“And now, Rachel, you must just confide in me and make me your friend. Oh, nonsense! Were you not my wife’s friend? and don’t I remember you a bit of a bonny lass, as young, quite as young as Rupert here? I have got two young daughters of my own, and don’t you suppose I feel for a woman who is the mother of girls? You tell me your whole story, Rachel. How is it that you, who have married a Lovel of Avonsyde, should be practically shut away from the house and unrecognized by the family? When I met you last in Melbourne you looked free enough from cares, and your father was fairly well off. You were just starting for Europe—don’t you remember? Now tell me your history from that day forward.”
“With the exception of my old servant, Nancy, I have not given my confidence to any human being for years,” answered Mrs. Lovel. Then she paused. “Yes, I will trust you, Rupert, and my story can be told in a few words; but first satisfy me about one thing. When I was at Mr. Baring’s to-day he told me that a fresh claimant had appeared on the scene for the Avonsyde property. Is your boy the claimant?”
“He is, Rachel. We will go into that presently.”
Mrs. Lovel sighed.
“It is so hard not to welcome you,” she said, “but you destroy my hopes. However, listen to my tale. I will just tell it to you as briefly as possible. Shortly after we came to England my father died. He was not well off, as we supposed; he died heavily in debt and I was penniless. I was not sufficiently highly educated to earn my bread as a teacher—as a teacher I should have starved; but I had a taste for millinery and I got employment in a milliner’s shop in a good part of London. I stayed in that shop for about a year. At the end of that time I married Valentine Lovel. We had very little money, but we were perfectly happy; and even though Valentine’s people refused to acknowledge me, their indifference during my dear husband’s lifetime did not take an iota from my happiness. Two babies were born, both little girls. I know Valentine longed for a son, and often said that the birth of a boy would most probably lead to a reconciliation with his father. No son, however, arrived, and my dear husband died of consumption when my eldest little girl was five years old. I won’t dwell on his death, nor on one or two agonized letters which he wrote to his hard old father. He died without one token of reconciliation coming to cheer him from Avonsyde; and when I laid him in the grave I can only say that I think my heart had grown hard against all the world.
“I had the children to live for, and it is literally true that I had no time to sit down and cry for Valentine’s loss. The little girls had a faithful nurse; her name was Nancy White; she is with me still. She took care of my dear, beautiful babies while I earned money to put bread in all our mouths. I had literally not a penny in the world except what I could earn, for the allowance Valentine had always received from his father was discontinued at his death. I went back to the shop where I had worked as a milliner before my marriage; there happened to be a vacancy, and they were good enough to take me back. Of course we were fearfully poor and lived in wretched lodgings; but however much Nancy and I denied ourselves, the children wanted for nothing. They were lovely children—uncommon. Any one could see that they had come of a proud old race. The eldest girl was called after her father and me; she was not like Valentine in appearance, neither did she resemble me. I am dark, but Rachel’s eyes were of the deepest, darkest brown; her hair was black as night and her complexion a deep, glowing rosy brown. She was a splendid creature; so large, so noble-looking—not like either of us; but with a look—yes, Rupert, with a look of that boy of yours. Kitty resembled her father and was a delicate, lovely, ethereal little creature; she was as fair as Rachel was dark, but she was not strong, and I often feared she inherited some of Valentine’s delicacy.
“For two years I worked for the children and supported them. For a year and a half all went fairly well. But then I caught cold; for a time I was ill—too ill to work—and my situation at the milliner’s shop was quickly filled up. I had a watch and a few valuable rings and trinkets which Valentine had given me. I sold them one by one and we lived on the little money they fetched. But the children were only half-fed, and one wretched day of a hot and stifling July Kitty fainted away quietly in my arms. That decided me. I made up my mind on the spot. I had a diamond ring, the most valuable of all my jewels, and the one I cared for most, for Valentine had given it me on our engagement. I took it out and sold it. I was fortunate; I got £10 for it. I hurried off at once and bought material, and made up with Nancy’s help lovely and picturesque dresses for both the children. I believe I had a correct eye for color, and I dressed Rachel in rich dark plush with lace, but Kitty was all in white. When the clothes were complete I put them on, and Nancy kissed the pets and fetched a cab for me, and we drove away to Waterloo. I had so little money left that I could only afford third-class tickets, but I took them to Lyndhurst Road, and when we arrived there drove straight to Avonsyde. The children were as excited and pleased as possible. They knew nothing of any coming parting, and were only anxious to see their grandfather and the house which their father had so often spoken to them about. They were children who had never been scolded; no harsh words had ever been addressed to them, consequently they knew nothing of fear. When they got into the lovely old place they were wild with delight. ‘Kitty,’ said Rachel, ‘let us go and find our grandfather.’ Before I could restrain them they were off; but indeed I had no wish to hinder them, for I felt sure they would plead their own cause best. We had arrived at a critical moment, for that was the last day of the old squire’s life. I saw his daughters—my sisters-in-law. We had a private interview and made terms with one another. These were the terms: The ladies of Avonsyde would take my darlings and care for them and educate them, and be, as they expressed it, ‘mothers’ to them, on condition that I gave them up. I said I would not give them up absolutely. I told the ladies quite plainly why I brought them at all. I said it was out of no love or respect for the cruel grandfather who had disowned them; it was out of no love or respect for the sisters, who did not care what became of their brother’s children: it was simply and entirely out of my great mother-love for the children themselves. I would rather part with them than see them starve or suffer. ‘But,’ I added, ‘there are limits even to my self-denial. I will not give them up forever. Name the term of years, but there must be a limit to the parting.’
“Then Miss Katharine, who seemed kinder-hearted than her sister, gave me one or two compassionate glances, and even said, ‘Poor thing!’ once or twice under her breath.
“I did not take the slightest notice of her. I repeated again, more distinctly: ‘The parting must have a limit; name a term of years.’ Then the ladies decided that on Rachel’s thirteenth birthday—she was just seven then—I should come back to Avonsyde, and if I so wished and my little girls so wished I should have one or both of them back again. The ladies told me at the same time of their father’s will. They said that a most vigorous search was going to be commenced at once for an heir of the elder branch. At the same time they both stated their conviction that no such heir would be forthcoming, for they said that no trace or tidings had been heard of Rupert Lovel from the day, nearly two hundred years ago, when he left Avonsyde. Their conviction was that Rupert had died without descendants. In that case, both the ladies said, the little girls must inherit the property; and Miss Griselda said further that she would try to make arrangements with her father to so alter his will that if no heir had been found on Rachel’s thirteenth birthday, Valentine’s children should have a life-interest in Avonsyde. If, on the other hand, the heir was found before that date, they would also be provided for, although she did not mention how.