"Yes, I get tired," she replied, quietly. At the little touch of weariness in the voice, Kate, who was looking at the beautiful face, so spiritual, and getting, oh, so frail, felt a sudden rush of tears in her eyes. But there was no self-pity in that heroic soul. "Yes, I get tired," she repeated, "but, Harry, what does that matter? We do our work and then we will rest. But oh, Harry, my boy, when I come to your city and see all there is to do, I wish I were a girl again, and I wonder at people thinking life is just for fun."Harry, like other young men, hated to be lectured, but from his aunt he never took anything amiss. He admired her for her brilliant qualities, and loved her with a love near to worship.
"I say, auntie," he said, with a little uncertain laugh, "it's like going to church to hear you, only it's a deal more pleasant.""But, Harry, am I not right?" she replied, earnestly. "Do you think that you will get the best out of your life by just having fun? Oh, do you know when I went with Kate to the Institute the other night and saw those boys my heart ached. I thought of my own boys, and--" The voice ceased in a pathetic little catch, the sensitive lips trembled, the beautiful gray-brown eyes filled with sudden tears. For a few moments there was silence; then, with a wavering smile, and a gentle, apologetic air, she said: "But Imust not make Harry think he is in church."
"Dear Aunt Murray," cried Harry, "do lecture me. I'd enjoy it, and you can't make it too strong. You are just an angel." He left his seat, and going over to her chair, knelt down and put his arms about her.
"Don't you all wish she was your aunt?" he said, kissing her.
"She IS mine," cried Kate, smiling at her through shining tears.
"She's more," said Ranald, and his voice was husky with emotion.
But with the bright, joyous little laugh Ranald knew so well, she smoothed back Harry's hair, and kissing him on the forehead, said:
"I am sure you will do good work some day. But I shall be quite spoiled here; I must really get home."As Ranald left the Raymond house he knew well what he should say to Mr. St. Clair next morning. He wondered at himself that he had ever been in doubt. He had been for an hour in another world where the atmosphere was pure and the light clear. Never till that night had he realized the full value of that life of patient self-sacrifice, so unconscious of its heroism. He understood then, as never before, the mysterious influence of that gentle, sweet-faced lady over every one who came to know her, from the simple, uncultured girls of the Indian Lands to the young men about town of Harry's type. Hers was the power of one who sees with open eyes the unseen, and who loves to the forgetting of self those for whom the Infinite love poured Itself out in death.
"Going home, Harry?" inquired Ranald.
"Yes, right home; don't want to go anywhere else to-night. I say, old chap, you're a better and cleaner man than I am, but it ain't your fault. That woman ought to make a saint out of any man.""Man, you would say so if you knew her," said Ranald, with a touch of impatience; "but then no one does know her. They certainly don't down in the Indian Lands, for they don't know what she's given up.""That's the beauty of it," replied Harry; "she doesn't feel it that way. Given up? not she! She thinks she's got everything that's good!""Well," said Ranald, thoughtfully, after a pause, "she knows, and she's right."When they came to Harry's door Ranald lingered just a moment.
"Come in a minute," said Harry.
"I don't know; I'm coming in to-morrow."
"Oh, come along just now. Aunt Frank is in bed, but Maimie will be up," said Harry, dragging him along to the door.
"No, I think not to-night." While they were talking the door opened and Maimie appeared.
"Ranald," she cried, in an eager voice, "I knew you would be at Kate's, and I was pretty sure you would come home with Harry.
Aren't you coming in?"
"Where's Aunt Frank?" asked Harry.
"She's upstairs," said Maimie.
"Thank the Lord, eh?" added Harry, pushing in past her.
"Go away in and talk to her," said Maimie. Then turning to Ranald and looking into his devouring eyes, she said, "Well? You might say you're glad to see me." She stood where the full light of the doorway revealed the perfect beauty of her face and figure.
"Glad to see you! There is no need of saying that," replied Ranald, still gazing at her.
"How beautiful you are, Maimie," he added, bluntly.
"Thank you, and you are really quite passable.""And I AM glad to see you."
"That's why you won't come in."
"I am coming to-morrow night."
"Everybody will be here to-morrow night."
"Yes, that's certainly a drawback."
"And I shall be very busy looking after my guests. Still," she added, noticing the disappointment in his face, "it's quite possible--""Exactly," his face lighting up again.
"Have you seen father's study?" asked Maimie, innocently.
"No," replied Ranald, wonderingly. "Is it so beautiful?""No, but it's upstairs, and--quiet."
"Well?" said Ranald.
"And perhaps you might like to see it to-morrow night.""How stupid I am. Will you show it to me?"
"I will be busy, but perhaps Harry--"
"Will you?" said Ranald, coming close to her, with the old imperative in his voice.
Maimie drew back a little.
"Do you know what you make me think of?" she asked, lowering her voice.
"Yes, I do. I have thought of it every night since.""You were very rude, I remember."
"You didn't think so then," said Ranald, boldly.
"I ought to have been very angry," replied Maimie, severely.
"But you weren't, you know you weren't; and do you remember what you said?""What I said? How awful of you; don't you dare! How can Iremember?"
"Yes, you do remember, and then do you remember what _I_ said?""What YOU said indeed! Such assurance!"
"I have kept my word," said Ranald, "and I am coming to-morrow night. Oh, Maimie, it has been a long, long time." He came close to her and caught her hand, the slumbering fire in his eyes blazing now in flame.
"Don't, don't, I'm sure there's Aunt Frank. No, no," she pleaded, in terror, "not to-night, Ranald!""Then will you show me the study to-morrow night?""Oh, you are very mean. Let me go!"
"Will you?" he demanded, still holding her hand.
"Yes, yes, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. My hand is quite sore. There, now, good night. No, I won't shake hands! Well, then, if you must have it, good night."
