Chaste as Ice, Pure as Snow: A Novel

by C. Despard

She knew Margaret's love of flowers, so she had gathered them together from every available corner. Roses, geraniums, fragrant heliotrope and mignonette were literally scattered in the rooms, which were full of an abundance of light. Some of Jane's cherished savings had been expended in plants that lined the hall and peeped from the windows. The cottage, indeed, looked very pleasant. The front door, thrown wide open, showed the lighted hall, and even allowed a glimpse of the small sitting-room, in which a substantial tea-table, spread with all kinds of dainties and decorated with Jane's wealth of plate and china, seemed to invite the entrance of the weary travellers. Outside was the moon, throwing its white beams on the little plot of grass as it shone persistently through the branches of the stately cedar which flanked the little house on one side, while through the fragrant limes on the other side came the glimmer of the starlit sea.

"How pretty and quiet it all looks!" said Adèle to her cousin as they approached the cottage. "And that's the place, I feel sure; it is just what I expected to see. Now I know I shall get well soon."

She leant back in the carriage with a little sigh, for Arthur was paying scarcely any attention to her words. She could see his face in the moonlight rapt and eager, and Adèle felt almost sick for a moment with the longing that she might ever be able to call that look into his face. He turned to her at last. "It is all right," he said in a tone of intense relief; "I see her."

Adèle looked at him in simple wonder: "And whom did you expect to see, Arthur?"

Arthur turned away in slight confusion. He did not wish Adèle to know that the kind of uneasiness aroused by the storm had never left his mind—that he had been haunted by a certain inexplicable fear which nothing but the sight of Margaret herself could take away. He did not answer Adèle's question, but proceeded to gather together the bags and parcels.

The landlady was at the gate, with curtseyed welcome, ready for any consignment; Margaret was on the steps of the front door; the old woman was behind her. Arthur for the first few moments had to be contented with her and with a nod and a smile from Margaret, whose warmest welcome was for Adèle. "Come in, come in," she said, holding out both her hands; "I thought it almost too good to be true when I read your letter this morning. But you have come, my poor, pale child, and we must take care of you and make you strong." She drew her into her own room: "Will you share this with me for the present, dear? I can look after you better so."

Adèle was weak and tired. She could scarcely keep from tears as she threw her arms round Margaret's neck in her impulsive girlishness. "I am so glad to come," she said. "And oh! I wanted to thank you!" Adèle was thinking of the little scene in the library.

"Thank me, dear!" replied Margaret, gently removing the young girl's hat as she spoke, and smoothing back her hair with a loving hand. "What shall I say to you, then, my faithful friend, who has believed in me through everything?" She spoke lightly, but there was an undertone of deep emotion in her voice. "We shall have plenty to talk about, Adèle, but this evening is to be given to rejoicing. I feel as if it were the opening of a new era in our lives—as if happiness, that capricious little deity, were hiding somewhere very near us. Come into the dining-room; your cousin will become impatient if we shut ourselves up too long."

They went together into the little parlor; and when Arthur saw Adèle's glistening eyes and noted Margaret's loving little attentions to her guest, he felt sorely inclined once more to be jealous of his cousin; but he did not allow this to be seen, and the evening passed away very happily. Harmony, that sweet, rare guest, seemed to reign in the little household. Every one was comfortable and happy. The undisguised satisfaction of the old woman, who began dimly to see through some of the mysteries that had been perplexing her; the happiness of Adèle, wavering between smiles and tears, and taking a final refuge in the former; the confidence and peace which seemed for the moment to have taken possession of Margaret; Arthur's apparent contentment and overflowing merriment; the quiet, respectful attentions of the landlady,—made a pleasing whole.