The end of the war! What might that not mean to all of them? She had a sudden, joyful thought that it might bring the return of—of some one, then her conscience smote her that her first thought had been for herself. How happy Stephen looked, how he was resting after all this heavy labour and weary waiting!
She sat down beside him to wait patiently until he should awake and they could enjoy the great news together. For some time she sat there, very quietly, watching the slow sunshine creep up along his hand and arm and finally touch his smiling face and his white hair. How young he still looked, somehow, and how boyish in spite of all the years.
She waited happily, she could not tell how long. It was not until Mère Jeanne came in, not until she saw the old Frenchwoman’s face suddenly grow white and heard her cry—
“Ah, the good angels protect us now!” that she realised that the peaceful sleep into which Stephen had fallen was of the sort that lasts forever.
“To my dear foster-child, called Clotilde Lamotte, but who, if she carries out my wish, will call herself Clotilde Sheffield until she changes that name for another, I leave all my possessions in and near the town of Hopewell and in her especial charge I place that plot of ground that has long been called Master Simon’s garden. I leave behind me no directions as to how she is to care for that garden, since I know that she will tend and cherish it as lovingly as would I myself. I give her with it my blessing and I bid her be of good heart and not disappoint Master Simon.”
It was this portion of Stephen’s will, read to her by the staid old lawyer, that made Clotilde smile, even through her tears. “Not to disappoint Master Simon” had been a byword between herself and her dear Master Sheffield whenever the world looked dark and it seemed hard to face the future with courage. So, with as brave a spirit as she could muster, she set out to fulfil his wishes.
There was still much, so very much hard work for her to do. Although the surrender at Yorktown had marked the practical end of the fighting, the negotiations for peace had dragged on, the country could not settle down and want and poverty must still be bravely faced. The little town of Hopewell, while it looked more cheerful and began to wear an air of greater prosperity, was still full of women who had lost the mainstay of their families, of men whose means of livelihood had been swept away, of others wounded or suffering who needed a hand to set them on their feet again. From cottage to cottage Clotilde went, giving freely of her help in advice, money and the products of her lands. The time had not yet come for the finishing of Stephen’s house or the replanting of Master Simon’s garden.