"This place will bring back your health and spirits in no time, mother," cried Charles, bending towards her, as they drove up to the gates of Eagles' Nest. She was leaning back in the carriage, side by side with Edina, and tears were trickling down her pale cheeks. He took her hand. "You don't speak, mother."
"Charley, I was thanking God. And wondering what we can do to show our thanks to Him in the future. I know that my life will be one long, heartfelt hymn of gratitude."
Charley leaned from the carriage window. Talking to the lodge-keeper was Jetty the carpenter. Standing with them and watching the carriage was a man whom Charles remembered as one Beck; remembered, to his shame, what his own treatment had been of the poor fellow in the days gone by. Good Heavens! that he should have been so insolent, purse-proud, haughty a young upstart! his cheeks reddened now with the recollection. Ungenerous words and deeds generally come flashing back upon us as reminders when we least want them.
Could that be Charles Raynor!—their future master? Jetty and Beck scarcely believed that in the pale, self-contained, gentle-faced man, who looked so much older than his years, they saw the arrogant youth of other days: scarcely believed that the sweet smile, the passing word of greeting, the steadfast look shining from the considerate eyes, could be indeed meant for them. Ah yes, they might cast out fear; it was Charles Raynor. And they saw that the good news whispered to them all by Mr. Atkinson was indeed true: their new master would be as good and faithful a friend to them as he himself had been during these past three years.
"God ever helping me to be so!" aspirated Charles to his own heart. A whole lifetime of experience, spent in prosperity, could not have worked the change wrought in him by this comparatively short period of stern adversity.
George Atkinson stood at the door to receive them. He had not left Eagles' Nest. For a week or so they were to be his guests in it: or he theirs. Some hearty joking and laughter was raised in this the first moment of meeting, as to which it would be, led to by a remark of Mrs. Raynor's: that she hoped he would not find the children—coming on with Alice in another carriage—troublesome guests.
"Nay, the house is yours, you know, not mine: you cannot be my guests," laughed George Atkinson. "How do you say, Miss Raynor?"
"I say we are your guests," answered Edina. "And very glad to be so."
"At least I did not think you would side against me," said George Atkinson, with pretended resentment. "For this day, let it be so, then. To-morrow I subside into my proper place, and Mrs. Raynor begins her reign.
"I have been wondering how we can ever be sufficiently grateful to God," she whispered with emotion, taking his hand in hers. "I know not how we can ever thank you."