316
WYLDER'S HAND.
One night, after a long talk in the morning with good
William Wylder, and great dejection following, all on a
sudden, Rachel sat up in her bed, and in a pleasant voice,
and looking more like herself than she had for many
months, she said —
"I think I have found the true way out of my troubles,
Tamar. At every sacrifice to be quite honest; and to
that, Tamar, I have made up my mind at last, thank God.
Come, Tamar, and kiss me, for I am free once more."
So that night passed peacefully.
Rachel — a changed Rachel still — though more like
her early self, was now in the tiny garden of Redman's
Farm. The early spring was already showing its bright
green through the brown of winter, and sun and shower
alternating, and the gay gossipping of sweet birds among
the branches, were calling the young creation from its
slumbers. The air was so sharp, so clear so sunny, the
mysterious sense of coming life so invigorating, and the
sounds and aspect of nature so rejoicing, that Rachel with
her gauntlets on, her white basket of flower seeds, her
trowel, and all her garden implements beside her, felt her
own spring of life return, and rejoiced in the glad hour
that shone round her.
Lifting up her eyes, she saw Lord Chelford looking over
the little gate.
"What a charming day," said he, with his pleasant
smile, raising his hat, "and how very pleasant to see you
at your pretty industry again."
As Rachel came forward in her faded gardening cos-
tume, an old silk shawl about her shoulders, and hoodwise
over her head, somehow very becoming, there was a blush
— he could not help seeing it — on her young face, and
for a moment her fine eyes dropped, and she looked up,
smiling a more thoughtful, sadder smile than in old days.