For a few moments Lady Ruthven was silent, her mind going back swiftly to long gone years. "No, dear," she said gently; "I have much to be thankful for. It was a hard lesson and slowly learned, but He was patient and bore long with me. And He is still bearing."
"Tell me how you learned," asked Iola timidly, and then Lady Ruthven told her life story, without tears, without repinings, while Iola wondered. That story Iola never forgot, and the influence of it never departed from her. Never were the days quite so bad again, but every day while she struggled to subdue her impatience even in thought, she kept looking for word from across the sea with a longing so intense that all in the house came to share it with her.
"Oh! if we only knew where to get him!" groaned Jack Charrington to her one day, for to Jack, who was the only link with her happy past, she had opened her heart. "Why does he keep away?" he added bitterly.
"It is my fault, Jack," she replied. "He is not to blame. No one is to blame but me. But he will come some day. I feel sure he will come, I only hope he may be in time. He would greatly grieve if--"
"Hush, Iola. Don't say it. I can't bear to have you say it. You are getting better. Why, you walked out yesterday quite smartly."
"Some days I am so well," she replied, unwilling to grieve him. "I would like him to see me first on one of my good days. I am sure to hear soon now."
They had hardly turned to enter the house when they saw a messenger wearing the uniform of the Telegraph Department approaching.
"Oh, Jack!" she cried, "there it is!"
"Come, Iola," said Jack, almost sternly, "come in and sit down."
So saying, he brought her into the library and made her recline upon the couch, in that sunny room near the window where many of her waking hours were spent.
It was Alan who took the message. They all followed him into the library. "Shall I open it?" he asked, with an anxious look at Iola.
"Yes," she said faintly, laying both hands upon her heart.
Lady Ruthven came to her side. "Iola, darling," she said, taking both her hands in hers, "it is good to feel that God's arms are about us always."
"Yes, dear Lady Ruthven," replied the girl, regaining her composure; "I'm learning. I'm not afraid."
Opening, Alan read the message, smiled, and handed it to her. She read the slip, handed it to Jack, closed her eyes, and, smiling, lay back upon her couch. "God is good," she whispered, as Lady Ruthven bent over her. "You were right. Teach me how to trust Him better."
"Are you all right, Iola?" said Jack, anxiously feeling her pulse.
"Quite right, Jack, dear," she said.
"Then hooray!" cried Jack, starting up. "Let's see, 'Coming Silurian seventh. Barney.'" he read aloud. "The seventh was yesterday. Six days. She'll be in on the thirteenth. Ought to be here by Monday at latest."
"Saturday, Jack," said Iola, opening her eyes.
"Well, we'll plan for Monday. We're not going to be disappointed.
Meantime, you're not to fret." And he frowned sternly down upon her.
"Fret?" she cried, looking up brightly. "Never more, Jack. I shall never fret again in all my life. I'm going to build up for these five days, every hour, every minute. I want Barney to see me well."
It was a marvel to all the house how she kept her word. Every hour, every minute, she appeared to gain strength. She ate with relish and slept like a child. The old feverish restlessness left her, and she laid aside many of her invalid ways.
"You are going down to Glasgow to-morrow, I suppose, Charrington?" said Alan on Thursday, after the Silurian had been reported.
"I've just been thinking," replied Jack, with careful deliberation, "that it would be almost better you should go, Ruthven. You see you're the man of the house, and it would be easier for a stranger to tell him."
"Come, Charrington," replied his friend, "you don't often play the coward. You've simply got to go. But why should you tell?"
"Tell? He'll see it in my face. That last report of Bruce Fraser's he would read in my eyes. I see the ghastly words yet, 'Quite hopeless. Heart seriously involved. Cannot be long delayed.' I say, old man, I suppose I ought to go, but you've got to come along and make talk. I'll simply blubber right out when I see him. You know I'm awfully fond of the old boy."
"I say, Charrington, I've got it! Take my aunt with you."
Jack gasped. "By Jove! The very thing! It's rough on her, but she's the saintly kind that delights to bear other people's burdens."
And so it was arranged that Jack and Lady Ruthven should meet the boat and bring Barney, with all speed, to Ruthven Hall.
At the Silurian's gangway Jack received his friend with outstretched hands, crying, "Barney, old boy, we're glad to see you! Here, let me present you to Lady Ruthven, at whose house Iola is staying." With feverish haste he hurried Barney through the crowds, bustling hither and thither about his luggage and giving himself not a moment for conversation till they were seated in the first-class apartment carriage that was to carry them to Craigraven. But they had hardly got settled in their places when the conversation, in spite of all Jack's efforts, dropped to silence.
"You have bad news for me," said Barney, looking Lady Ruthven steadily in the face. "Has anything happened?"
"No, Dr. Boyle," replied Lady Ruthven, a little more quickly than was her wont, "but--" and here she paused, shrinking from delivering the mortal stab, "but we are anxious about our dear Iola."
"Tell me the worst, Lady Ruthven," said Barney.
"That is all. We are very anxious. It is her lungs chiefly and her heart. But she is very bright and very hopeful. It is better she should be kept so."
Barney listened with face growing grey, his eyes looking out of their deep sockets with the piteous, mute appeal of an animal stricken to death. He moistened his lips and tried to speak, but, failing, kept his eyes fixed on Lady Ruthven's face as if seeking relief. Charrington turned his head away.
"We feel thankful for her great courage," said Lady Ruthven, in her sweet, calm voice, "and for her peace of mind."
