She bent her head and wept, and these tears betrayed what her exile had been to the Scotchwoman's heart. Mrs. Fordyce was scarcely less moved. It was a pathetic and beautiful romance.
The Scotch travellers spent a happy week in the old Flemish town; and Gladys, who had the artist's quick eye for beauty of colour and picturesqueness of detail, carried away with her many little 'bits,' to be finished and perfected at home.
Madame Bonnemain journeyed with them to Brussels many times, but declined their invitation to accompany them to Paris. They would all meet, she said, after a certain happy event was over, in the dear land over the sea.
George Fordyce alone joined them in Paris, and, somewhat to his aunt's distress, constituted himself at once as cavalier to Gladys. Often, very often, the good lady was on the point of speaking plainly to him, but, remembering her husband's warning, decided to let matters take their course. She watched Gladys narrowly, however, but could discover nothing in her demeanour but a frank kindliness, almost such as she might have displayed towards a brother. George Fordyce, who had really learned to care for the girl, felt that the close companionship of these days in Paris had not advanced his cause. He did not know that her mind was so engrossed by great plans and high ideals for the life of the coming winter that she had no time to bestow on nearer interests. He was a prudent youth, and decided to bide his time.
After a month's pleasant loitering abroad, they returned to London. George took his cousins home, and Mrs. Fordyce went with Gladys into Lincolnshire.
And they found the fen village as of yore, in no wise changed, except that a few new graves had been added to the little churchyard. The little spinster still abode in her dainty cottage, not much changed, except to look a trifle more aged and careworn. The fastidious eye of the lawyer's accomplished wife could detect no flaw in the demeanour of Miss Peck, and she added her entreaties to those of Gladys. In truth, the poor little careworn woman was not hard to persuade. She had no ties save those of memory to bind her to the fen country, so she gave her promise freely, accepting her new home as a gift from God.
'I shall come one more time here only,' Gladys said, 'to take papa away. Mr. Fordyce promised to arrange it for me. He must sleep with his own people; and when he is in the old churchyard I shall feel at home in Bourhill.'
All these things were done before the year was out; and Christmas saw Gladys Graham settled in her new home, ready and eager to take up the charge she believed God had entrusted to her—the stewardship of wealth, to be used for His glory.
