“Our meaning is this,” said Uncle Fred, taking his wife’s hand and drawing it within his arm. “We both have known enough of loneliness and sorrow to be very unwilling to inflict it upon another. God in His great goodness has at length given us to one another, and changed all that was dark in our lives into light and joy. We have each other, and our cup of happiness is very full. One more great mercy has been vouchsafed us—restoring to my wife the child she believed she had lost—giving it to her to see him living in peace and happiness in a home that was opened to him in his hour of sore need. Squire,” concluded the young man, earnestly and with great feeling, “the whole matter stands thus: if the child has grown dear to you, if he is a comfort to you in your declining years, if you love one another, as we are told, like father and son, and you would feel personal loss and grief at his departure, he shall remain with you still. We are very near neighbors now. The child can see his mother daily, hourly, and yet be your boy, and live beneath your roof. There shall be no mine or thine with regard to him; if my wife is his mother, you at least have a claim to be called his father. We have one another, and our lives are bright; you are alone, and the boy has cheered you by his presence. So long as you need him, or wish for his companionship, we will not take him away. Our home is always open to him if ever you wish to be rid of your self-imposed charge; but so long as you care to have him with you, we will never claim him or take him away. The only difference the child shall find will be that he has two homes instead of one.”
The Squire listened to this speech in unbroken silence, and not a muscle of his still face moved the while; but yet it softened in a wonderful way as the young man’s meaning became more and more clear, and the expression in the deep-set eyes now fixed upon her face touched Mrs. Arbuthnot to the quick.
“Is this the expression of your thoughts, madam?” he asked, very gently.
“Yes; my husband has only explained to you what has many times passed between us on the subject. You know Dr. Lighton is his correspondent, and from him we have heard much of your great goodness to my little boy, and of the tie that seems to exist between you. My gratitude would be but ill-expressed were I to try and break that tie. The child had never known a father’s love until he found it in your home, for his father died when he was but an infant. Let him continue to feel that love about him, as well as that of the mother he has so strangely forgotten, and whom even now he may not be able to recall. Let us leave matters for the present as they now stand, and in the future be guided by the course of events and by the development of the boy’s character. If he disappoints you, his mother’s home will always be open to him. If he continues to occupy the place of a son to you, I will not take him away. He can be my boy as well as yours, and there shall be no jealousy between us.”
The words were spoken quietly, yet with much feeling, and the Squire accepted the sacrifice in the spirit in which it was made.
“Let the boy’s good be our chief concern, my dear madam,” he answered. “My gratitude to you is very great, and shall be shown in care for the child over whose future you still allow me to exercise some control. Believe me, your goodness shall not be abused. You will not find me exacting. If you will spare me as much of his society as you can, and let me love him as my own, I shall be satisfied and grateful, even though you may wish to change your mind by and by and receive him under your own roof.”
The mother understood by instinct the nature of the man with whom she had to deal. She smiled very sweetly as she answered,—
“I see very plainly that there will be no jealousy between us. For the present let all be as it is. If the child knows me for his mother, he shall still remain with you, unless—” She paused, and added, quickly, “And if not, and I have to tell him all, he is not likely to feel any wish to leave you for me. It will be very strange to be as a stranger to my little Ronald. I wonder—”
But the sentence was not concluded. There was a sudden stir in the hall without, and Dr. Lighton came in hurriedly.
“What is it?” he asked, quickly. “Where is the child?”