"WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY."
Two or three hours later, as they were crossing the little goose green in the sunset, Averil said softly to Mother Midge:
"I have had such a nice time. The sweet country air and the sound of the children's voices have destroyed all the cobwebs."
"I am so glad of that, dearie," was Mother Midge's answer; and then Jemmy touched his old white hat to them, and again they drove through the still, dewy lanes. Averil leaned back against the shabby cushions. Annette thought she was tired, and left her undisturbed; but it was not fatigue that sealed Averil's lips. A sweet spell of rest, of thankfulness, of quiet heart-satisfaction, seemed to infold her. These sort of moods were not rare with Averil; she had her hours of exaltation, when life seemed very sweet to her, and the discords of existence, its chilling disappointments, its weary negations, and never-ending responsibilities, lay less heavily on her, as though invisible hands had lifted the burden, and had anointed her eyes with some holy chrism. Then it was that Averil grasped the meaning and beauty of a life that to those who loved her seemed overfull of care and anxiety—when the veil seemed lifted; and as she looked round on the few helpless creatures whom she fed and sheltered, she felt no personal happiness could be so sweet as this power of giving happiness to others. "What does it matter," she said softly, to herself—and a solemn look came into her eyes as she looked over the tranquil landscape—"what does it matter if one be a little lonely, a little weary sometimes, if only one can help others—if one can do a little good work before the Master calls us? To go home and have no sheaves to take with us, oh, that would be terrible!"
"I wonder if Lottie has had a happy day, too?" observed Annette, as they came in sight of Redfern House. The moon was shining; through the open windows came the sound of laughter, of voices.
Averil roused herself with an effort.
"They seem very merry," she said, tranquilly. "Annette, I have ordered supper to be laid in my sitting-room. I knew they would have finished dinner by this time. When you have taken off your hat, will you join me there?"
"May I speak to you a moment, ma'am?" asked Roberts. "Captain Beverley and Mr. Forbes are dining here, and—"
But Annette did not hear any more. She was tired and hungry; she made a speedy toilet. As she ran down-stairs she was surprised to find Averil still in her walking-dress. "Do not wait for me," she said, hastily. "Roberts, will you see my cousin has all she wants? Annette, I am sorry, but I shall not be long."
Averil's room looked the picture of comfort. The supper-table was laid; the pretty shaded candles and flowers had a charming effect; the glass doors were open, and a flood of moonlight silvered the lawn and illuminated the garden paths. Maud was singing; the clear, girlish voice seemed to blend with the scene. A masculine voice—was it Rodney's?—was accompanying her. "Oh, that we two were maying!"—how sweetly it sounded.