Dr Trevor rejoiced in his son’s success, and warmly congratulated him on having had so short a time to wait for an opening. He took a man’s view of life, and felt that it was time that Miles faced the world on his own account; but the youth faded out of the mother’s face as she sat in her corner and listened to the conversation.
“Luck!” They called it luck that Miles, her darling, should be sent to the other side of the world, to a wild, dare-devil country, the very name of which up a dozen thrilling tales of adventure. “A five years’ appointment!” The words rang like a in her ears!
Of course, she had known all along that a separation must come, but she had hoped against hope that an opening might be found somewhere within the borders of the United Kingdom, when she would still be able to feel within reach in case of need. Now it was indeed good-bye, since it must at best be a matter of years before she could hope for another meeting. Oh, this stirring up of the nest, how it tears the mother’s heart!
Mrs Trevor looked across the room to where Miles stood, almost as tall and broad as the doctor himself, and her thoughts flew back to the time when he was a little curly-headed boy who he would never leave his mother. “I won’t never get married,” he had announced one day. “You shall be my wife. You are daddy’s wife, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t be wife to both your darlin’s!” Another day—“I’ll stay with you all my life, and when you’re a nold, nold woman I’ll wheel you about in a Barf chair.” Later on had come the time when the first dawning of future responsibility began to weigh on the childish mind—“I can’t sink how I can ever make pennies like daddy does! I can’t write proper letters like grown-ups do, only the printed ones!” he had sighed, and she had bidden him be a good boy and do his best for the day, leaving the future in God’s hand. “God will give you your work!” she had told him; and how she and his father had rejoiced together when his absorption in a box of tools, and his therewith, had out a congenial career. She had prayed and trusted for guidance in bringing up this dear son, and that being so, she must now believe that the offered post was the right thing, and that the distant land was just the very spot of all others where God wished him to be.
When Miles turned to his mother, she had a smile in readiness for him, and if it were rather tremulous, it was none the less sweet. She would not allow herself to break down, but threw herself heart and soul into a study of the Stores’ list, which could not be delayed another day, seeing that it was suggested that Miles should sail in a week’s time. A week! Only one week! Was it really possible that the following day was the last Sunday which would see a united family circle round the table?
Every female member of the household shed tears on their pillows that evening, and Betty was convinced that she had lain awake all night long, because she had actually heard the clock strike one. Mrs Trevor’s vigil was real, not imaginary, and she was thankful when it was time to get up, and get ready for that quiet early service at church which would be her best preparation for the week. Her hard-worked husband was sleeping soundly, and she would not waken him, but a feeling of unusual sadness and loneliness oppressed her as she made her way through the silent house. She had depended so much on her big strong boy, had grown into the habit of consulting him on many matters, in which, by her, he could save his father trouble. That was all over now. She must learn to do without Miles’ aid! And then suddenly from behind the dining-room door a big figure stepped forward to meet her, and Miles’ voice said, in half-shamefaced tones—
“I thought—I’d come too! I thought we’d go together!”
“Oh, Miles!” cried his mother, and could say no more, but her heart leapt with thankfulness for all that that action meant—for this sign that her boy was anxious to dedicate himself afresh to Christ’s service at the beginning of his new life. She passed her hand through his arm, and they went out of the house together, unconscious of the presence of a third figure which had looked down at them from an upper landing.
Betty had to fresh tears, and, hearing her mother stirring, had hurried into her clothes, so as to accompany her to church; but in the very act of slipping downstairs Miles’ voice had arrested her, and she had back into the shadow. The Betty of a year ago would have continued her course unabashed; the Betty of to-day divined with a new that her presence would the sacredness of that last Communion of mother and son, and turned back quietly to her own room.
The days flew. The first mornings were spent at the Stores, choosing, ordering, and fitting; the afternoons in marking and packing the different possessions as they arrived. Then there were farewell visits to be paid, and to receive, and a score of letters and presents to acknowledge. Relations turned up , and sent contributions towards the outfit in money and in kind; the General presented a handsome double-barrelled fowling-piece, which thrilled Miles with delight and his mother with horror. Miss Beveridge gave a “housewife” stocked with all sorts of mending materials—fancy Miles darning his own socks!—and Cynthia Alliot sent across a case containing one of the most perfect quarter-plate cameras that ever was seen.
“When this you see,
Send snaps to me!”
was on the inner wrapping, which Miles quietly folded and put away in his pocket. He would not need the camera or any external aid to help him to remember his
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