“These arrangements satisfied me. They were the best terms I could make, and I went away without bidding either of my children good-by. I could bear a great deal, but that parting I could not have endured. I went back to London and to Nancy, and in a week’s time I heard from Miss Lovel. She told me that her father was dead, but that the necessary codicil had been added to the will, and that if no heir appeared before Rachel’s thirteenth birthday my children would have a life-interest in the place, and they themselves would be bound over to go on with the search. Miss Lovel further added that in any case the children should be educated and cared for in the best possible manner.
“Those were the entire contents of her letter. She sent me no message from my darlings, and from that hour to this I have never heard from her. From that hour, too, my terrible, terrible heart-hunger began. No one knows what I suffered, what I suffer for want of the children. Were the sacrifice to be made again, I don’t think I could go through it, and yet God only knows. For two or three years I made a very scanty livelihood; then I was fortunate enough to invent a certain showy-looking lace. I could make my own patterns and do it very quickly by hand. To my great surprise it took, and from that hour I have had more orders than I can execute. My wants are very few and I have even saved money: I have over £400 put away. My dream of dreams is to have my children back with me—that is my selfish dream. Of course it will be best for them to be rich and to have the old place, but in any case I will not consent to so absolute a separation as now exists between us. A year ago a gentleman and his wife who had been kind to me, although they knew nothing of my story, asked me if I would like to take charge of a little cottage of theirs in the New Forest. It is a tiny place, apparently lost in underwood and bracken, which they themselves occupy for a fortnight or so in the course of the year. The temptation was too great. I accepted the offer, and since then I have lived, so to speak, on the threshold of the children’s home. One day I saw Rachel. Well, I must not dwell on that. I did not speak to her. I fled from her, although she is my first-born child. It is now December. May will come by and by, and then the greatness of my trouble will be over.”
Mrs. Lovel paused. The Australians, father and son, had listened with breathless interest to her words.
“I don’t want to take the property from your children,” said young Rupert, with passion. “After what you have said and suffered, I hate to be heir of Avonsyde.”
“I forgot to mention,” continued Mrs. Lovel, “that a little boy is now at Avonsyde of the name of Philip who is supposed to be the real heir. He is a little pale-faced boy with beautiful eyes and a very winning manner, and it is reported that the old ladies have both lost their hearts to him. I cannot say that I think he looks strong, but he is a dear little boy.”
“That must be our Phil,” said young Rupert, speaking with great interest. “Of course, father that explains his queer letter to me. Poor dear little Phil!”
“Just like his mother,” growled the elder Lovel. “A mischievous, interfering, muddle-headed woman, sure to put her foot in a thing and safe to make mischief. Forgive me, Rachel, but I feel strongly about this. Has the boy got a mother with him?”
“Yes.”
“You are right then, Rupert. It is your Cousin Phil. Poor little chap! he has no voice in the matter, I am sure. What a meddlesome woman that mother of his is! Well, Rachel, my boy and I will say good-night now. These revelations have pained and bewildered me. I must sleep over all this news. Don’t leave London until you hear from me. I think you may trust me, and—God bless you!”