My lady had been extremely busy. First she had put up the hair that baby Hugh’s naughty little fingers had pulled down; then she had gone in quest of a certain dress that reposed at the top of one of the trunks. Janet had insisted on packing it, but she had never found an opportunity of wearing it. It was one of those dainty, bewildering combinations of Indian muslin and embroidery and lace, that are so costly and seductive; and when Fay put it on, with a soft spray of primroses, she certainly looked what Fergus called her, “Titania, queen of all the fairies.”
Both the men absolutely started when this brilliant little vision appeared in the homely Manse parlor. Fergus clapped his big hands softly together and said “Ech, sirs!” under his breath; but Sir Hugh, as he placed a chair for her, whispered in Fay’s ear, “I am afraid I have fallen in love with my own wife”—and it was delicious to hear Fay’s low laugh in answer.
What a happy evening that was; and when, some two or three hours later, Fay stood in the moonlight watching Hugh go down the road on his way to the inn, for there was no room for him in the Manse, the parting words were ringing in her ears, “Good-night, my dear one, and dream of me.”
Ah, they were happy tears that Jean’s woman-angel shed by her boy’s cot that night; what prayers, what vows for the future went up from that pure young heart, that at last tasted the joy of knowing itself beloved. As for Hugh, a waking dream seemed to banish sleep from his eyes. He could see it all again—the green sunshiny hollow, and the shining pool—a little listless figure standing under the silver birch. A tremulous voice breaks the silence—“oh, Hugh, I tried so hard to be lost, do not be angry with me”—No, no, he will not go back to that. Stay, he is in the Manse parlor—the door opens—there is Titania in her spring dress, all smiles and blushes; his Wee Wifie is transformed into the queen of all the fairies. “God bless her, and make me worthy of her love,” he thinks, humbly, as he recalls her sweet looks and words; and with that brief prayer he slept.
Fay would willingly have remained for a few days with her friends at the Manse; she wanted to show Hugh all her favorite haunts, and to make him better acquainted with the good Samaritans who had so generously sheltered her; but Hugh was anxious to have his wife to himself and to get over the awkwardness of the return home. He would bring her back in the autumn he promised her; and with that Fay consoled poor Jean.
As for Fergus, he had reason to bless Aunt Jeanie’s hospitality; for Sir Hugh overwhelmed the inhabitants of the Manse with liberal tokens of his gratitude—Aunt Jeanie, Fergus, Jean, even pretty Lilian Graham, reaped the effects of English munificence. Fay had carte blanche to buy anything or everything she thought suitable. Silk dresses, furs, books, and a telescope—long the ambition of the young minister—all found their way to the Manse; not to mention the princely gift that made the young couple’s path smooth for many a year to come. Want of generosity had never been a Redmond failing. Hugh’s greatest pleasure was to reward the people who had sheltered his lost darling.
It was a painful moment for Hugh’s proud nature when he first crossed the threshold of his old Hall, with Fay looking shy and downcast beside him, but Fay’s simplicity and childishness broke the brief awkwardness; for the moment she saw Mrs. Heron’s comely face she threw her arms round her neck with a little sob, and there was not a dry eye among the assembled servants when she said in her clear young voice—“Oh, how glad I am to be amongst you all again. Was it not good of my husband to bring me back? You must all help me to make up to him for what he has suffered.”
“It was too much for the master,” observed Ellerton afterward, “he just turned and bolted when my lady said that—a man does not care to make a fool of himself before his servants; he would have stood by her if he could, but his feelings were too much for him, and you see he knew that he was to blame.”
But Fay would allow nothing of the kind, when she followed him into the library, and saw him sitting with his face hidden on his folded arms, and the evening sunshine streaming on his bowed figure.
Fay stood looking at him for a moment, and then she quietly drew his head to her shoulder—much as though he were baby Hugh, and wanted her motherly consolation.