The doctor and Andrew had many a quiet laugh over the ghost of the western gable, and the light still continued to shine as formerly, but nobody disturbed their midnight star-gazing after that; although not a few among the more superstitious inhabitants still looked askance at Andrew whenever he appeared in the village, and some even whispered that he was in league with the evil spirits, and had compelled the doctor to join hands with him, and that the devil himself had been seen walking arm in arm with Andrew on the little balcony under the gabled window, many and many a wild stormy night when neither man or beast hardly dare venture out. Of course, such absurd stories never found their way to either Andrew’s or the doctor’s ears, but Andrew had not failed to observe a change in the general bearing of those whom he chanced to meet, a furtive glance of the eye perhaps, or a sudden crossing to the other side of the street to avoid meeting him face to face; but he was too much engrossed in his own affairs to allow such petty trifles to worry him. He did not wish for any man’s society. The doctor and he lived very comfortably together. The men whom he met in a business way could not complain of any inability on his part in a business transaction. His brain was all right there whatever it might be on other things. His silent, rather morose countenance, was uninviting to would be questioners, and not one among his acquaintances had dared to ask him why Victoria had gone abroad, or why she remained away so long; and he who never bothered over his neighbor’s affairs did not dream of enlightening anybody by volunteering information on a subject in which only himself and Mary were interested. He had no idea of the frequent tea gatherings, where sometimes he and his were the sole topics of conversation. It would hardly have troubled him if he had known, so many weightier subjects filled his mind.
To him the days which brought the foreign mails were the only ones of all the month worth living for. He always went for the precious freight himself, taking Mary with him. The child had come to know those big envelopes with the funny seals on them, as coming from mamma, and he always allowed her to break the seal, and then as eagerly as the child listened, just so eagerly would he read the dear words, penned by loving fingers which he knew longed to clasp his own. Although addressed to the child, Andrew knew that every word was written for himself, and the endearing expressions were kissed and kissed again, until the paper seemed to him to almost take on life under his caresses. He would be more cheerful for a time after one of these missives came to cheer him, and the doctor hailed the foreign mail as eagerly as either Mary or her father, for it meant a brighter household for a few days at least, and too, the cheering news of Victoria’s good health and evident contentment made glad the doctor’s heart.
It was he who suggested teaching Mary how to print, so that Victoria’s life might be brightened by a letter from her baby girl, written all by herself, with no suggestions or corrections from either him or her father. Mary set about her task willingly, and was indefatigable in her efforts at learning how to spell and print; and it was a wonderful production which one day nearly a year after Victoria’s exile, was given by Mary herself with many charges to the village postmaster, that he put that letter sure in the foreign post-bag, for it was going to her dear mamma who was very lonely way off across the big water.
Victoria, although not unhappy, had many days of longing to hold Mary in her arms. Sometimes she would awaken in the silent night, and put out her hands expecting to clasp the beloved child to her breast, so vivid had been her dreams, but alas, when aroused to full consciousness, when she realized how far away from her was the darling of her heart, then at such times did she rebel, and when morning came the evil spirit within her could only be exorcised by her going to the children’s home, and herself superintending some part being built for Mary’s sake. She always felt better after one of these visits, and every day she wrote accounts of the progression of her work to the little daughter far away, and told her of the little sick and crippled children who were anxiously waiting for the completion of their home, which had been named “The Mary Willing Home for Destitute Orphaned and Crippled Children.”
Victoria’s mail was received through her bankers, and the days on which she might expect letters were always anxious ones to her. The doctor never failed to write a few lines, telling her that all was well with those she loved, and on this particular day she left “The Home” much earlier than usual, and drove around to her bankers, for having read of the arrival of a mail-ship, she was sure there must be mail for her. There was, and a smile of gladness lit up her usually sad face as the old clerk handed her a large bundle of papers, and three bulky letters. “I am especially favored this time,” she said, electrifying the man with that unusual smile. “You do not know, perhaps, what it is to feel that a cruel treacherous ocean separates you from those whom you love.”
Tears stood in the old man’s eyes. The sweet glad smile had awakened sad memories. “But you hope to meet your loved ones alive and well some time, dear lady,” he said so sorrowfully that Victoria looked at him interested. “They have not crossed that boundless ocean, which never brings the loved ones back when once they are upon its waters.”
“Ah, no,” replied Victoria, “I have been spared that, thank God! But you speak as one who has sorrowed. Have you lost many dear ones?”
“All, all! my lady. Five lovely children taken in their innocence before they had known evil. The sixth was spared to me until she grew to womanhood. Last year she too sickened and died, leaving a little flower in her stead, a frail little blossom. Last week my good wife was taken from me; now only the child and I are left.”
Such hopeless resignation was shown in those words, that Victoria felt her eyes moisten. She noticed the threadbare clothes, the worn black tie, the frayed edges to the spotless cuffs. His entire outfit if sold, would not have brought a pound; but the marks of a gentleman were patent in the spotless linen, the well kept nails, the general appearance of the whole man. Victoria had heard of the meager salaries which most bank clerks in England received. Hardly enough to keep body and soul together, and she wondered how she could assist this man without offending his pride. She thought of the little granddaughter. Oh yes, here was a way surely.
“I have a little daughter in America,” she said, “I have not seen her in nearly a year. I love all children for her dear sake. I would like to know your grandchild, perhaps she would cheer and comfort me. Let me have your address. I will call with your permission and take her driving. How old is she?”