An Unwilling Guest (29 page)

And so the elegant Miss Rutherford, without sound of music or profusion of presents and flowers, or heralding of cards and weary rush of dressmakers and tailors, passed out of New York society and became the unknown missionary's wife, just Mrs. Grey.

Oh,
those days by the sea, where in spite of the tim
e of year the sky was blue and the wind as soft as summer
sighings
, with a deep spice of life-
giving power. Oh, those rides in
the wheeled chair, with her
dear
husband to push her and to halt by her side and read aloud in the sun-parlor or Casino when she was ready to listen. It was like heaven on earth. She grew strong and well like her former self, only with a depth of sweetness unknown to the Evelyn of old.

There were cards of announcement sent out Richard attended to that He was enough a part of the world yet to think of those things. Evelyn never even knew about them till she received one at the shore addressed "Doctor and Mrs. Maurice Grey," and below the regulation announcement was written in Richard's hand, "Lest you may have forgotten that there really was a wedding." They laughed over it, and were glad together that they had escaped it all. And Evelyn never even wondered at herself.

They were going home soon, not to New York, which was very dear, of course, and was home and always would be, but to Maurice's mother and father and sister. They would be there when Allison was married, and for a time afterward, perhaps, until it should be decided when they could go to China. "B
ack to China," Evelyn would con
tinue to say, for since that awful night when she had watched the vivid picture of her Boxers coming and heard the shot, she said it was just as if she had been there. Whether China would look as the vision had done remained for the future.

It was down beside the sea that they told the story of the trials and sorrows and love that had grown during their separation. It was to that one tender listener who sympathized with her every heart-throb that Evelyn told the story of her visit to the
attic on the night of his depar
ture, and he in turn recounted every thought of his heart toward her in those lonely days when he had only a memory without hope to cheer him.

They went back together to New York when Evelyn was quite strong, for a few weeks before going to
Hillcroft
.

Jane Worthington came over in
her old-time fashion to call. She looked older and worn and hard. She ta
lked of her gayeties in so reck
less a fashion that it almost broke Evelyn's heart to hear.

"Oh, yes, Harry is going on worse than ever," she said in answer to a gentle question. "He drinks and gambles away every cent he can get from me or father or Cousin Ned. Besides that, he disgraces me by running around with
actresses. But I don't care any
more. I have found a few friends of my own. There is one man who just worships me. Harry fairly hates him, but I like him very much myself, and I find I
can have a little fun of my own. In fact, Evelyn, I'm more than half in love, to tell you the truth." She laughed in a wild, unnatural way while Evelyn shuddered.

"Oh, Jane," she said in a pained voice, "don't! I cannot bear to hear you talk so. You are a married woman."

"Married!" and Jane laughed again that empty, hard laugh. "Yes, what have I married?"

Evelyn was relieved that her hus
band came in just then for a mo
ment. He had a question to ask, and he called her "Dear." There was no ostentation, but the visitor could not help but see the affection in voice and look and the perfect confidence between the two.

"My, but he is fine looking!" commented Jane before he was fully out of hearing, "and he really thinks a lot of you, doesn't he? How nice. I hope it will last. You deserve
it. You had a very romantic mar
riage, after all, didn't you? But do you really mean that y
ou are going to bury yourself in
China? What makes you? Won't he give it up? I've heard he has fine chances here if he will only stay."

"We are going for the love of Christ, Jane," said Evelyn in a sweet, low voice. Her testimony was shy, for she was not used to speaking as Allison had been brought up to do.

"Haven't you got over those notions yet?" said the caller, getting up to go. "Well, I wish I was half as good as you. Good-bye."

And Evelyn sighed as she thought of the days when she had great influence over this girl, and might perhaps have led her into better paths where she would have been saved from all the sorrows and sins with which she was now surrounded.

I
t was the day of Allison Grey'
s wedding, and Miss Rebecca
Bas
comb
was sitting by her window nearly worn out with her labors. She had watched the people as they came from the train; she had watched the
expressmen
as they went toward the
Greys'
; she had watched any member of the family that went to t
he post office or store, and an
nounced to her sister at work in the next room just what shaped parcel was carried and what it was supposed to contain. She had spent so many years at the occupation of guessing other people's private affairs that she hardly ever made a mistake nowadays in matters like these.

"There goes another cut glass bowl, I'll bet a hen!" she soliloquized in her loud tone that had grown a habit with her, for her sister was nearly always in the next room when
she was not running to the win
dow to see something Rebecca pointed out.

"That's a shame, and the ceremony over and they gone! There was thirteen last night, a mighty unlucky number, for one
of'em
'd be sure to get broke '
fore
the year was out. But this one was a good-sized one. It was a square wooden box. O' course it might a been another clock, but what would they want with any more o' them? They've already got five, and it's likely there are a few in the house at New York,
seein
' the family have scraped along for years afore Allison come for her fixings out. There's another carriage
comin
' back from the
dee-po
. No it
ain't
, either, it's Grey's
phayton
, and if I
ain't
beat! It's
Maurrie
and his new wife in it, and she's got a red sack on. I should think she'd have a little sense about
dressin
' decent, now she's a missionary's wife. If she should go out to China with that thing on she'd draw the whole
packon
her at once.
Them
Boxers probably don't like red any better 'n bulls."

"They'll think she's one
of'em
," suggested the sister, hurrying in to peep before the curtains of the other window. "Boxers wear real bright costumes. When I was over to the Corners last summer there was a boxing match there between some college men, and they wore red and black stripes and great big gloves, and looked as much like heathens as any Chinese you ever see."

"Well, I think somebody ought to give her a little advice," said Miss Rebecca, setting her chin blandly, as if she would enjoy the task. "I wonder where
Maurrie
is
goin
'? He's turned up the road instead of down. It don't seem decent
fer
folks to rush around in public after a
weddin
' any more than they would after a funeral; seems kind of as if they was glad it was over and they was rid of the bride. I must run over in the morning and see if that really was another cut glass bowl."

Out upon the hill drive the pony flew, with Evelyn, close wrapped in warm crimson robes and furs, sitting beside her husband. When they reached the spot where they had stopped that day and paused to look down as before, Evelyn laid her face against her husband's shoulder, and he put his arm around her and held her close.

"This is what I would have liked to do before, darling, if I had dared," he said, looking down into the sweet eyes upturned to his. "Do you know these lines of Mrs.
Browning's
:

"Nevermore

Alone upon the threshold of my door

Of individual life, I shall command

The uses of my soul…
What I do

And what I dream include thee, as the wine

Must taste of its own grapes.

And when I sue God for myself, he hears that name of
thine
,

And sees within my eyes the tears of two."

She looked up to meet his smile, her own eyes dimmed with tears of joy.

"Maurice," she said, "I have been thinking; suppose I ha
d not come to
Hillcroft
that tim
e. You know I did not want to do so. Suppose I had
had my own way. Then I would never have met you again, perhaps, and you would never have told me about Jesus."

"His way is best always, isn't it, dear? Shall we try to always let him have it with us? Now we must turn back, for it is growing cold, and mother will
be wondering what has become o
f us."

The End