"Come, mother," he said softly, "perhaps the angels may note to-night, and so shall I."
And it was a night to be remembered, though not chiefly for its trying farewells. There was a cloud, and no need to ignore it, but there was light behind it, and it began to fringe the cloud and to illumine life's future with touches of beauty and hope, which a few hours before seemed impossible to the despairing spirit of Guy Falconer.
* * * * * *
Early the next morning, all the inhabitants of the Falconer Range were astir; groups of people well-to-do, and groups of poor people, and of children innumerable, gathered about the park gates and along the village street, and when Joe and the black horses emerged from the park with the much loved exiles behind them, there was a rush to the carriage windows, hands were shaken and kissed, and murmured benedictions burst from many lips. Old men uncovered their grey heads, women sobbed, and children for once moved quietly.
In vain the occupants of the carriage strove to smile or seem calm; in vain Joe made hideous grimaces to keep up his dignity; in vain Mr. Herbert, who had mounted escort for a part of the way, rode gently amongst the people, and entreated them to restrain their feelings for the sake of the dear, tried lady from whom they had to part; in vain Guy impatiently called out his orders to Joe to "drive on;" the solemn black horses, perfectly self-possessed, were masters of the position, and all poor Joe's struggles failed to move them beyond their own conceptions of the occasion.
Before the Falconer's Arms they nearly came to a stand, as if there were something special to be noted there. And perhaps there was, for the worthy landlord and the dame his wife had made decided demonstration. Blinds were down, and shutters closed, a black crape scarf was thrown over the far-famed sign, and the whole family stood bare-headed under the beautiful elms in solemn silence.
At the village school, the children stood in silent array, and the tallest of them presented a basket filled with little pin-cushions, needle-books, and such like tokens of loving handiwork. And a boy, gentle and modest-looking, handed up a little carving in wood of the front of the Moat House, which he had privately executed in his leisure time.
All this, with an occasional "God bless you," "May you come back to your own again," marked the progress through the village. And then Joe, exasperated beyond endurance with his self-sufficient steeds, commenced a most unusual belabouring of their shining coats. Mr. Herbert, equally out of patience, adding the stimulus of the riding whip, so that the stately march was at last urged into a brisk walk, such as they usually assumed for a funeral at a distant church when wayside observers were neither numerous nor mournful.
Joe's foresight had provided for the occasion, though he had not dared to controvert his master's orders, so far as the first three miles were concerned. There however, he had soothed his own feelings, and obliged his passengers by securing a relay, and joyfully began the acceptable exchange.
While this was proceeding, a carriage-and-four drove briskly up to the inn door.