"Mr. Carlyon is actually coming to Rotherwood, and is to take David's place"—Malcolm started and frowned when he came to this. "You will be surprised, of course—every one is—but it is really a most excellent arrangement."
"You see, Mr. Charrington's health is not good, and as he will have to winter abroad, he really requires a curate-in-charge who will be responsible for the parish. The salary will be very little less than the income of Stokeley; there is no house, but we have got over this difficulty. Do you remember that low gray house, with the rowan tree over the gate, just by Elizabeth's Home of Rest, where little Kit died? It is scarcely more than a cottage, but it is very cosy and comfortable, and quite large enough for Theo and her father. There are two sitting-rooms—the larger one is to be Mr. Carlyon's study, they will not need a drawing-room—and four bed-rooms, and the garden is really charming. Rowan Cottage belongs to us, so we can ask a nominal rent. I cannot tell you how happy all this makes Elizabeth. Mr. Carlyon has been her one thought since David died. She feels it such a privilege to watch over him and attend to his little comforts. She is at work now at the cottage, getting everything ready for them, for they are expected in about a fortnight's time. But what a volume I am writing, my dear friend, and as usual about our own affairs. By the bye, I have never given you Elizabeth's message. She says that now you have become a celebrated author, she hopes you will not forget your old friends at the Wood House. Of course, this was only one of her joking speeches; she makes her little jokes now and then. What she really means is that you have not been to see us for a long time, and that when you come you will be welcome."
Malcolm read this letter at least a dozen times, and each time he came to the message he smiled as though he were well pleased; nevertheless he made no attempt to go to Staplegrove.
With the exception of that half-hour in the churchyard, he had not seen Elizabeth since her trouble—an instinctive feeling of delicacy had warned him to keep his distance. Nearly eight months had passed, but he was still unwilling to force himself upon her, and the present moment seemed to him peculiarly unpropitious. Elizabeth's thoughts would be occupied with the preparations at the cottage. He knew her so well: she never did things by halves, and she would be at Rotherwood all day long. No, he would not go yet, he said to himself; it would be time enough when Cedric came back, and then he would go down to the Wood House as a matter of course. It cost Malcolm some effort to keep this resolution when Cedric deferred his return week after week. When the New Year opened he was at Cairo, and having "a rattling good time," as he expressed it. It was not until the end of March that he and Mr. Dunlop turned their faces homeward; but Malcolm made his work an excuse and held grimly to his post.
CHAPTER XL
"HE IS MY RIVAL STILL"
Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
—SHAKESPEARE.
Love is patient and content with anything, so it be together with its beloved.
—JEREMY TAYLOR.