A Bachelor Husband by Ruby M. Ayres
CHRIS took Marie abroad immediately, and for a year they stayedaway from England and its many poignant memories.
They wintered in the South of France, and spent the late spring inSwitzerland.
"I should like to take you to Italy," Chris said one day, but Marieshook her head.
"No--not Italy--I never want to go there."
He wondered a little at the time, and it was only some daysafterwards that he understood, and the old jealousy of his friendthat still slumbered deep in his heart stirred.
He knew that Feathers' death had left a mark on Marie's life thatneither time nor the greatness of his love could ever quite efface;sometimes still, its memory would rise up like a great black waveand overwhelm her.
And yet she was happy--happier than she had ever been in her life,even though she felt she was looking at life and the beauties ofthe world through the sad eyes of a bitter experience.
It was a surprise to Chris when one day she told him that she wouldlike to go back to England. It was early June then, and they wereat Lucerne, and the snow was beginning to melt on the mountainsides, and little bright colored flowers were springing upeverywhere.
The desire to return had often been in Chris' heart, but not forthe world would he have said so. Marie was everything in his lifenow--he could not bear her out of his sight.
"Tired of Lucerne?" he asked.
"No--but I think I would like to go home."
"London in June is appalling," Chris said. "Why not stay on here amonth or two longer and then go up to Scotland. You've never beento Scotland, Marie Celeste?"
He watched her with moody eyes as he made the deliberatesuggestions. Was she going to shrink from that too, on account ofits memories, as she had done from Italy? But to his relief sheagreed.
"Yes--I should like that."
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips.
"Scotland be it then," he said happily. "I know a ripping littleplace, right up in the mountains at a place called . . ." He rubbedhis head boyishly. "Dashed if I can remember the name," he said.
Marie laughed.
"I shall be happy enough, whatever its name is," she told him.
But it was October before they finally went back, and the heatherwas paling, and the sunsets were wonderful when at last theysettled down amongst the mountains and the silence.
The little house in the hills was all that Chris had claimed forit, and the windows of Marie's rooms looked right out on to amountain gorge, and a little noisy stream of water.
"Happy, Marie Celeste?" Chris asked one evening, coming into theroom and finding her at the window, her face rather grave in thesunset light.
He put an arm round her waist. "Quite happy?" he asked anxiously.
She turned her face, stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
"I was thinking about Aunt Madge!--I wonder if she knows that--thateverything's all right."
"Is it--all right?" he asked, jealously.
She looked away from him to the wonderful sunset.
"Don't you know that it is?" she asked.
There was a little silence, and her thoughts went wistfully toFeathers.
He had always said she would be happy some day--she was happy now.
But it seemed impossible that he was really dead--she could neverthink of him as dead but always as she had known him, so full ofhealth and vigor, and cheeriness, and with the old faithful look inhis eyes. She gave a quick sigh and Chris said anxiously:
"Have you got everything you want in the world, Marie Celeste?"
She laughed and blushed, rubbing her cheek against his coat.
"I think perhaps I shall have--some day," she said.
He held her at arm's length.
"What do you mean, Marie Celeste?"
She disengaged herself gently from him, and turning, opened an oldchest that stood at the foot of the bed. She pulled out somethingwhite and soft and woolly and held it to him.
"Look, Chris?"
He looked, and the color deepened in his face.
"What is it, Marie Celeste?" he asked very gently.
But he knew quite well that it was Miss Chester's shawl.
THE END