It was on a very cold day of the cold spring of 1879 that three ladies descended at the Liverpool station, escorted by a military-looking gentleman. He left them standing while he made inquiries, but his servant had anticipated him. “The steamer has been signalled, my Lord. It will be in about four o’clock.”

“There will be time to go to the hotel and secure rooms,” said one lady.

“Oh, Reeves can do that. Pray let us come down to the docks and see them come in.”

No answer till all four were seated in a fly, rattling through the street, but on the repetition of “Are we going to the docks?” his Lordship, with a resolute twirl of his long, light moustache, replied, “No, Sydney. If you think I am going to have you making a scene on deck, falling on your husband’s breast, and all that sort of thing, you are much mistaken! I shall lodge you all quietly in the hotel, and you may wait there, while I go down with Reeves, and receive them like a rational being.”

“Really, Cecil, that’s too bad. He let me come on board!”

“Do you think I should have brought you here if I had thought you meant to make yourself ridiculous?”

“It is of no use, Sydney,” said Babie; “there’s no dealing with the stern and staid pere de famille. I wonder what he would have liked Essie to do, if he had had to go and leave her for nearly two months when he had only been married a week?”

“Essie is quite a different thing—I mean she has sense and self-possession.”

“Mamma, won’t you speak for us?” implored Sydney. “I did behave so well when he went! Nobody would have guessed we hadn’t been married fifty years.”

“Still I think Cecil is quite right, and that it may be better for them all to manage the landing quietly.”

“Without a pack of women,” said Cecil. “Here we are! I hope you will find a tolerable room for him and no stairs.”

As if poor Mrs. Evelyn were not well enough used to choosing rooms for invalids!

Twilight had come, the gas had been turned on, and the three anxious ladies stood in the window gazing vainly at endless vehicles, when the door opened and they beheld sundry figures entering.

Sydney and Barbara flew, the one to her husband, the other to her mother, and presently all stood round the fire looking at one another. Mrs. Evelyn made a gesture to a very slender and somewhat pale figure to sit down in a large easy chair.

“Thank you, I’m not tired,” he briskly said, standing with a caressing hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Here’s Cecil can’t quite believe yet that I have the use of my limbs.”

“Yes,” said John, “no sooner did he come on board, than he made a rush at the poor sailor who had broken his leg, and was going to be carried ashore on a hammock. He was on the point of embracing him, red beard and all, when he was forcibly dragged off by Jock himself whom he nearly knocked down.”

“Well,” said Cecil, as Sydney fairly danced round him in revengeful glee, “there was the Monk solicitously lifting him on one side, and Mother Carey assisting with a smelling-bottle on the other, so what could I suppose?”

“All for want of us,” said Sydney.

“And think of the cunning of him,” added Babie; “shutting us up here that he might give way to his feelings undisturbed!”

“I promised to go and speak about that poor fellow at the hospital,” cried John, with sudden recollection.

“You had better let me,” said Jock.

“You will stay where you are.”

“I consider him my patient.”

“If that’s the way you two fought over your solitary case all the way home,” said Babie, “I wonder there’s a fragment left of him.”

“It was only three days ago,” said John, “and Jock has been a new man ever since he picked the poor fellow up on deck, but I’m not going to let him stir to-night.”

“Let me come with you, Johnny,” entreated Sydney; “it will be so nice! Oh, no, I don’t mind the cold!”

“Here,” added her brother, “take the poor fellow a sovereign.”

“In compensation for the sudden cooling of your affection,” said Jock. “Well, if it is an excuse for an excursion with Sydney I’ll not interfere, but ask him for his sister’s address in London, for I promised to tell her about him.”

“Oh,” cried Babie, at the word ‘London,’ “then you have heard from Dr. Medlicott?”

“I did once,” said John, “with some very useful suggestions, but that was a month ago or more.”

“I meant,” said Babie, “a letter he wrote for the chance of Jock’s getting it before he sailed. There’s the assistant lectureship vacant, and the Professor would not like anyone so much. It is his own appointment, not an election matter, and he meant to keep it open till he could get an answer from Jock.”

“When was this?” asked Jock, flushing with eagerness.

“The 20th. Dr. Medlicott came down to Fordham for Sunday, to ask if it was worth while to telegraph, or if I thought you would be well enough. It is not much of a salary, but it is a step, and Dr. Medlicott knows they would put you on the staff of the hospital, and then you are open to anything.”

Jock drew a long breath and looked at his mother. “The very thing I’ve wished,” he said.

“Exactly. Must he answer at once?”

“The Professor would like a telegram, yes or no, at once.”

“Then, you wedded Monk, will you add to your favours by telegraphing for me?”

“Yes. Of course it is ‘Yes’. How soon should you have to begin, I wonder?”

“Oh, I’m quite cheeky enough for that sort of work. If you’ll telegraph, I’ll write by to-night’s post.”

“I’ll go and do the telegraphing,” said Cecil; “I don’t trust those two.”

“As if John ever made mistakes,” cried Sydney.

“In fact, I want to send a telegram home.”

“To frighten Essie. She will get a yellow envelope saying you accept a lectureship, and the Professor urgent inquiries after his baby.”

“Sydney is getting too obstreperous, Monk,” said Cecil. “You had better carry her off. I shall come back by the time you have written your letters, Jock.”

“Those two are too happy to do anything but tease one another,” said Mrs. Evelyn, as the door shut on the three. “My rival grandmother, as Babie calls her, was really quite glad to get rid of Cecil; she declared he would excite Esther into a fever.”

“He did alarm Her Serenity herself,” said Babie, laughing. “When she would go on about grand sponsors and ancestral names, he told her that he should carry the baby off to Church and have him christened Jock out of hand, and what a dreadful thing that would be for the peerage. I believe she thought he meant it.”

“The name is to be John,” said Mrs. Evelyn—“John Marmaduke. He has secured his godmother”—laying a hand affectionately on Babie—“but I must not forestall his request to his two earliest and best friends.”

“Dear old fellow!” murmured Jock.

“Everybody is somewhat frantic,” said Barbara.

“Jock’s varieties of classes were almost distracted and besieged the door, till Susan was fain to stick the last bulletins in the window to save answering the bell; then no sooner did they hear he was better than they began getting up a testimonial. Percy Stagg wrote to me, to ask for his crest for some piece of plate, and I wrote back that I was sure Dr. Lucas Brownlow would like it best to go in something for the Mission Church; and if they wanted to give him something for his very own, suppose they got him a brass plate for the door?”

“Bravo, Infanta; that was an inspiration!”

“So they are to give an alms-dish, and Ali and Elfie give the rest of the plate. Dr. Medlicott says he never saw anything like the feeling at the hospital, or does not know what the nurses don’t mean to get up by way of welcome.”

“My dear Babie, you must let Jock write his letters,” interposed her mother, who had tears in her eyes and saw him struggling with emotion. “In spite of your magnificent demonstrations, Jock, you must repair your charms by lying down.”

She followed him into his room, which opened from the sitting-room, and he turned to her, speaking from a full heart. “Oh, mother! It seems all given to me, the old home, the very post I wished for, and all this kindness, just when I thought I had taken leave of it all.” He sobbed once or twice for very joy.

“You are sure it suits you?”

“If I only can suit it equally well! Oh, I see what you mean. That is over now. I suppose the fever burnt it out of me, for it does not hurt me now to see the dear old Monk beaming on her. I am glad she came, for I can feel sure of myself now. So there’s nothing at present to come between me and my Mother Carey. Thanks, mother, I’ll just fire off my two notes; and establish myself luxuriously before Cecil comes back! I say, this is the best inn’s best room. Poor Mrs. Evelyn must have thought herself providing for Fordham. Oh yes, I shall gladly lie down when these notes are done, but this is not a chance to be neglected. Now, Deo gratias, it will be my own fault if Magnum Bonum is not worked out to the utmost; yes, much better than if we had never gone to America. Even Bobus owns that all things have worked together for good!”

His mother, with another look at the face, so joyous though still so wasted and white, went back to the other room, with an equally happy though scarcely less worn countenance.

“I hope he is resting,” said Mrs. Evelyn. “Are you quite satisfied about him?”

“Fully. He may not be strong for a year or two, and must be careful not to overtask himself, but John made him see one of the greatest physicians in New York, to whom Dr. Medlicott had sent letters of introduction—as if they were needed, he said, after Jock’s work at Abville. He said, as John did, there was no lasting damage to the heart, and that the attack was the consequence of having been brought so low; but he will be as strong and healthy as ever, if he will only be careful as to exertion for a year or so. This appointment is the very thing to save him. I know his friends will look after him and keep him from doing too much. Dr. —— was quite grieved that he had no notion how ill Jock had been, or he would have come to Ashton. Any of the faculty would, he said, for one of the ‘true chivalry of 1878.’ And he was so excited about the Magnum Bonum.”

“Do you think you and he can bear to crown our great thanksgiving feast?”

“My dear, my heart is all one thanksgiving!”

“Cecil’s rejoicing is quite as much for Jock’s sake as over his boy. He told me how they had been pledged as brothers in arms, and traces all that is best in himself to those days at Engelberg.”

“Yes, that night on the mountain was the great starting-point, thanks to dear little Armine.”

“I am writing to him and to Allen,” said Barbara from a corner.

“My love a thousand times, and we will meet at home!”

“Then our joy will not feel incongruous to you?” said Mrs. Evelyn.

“No, I am too thankful for what I know of my poor Janet. She is mine now as she never was since she was a baby in my arms. I scarcely grieve, for happiness was over for her, and hers was a noble death. They have placed her name in the memorial tablet in Abville Church, to those who laid down their lives for their brethren there. I begged it might be, ‘Janet Hermann, daughter of Joseph Brownlow’—for I thank God she died worthy of her father. In all ways I can say of this journey, my children were dead and are alive again, were lost and are found.”

“Ah! I was sure it must be so, if such a girl as Miss Ashton could accept Robert.”

“I am happier about him than I ever thought to be. I do not say that his faith is like John’s or Armine’s, but he is striving back through the mists, and wishing to believe, rather than being proud of disbelieving, and Primrose knows what she is doing, and is aiding him with all her power.”

“As our Esther never could have done,” said Mrs. Evelyn, “except by her gentle innocence.”

“No. She could only have been to him a pretty white idol of his own setting up,” said Babie.

“Now,” added her mother, “Primrose is fairly on equal grounds as to force and intellect. She has been all over Europe, read and thought much, and can discuss deep matters, while the depth of her religious principle impresses him. They fought themselves into love, and then she was sorry for him, and so touched by his wretchedness and longing to take hold of the comfort his reason could not accept. I wish you could have seen her. This photograph shows you her fine head; but not the beautiful clear complexion, and the sweetness of those dark grey eyes!”

“I liked her letter,” said Babie, “and I am glad she was such a daughter to you, mother. Allen says he is thankful she is not a Japanese with black teeth.”

“He wrote very nicely to her, and so did Elfie,” said her mother. “And Armine wrote a charming little note, which pleased Primrose best of all.”

“Poor Armine has felt all most deeply,” said Babie. “Do you remember when he thought it his mission to die and do good to Bobus? Well, he was sure that, though, as he said, his own life then was too shallow and unreal for his death to have done any good, Jock was meant to produce the effect.”

“And he has—”

“Yes, but by life, not death! Armie could hardly believe it. You know he was with us at Christmas; and when he found that Bobus was to be led not by sorrow, but by this Primrose path, it was quite funny to see how surprised he was.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Evelyn, “he went about moralising on the various remedies that are applied to the needs of human nature.”

“It made into a poem at last, such a pretty one,” said Babie. “And he says he will be wiser all his life for finding things turn out so unlike all his expectations.”

“I have a strange feeling of peace about all my children,” said Caroline. “I do feel as if my dream had come true, and life, true life, had wakened them all.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Evelyn, “I think they all, in their degree, may be said to have learnt or be learning the way to true Magnum Bonum.”

“And oh! how precious it has been to me,” said the mother. “How the guarding of that secret aided me through the worst of times!”

THE END.