Daddy's Girl

  CHAPTER XIX.

  This was better than the phantom ship. This was peace, joy, andabsolute delight. Sibyl need not now only lie in her father's armsat night and in her dreams. She could look into his face and hearhis voice and touch his hand at all hours, day and night.

  Her gladness was so real and beautiful that it pervaded the entireroom, and in her presence Ogilvie scarcely felt pain. He held herlittle hand and sat by her side, and at times when she was utterlyweary he even managed to raise her in his arms and pace the room withher, and lay her back again on her bed without hurting her, and hetalked cheerfully in her presence, and smiled and even joked with her,and they were gay together with a sort of tender gaiety which hadnever been theirs in the old times. At night, especially, he was herbest comforter and her kindest and most tender nurse.

  For the first two days after his return Ogilvie scarcely left Sibyl.During all that time he asked no questions of outsiders. He did noteven inquire for the doctor's verdict. Where was the good of asking aquestion which could only receive one answer? The look on the child'sface was answer enough to her father.

  Meanwhile, outside in the grounds, the bazaar went on. The marquee wasfull of guests, the band played cheerily, the notable people from allthe country round arrived in carriages, and bought the pretty thingsfrom the different stall-holders and went away again.

  The weather was balmy, soft and warm, and the little skiffs with theirgay flags did a large trade on the river. Lord Grayleigh was one ofthe guests, returning to town, it is true, at night, but coming backagain early in the morning. He heard that Ogilvie had returned and wasnaturally anxious to see him, but Ogilvie sent word that he could notsee anyone just then. Grayleigh understood. He shook his head whenMrs. Ogilvie herself brought him the message.

  "This cuts him to the heart," he said; "I doubt if he will ever be thesame man again."

  "Oh, Lord Grayleigh, what nonsense!" said the wife. "My dear husbandwas always eccentric, but as Sibyl recovers so will he recover hisequanimity. It is a great shock to him, of course, to see her as sheis now, dear little soul. But I cannot tell you how bad I was atfirst; indeed, I was in bed for nearly a week. I had a sort of nervousattack--nervous fever, the doctor said. But I got over it. I know nowso assuredly that the darling child is getting well that I am neverunhappy about her. Philip will be just the same by-and-by."

  Grayleigh made no reply. He gave Mrs. Ogilvie one of his queerglances, turned on his heel and whistled softly to himself. Hemuttered under his breath that some women were poor creatures, and hewas sorry for Ogilvie, yes, very sorry.

  Grayleigh was also anxious with regard to another matter, but thatanxiety he managed so effectually to smother that he would not evenallow himself to _think_ that it had any part in Ogilvie's curiousunwillingness to see him.

  At this time it is doubtful whether Ogilvie did refuse to seeGrayleigh in any way on account of the mine, for during those two dayshe had eyes, ears, thoughts, and heart for no one but Sibyl. Whenanyone else entered her room he invariably went out, but he quicklyreturned, smiling as he did so, and generally carrying in his handsome treasure which he had brought for her across the seas. He wouldthen draw his chair near the little, white bed and talk to her inlight and cheerful strains, telling her wonderful things he had seenduring his voyage, of the sunsets at sea, of a marvelous rainbow whichonce spanned the sky from east to west, and of many curious mirageswhich he had witnessed. He always talked to the child of nature,knowing how she understood nature, and those things which are thespecial heritage of the innocent of the earth, and she was as happyduring those two peaceful days as it was ever the lot of little mortalto be.

  But, in particular, when Mrs. Ogilvie entered the sick room didOgilvie go out. He had during those two days not a single word ofprivate talk with his wife. To Miss Winstead he was always polite andtolerant; to nurse he was more than polite, he was kind, and to Sibylhe was all in all, everything that father could be, everything thatlove could imagine. He kept himself, his wounded conscience, hisfears, his heavy burden of sin in abeyance for the sake of thefast-fleeting little life, because he willed, with all the strengthof his nature, to give the child every comfort that lay in his powerduring her last moments.

  But the peaceful days could not last long. They came to an end withthe big bazaar. The band ceased to play on the lawn, the pleasureboats ceased to ply up and down the Thames, the lovely Indian summerpassed into duller weather, the equinoctial gales visited the land,and Ogilvie knew that he must brace himself for something he had longmade up his mind to accomplish. He must pass out of this time ofquiet into a time of storm. He had known from the first that he mustdo this, but until the bazaar came to an end, by a sort of tacitconsent, neither the child nor the man talked of the gold mine.

  But now the guests having gone, even Lady Helen Douglas and LordGrayleigh having left the house, Ogilvie knew that he must act.

  On the morning of the third day after his return Mrs. Ogilvie enteredSibyl's room. She came in quietly looking pale and at the same timejubilant. The result of the bazaar was a large check which was to besent off that day to the Home for Incurables at Watleigh. Mrs. Ogilviefelt herself a very good and charitable woman indeed. She wore hervery prettiest dress and had smiles in her dark eyes.

  "Oh! my ownest darling mother, how sweet you look!" said little Sibyl."Come and kiss me, darling mother."

  Mrs. Ogilvie had to bend forward to catch the failing voice. She askedthe child what she said. Sibyl feebly repeated her words.

  "Don't tire her," said Ogilvie; "if you cannot hear, be satisfied toguess. The child wishes you to kiss her."

  Mrs. Ogilvie turned on her husband a look of reproach. There was anexpression in her eyes which seemed to say: "And you think that I, amother, do not understand my own child." But Ogilvie would not meethis wife's eyes. He walked to one of the windows and looked out. Thelittle, white couch had been moved a trifle out of the window now thatthe weather was getting chilly, and a screen was put up to protect thechild from any draught.

  Ogilvie stood and looked across the garden. Where the marquee hadstood the grass was already turning yellow, there were wisps of strawabout; the scene without seemed to him to be full with desolation.Suddenly he turned, walked to the fireplace, and stirred the fire intoa blaze. At that moment Miss Winstead entered the room.

  "Miss Winstead," said Ogilvie, "will you sit with Sibyl for a shorttime? Mildred, I should like a word with you alone."

  His voice was cheerful, but quite firm. He went up to Sibyl and kissedher.

  "I shall soon be back, my little love," he said, and she kissed himand smiled, and watched both parents as they went out of the room.

  "Isn't it wonderful," she said, turning to her governess, "how perfectthey both are! I don't know which is most perfect; only, of course Ican't help it, but I like father's way best."

  "I should think you did," replied Miss Winstead. "Shall I go onreading you the new fairy tale, Sibyl?"

  "Not to-day, thank you, Miss Winstead," answered Sibyl.

  "Then what shall I read?"

  "I don't think anything, just now. Father has been reading the mostbeautiful inciting things about a saint called John, who wrote a storyabout the New Jerusalem. Did you ever read it?"

  "You mean a story out of the Bible, from the Book of Revelation?"

  "Perhaps so; I don't quite know what part of the Bible. Oh, it's mostwonderful inciting, and father reads so splendid. It's about whathappens to people when their wings are grown long. Did you never readabout it, Miss Winstead? The New Jerusalem _is_ so lovely, withstreets paved with gold, same as the gold in the gold mine, you know,and gates all made of big pearls, each gate one big whole pearl. Iwon't ask you to read about it, 'cos I like father's way of readingbest; but it's all most wonderful and beautiful."

  The child lay with a smile on her face. She could see a little wayacross the garden from where she lay.

  Meanwhile Ogilvie and his wife had gone downstairs. When they reachedthe wide ce
ntral hall, he asked her to accompany him into a roomwhich was meant to be a library. It looked out toward the back of thehouse, and was not quite in the same absolute order as the otherbeautiful rooms were in. Ogilvie perhaps chose it for that reason.

  The moment they had both got into the room he closed the door, andturned and faced his wife.

  "Now, Mildred," he said, "I wish to understand--God knows I am thelast person who ought to reproach you--but I must clearly understandwhat this means."

  "What it means?" she repeated. "Why do you speak in that tone? Oh,it's very fine to say you do not mean to reproach me, but your eyesand the tone of your voice reproach me. You have been very cruel tome, Philip, these last two days. What I have suffered, God only knows.I have gone through the most fearful strain; I, alone, unaided by you,have had to keep the bazaar going, to entertain our distinguishedguests, to be here, there, and everywhere, but, thank goodness, we didcollect a nice little sum for the Home for Incurables. I wonder,Philip, when you think of your own dear little daughter, and what shemay----"

  "Hush!" said the man.

  Mrs. Ogilvie paused in her rapid flow of words, and looked at him withinterrogation in her eyes.

  "I refuse to allow Sibyl's name to enter into this matter," he said."You did what you did, God knows with what motive. I don't care, and Ido not mean to inquire. The question I have now to ask is, what is themeaning of _this_?" As he spoke he waved his hand round the room, andthen pointed to the grounds outside.

  "Silverbel!" she cried; "but I wrote to you and told you the place wasin the market. I even sent you a cablegram. Oh, of course, I forgot,you rushed away from Brisbane in a hurry. You received the othercablegram about little Sibyl?"

  "Yes, I received the other cablegram, and, as you say, I rushed home.But why are you here? Have you taken the house for the season, orwhat?"

  Mrs. Ogilvie gave an excited scream, ending off in a laugh.

  "Why, we have bought Silverbel," she cried; "you are, you must bepleased. Mr. Acland lent me enough money for the first deposit, andyou have just come back in time, my dear Phil, to pay the final sumdue at the end of October, eighteen thousand pounds. Quite a triflecompared to the fortune you must have brought back with you. Then,of course, there is also the furniture to be paid for, but thetradespeople are quite willing to wait. We are rich, dear Phil, andI am so happy about it."

  "Rich!" he answered. He did not say another word for a moment, then hewent slowly up to his wife, and took her hand.

  "Mildred," he said slowly, "do you realize--do you at all realize thefact that the child is dying?"

  "Nonsense," she answered, starting back.

  "The child is dying," repeated Ogilvie, "and when the child dies, anymotive that I ever had for amassing gold, or any of those things whichare considered essential to the worldly man's happiness, _goes out_.After the child is taken, I have no desire to live as a wealthy man,as a man of society, as a man of means. Life to me is reduced to thesmallest possible modicum of interest. When I went to Queensland, Iwent there because I wished to secure money for the child. I didbitter wrong, and God is punishing me, but I sinned for her sake.... Inow repent of my sin, and repentance means----"

  "What?" she asked, looking at him with round, dilated eyes.

  "Restitution," he replied; "all the restitution that lies in mypower."

  "You--you terrify me," said Mrs. Ogilvie; "what are you talking about?Restitution! What have you to give back?"

  "Listen, and I will explain. You knew, Mildred--oh, yes, you knew itwell enough--that I went to Australia on no honorable mission. You didnot care to inquire, you hid yourself behind a veil of pretendedignorance; but you _knew_--yes, you did, and you dare not denyit--that I went to Queensland to commit a crime. It would implicateothers if I were to explain things more fully. I will not implicateothers, I will stand alone now, in this bitter moment when the fruitof my sin is brought home to me. I will bear the responsibility of myown sin. I will not drag anybody else down in my fall, but it issufficient for you to know, Mildred, that the Lombard Deeps Mine as aspeculation is worthless."

  "Worthless!" she cried, "impossible!"

  "Worthless," he repeated.

  "Then why, why did you send a cablegram to say the mine was full ofgold? Lord Grayleigh told me he had received such a message from you."

  "I told a dastardly lie, which I am about to put straight."

  "But, but," she began, her lips white, her eyes shining, "if you donot explain away your lie (oh, Phil, it is such an ugly word), if youdo not explain it away, could not the company be floated?"

  "It could, and the directors could reap a fortune by means of it. Doyou understand, Mildred, what that implies?"

  "Do I understand?" she replied. "No, I was always a poor little womanwho had no head for figures."

  "Nevertheless you will, I think, take it in when I explain. You arenot quite so stupid as you make yourself out. The directors and Icould make a fortune--it would be easy, for there is enough goldin the mine to last for at least six months, and the public arecredulous, and can be taken in. We should make our fortunes out of thewidows and orphans, out of the savings of the poor clerks, and fromthe clergyman's tiny stipend. We could sweep in their little earnings,and aggrandize our own wealth and importance, and _lose our souls_.Yes, Mildred, we could, but we won't. I shall prevent that. I have atask before me which will save this foulest crime from beingcommitted."

  Mrs. Ogilvie dropped into a chair; she burst into hysterical weeping.

  "What you say can't be true, Phil. Oh, Phil, darling, do have mercy."

  "How?" he asked.

  "Don't do anything so mad, so rash. You always had such a queer,troublesome sort of conscience. Phil, I cannot stand poverty, I cannotstand being dragged down; I must have this place; I have set my hearton it."

  He came up to her and took both her hands.

  "Is it worth evil?" he asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Is anything under the sun worth evil?" She made no answer. He droppedher hands and left the room.