IT was a bright September morning. The air was clear and bracing, and the sunlight was falling on the woods with a lingering fondness, as if it would cheer the trees, the leaves of which were already beginning to show signs of decay, by reminding them of the bright sunlight of returning spring, when they would once more renew their youth and beauty.
The doctor stood at the door of his tent, and gazed at the lovely view from it with many feelings of regret for it was his last day at Hildick. He had had, fortnight of perfect enjoyment and happiness, such as he had never dreamt of before.
The picnics Don had planned had taken place, and had been as great a success as glorious weather and a merry party of friends could make them. Then there had been quiet walks with Doris over the hills and by the side of the waves. Each day he had learnt to love her better; each night he had thanked God with a full heart for giving him such a wonderful joy. The days had flown as on the wings of the wind, and now the golden time was over, and he must return to the prose of everyday life. Work was waiting for him, and he must go back to it with fresh vigor and energy.
The night before he and Doris had had their last walk on the shore, and had sat once more, side by side, on the rock from which she had painted her picture. That picture was finished now, and Forester was taking it back with him to London; it would always be one of the greatest treasures he possessed. He had exchanged it for the little bit of white heather, the last on the moorland, which had been of use after all, and which Doris had told him she should keep as long as she lived.
As they sat on the rock that last evening, she had asked him with a merry laugh whether he had any other friend who would be glad of her advice; she was quite ready to give it to him if he wished for it.
‘But, Norman, why did you call yourself Stewart?’ she asked.
‘Because it is my name; didn’t you know? It was my mother’s maiden name. So you see I was quite correct. Are you glad you gave poor Stewart the advice you did?’
Doris’ answer, whatever it was and however it was given, fully satisfied Forester. It was very wonderful to him that she loved him, but he had no doubt whatever about it, or that she was as thoroughly happy as he was.
There, where he had first told her of his love, they had sat together hand in hand, and had watched the stars come out over the sea.
And then they had walked back to Hildick, and had said their real goodbye. They knew they would meet again in the morning; but Doris and her father had to start early, to catch the morning train, and all would be hurry and bustle, and they would not have a moment to themselves.
The doctor was up early that morning. He was to be the last to depart, for he had to take down his tent, and therefore could not leave Llantrug until the evening. All the rest were going before nine o’clock, and he must hurry down the hill to see them off. As he passed the Castle, Joyce ran out to meet him with her dogs on the leash all ready for their journey.
‘Dr. Forester,’ she said, ‘we’re all ready, and the coach has come. I’m so sorry to go!’
He went into the Castle yard, and saw Val strapping up rugs and umbrellas on the grass, and Dick and Billy helping to lift the luggage into its place. It gave him a feeling of sadness to see the happy party breaking up.
Old Mr. Norris was leaning on his stick by the door, and Jemmy the lamb was standing by his side. The Sinclairs all came to speak to him and to thank him again for what he had done for Dick.
Then he hurried down the hill and helped and her father with their last preparations for the journey. They were sharing a waggonette with the Mainwarings, and it was already at the door. Jack and Doris Leslie were on the box seat, and he went to say goodbye to them. How quickly the parting was coming on! Now the luggage was in its place, now the driver was on the box, now Doris and Mr. Sinclair had taken their seats. One last pressure of the hand, one last long look into her eyes, the wheels began to move. They were off!
He ran ahead to the corner to see them pass; he climbed on the wall to wave to them. Don called to him that he was the last of the Mohicans, and told him he would have the shore all to himself. The waggonette was turning into the long white road across the marsh. Now he could see it clearly, now it was hidden by rising ground, now it was once more in sight. He climbed the sandhill for a better view. They were waving still; she could still see him. They had reached the long winding hill leading up from the bay. He could no longer catch sight of them. Yes, there was a break in the trees! He could catch another glimpse of the carriage. Did she see him? Surely that was her hand waving! Now they were gone he would see them no more.
But here was the lumbering of the coach; the Sinclairs were coming down the hill. They shouted a hearty goodbye as they passed. Joyce made the dogs wave their paws as they sat beside her. He watched again, and waved again, till they too were out of sight.
Now he was alone, the last of the merry party, and a feeling of loneliness crept over him. But he had no time to think of his loneliness, for he could see Maxie and the donkey nearly at the top of the hill. He must hasten back, to take down his tent and to pack up his belongings. It was easier to pull down than to put up, and the work was soon accomplished, the packages were corded, the tent pole and pegs were stowed away. He was going to the Castle for dinner, it had been a long promise that he should have his last meal with them in the ancient kitchen.
What a welcome they gave him, how brightly the pewter was shining on the dresser, how spotless was the sanded floor, how savory was the rabbit-stew prepared by Mary’s clever hands! The old man was full of regrets at his departure.
‘You’ll come again, doctor, I hope,’ he said, ‘and don’t be long about it, that I may be here to see you.’ Forester thanked them all for their goodness to him; he told them it was the happiest holiday he had ever spent in his life.
They all came with him to the door, even Jemmy the lamb was there to see him off. They stood watching him as he went down the hill. He looked back at the old Castle standing in the autumn sunlight. The ivy hanging from the walls seemed to him like green streamers waving goodbye to him. A white pigeon was sitting on the top of the turret; a number of swallows were flying out from the ruins; they were gathering for their journey southwards and were saying farewell to Hildick Castle. He must do the same, for his cab would soon be at the corner waiting for him.
He looked once more; and then he turned his back on the old ruin and ran down the hill.
Here he found he had half an hour to spare, for the horses required a longer rest after their fourteen miles run from Llantrug; the driver assured him they would be in plenty of time for the train.
He went down to the shore to pass the time. How desolate it all looked! There on the shingle were the blackened stones left by the bonfire. What a jolly supper that had been! There was an old hockey stick left behind on the sand, a memento of many an exciting game. There was the breakwater where, only yesterday afternoon, they had sat to watch the high tide rushing in over the rocks!
The shore was deserted now; the merry party was gone. The waves were bringing in the sea urchins, but no one was there to pick them up; the bathing place was empty, the rocks by the church were forsaken. Only the seagulls were there, and they were strutting about on the damp sand, rejoicing in having the shore to themselves.
Forester sat down to watch them, and he found himself on the very seat on which he had sat that first day at Hildick. It all came back to him now, he could recall exactly how he felt then, utterly discontented and miserable, sick of everything and of everybody. He remembered all that happened that day; he could see again Mr. Somerville’s face as he sat there reading the newspaper; he could see old Treverton in his boat on the bay; he could see himself taking up his half of the Standard, turning it over carelessly, not expecting to find anything of interest in it. He could see the names which caught his eye on the first page—
D’ENVILLE—PARGITER.
He remembered the pain it had given him as he read the announcement of her wedding. He had known it was to take place, he was quite prepared for that; but seeing it in black and white, in that copy of the Standard, had come upon him as a kind of shock, he hardly knew why. He had been glad to leave the shore that day, and climb the hill and get away from everybody.
Now he could look back upon that trouble, not only calmly and without a single pang, but gladly and with the deepest thankfulness. What would his life have been with Letty? From what misery had he been saved! And in the place of that worthless affection, what had God given him!
Forester looked up at the blue sky and gave thanks that he had ever come to Hildick. He marveled when he thought of all that he had found there. He had found that which the wisest of men calls ‘a good thing,’ namely, a true and loving wife. But he had found more, infinitely more; he had found his Guide.
Before, he was like a ship without a rudder, blown hither and thither by every wind, carried along first in one direction and then in another by every varying current, tossed about and almost shipwrecked in the waves of this troublesome world. Now, the Pilot had come on board; his Guide was there. He had no fear now of the winds or waves, of hidden rocks or adverse currents. His Pilot knew them all, and would steer him safely through.
The hymn they sang last Sunday in church was still ringing in his ears; he could still hear Doris’ sweet voice close beside him as she sang it—
‘Jesus, Saviour, pilot me
Over life’s tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treacherous shoal;
Chart and compass come from Thee
Jesus, Saviour, pilot me.’
He felt sure that prayer would be answered, and as he left the shore and turned his back on the bay, he could truthfully echo the words of the verse that Doris had finished for him—
‘And with my God to guide my way,
‘Tis equal joy to go or stay.’
THE END