The Hall and the Grange: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

They went into Colonel Eldridge's room, which was being used now, perhaps with the idea of keeping it alive and expectant of him. Norman took her two hands into his, and said: "Pam darling, it has been you all the time, but I've only just found it out."

She allowed her tears to fall then. "I've wanted you dreadfully, lately," she said. "If only father gets better, we shall all be very happy now."

That was almost the extent of their love-making. They had known each other for so long. What was in the mind of each gained instant response from the other. Pamela could take refuge from her deep trouble in his love; joy in their new discovery could wait.

The discovery itself, however, must not be kept to themselves. Lord Crowborough was the only person whom it seemed somewhat to disconcert, but he joined with the rest in the desire to make it known to Pamela's father. They would get his blessing upon it, which would be a happiness to them to remember in after years. And it would please and comfort him.

Lord Eldridge, still cherishing determined hope, expected much from it. Whether he was abundantly pleased himself, or only moderately so, did not appear, for he seemed to accept it only as it might affect his brother. But he did accept it; and Lady Eldridge made it plain to Pamela, with a warm embrace, what it meant to her. Poor Mrs. Eldridge, who hardly left the sickroom now, treated it as unimportant. But she had greeted her sister-in-law in a way to show that the late estrangement was not now in her mind; and she no longer held herself aloof in any way from her brother-in-law. Perhaps unconsciously she took it as bringing them all more closely together. She wanted all the support now that family affection and sympathy could give her.

Pamela stood with Norman by her father's bedside the next morning, and he smiled at them with full knowledge, and whispered a word to her as she kissed him. He saw no one else but his wife that day, and on the afternoon of the next he died. All his family were around him, but he did not know them. There was none of whom he had not already taken leave, and he had left them with no trouble on his mind on their behalf, except the great sorrow of his loss, which time would change into a most loving memory.

Time had already softened the sorrow when Spring came treading its flowery way over the gardens of Hayslope and the country round them. If there were still tears shed at the Hall there was sometimes laughter too, from the young people whose life lay all before them, and on whom no burden of loss could rest forever. And care was lifted from the house, though at a very heavy price.

Mrs. Eldridge sometimes asked herself if it was possible that she should ever come to enjoy life again, the question being prompted not by the desire to do so, but by an uneasy suspicion of disloyalty because she was beginning to find these bright soft spring days pleasant, in the house and in the garden. She need not have feared, for she never had that sensation of grateful expectancy which is spring's message and bright consolation without an immediate pang to follow it. She had not made herself his constant companion in the comings and goings of his days, but never for very long together had she been without the sense of his being there. When she had most seemed to be taking her own way, her life in its ultimate ends had yet been lived with reference to him. Now she had to adopt a life not so very different from that which she had led before at Hayslope to a new impulsion. The life was pleasant enough in itself, but at present it seemed to count for nothing. The days came, ran their quiet course, and ended. Each one carried her a little farther from the time when she had had him with her. And she would live them for years to come, with nothing to look forward to. So it seemed to her when she thought about it; and presently she found it was better not to think about it, but to take the days as they came. Then her spirit quieted itself by degrees, and her grief became less bewildering.

She and Lady Eldridge were close friends again now. There had been a time, after her husband's death, when she had put it down to the trouble through which he had gone on account of his brother. Then she had held herself aloof from them. But the feeling had faded away. What did it matter now? He was dead. Keeping up the quarrel in her mind would not bring him back. And he had been so glad to have it ended. He had given her and his children over to his brother's keeping, in solemn words to her, almost the last of any he had spoken. Her mind was too tired to think it out. She just let go of the feeling, and presently it died.