only drawn them more closely together. The old formalities of intercourse had dropped like a cloak at the first moment of meeting; they were no longer Miss and Mr, but “Jack” and “Sylvia”; no longer acquaintances, but dear and intimate friends. “Miss Munns has been terribly distressed,” Jack said, when at last the sad recital came to an end. “She loved your father more than anyone in the world, and you come next as his child. Poor old lady! it was quite pathetic to see her efforts to make your home-coming as cheerful as possible. Bridgie says she has put up clean curtains all over the house, and discussed the menu for supper for the last week. It’s her way of showing sympathy, the creature! and you understand better than myself all that it means. Different people have different ways, haven’t they, Sylvia? I came to Dover!” “Yes!” assented Sylvia, with a flickering smile. “You came to Dover, and Aunt Margaret put up clean curtains, and ordered a roast fowl for supper—I know it will be a roast fowl!—and if you had not warned me in time, I should probably have said I could not eat anything, and gone to bed supperless, without even noticing the curtains. I am afraid I have been horrid to the poor old soul in that sort of way many times in the last two years. It is good of her to take such trouble, because, honestly speaking, she won’t be any more pleased to have me back as a permanency than I am to come. We have mutually comforted ourselves with the reflection that it was ‘only for a time,’ but now it is different. I want to be good—I have made, oh! such a crowd of good resolutions, but I don’t know how long they will last!” Jack looked down at his boots, and drew his brows together thoughtfully. “You—er—it’s too early, I suppose, to have made any plans for the future. You hardly know what you will do?” “No: my natural home is, of course, with Aunt Margaret as father’s sister, but there are other considerations.” Sylvia hesitated a moment, then added impetuously—it seemed so natural to confide in Jack!—“About money, I mean. I don’t know what I have, or if I have anything at all. Father always said he was poor, though he seemed to have enough for what he wanted, and to give me all I asked. Perhaps he made enough to keep us, but had nothing to leave behind. Mrs Nisbet just referred to the subject one evening, and I could see from her manner that there was something I did not know, so I turned the conversation at once. I had had so much trouble that I felt as if I simply could not bear any more bad news just then, and would rather remain in ignorance as long as possible. It was weak, perhaps, but—can’t you understand the feeling?” “Me name’s O’Shaughnessy!” said Jack simply. “We never face a disagreeable fact until it comes so close that we hit ourselves against it. I’m sorry; but don’t worry more than you can help. I’ve been short of money all my life, but I don’t know anyone who has had a better time. So long as you have youth and health, what does it matter whether you are rich or poor? It’s all in the way you look at things. For useful purposes, most people can make their money go farther than mine, but for sheer fun and enjoyment I’ll back my half-crown against another fellow’s sovereign!” “Ah, but you’re Irish! You have the happy temperament which can throw off troubles and forget all about them for the time being. They sit right down upon my shoulders—little black imps of care, and anxiety, and quaking fears, and press so heavily that I can remember nothing else. Perhaps I could be philosophical too, if I were one of a big, happy family—but when one is all alone—” “All alone—when I’m here! How can you be all alone, when there are two of ye!” cried Jack impulsively. He had resolved, not once, but a hundred times over, that he would speak no words but those of friendship; that no temptation, however strong, should make him break his vow of silence; but some impulses seem independent of thought. He did not know what he was going to do, he was conscious of no mental prompting, but one moment he was quietly sitting in his corner opposite Sylvia, and the next he was seated beside her, with both arms wrapped tightly round her trembling figure, and she was shedding tears of mingled sorrow and happiness upon his shoulder. “I’ve been in love with you ever since the first evening you came to our house. Before that! Ever since I saw you sitting up at your window in your little red jacket. You knew it, didn’t you? You found that out for yourself?” “No—Yes! Sometimes. Only I thought—I was afraid it couldn’t be true, and there was—Mollie!” faltered Sylvia incoherently, hardly knowing what she was saying, conscious of nothing but an overwhelming sense of content and well-being, as the strong arm supported her tired back, and the big, tender finger wiped away her tears. Jack laughed at the suggestion, but did not indulge in the depreciatory remarks concerning Miss Burrell which many men would have used under the circumstances. “Good old Mollie!” he said. “She’s a broth of a girl, but I would as soon think of marrying Bridgie herself. She was my confidante, bless her, and cheered me up when I was down on my luck. You might have noticed how interested she was in you that night at Esmeralda’s crush!” At that Sylvia opened her eyes wide, with a sudden unpleasant recollection. “What will Esmeralda think? Oh, Jack, what will she say?” “Plenty, my dear! You may be sure of that,” replied Jack, laughing; then he, too, gave a little start of surprise, and, straightening himself, held Sylvia from him at the length of his strong young arms. “I say—what’s this? You little witch, what have you done to me? I had made a solemn vow not to speak a word of love-making, and it seems to me I have broken it pretty successfully. Have I been making love to you, Sylvia—have I?” It was a very charming little face that laughed back at him, pale no longer, but flushed to a delicate pink, the dark eyes a-sparkle with happiness, and a tinge of the old mischievous spirit. “Yes, you have! Do you want to draw back?” Jack’s answer was wordless but convincing, but the next moment he sobered, and said in that charming way of his, which was at once so manly and so boyish, “But I didn’t want to bind you, I spoke only for myself. I am your property, darling, and your slave to command, but I can’t ask you to marry me yet awhile, for I’ve the children on my hands, and until they are settled I can’t think of myself. I am the head of the house, and must do what I can for them, poor creatures. “Pat will be off to the Agricultural College next term, and then back to Ireland to do agent’s work; Miles is doing well in the city, but can’t keep himself for several years to come; and then there are the girls. I had no right to speak as I did; it wasn’t fair to you. I won’t bind you down to a long, uncertain engagement. You must feel yourself free, perfectly free.” “I don’t want to be free! I like to be bound—to you, Jack!” Sylvia said firmly. “I’m so thankful that you did speak, for it makes just all the difference in my life. I am young, and can wait quite happily and contentedly, so long as I know that you care, and can look forward—” Sylvia stopped short, awed at the prospect of happiness which had suddenly opened before her, and Jack was silent too, holding her hand in a close pressure. His face was very tender, but troubled through all its tenderness, and when he spoke again, it was in very anxious accents. “But are you contented to leave it a secret, darling, a secret between you and me? You see, if Bridgie knew we were waiting, she’d know no peace, feeling that she was in our way, and the young ones would get the same fancy, and be wanting to turn out before they were ready. They have no one but me, and I couldn’t have them feeling upset in their own home. That was why I determined to keep silent, and it’s bad of me to have broken my vow, but it’s your own fault, darling! I couldn’t be with you again, and keep quiet. Do you care for me enough to wait perhaps for years before we can even be publicly engaged?” Sylvia smiled at him bravely, but her heart sank a little, poor girl, as it was only natural it should do. A girl is by nature much quicker than a man projecting herself into the future, and in realising all that is involved. Jack was conscious only of a general regret that he could not claim his bride before the world, but Sylvia saw in a flash the impossibility of frequent meetings, the minute chance of tête-à-têtes, the quicksands in the shape of misunderstandings, which must needs attend so unnatural a position. On the other hand, she honoured Jack the more for his loyalty to his home duties, and agreed with the wisdom of his decision. “Yes, Jack, I do. I’d like to wait. I love Bridgie with all my heart, and could not bear her to suffer through me. It shall be exactly as you think best for them in every way.” Jack bent and kissed her, even more tenderly than before. “My little helpmeet!” he said, and Sylvia found her best reward in the sound of that word, and the knowledge that she was strengthening him in the right path. Surely it was the best guarantee for the happiness of their new relationship, that it was inaugurated in a spirit of self-sacrifice and care for others. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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