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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16453-8.txt b/16453-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..618fab5 --- /dev/null +++ b/16453-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9201 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Measure of a Man, by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Measure of a Man + +Author: Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr + +Illustrator: Frank T. Merrill + +Release Date: August 6, 2005 [EBook #16453] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEASURE OF A MAN *** + + + + +Produced by Polly Stratton, Charles Aldarondo and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: "Holding Bendigo's bridle, he had walked with her to the +Harlow residence." Page 43.] + + + + +THE MEASURE +OF A MAN + +BY + +AMELIA E. BARR + +AUTHOR OF "THE BOW OF ORANGE RIBBON," +"PLAYING WITH FIRE," "THE WINNING OF LUCIA," ETC. + +ILLUSTRATED BY +FRANK T. MERRILL + +D. APPLETON AND COMPANY +NEW YORK AND LONDON + +1915 + + + + +WITH SINCERE ESTEEM +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK +TO + +MRS. ARTHUR ROBERTS + +OF +EVANSTON, ILLINOIS + + + + +PREFACE + + +My Friends: + +I had a purpose in writing this novel. It was to honor and magnify the +sweetness and dignity of the condition of Motherhood, and of those +womanly virtues and graces, which make the Home the cornerstone of the +Nation. For it is not with modern Americans, as it was with the old +Greek and Roman world. They put the family below the State, and the +citizen absorbed the man. On the contrary, we know, that just as the +Family principle is strong the heart of the Nation is sound. "Give me +one domestic grace," said a famous leader of men, "and I will turn it +into a hundred public virtues." + +A Home, however splendidly appointed, is ill furnished without the sound +of children's voices; and the patter of children's feet. It may be +strictly orderly, but it is silent and forlorn; and has an air of +solitude. Solitude is a great affliction, and Domestic Solitude is one +of its hardest forms. No number of balls and dinner parties, no visits +from friends, can make up for the absence of sons and daughters round +the family table and the family hearth. + +Yet there certainly is a restless feminine minority, who declare, both +by precept and example, Family Life to be a servitude. Alas! They have +not given themselves opportunity to discover that self-sacrifice is the +meat and drink of all true affection. + +But women have learned within the last two decades to listen to every +side of an argument. Their Club life, with its variety of "views," has +led them to decide that every phase of a question ought to be +attentively considered. So I do not doubt that my story will receive +justice, and I hope approval, from all the women--and men--that read it. + +Affectionately to all, +AMELIA E. BARR. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. THE GREAT SEA WATERS 1 + +II. THE PEOPLE OF THE STORY 18 + +III. LOVE VENTURES IN 39 + +IV. BROTHERS 56 + +V. THE HEARTH FIRE 78 + +VI. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 99 + +VII. SHOCK AND SORROW 125 + +VIII. THE GODDESS OF THE TENDER FEET 146 + +IX. JOHN INTERFERES IN HARRY'S AFFAIRS 182 + +X. AT HER GATES 204 + +XI. JANE RECEIVES A LESSON 235 + +XII. PROFIT AND LOSS 262 + +XIII. THE LOVE THAT NEVER FAILS 286 + +SEQUENCES 312 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"Holding Bendigo's bridle, he had walked with her to the Harlow +residence"..._Frontispiece_ + +"He knew her for his own ... as she stood with her father at the gate of +their little garden"...72 + +"He ran down the steps to meet her, and she put her hand in his"...168 + +"Noiselessly he stepped to her side and ...stood in silent prayer"...232 + + + + +THE MEASURE OF A MAN + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE GREAT SEA WATERS + + + Gray sky, brown waters, as a bird that flies + My heart flits forth to these; + Back to the winter rose of Northern skies, + Back to the Northern seas. + + * * * * * + + The sea is His, and He made it. + +I saw a man of God coming over the narrow zigzag path that led across a +Shetland peat moss. Swiftly and surely he stepped. Bottomless bogs of +black peat-water were on each side of him, but he had neither fear nor +hesitation. He walked like one who knew his way was ordered, and when +the moss was passed, he pursued his journey over the rocky moor with the +same untiring speed. Now and then he sang a few lines, and now and then +he lifted his cap, and stood still to listen to the larks. For the larks +sing at midnight in the Shetland summer, and to the music of their +heaven-soaring songs he set one sweet name, and in the magical radiance +over land and sea had that momentary vision of a beloved face which the +second-sight of Memory sometimes grants to a pure, unselfish love. Then +with a joyful song nestling in his heart, he went rapidly forward. And +the night was as the day, for the moon was full and the rosy spears of +the Aurora were charging the zenith from every point of the horizon. + +Very early he came to a little town. It was asleep and there was no +sound of life in it; but a large yacht was lying at the silent pier with +steam visible, and he went directly to her. During the full tide she had +drifted a few feet from land, but he took the open space like a longer +step, walked straight to the wheel, and softly whistled. + +Then the Captain came quickly up the companion-way, and there was light +and liking on his face, as he said, + +"Welcome, sir! I was expecting thee." + +"To be sure. I sent you word I should be here before sunrising. Are you +ready to sail?" + +"Quite ready, sir." + +"Then cast off at once," and immediately there was movement all through +the boat--the sound of setting sail, the lifting of the anchor, the rush +of steam, and the hoarse melancholy voices of the sailors. Then the man +laid his hand on the wheel, and with wind and tide in her favor, the +yacht was soon racing down the great North Sea. + +"It is Yoden's time at the wheel, sir," said the Captain. "If so be he +is wanted." + +"He is not wanted yet. I am going to take her as far as the Hoy--if it +suits you, Captain." + +"Take your will, sir. I am always well suited with it." + +Now John Hatton was a cotton-spinner, but he knew the ways of a boat, +and the winds and tides that would serve her, and the road southward she +must take; and at his will she went, as if she was a solan flying for +the rocks. When they first started, the sea-birds were dozing on their +perches, waiting for the dawn, and their unwonted silence lent a +stronger sense of loneliness to the gray, misty waters. But as they +approached the pillars of Hoy, the wind rose and the waves swelled +refulgent in the crimsoning east. + +Then the man at the wheel was seen in all his great beauty--a man of +lofty stature perfectly formed and full of power and grace in every +movement. His head had an antique massiveness and was crowned with +bright brown hair thrown backward. His forehead was wide and +contemplative, his eyes large and gray and thickly fringed, lustrous but +_not_ piercing. His loving and vehement soul was not always at their +windows, but when there, it drew or commanded all who met its gaze. His +nose was long and straight, showing great refinement, and his chin +unblunted by animal passions. A wonderful face, because the soul and the +mind always found their way at once and in full force to it, as well as +to the gestures, the speech, and every action of the body. And this was +the quality which gave to the whole man that air of distinction with +which Nature autographs her noblest work. + +When they reached the Hoy he left the wheel and stood in wonder and awe +gazing at the sea around him. For some time it had been cloudy and +unquiet, but among these great basaltic pillars and into their black +measureless caves it flung itself with the rush and roar of a ten-knot +tide gone mad. Yet the thundering bellow of its waves was not able to +drown the a๋rial clamor of the millions of sea-birds that made these +lonely pillars and cliffs their home. Eagles screamed from their +summits. Great masses of marrots and guillemots rocked on the foam. +Kittiwakes of every kind in incalculable numbers and black and +brown-backed gulls by the thousands filled the air as thickly as +snowflakes in a winter's storm; while from shelves and pinnacles of the +cliffs, incredible numbers of gannots were diving with prodigious force +and straight as an arrow, after their prey--all plunging, rising, +screaming and shrieking, like some maddened human mob, the more terrible +because of the ear-piercing metallic ring of their unceasing clamor. + +After a long silence John Hatton turned to his Captain and said, + +"Is it always like this, Captain?" + +"It is often much livelier, sir. I have seen swarms of sea-birds miles +long, darkening the air with their wings. Our Great Father has many sea +children, sir. Next summer--God willing!--we might sail to the Faroe +Islands, and you would be among His whales, and His whale men." + +"Then you have been to the Faroes?" + +"More than once or twice. I used to take them on my road to Iceland. It +is a wayless way there, but I know it. And the people are a happy, +comfortable, pious lot; they are that! Most of them whale-hunters and +whale-eaters." + +"Eaters?" + +"To be sure, sir. When it is fresh, a roast of whale isn't half bad. I +once tried it myself." + +"Once?" + +"Well, then, I didn't want it twice. You know, I'm beef-bred. That makes +a difference, sir. I like to go to lonely islands, and as a general +thing I favor the kind of people that live on them." + +"What is the difference between these lonely islanders and Yorkshire men +like you and me?" + +"There is a good bit of difference, in more ways than one, sir. For +instance, they aren't fashionable. The women mostly dress the same, and +there are no stylish shapes in the men's 'oils' and guernseys. Then, +they call no man 'master.' God is their employer, and from His hand they +take their daily bread. And they don't set themselves up against Him, +and grumble about their small wages and their long hours. And if the +weather is bad, and they are kept off a sea that no boat could live in, +they don't grumble like Yorkshire men do, when warehouses are +overstocked and trade nowhere, and employers hev to make shorter hours +and less pay." + +"What then?" + +"The men smoke a few more pipes, and the women spin a few more hanks of +wool. And in the long evenings there's a good bit of violin-playing and +reciting, but there's no murmuring against their Great Master. And +there's no drinking, or dance halls. And when the storm is over, the men +untie their boats with a shout and the women gladly clean up the stour +of the idle time." + +"Did you ever see a Yorkshire strike?" + +"To be sure I hev; I had my say at the Hatton strike, I hed that! You +were at college then, and your father was managing it, so we could not +take the yacht out as expected, and I run down to Hatton to hev a talk +with Stephen Hatton. There was a big strike meeting that afternoon, and +I went and listened to the men stating 'their grievances.' They talked a +lot of nonsense, and I told them so. 'Get all you can rightly,' I said, +'but don't expect Stephen Hatton or any other cotton lord to run +factories for fun. They won't do it, and you wouldn't do it yersens!'" + +"Did they talk sensibly?" + +"They talked foolishness and believed it, too. It was fair capping to +listen to them. There was some women present, slatterns all, and I told +them to go home and red up their houses and comb up their hair, and try +to look like decent cotton-spinners' wives. And when this advice was +cheered, the women began to get excited, and I thought I would be safer +in Hatton Hall. Women are queer creatures." + +"Were you ever married, Captain?" + +"Not to any woman. My ship is my wife. She's father and mother and +brother and sister to me. I have no kin, and when I see how much trouble +kin can give you, I don't feel lonely. The ship I sail--whatever her +name--is to me 'My Lady,' and I guard and guide and cherish her all the +days of her life with me." + +"Why do you say 'her life,' Captain?" + +"Because ships are like women--contrary and unreasonable. Like women +they must be made to answer the rudder, or they go on the rocks. There +are, of course, men-of-war, and they get men's names, and we give them +fire and steel to protect themselves, but when your yacht with sails +set, goes curtsying over the waves like a duchess, you know she's +feminine, and you wouldn't call her after your father or yourself, but +your sweetheart's name would be just suitable, I'm sure." + +John smiled pleasantly, and his silence encouraged the Captain to +continue. "Why, sir, the very insurance offices speak of a ship as +_she_, and what's more they talk naturally of the 'life and death of a +ship,' and I can tell you, sir, if you had ever seen a ship fight for +her life and go down to her death, you would say they were right. Mr. +Hatton, there is no sadder sight than a ship giving up the fight, +because further fight is useless. Once I was present at the death of a +ship. I pray God that I may never see the like again. Her captain and +her men had left her alone, and from the boats standing abaft, they +silently watched her sinking. Sir, many a man dies in his bed with all +his kin around, and does not carry as much love with him as she did. +_Why-a_! The thought of that hour brings a pain to my heart yet--and it +is thirty years ago." + +"You are a true sailor, Captain." + +"To be sure I am. As the Fife men say, 'I was born with the sea in my +mouth.' I thank God for it! Often I have met Him on the great deep, for +'His path is on the waters.' I don't believe I would have found Him as +easy and as often, in a cotton-spinning factory--no, I don't!" + +"A good man like you, Captain, ought to have a wife and a home." + +"I'm not sure of that, Mr. Hatton. On my ship at sea I am lord and +master, and my word is law as long as I stop at sea. If any man does not +like my word and way, he can leave my ship at the first land we touch, +and I see that he does so. But it is different with a wife. She is in +your house to stay, whether you like it or not. All you have is hers if +you stick to the marriage vow. Yes, sir, she even takes your name for +her own, and if she does not behave well with it, you have to take the +blame and the shame, whether you deserve it or not. It is a one-sided +bargain, sir." + +"Not always as bad as that, Captain." + +"Why, sir, your honored father, who lorded it over every man he met and +contradicted everything he didn't like, said, 'Yes, my dear,' to +whatever Mrs. Hatton desired or declared. I hed to do the same thing in +my way, and Mrs. Hatton on board this yacht was really her captain. I'm +not saying but what she was a satisfactory substitute, for she hed the +sense to always ask my advice." + +"Then she acted under orders, Captain." + +"To be sure. But I am Captain Lance Cook, of Whitby, a master navigator, +a fourth in direct line from Captain James Cook, who sailed three times +round the world, when that was a most uncommon thing to do. And every +time he went, he made England a present of a few islands. Captain James +Cook made his name famous among Englishmen of the sea, and I hevn't come +across the woman yet I considered worthy to share it." + +"You may meet her soon now, Captain. There is a 'new woman' very much +the fashion these days. Perhaps you have not seen her yet." + +"I have seen her, sir. I have seen all I want to see of her. She appears +to hev got the idea into her head that she ought to hev been a man, and +some of them have got so far in that direction that you are forced to +say that in their dress and looks there isn't much difference. However, +I hev heard very knowing men declare they always found the old woman in +all her glory under the new one, and I wouldn't wonder if that was the +case. What do you think, Mr. Hatton?" + +"It may be, Captain, that it is the 'new man' that is wanted, and not +the 'new woman.' I think most men are satisfied with the old woman. I am +sure I am," and his eyes filled with light, and he silently blessed the +fair woman who came into his memory ere he added, "but then, I have not +a great ancestor's name to consider. The Hattons never gave anything in +the way of land to England." + +"They hev done a deal for Yorkshire, sir." + +"That was their duty, and their pleasure and profit. Yorkshire men are +kinsmen everywhere. If I met one in Singapore, or Timbuctoo, I would say +'_Yorkshire_?' and hold out my hand to him." + +"Well, sir, I've seen Yorkshire men I wouldn't offer my hand to; I hev +that, and sorry I am to say it! I never was in Singapore harbor, and I +must acknowledge I never saw or heard tell of Timbuctoo harbor." + +John laughed pleasantly. "Timbuctoo is in Central Africa. It was just an +illustration." + +"Illustration! You might have illustrated with a true harbor, sir--for +instance, New York." + +"You are right. I ought to have done so." + +"Well, sir, it's hard to illustrate and stick to truth. There is the +boatswain's whistle! I must go and see what's up. Pentland Firth is +ever restless and nobody minds that, but she gets into sudden passions +which need close watching, and I wouldn't wonder if there was not now +signs of a Pentland tantrum." + +The Captain's supposition was correct. In a few minutes the ship was +enveloped in a livid creeping mist, and he heard the Captain shout, +"_All hands stand by to reef!_" Reef they did, but Pentland's temper was +rapidly rising, and in a few minutes there was an impetuous shout for +the storm jib, "_Quick_," and down came a blast from the north, and with +a rip and a roar the yacht leaped her full length. If her canvas had +been spread, she would have gone to the bottom; but under bare masts she +came quickly and beautifully to her bearings, shook herself like a gull, +and sped southward. + +All night they were beating about in a fierce wind and heavy sea; and +Hatton, lying awake, listened to the mysterious hungering voice of the +waves, till he was strangely sad and lonely. And there was no Captain to +talk with, though he could hear his hoarse, strong voice above the roar +of wind and waters. For the sea was rising like the gable of a house, +but the yacht was in no trouble; she had held her own in far worse seas. +In the morning the sky was of snaky tints of yellow and gray, but the +wind had settled and the waves were flatting; but John saw bits of +trailing wreckage floating about their black depths, making the Firth +look savagely haggard. + +On the second evening the Captain came to eat his dinner with John. +"The storm is over, Mr. Hatton," he said. "The sea has been out of her +wits, like an angry woman; but," he added with a smile, "we got the +better of her, and the wind has gone down. There is not breeze enough +now to make the yacht lie over." + +"I could hear your voice, strong and cheerful, above all the uproar, +Captain, so I had no fear." + +"We had plenty of sea room, sir, a good boat, and--" + +"A good captain." + +"Yes, sir, you may say that. The Pentland roared and raged a bit, but +the sea has her Master. She hears a voice we cannot hear. It says only +three words, Mr. Hatton, three words we cannot hear, but a great calm +follows them." + +"And the three words are--?" + +"_Peace! Be still_!" + +Then John Hatton looked with a quick understanding into his Captain's +face, and answered with a confident smile, + + "O Saxon Sailor thou hast had with thee, + The Sailor of the Lake of Galilee." + +"I hope, and I believe so, sir. I have been in big storms, and _felt_ +it." + +"I got a glimpse of you in a flash of lightning that I shall never +forget, Captain Cook. You were standing by the wheel, tightening your +hat on your head; your feet were firm on the rolling deck, and you were +searching the thickest of the storm with a cheerful, confident face. Do +you like a storm?" + +"Well, sir, smooth sea-sailing is no great pleasure. I would rather see +clouds of spray driving past swelling sails, than feel my way through a +nasty fog. Give me a sea as high as a masthead, compact as a wall, and +charging with the level swiftness of a horse regiment, and I would +rather take a ship through it, than make her cut her way through a +thick, black fog, as if she was a knife. In a storm you see what you are +doing, and where you are going, but you hev to steal and creep and sneak +through a fog, and never know what trap or hole may be ahead of you. I +know the sea in all her ways and moods, sir. Some of them are rather +trying. But my home and my business is on her, and in her worst temper +she suits me better than any four-walled room, where I would feel like a +stormy petrel shut up in a cage. The sea and I are kin. I often feel as +if I had tides in my blood that flow and ebb with her tides." + +"I would not gainsay you, Captain. Every man's blood runs as he feels. +You were a different man and a grander man when you were guiding the +yacht through the storm than you are sitting here beside me eating and +drinking. My blood begins to flow quick when I go into big rooms filled +with a thousand power looms. Their noise and clatter is in my ears a +song of praise, and very often the men and women who work at them are +singing grandly to this accompaniment. Sometimes I join in their song, +as I walk among them, for the Great Master hears as well as sees, and +though these looms are almost alive in their marvelous skill, it may be +that He is pleased to hear the little human note mingling with the +voices of the clattering, humming, burring looms." + +"To be sure He is. The song of labor is His, and I hev no doubt it is +quite as sweet in His ear as the song of praise. Your song is among the +looms, and mine is among the winds and waves, but they are both the +same, sir. It is all right. I'm sure I'm satisfied." + +"How you do love the sea, Captain!" + +"To be sure, I was born on it and, please God, I hope my death may be +from it and my grave in it, nearby some coast where the fisher-folk live +happily around me." + +There was a few moments' silence, then John Hatton asked, "Are we likely +to have fine weather now?" + +"Yes, sir, middling fine, until we pass Peterhead. At Aberdeen and +southward it may be still finer, and you might have a grand sail along +the east coast of Scotland and take a look at some of its famous towns." + +This pleasant prospect was amply verified. It was soon blue seas and +white sea-birds and sunny skies, with a nice little whole-sail breeze in +the right direction. But John was not lured by any of the storied towns +of the east coast. "What time I can now spare I will give to Edinburgh," +he said, in answer to the Captain's suggestion concerning St. Andrews, +Aberdeen, Anstruther and Largo. "I am straight for Edinburgh now. I feel +as if my holiday was over. I heard the clack of the looms this morning. +They need me, I dare say. I suppose we can be in Leith harbor by +Saturday night, Captain?" + +"It may be Sunday, sir, if this wind holds. It is an east-windy +west-windy coast, and between here and Edinburgh the wind doesn't know +its own mind an hour at a time." + +"Well, then, say Sunday. I will stay a few days in Edinburgh, and then +it must be Whitby and home." + +It was Sunday afternoon when the yacht was snug in Leith harbor, and the +streets of Edinburgh were full of congregations returning home from the +different churches. He went to an hotel on Prince Street and ordered a +good dinner spread in his sitting-room. It was a large outlooking +apartment, showing him in the glorious sunset the Old Town piled as by a +dreamer, story over story, and at the top of this dream-like hill, the +gray ancient castle with bugles and the roll of drums sounding behind +its ramparts. Bridges leaped across a valley edged with gardens +connecting the Old Town with the New Town. Wherever his eyes fell, all +was romance and memories of romance, a magically + + Towered, templed Metropolitan, + Waited upon by hills, + River, and wide-spread ocean; tinged + By April light, or draped and fringed + As April vapor wills. + Hanging like some vast Cyclops' dream + High in the shifting weather gleam. + +After dinner he sat at the open window, thinking of many things, until +he finally fell asleep to dream of that illuminated vault in the castle, +in which glitters mysteriously the crown and scepter of the ancient +kings and queens of Scotland. + +Into the glamour of this vision there came suddenly a dream of his +mother, and his home, and he awakened from it with an intense conviction +that his mother needed his presence, and that he must make all haste to +reach his home. In half an hour he had paid his bill and taken a +carriage for Leith harbor, and the yacht was speeding down the Firth ere +the wan, misty daylight brightened the colorless sea. The stillness of +sea and sky was magical and they were a little delayed by the calm, but +in due time the wind sprang up suddenly and the yacht danced into Whitby +harbor. + +Then John parted from Captain Cook, saying as he did so, "Good-bye, +Captain. We have had a happy holiday together. Get the yacht in order +and revictualed, for in two weeks my brother Henry may join you. I +believe he is for the south." + +"Good-bye, sir. It has been a good time for me. You have been my teacher +more than my master, and you are a rich man and I am a poor one." + +"A man's a man for all that, Captain." + +"Well, sir, not always. Many are not men in spite of _all that_. God be +with you, sir." + +"And with you, Captain." Then they clasped hands and turned away, each +man where Duty called him. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE PEOPLE OF THE STORY + + + Slowly, steadily, to and fro, + Swings our life in its weary way; + Now at its ebb, and now at its flow, + And the evening and morning make up the day. + + Sorrow and happiness, peace and strife, + Fear and rejoicing its moments know; + Yet from the discords of such a life, + The clearest music of heaven may flow. + +Duty led John Hatton to take the quickest road to Hatton-in-Elmete, a +small manufacturing town in a lovely district in Yorkshire. In Saxon +times it was covered with immense elm forests from which it was +originally called Elmete, but nearly a century ago the great family of +Hatton (being much reduced by the passage of the Reform Bill and their +private misfortunes) commenced cotton-spinning here, and their mills, +constantly increasing in size and importance, gave to the Saxon Elmete +the name of Hatton-in-Elmete. + +The little village had become a town of some importance, but nearly +every household in it was connected in some way or other with the +cotton mills, either as cotton masters or cotton operatives. There were +necessarily a few professional men and shopkeepers, but there was street +after street full of cotton mills, and the ancient manor of the lords of +Hatton had become thoroughly a manufacturing locality. + +But Hatton-in-Elmete was in a beautiful locality, lying on a ridge of +hills rising precipitously from the river, and these hills surrounded +the town as with walls and appeared to block up the way into the world +beyond. The principal street lay along their base, and John Hatton rode +up it at the close of the long summer day, when the mills were shut and +the operatives gathered in groups about its places of interest. Every +woman smiled at him, every man touched his cap, but a stranger would +have noticed that not one man bared his head. Yorkshire men do not offer +that courtesy to any man, for its neglect (originally the expression of +strong individuality and self-respect) had become a habit as natural and +spontaneous as their manner or their speech. + +About a mile beyond the town, on the summit of a hill, stood Hatton +Hall, and John felt a hurrying sense of home as soon as he caught a +glimpse of its early sixteenth-century towers and chimneys. The road to +it was all uphill, but it was flagged with immense blocks of stone and +shaded by great elm-trees; at the summit a high, old-fashioned iron gate +admitted him into a delightful garden. And in this sweet place there +stood one of the most ancient and picturesque homes of England. + +It is here to be noticed that in the early centuries of the English +nation the homes of the nobles distinctly represented local feeling and +physical conditions. In the North they generally stood on hillsides +apart where the winds rattled the boughs of the surrounding pines or +elms and the murmur of a river could be heard from below. The hill and +the trees, the wind and the river, were their usual background, with the +garden and park and the great plantations of trees belting the estate +around; the house itself standing on the highest land within the circle. + +Such was the location and adjuncts of the ancient home of the Hattons, +and John Hatton looked up at the old face of it with a conscious love +and pride. The house was built of dark millstone grit in large blocks, +many of them now green and mossy. The roof was of sandstone in thin +slabs, and in its angles grass had taken root. In front there was a +tower and tall gables, with balls and pinnacles. The principal entrance +was a doorway with a Tudor arch, and a large porch resting on stone +pillars. Within this porch there were seats and a table, pots of +flowers, and a silver Jacobean bell. And all round the house were gables +and doorways and windows, showing carvings and inscriptions wherever the +ivy had not hid them. + +The door stood wide open and in the porch his mother was sitting. She +had a piece of old English lace in her hand, which she was carefully +darning. Suddenly she heard John's footsteps and she lifted her head and +listened intently. Then with a radiant face she stood upright just as +John came from behind the laurel hedge into the golden rays of the +setting sun, and her face was transfigured as she called in a strong, +joyful voice, + +"O John! John! I've been longing for you days and days. Come inside, my +dear lad. Come in! I'll be bound you are hungry. What will you take? +Have a cup of tea, now, John; it will be four hours before suppertime, +you know." + +"Very well, mother. I haven't had my tea today, and I am a bit hungry." + +"Poor lad! You shall have your tea and a mouthful in a few minutes." + +"I'll go to my room, mother, and wash my face and hands. I am not fit +company for a dame so sweet as you are," and he lifted his right hand +courteously as he passed her. + +In less than half an hour there was tea and milk, cold meat and fruit +before John, and his mother watched him eating with a beaming +satisfaction. And when John looked into her happy face he wondered at +his dream in Edinburgh, and said gratefully to himself, + +"All is right with mother. Thank God for that!" + +She did not talk while John was eating, but as he sat smoking in the +porch afterwards, she said, + +"I want to ask you where you have been all these weeks, John, but Harry +isn't here, and you won't want to tell your story twice over, will you, +now?" + +"I would rather not, mother." + +"Your father wouldn't have done it, whether he liked to or not. I don't +expect you are any different to father. I didn't look for you, John, +till next week." + +"But you needed me and wanted me?" + +"Whatever makes you say that?" + +"I dreamed that you wanted me, and I came home to see." + +"Was it last Sunday night?" + +"Yes." + +"About eleven o'clock?" + +"I did not notice the time." + +"Well, for sure, I was in trouble Sunday. All day long I was in trouble, +and I am in a lot of trouble yet. I wanted you badly, John, and I did +call you, but not aloud. It was just to myself. I wished you were here." + +"Then yourself called to myself, and here I am. Whatever troubles you, +mother, troubles me." + +"To be sure, I know that, John. Well, then, it is your brother Harry." + +A look of anxiety came into John's face and he asked in an anxious +voice, "What is the matter with Harry? Is he well?" + +"Quite well." + +"Then what has he been doing?" + +"Nay, it's something he wants to do." + +"He wants to get married, I suppose?" + +"Nay, I haven't heard of any foolishness of that make. I'll tell you +what he wants to do--he wants to rent his share in the mill to Naylor's +sons." + +Then John leaped to his feet and said angrily, "Never! Never! It cannot +be true, mother! I cannot believe it! Who told you?" + +"Your overseer, Jonathan Greenwood, and Harry asked Greenwood to stand +by him in the matter, but Jonathan wouldn't have anything to do with +such business, and he advised me to send for you. He says the lad is +needing looking after--in more ways than one." + +"Where is Harry?" + +"He went to Manchester last Saturday." + +"What for, mother?" + +"I don't know for certain. He said on business. You had better talk with +Jonathan. I didn't like the way he spoke of Harry. He ought to remember +his young master is a bit above him." + +"That is the last thing Jonathan would remember, but he is a +good-hearted, straight-standing man." + +"Very, if you can believe in his words and ways. He came here Saturday +to insinuate all kinds of 'shouldn't-be's' against Harry, and then on +Sunday he was dropping his 'Amens' about the chapel so generously I +felt perfectly sure they were worth nothing." + +"Well, mother, you may trust me to look after all that is wrong. Let not +your heart be troubled. I will talk with Jonathan in the morning." + +"Nay, I'll warrant he will be here tonight. He will have heard thou art +home, and he will be sure he is wanted before anybody else." + +"If he comes tonight, tell him I cannot see him until half-past nine in +the morning." + +"That is right--but what for?" + +"Because I am much troubled and a little angry. I wish to get myself in +harness before I see anyone." + +"Well, you know, John, that Harry never liked the mill, but while father +lived he did not dare to say so. Poor lad! He hated mill life." + +"He ought at least to remember what his grandfather and father thought +of Hatton Mill. Why, mother, on his twenty-first birthday, father +solemnly told him the story of the mill and how it was the seal and +witness between our God and our family--yet he would bring strangers +into our work! I'll have no partner in it--not the best man in England! +Yet Harry would share it with the Naylors, a horse-racing, betting, +irreligious crowd, who have made their money in byways all their +generations. Power of God! Only to think of it! Only to think of it! +Harry ought to be ashamed of himself--he ought that." + +"Now, John, my dear lad, I will not hear Harry blamed when he is not +here to speak for himself--no, I will not! Wait till he is, and it will +be fair enough then to say what you want to. I am Harry's mother, and I +will see he gets fair play. I will that. It is my bounden duty to do so, +and I'll do it." + +"You are right, mother, we must all have fair judgment, and I will see +that the brother I love so dearly gets it." + +"God love thee, John." + +"And, mother, keep a brave and cheerful heart. I will do all that is +possible to satisfy Harry." + +"I can leave him safely with God and his brother. And tomorrow I can now +look after the apricot-preserving. Barker told me the fruit was all +ready today, but I could not frame myself to see it properly done, but +tomorrow it will be different." Then because she wanted to reward John +for his patience, and knowing well what subject was close to his heart, +she remarked in a casual manner, + +"Mrs. Harlow was here yesterday, and she said her apricots were safely +put away." + +"Was Miss Harlow with her?" + +"No. There was a tennis game at Lady Thirsk's. I suppose she was there." + +"Have you seen her lately?" + +"She took tea with me last Wednesday. What a beauty she is! Such color +in her cheeks! It was like the apricots when the sun was on them. Such +shining black hair so wonderfully braided and coiled! Such sparkling, +flashing black eyes! Such a tall, splendid figure! Such a rosy mouth! It +seemed as if it was made for smiles and kisses." + +"And she walks like a queen, mother!" + +"She does that." + +"And she is so bright and independent!" + +"Well, John, she is. There's no denying it." + +"She is finely educated and also related to the best Yorkshire families. +Could I marry any better woman, mother?" + +"Well, John, as a rule men don't approve of poor wives, but Miss Jane +Harlow is a fortune in herself." + +"Two months ago I heard that Lord Thirsk was very much in love with her. +I saw him with her very often. I was very unhappy, but I could not +interfere, you know, could I?" + +"So you went off to sea, and left mother and Harry and your business to +anybody's care. It wasn't like you, John." + +"No, it was not. I wanted you, mother, a dozen times a day, and I was +half-afraid to come back to you, lest I should find Miss Jane married or +at least engaged." + +"She is neither one nor the other, or I am much mistaken. Whatever are +you afraid of? Jane Harlow is only a woman beautiful and up to date, she +is not a 'goddess excellently fair' like the woman you are always +singing about, not she! I'm sure I often wonder where she got her +beauty and high spirit. Her father was just a proud hanger-on to his +rich relations; he lived and died fighting his wants and his debts. Her +mother is very near as badly off--a poor, wuttering, little creature, +always fearing and trembling for the day she never saw." + +"Perhaps this poverty and dependence may make her marry Lord Thirsk. He +is rich enough to get the girl he wants." + +"His money would not buy Jane, if she did not like him; and she doesn't +like him." + +"How do you know that, mother?" + +"I asked her. While we were drinking our tea, I asked her if she were +going to make herself Lady Thirsk. She made fun of him. She mocked the +very idea. She said he had no chin worth speaking of and no back to his +head and so not a grain of _forthput_ in him of any kind. 'Why, he can't +play a game of tennis,' she said, 'and when he loses it he nearly cries, +and what do you think, Mrs. Hatton, of a lover like that?' Those were +her words, John." + +"And you believe she was in earnest?" + +"Yes, I do. Jane is too proud and too brave a girl to lie--unless----" + +"Unless what, mother?" + +"It was to her interest." + +"Tell me all she said. Her words are life or death to me." + +"They are nothing of the kind. Be ashamed of yourself, John Hatton." + +"You are right, mother. My life and death are by the will of God, but I +can say that my happiness or wretchedness is in Jane Harlow's power." + +"Your happiness is in your own power. Her 'no' might be a disappointment +in hours you weren't busy among your looms and cotton bales, or talking +of discounts and the money market, but its echo would grow fainter every +hour of your life, and then you would meet the other girl, whose 'yes' +would put the 'no' forever out of your memory." + +"Well, mother, you have given me hope, and I have been comforted by you +'as one whom his mother comforteth.' If the dear girl is not to be won +by Thirsk's title and money, I will see what love can do." + +"I'll tell you, John, what love can do"--and she went to a handsome set +of hanging book shelves containing the favorite volumes of Dissent +belonging to John's great-grandfather, Burnet, Taylor, Doddridge, +Wesley, Milton, Watts, quaint biographies, and books of travel. From +them she took a well-used copy of Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying," and +opening it as one familiar with every page, said, + +"Listen, John, learn what Love can do. + + "Love solves where learning perplexes. Love attracts the best in + every one, for it gives the best, Love redeemeth, Love lifts up, + Love enlightens, Love hath everlasting remembrance, Love advances + the Soul, Love is a ransom, and the tears thereof are a prayer. + Love is life. So much Love, so much Life. Oh, little Soul, if rich + in Love, thou art mighty." + +"My dear mother, thank you. You are best of all mothers. God bless you." + +"Your father, John, was a man of few words, as you know. He copied that +passage out of this very book, and he wrote after it, 'Martha Booth, I +love you. If you can love me, I will be at the chapel door after +tonight's service, then put your hand in mine, and I will hope to give +you hand and heart and home as long as I live.' And for years he kept +his word, John--he did that!" + +"Father always kept his word. If he but once said a thing, no power on +earth could make him unsay it. He was a handsome, well-built man." + +"Well, then, what are you thinking of?" + +"I was thinking that Lord Thirsk is, by the majority of women, +considered handsome." + +"What kind of women have that idea?" + +"Why, mother, I don't exactly know. If I go into my tailor's, I am told +about his elegant figure, if into my shoemaker's, I hear of his small +feet, if to Baylor's glove counter, some girl fitting my number seven +will smilingly inform me that Lord Thirsk wears number four. And if you +see him walking or driving, he always has some pretty woman at his +side." + +"What by all that? His feet are fit for nothing but dancing. He could +not take thy long swinging steps for a twenty-mile walk; he couldn't +take them for a dozen yards. His hands may be small enough, and white +enough, and ringed enough for a lady, but he can't make a penny's worth +with them. I've heard it said that if he goes to stay all night with a +friend he has to take his valet with him--can't dress himself, I +suppose." + +"He is always dressed with the utmost nicety and in the tip-top of the +fashion." + +"I'll warrant him. Jane told me he wore a lace cravat at the Priestly +ball, and I have no doubt that his pocket handkerchief was edged with +lace. And yet she said, 'No woman there laughed at him.'" + +"At any rate he has fine eyes and hair and a pleasant face." + +"I wouldn't bother myself to deny it. If anyone fancies curly hair and +big brown eyes and white cheeks and no chin to speak of and no feet fit +to walk with and no hands to work with, it isn't Martha Hatton and it +isn't Jane Harlow, I can take my affidavit on that," and the confident +smile which accompanied these words was better than any sworn oath to +John Hatton. + +"You see, John," she continued, "I talked the man up and down with Jane, +from his number four gloves to his number four shoes, and I know what +she said--what she said in her own way, mind you. For Jane's way is to +pretend to like what she does not like, just to let people feel the road +to her real opinions." + +"I do not quite understand you, mother." + +"I don't know whether I quite understand myself, and it isn't my way to +explain my words--people usually know what I mean--but I will do it for +once, as John Hatton is wanting it. For instance, I was talking to Jane +about her lovers--I did not put you among them--and she said, 'Mrs. +Hatton, there are no lovers in these days. The men that are men are no +longer knights-errant. They don't fight in the tournament lists for +their lady-love, nor even sing serenades under her window in the +moonlight. We must look for them,' she said, 'in Manchester warehouses, +or Yorkshire spinning-mills. The knights-errant are all on the stock +exchange, and the poets write for _Punch_.' And I could not help +laughing, and she laughed too, and her laugh was so infectious I could +not get clear of it, and so poured my next cup of tea on the tea board." + +"I wish I had been present." + +"So do I, John. Perhaps then you would have understood the +contradictious girl, as well as I did. You see, she wanted me to know +that she preferred the Manchester warehouse men, and the Yorkshire +spinners, and the share-tumblers of the stock exchange to knights and +poets and that make of men. Now, some women would have said the words +straightforward, but not Jane. She prefers to state her likings and +dislikings in riddles and leave you to find out their meaning." + +"That is an uncomfortable, uncertain way." + +"To be sure it is, but if you want to marry Jane Harlow, you had better +take it into account. I never said she was perfect." + +"If ever she is my wife, I shall teach her very gently to speak +straightforward words." + +"Then you have your work set, John. Whether you can do it or not, is a +different thing. I don't want you to marry Jane Harlow, but as you have +set your heart on her, I have resolved to make the most of her strong +points and the least of her weak ones. You had better do the same." + +There was silence for a few moments, then John asked, "Was that all, +mother?" + +"We had more to say, but it was of a personal nature--I don't think it +concerns you at present." + +"Nay, but it does, mother. Everything connected with Jane concerns me." + +Mrs. Hatton appeared reluctant to speak, but John's anxiety was so +evident, she answered, "Well, then, it was about my children." + +"What about them?" + +"She said she had heard her mother speak of my 'large family' and yet +she had never seen any of them but Henry and yourself. She wondered if +her mother had been mistaken. And I said, 'Nay, your mother told the +truth, thank God!' + +"'You see,' she continued, 'I was at school until a year ago, and our +families were not at all intimate.' I said, 'Not at all. Your father was +a proud man, Miss Harlow, and he would not notice a cotton-spinner on +terms of social equality. And Stephen Hatton thought himself as good as +the best man near him. So he was. And no worse for the mill. It kept up +the Hall, so it did.' She said I was right, and would I tell her about +my children." + +"I hope you did, mother. I do hope you did." + +"Why not? I am proud of them all, living or dead--here or _there_. So I +said, 'Well, Miss Harlow, John is not my firstborn. There was a lovely +little girl, who went back to God before she was quite a year old. +People said I ought to think it a great honor to give my first child to +God, but it was a great grief to me. Soon after her death John was born, +and after John came Clara Ann. She married before she was eighteen, a +captain of artillery in the army, and she has ever since been with him +in India, Africa, or elsewhere. Then I had Stephen, who is now a +well-known Manchester warehouse man and seldom gets away from his +business. Then Paul was given to me. He is a good boy, and a fine +sailor. His ship is the _Ajax_, a first-class line of battleship. I see +him now and then and get a letter from every port he touches. Then came +Harry, who served an apprenticeship with his father, but never liked the +mill; and at last, the sweetest gift of all God's gifts, twin daughters, +called Dora and Edith. They lived with us nearly eight years, and died +just before their father. They were born in the same hour and died +within five minutes of each other. The Lord gave them, and the Lord took +them away, and blessed be the name of the Lord!' This is about what I +said, John." + +The conversation was interrupted here, by the entrance of a parlor-maid. +She said, "Sir, Jonathan Greenwood is here to ask if you can see him +this evening." + +"Tell him I cannot. I will see him at the mill about half-past nine in +the morning." + +The girl went away, but returned immediately. "Jonathan says, sir, that +will do. He wants to go to a meeting tonight, sir." Then Mrs. Hatton +looked at her son, and exclaimed, "How very kind of your overseer to +make your time do! Is that his usual way?" + +"About it. He is a very independent fellow, and he knows no other way of +talking. But father found it worth his while to put up with his free +speech. Jonathan has a knowledge of manufactures and markets which +enables him to protect our interests, and entitles him to speak his mind +in his own way." + +"I'm glad the same rule does not go in my kitchen. I have a first-class +cook, but if she asked me for a holiday and I gave her two days and she +said nothing but, 'That will do,' I would tell her to her face I was +giving her something out of my comfort and my pocket, and not something +that would only 'do' in the place of what she wanted. I would show her +my side of the question. I would that." + +"For what reason?" + +"I would be doing my duty." + +"Well, mother, you could not match her and the bits of radicalism she +would give you. Keep the peace, mother; you have not her weapons in your +armory." + +"I am just talking to relieve myself, John. I know better than to fratch +with anyone--at least I think I do." + +"Just before I went away, mother, Jonathan came to me and said, 'Sir, I +hev confidence in human nature, generally speaking, but there's tricks +and there's turns, and if I was you I would run no risks with them +Manchester Sulbys'. Then he put the Sulby case before me, and if I had +not taken his advice, I would have lost three hundred pounds. It is +Jonathan's way to love God and suspect his neighbor." + +"He will find it hard to do the two things at the same time, John." + +"I do not understand how John works the problem, mother, but he does it +at least to his own satisfaction. He has told us often in the men's +weekly meeting that he is 'safe religiously, and that all his eternal +interests are settled,' but I notice that he trusts no man until he has +proved him honest." + +"I don't believe in such Christians, John, and I hope there are not very +many of the same make." + +"Indeed, mother, this union of a religious profession with a sharp +worldly spirit is the common character among our spinners. Jonathan has +four sons, and he has brought every one of them up in the same way." + +"One of the four got married last week--married a girl who will have a +factory and four hundred looms for her fortune--old Aker's +granddaughter, you know." + +"Yes, I know. Jonathan told me about it. He looked on the girl as a good +investment for _his_ family, and discussed her prospects just as he +would have discussed discounts or the money market." + +Then John went to look after the condition of the cattle and horses on +the home farm. He found all in good order, told the farmer he had done +well, and made him happy with a few words of praise and appreciation. +But he said little to Mrs. Hatton on the subject, for his thoughts were +all close to the woman he loved. As they sat at supper he continually +wondered about her--where she was, what she was doing, what company she +was with, and even how she was dressed. + +Mrs. Hatton did not always answer these queries satisfactorily. In fact, +she was a little weary of "dear Jane," and had already praised her +beyond her own judgment. So she was not always as sympathetic to this +second appeal for information as she might have been. + +"I'll warrant, John," she answered a little judicially, "that Jane is +at some of the quality houses tonight; and she'll be singing or dancing +or playing bridge with one or other of that pale, rakish lot I see when +I drive through the town." + +"Mother!" + +"Yes, John, a bad, idle, lounging lot, that don't do a day's work to pay +for their living." + +"They are likely gentlemen, mother, who have no work to do." + +"Gentlemen! No, indeed! I will give them the first four letters of the +word--no more. They are not gentlemen, but they may be _gents_. We don't +expect much from _gents_, and how the women of today stand them beats +me." + +John laughed a little, but he said he was weary and would go to his +room. And as he stood at Mrs. Hatton's side, telling her that he was +glad to be with her again, she found herself in the mood that enabled +her to say, + +"John, my dear lad, you will soon marry, either Jane or some other +woman. You must do it, you know, for you must have sons and daughters, +that you may inherit the promise of God's blessing which is for you and +_your children_. Then your family must have a home, but not in Hatton +Hall--not just yet. There cannot be two mistresses in one house, can +there?" + +"No, but by my father's will and his oft-repeated desire, this house is +your home, mother, as long as you live. I am going to build my own house +on the hill, facing the east, in front of the Ash plantation." + +"You are wise. Our chimneys will smoke all the better for being a little +apart." + +"And you, my mother, are lady and mistress of Hatton Hall as long as you +live. I will suffer no one to infringe on your rights." Then he stooped +his handsome head to her lifted face and kissed it with great +tenderness; and she turned away with tears in her eyes, but a happy +smile on her lips. And John was glad that this question had been raised +and settled, so quickly, and so lovingly. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +LOVE VENTURES IN + + + Man's life is all a mist, and in the dark + Our fortunes meet us. + +John had been thinking about building his own home for some time and he +resolved to begin it at once. Yet this ancient Hatton Hall, with its +large, low rooms, its latticed windows and beautifully carved and +polished oak panelings, was very dear to him. Every room was full of +stories of Cavaliers and Puritans. The early followers of George Fox had +there found secret shelter and hospitality. John Wesley had preached in +its great dining-room, and Charles Wesley filled all its spaces and +corridors with the lyrical cry of his wonderful hymns. There were +harmless ghosts in its silent chambers, or walking in the pale moonlight +up the stairs or about the flower garden. No one was afraid of them; +they only gave a tender and romantic character to the surroundings. If +Mrs. Hatton felt them in a room, she curtsied and softly withdrew, and +John, on more than one occasion, had asked, "Why depart, dear ghosts? +There is room enough for us all in the old house." + +But for all this, and all that, it did not answer the spirit of John's +nature and daily life. He was essentially a man of his century. He loved +large proportions and abundance of light and fresh air, and he dreamed +of a home of palatial dimensions with white Ionic pillars and wide +balconies and large rooms made sunny by windows tall enough for men of +his stature to use as doors if they so desired. It was to be white as +snow, with the Ash plantation behind it and gardens all around and the +river washing their outskirts and telling him as he sat in the +evenings--with Jane at his side--where it had come from and what it had +seen and heard during the day. + +He went to sleep in this visionary house and did not awaken until the +sun was high up and hurrying men and women to work. So he rose quickly, +for he counted himself among this working-class, felt his +responsibilities, and began to reckon with the difficulties he had to +meet and the appointments he could not decline. He had promised to see +his overseer at half-past nine, and he knew Jonathan would have a few +disagreeable words ready, if he broke his promise--words it was better +to avoid than to notice or discount. + +At half-past eight he was ready to ride to the mill. His gig was +waiting, but he chose his saddle horse, because the creature so lovingly +neighed and neighed to the sound of his approaching footsteps, evidently +rejoicing to see him, and pawing the ground with his impatience to feel +him in the saddle. John could not resist the invitation. He sent the +uncaring gig away, laid his arm across Bendigo's neck, and his cheek +against Bendigo's cheek. Then he whispered a few words in his ear and +leaped into the saddle as only a Yorkshireman or a gypsy can leap, and +Bendigo, thrilling with delight, carried his master swiftly away from +the gig and its driver, neighing with triumph as he passed them. + +When about halfway to the mill he met Miss Harlow returning home from +her early morning walk. She was dressed with extreme simplicity in a +short frock of pink corduroy, and a sailor hat of coarse Dunstable +straw, with a pink ribbon round it. Long, soft, white leather gauntlets +covered her hands, and she carried in them a little basket of straw, +full of bluebells and ferns. John saw her approaching and he noticed the +lift of her head and the lift of her foot and said to himself, "Proud! +Proud!" but in his heart he thought no harm of her stately, graceful +carriage. To him she was a most beautiful girl, fresh and fair and, + + --graceful as the mountain doe, + That sniffs the forest air, + Bringing the smell of the heather bell, + In the tresses of her hair. + +They met, they clasped hands, they looked into each other's eyes, and +something sweet and subtle passed between them. "I am so glad, so glad +to see you," said John, and Miss Harlow said the same words, and then +added, "Where have you been? I have missed you so much." + +"And, Oh, how happy I am to hear that you have missed me! I have been +away to the North--on the road to Iceland. May I call on you this +evening, and tell you about my journey?" + +"Yes, indeed! If you will pleasure me so far, I will send an excuse to +Lady Thirsk, and stay at home to listen to you." + +"That would be a miraculous favor. May I come early?" + +"We dine early. Come and take your dinner with us. Mother will be glad +to see you and to hear your adventures, and mother's pleasure is my +greatest happiness." + +"Then I will come." + +As he spoke, he took out his watch and looked at it. "I have an +engagement in ten minutes," he said. "Will you excuse me now?" + +"I will. I wish I had an engagement. Poor women! They have bare lives. I +would like to go to business. I would like to make money. There are days +in which I feel that I could run a thousand spindles or manage a +department store very well and very happily." + +"Why do you talk of things impossible? Good-bye!" + +"Until seven o'clock?" + +"Until seven." + +He had dismounted to speak to her and, holding Bendigo's bridle, had +walked with her to the Harlow residence. He now said, "Good-bye," and +the light of a true, passionate lover was on his face, as he leaped into +the saddle. She watched him out of sight and then went into her home, +and with an inscrutable smile, began to arrange the ferns and bluebells +in a vase of cream-colored wedgewood. + +In the meantime John had reached the Hatton mill, and after his long +absence he looked up at it with conscious pride. It was built of brick; +it was ten stories high; every story was full of windows, every story +airy as a bird-cage. Certainly it was not a thing of architectural +beauty, but it was a grandly organized machine where brains and hands, +iron and steel worked together for a common end. As John entered its big +iron gates, he saw bales of cotton going into the mill by one door, and +he knew the other door at which they would come out in the form of woven +calico. In rapid thought he followed them to the upper floors, and then +traveled down with them to the great weaving-rooms in the order their +processes advanced them. He knew that on the highest floor a devil would +tear the fiber asunder, that it would then go to the scutcher, and have +the dust and dirt blown away, then that carding machines would lay all +the fibers parallel, that drawing machines would group them into slender +ribbons, and a roving machine twist them into a soft cord, and then +that a mule or a throstle would spin the roving into yarn, and the yarn +would go to the weaving-rooms, where a thousand wonderful machines would +turn them into miles and miles of calico; the machines doing all the +hard work, while women and girls adjusted and supplied them with the +material. + +It was to the great weaving-room John went first. As soon as he stood in +the open door he was seen and in a moment, as if by magic, the looms +were silenced, and the women and girls were on their feet, looking at +him with eager, pleasant faces. John lifted his hat and said good +morning and a shout of welcome greeted him. Then at some signal the +looms resumed their noisy work and the women lifted the chorus from some +opera which they had been singing at John's entrance, and "t' master's +visit" was over. + +He went next to his office, and Jonathan brought his daybook and +described, in particular detail, the commercial occurrences which had +made the mills' history during his absence. Not all of them were +satisfactory, and John passed nothing by as trivial. Where interferences +had been made with his usual known methods, he rebuked and revoked them; +and in one case where Jonathan had disobeyed his order he insisted on an +apology to the person injured by the transaction. + +"I told Clough," he said, "that he should have what credit would put him +straight. You, Jonathan, have been discounting and cutting him down on +yarns. You had no authority to do this. I don't like it. It cannot be." + +"Well, sir, I was looking out for you. Clough will never straight +himself. Yarns are yarns, and yarns are up in the market; we can use all +we hev ourselves. Clough hes opinions not worth a shilling's credit. +They are all wrong, sir." + +"His opinions may be wrong, his life is right." + +"Why, sir, he's nothing but a Radical or a Socialist." + +"Jonathan, I don't bring politics into business." + +"You're right, sir. When I see any of our customers bothering with +politics, I begin to watch for their names in t' bankruptcy list. Your +honorable father, sir, could talk with both Tories and Radicals and fall +out with neither. Then he would pick up his order-book, and forget what +side he'd taken or whether he hed been on any side or not." + +"Write to Clough and tell him you were sorry not to fill his last order. +Say that we have now plenty of yarns and will be glad to let him have +whatever he wants." + +"Very well, sir. If he fails--" + +"It may be your fault, Jonathan. The yarns given him when needed, might +have helped him. Tomorrow they may be too late." + +"I don't look at things in that way, sir." + +"Jonathan, how do you look at the Naylors' proposal?" + +"As downright impudence. They hev the money to buy most things they +want, but they hevn't the money among them all to buy a share in your +grand old name and your well-known honorable business. I told Mr. Henry +that." + +"However did the Naylors get at Mr. Henry?" + +"Through horses, sir. Mr. Henry loves horses, and he hes an idea that he +knows all about them. I heard Fred Naylor had sold him two racers. He +didn't sell them for nothing--you may be sure of that." + +"Do you know what Mr. Henry paid for them, Jonathan?" + +"Not I, sir. But I do know Fred Naylor; he never did a honest day's +work. He is nothing but a betting book in breeches. He bets on +everything, from his wife to the weather. I often heard your father say +that betting is the argument of a fool--and Jonathan Greenwood is of the +same opinion." + +"Have you any particular dislike to the Naylors?" + +"I dislike to see Mr. Henry evening himself with such a bad lot; every +one of them is as worthless as a canceled postage stamp." + +"They are rich, I hear." + +"To be sure they are. I think no better of them for that. All they hev +has come over the devil's back. I hev taken the measure of them three +lads, and I know them to be three poor creatures. Mr. Henry Hatton +ought not to be counted with such a crowd." + +"You are right, Jonathan. In this case, I am obliged to you for your +interference. I think this is all we need to discuss at this time." + +"Nay, but it isn't. I'm sorry to say, there is that little lass o' +Lugur's. You must interfere there, and you can't do it too soon." + +"Lugur? Who is Lugur? I never heard of the man. He is not in the Hatton +factory, that I know." + +"He isn't in anybody's factory. He is head teacher in the Methodist +school here." + +"Well, what of that?" + +"He has a daughter, a little lass about eighteen years old." + +"And she is pretty, I suppose?" + +"There's none to equal her in this part of England. She's as sweet as a +flower." + +"And her father is----" + +"Hard as Pharaoh. She's the light o' his eyes, and the breath o' his +nostrils. So she ought to be. Her mother died when she was two years +old, and Ralph Lugur hes been mother and father both to her. He took her +with him wherever he went except into the pulpit." + +"The pulpit? What do you mean?" + +"He was a Methodist preacher, but he left the pulpit and went into the +schoolroom. The Conference was glad he did so, for he was little in the +way of preaching but he's a great scholar, and I should say he hesn't +his equal as a teacher in all England. He has the boys and girls of +Hatton at a word. Sir, you'll allow that I am no coward, but I wouldn't +touch the hem of Lucy Lugur's skirt, if it wasn't in respect and honor, +for a goodish bit o' brass. No, I wouldn't!" + +"What would you fear?" + +"_Why-a!_ I don't think he'd stop at anything decent. It is only ten +days since he halted Lord Thirsk in t' High Street of Hatton, and then +told him flat if he sent any more notes and flowers to Miss Lugur, +'Miss,' mind you, he would thrash him to within an inch of his life." + +"What did Lord Thirsk say?" + +"Why, the little man was frightened at first--and no wonder, for Lugur +is big as Saul and as strong as Samson--but he kept his head and told +Lugur he would 'take no orders from him.' Furthermore, he said he would +show his 'admiration of Miss Lugur's beauty, whenever he felt disposed +to do so.' It was the noon hour and a crowd was in the street, and they +gathered round--for our lads smell a fight--and they cheered the little +lord for his plucky words, and he rode away while they were cheering and +left Lugur standing so black and surly that no one cared to pass an +opinion he could hear. Indeed, my eldest daughter kept her little lad +from school that afternoon. She said someone was bound to suffer for +Lugur's setdown and it wasn't going to be her John Henry." + +"He seems to be an ill-tempered man--this Lugur, and we don't want such +men in Hatton." + +"Well, sir, we breed our own tempers in Hatton, and we can frame to put +up with them--_but strangers_!" and Jonathan appeared to have no words +to express his suspicion of strangers. + +"If Lugur is quarrelsome he must leave Hatton. I will not give him house +room." + +"You hev a good deal of influence, sir, but you can't move Lugur. No, +you can't. Lugur hes been appointed by the Methodist Church, and there +is the Conference behind the church, sir. I hev no doubt but what we +shall hev to put up with the sulky beggar whether we want it or like it +or not." + +"It would be a queer thing, Jonathan Greenwood, if John Hatton did not +have influence enough to put a troubler of Hatton town out of it. The +Methodist Church is too sensible to oppose what is good for a +community." + +"Sir, you are reckoning your bill without your host. The church would +likely stand by you, but all the women would stand by Lugur. And what is +queerer still, all his scholars would fight anyone who said a word +against him. He hes a way, sir, a way of his own with children, and I +hev wondered often what is the secret of it." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I'll give you an example, sir. You know Silas Bolton hes a very bad +lad, but the other day he went to Lugur and confessed he had stripped +old Padget's apple-tree. Well, Lugur listened to him and talked to him +and then lifted his leather strap and gave him a dozen good licks. The +lad never whimpered, and t' master shook hands with him when the bit o' +business was over and said, 'You are a brave boy, Will Bolton. I don't +think you'll do a mean, cowardly act like that again, and if such is +your determination, you can learn me double lessons for tomorrow; then +all will be square between you and me'--and Bolton's bad boy did it." + +"That was right enough." + +"I hevn't quite finished, sir. In two days he went with the boy to tell +old Padget he was sorry, and the man forgave him without one hard word; +but I hev heard since, that t' master paid for the apples out of his own +pocket, and I would not wonder if he did. What do you think of the man +now?" + +"I think a man like that is very much of a man. I shall make it my +business to know him. But what has my brother to do with either Mister +or Miss Lugur?" + +"Mr. Henry hes been doing just what Lord Thirsk did; he has been sending +Lucy Lugur flowers and for anything I know, letters. At any rate I saw +them together in Mr. Henry's phaeton on the Lancashire road at ten +o'clock in the morning. I was going to Shillingworth's factory, and I +stayed there an hour, and as I came back to Hatton, Mr. Henry was just +leaving her at Lugur's house door." + +"Where do they live?" + +"In Byle's cottage at the top of the Brow." + +"That was quite out of your way, Jonathan." + +"I know it was. I took that road on purpose. I guessed the little woman +was out with Mr. Henry, because she knew between ten and eleven o'clock +her father was safe in t' schoolroom. Well, I saw Mr. Henry leave her at +her own door, and though I doan't believe one-half that I hear, I can +trust my own eyes even if I hevn't my spectacles on. And I doan't bother +my head about other men's daughters and sweethearts, but Mr. Henry is a +bit different. I loved and served his father. I love and serve his +brother, and t' young man himself is very easy to love." + +John was silent, and Jonathan continued, "I knew I was interfering, +but--" + +"You were doing your duty. I would thank you for it, but a man that +serves Duty gets his wages in the service--and is satisfied." + +Jonathan only nodded his head in assent, but there was the pleasant +light of accepted favor on his face and he really felt much relieved +when John added, "I will have a talk with my brother when he comes home +about the Naylors and Miss Lugur. You can dismiss the subject from your +mind. I'm sure you have plenty to worry you with the mill and its +workers." + +"I hev, sir, that I hev, and all the more because Lucius Yorke hes been +here while you were away and he left a promise with the lads and +lassies to come again and give you a bit of his mind when you bed +finished your laking and larking and could at least frame yourself to +watch the men and women working for you. Yorke is a sly one--you ought +to watch him." + +John smiled, dropped his eyes, and began to turn his paper-knife about. +"Well, Jonathan," he answered, "when Yorke comes, tell him John Hatton +will be pleased to know his mind. I do not think, Jonathan, that he +knows it himself, for I have noticed that he has turned his back on his +own words several times since he gave me his mind a year ago." + +"Well, sir, a man's mind can grow, just as his body grows." + +"I know that--but it can grow in a wrong direction as easily as in a +right one. Now I must attend to my secretary; he sent me word that there +was a large mail waiting." + +"I'll warrant it. Mr. Henry hesn't been near the mill since Friday +morning," and with these words the overseer lifted his books and records +and left the room. + +John sat very still with bent head; he shut his eyes and turned them on +his heart, but it was not long before his thoughtful face was brightened +by a smile as he whispered to himself, "I must hear what Harry has to +say before I judge him. Jonathan has strong prejudices, and Harry must +have what he considers 'reasonable cause' for what he wishes." + +He waited anxiously all morning, going frequently to his brother's +office, but it was mid-afternoon when he heard Harry's quick light step +on the corridor. His heart beat to the sound, he quickly opened his +door, and as he did so, Harry cried, + +"John! I am so glad you are here!" + +Then John drew the bright handsome lad to his side, and they entered his +office together, and as soon as they were alone, John bent to his +brother, drew him closer, and kissed him. + +"I have been restless and longing to see you, Harry. Where have you +been, dear lad?" + +It was noticeable that John's tone and attitude was that of a father, +more than a brother, for John was ten years older than Harry and through +all his boyhood, his youth, and even his manhood he had fought for and +watched over and loved him with a fatherly, as well as a brotherly, +love. After their father's death, John, as eldest son, took the place +and assumed the authority of their father and was by right of birth head +of the household and master of the mill. + +Hitherto John's authority had been so kind and so thoughtful that Harry +had never dreamed of opposing it, yet the brothers were both conscious +this afternoon that the old attitude towards each other had suffered a +change. Harry showed it first in his dress, which was extravagant and +very unlike the respectable tweed or broadcloth common to the +manufacturers of the locality. Harry's garb was that of a finished +horseman. It was mostly of leather of various colors and grades, from +the highly dressed Spanish leather of his long, black boots to the soft, +white, leather gauntlets, which nearly covered his arms. He had a +leather jockey cap on his head, and a leather whip in his hand, and he +gave John a long, loving look, which seemed to ask for his admiration +and deprecate, if not dispute, his expected dislike. + +For John's looks traveled down the handsome figure, whose hand he still +clasped, with evident dismay and dissatisfaction, and Harry retaliated +by striking his booted leg with his riding-whip. For an instant they +stood thus looking at each other, both of them quite aware of the +remarkable contrast they made. Harry's tall, slight form, black hair, +and large brown eyes were a vivid antithesis to John's blond blue-eyed +strength and comeliness. To her youngest son, Mrs. Hatton, who was a +daughter of the Norman house of D'Artoe, had transmitted her quick +temperament, her dark beauty, and her elastic grace of movement. + +Harry's beauty had a certain local fame; when people spoke of him it was +not of Henry Hatton they spoke, they called him "t' young master," or +more likely, "that handsome lad o' Hattons." He was more popular and +better loved than John, because his temper and his position permitted +him a greater familiarity with the hands. They came to John for any +solid favor or any necessary information, they came to Harry for help in +their ball or cricket games or in any musical entertainment they wished +to give. And Harry on such occasions was their fellow playmate, and took +and gave with a pleasant familiarity that was never imposed on. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BROTHERS + + +The pleasant habit of existence, the sweet fable of Life and Love. + + * * * * * +They sin who tell us Love can die, +With Life all other passions fly, + Love is indestructible. + + * * * * * + + A mother is a mother still, the holiest thing alive. + +This afternoon the brothers looked at each other with great love, but +there was in it a sense of wariness; and Harry was inclined to bluff +what he knew his brother would regard with inconvenient seriousness. + +"Will you sit, Harry? Or are you going at once to mother? She is a bit +anxious about you." + +"I will sit with you half an hour, John. I want to talk with you. I am +very unhappy." + +"Nay, nay! You don't look unhappy, I'm sure; and you have no need to +feel so." + +"Indeed, I have. If a man hates his lifework, he is very likely to hate +his life. You know, John, that I have always hated mills. The sight of +their long chimneys and of the human beings groveling at the bottom of +them for their daily bread gives me a heartache. And the smell of them! +O John, the smell of a mill sickens me!" + +"What do you mean, Harry Hatton?" + +"I mean the smell of the vaporous rooms, and the boiling soapsuds, and +the oil and cotton and the moisture from the hot flesh of a thousand men +and women makes the best mill in England a sweating-house of this age of +corruption." + +"Harry, who did you hear speak of cotton mills in that foolish way? Some +ranter at a street corner, I suppose. Hatton mill brings you in good, +honest money. I think little of feelings that slander honest work and +honest earnings." + +"John, my dear brother, you must listen to me. I want to get out of this +business, and Eli Naylor and Thomas Henry Naylor will rent my share of +the mill." + +"Will they? No! Not for all the gold in England! What are you asking me, +Harry Hatton? Do you think I will shame the good name of Hatton by +associating it with scoundrels and blacklegs? Your father kicked +Hezekiah Naylor out of this mill twenty years ago. Do you think I will +take in his sons, and let them share our father's good name, and the +profits of the wonderful business he built up? I say _no_! A downright, +upright _no_! Why, Harry, you must be off your head to think of such a +thing as possible. It is enough to make father come back from the +grave." + +"You are talking nonsense, John. If father is in heaven, he wouldn't +come back here about an old mill full of weariness and hatred and +wretched lives; and if he isn't in heaven, he wouldn't be let come back. +I am not afraid of father now." + +"If you must sell or rent your share, I will make shift to buy or lease +it. Then what do you mean to do?" + +"Mr. Fred Naylor is going to coach me for horse-racing. You know I love +horses, and Naylor says they will make me more money than I can count." + +"Don't you tell me anything the Naylors say. I won't listen to it. +Horse-racing is gambling. You don't come from gamblers. You will be a +fool among them and every kind of odds will be against you." + +"And I shall make money fast and pleasantly." + +"Supposing you do make money fast, you will spend it still faster. That +is the truth." + +"Horse-racing is a manly amusement. No one can deny that, John." + +"But, Harry, you did not come into this world to _amuse_ yourself. You +came to do the work God Almighty laid out for you to do. It wasn't +horse-racing." + +"I know what I am talking about, John." + +"Not you. You are cheating and deceiving yourself, and any sin is easy, +after that sin." + +"I have told you already what I thought of mill work." + +"You have not thought right of it. We have nearly eight hundred +workers; half of them are yours. It is your duty to see that these men +and women have work and wage in Hatton mill." + +"I will not do it, John." + +"You are not going to horse-racing. I want you to understand that, once +and for all. Have no more to do with any of the Naylors. Drop them +forever." + +"I can not, John. I will not." + +"Rule your speech, Henry Hatton. John Hatton is not saying today what he +will unsay tomorrow. You are not going to horse-racing and +horse-trading. Most men who do so go to the dogs next. People would +wonder far and wide. You must choose a respectable life. I know that the +love of horses runs through every Yorkshireman's heart. I love them +myself. I love them too well to bet on them. My horse is my +fellow-creature, and my friend. Would you bet on your friend, and run +him blind for a hundred or two?" + +"Naylor has made thousands of pounds." + +"I don't care if he has made millions. All money made without labor or +without equivalent is got over the devil's back to be squandered in some +devil's pastime. Harry, bettors infer dupes. When you have to pay a +jockey a small fortune to do his duty, he may be an honest man--but +there are inferences. Can't you think of something better to do?" + +"I wanted to be an artist and father would not let me. I wanted to have +my voice trained and father laughed at me. I wanted to join the army and +father was angry and asked me if I did not want to be a pugilist. He +would not hear of anything but the mill. John, I won't go to the mill +again. I won't be a cotton-spinner, and I'll be glad if you will buy me +out at any price." + +"I won't do that--not yet. I'll tell you what I will do. I will rent +your share of the mill for a year if you will take Captain Cook and the +yacht and go to the Mediterranean, and from the yacht visit the old +cities and see all the fine picture galleries, and listen to the music +of Paris and Milan or even Vienna. You must stay away a year. I want you +to realize above all things that to live to _amuse_ yourself is the +hardest work the devil can set you to do." + +"I promised Fred Naylor I would rent him my share." + +"How dared you make such a promise? Did you think that I, standing as I +do, for my father, Stephen Hatton, would ever lower the Hatton name to +Hatton and Naylor? I am ashamed of you, Harry! I am that!" + +"John, I am so unhappy in the mill. You don't understand--" + +"Your duty is in the mill. If a man does his duty, he cannot be unhappy. +No, he can not." + +"I have been doing my duty five years, and hating every hour of it. And +I promised the Naylor boys--" + +"What?" + +"That I would sell or rent my share in this mill to them." + +"It is impossible for you to keep that promise. You cannot sell a +shilling's worth belonging to the mill property without mine and +mother's permission. Neither of us will give it. Your plan won't work, +Harry. Mother and I will stand by Hatton mill as firm as an anvil beaten +upon. Both of us will do anything we can to make you reasonably happy, +but you must never dare to name selling or renting your right to anyone +but your brother. The mill is ours! No stranger shall own a bobbin in +it! One or both of us will run it until we follow our father, and +then--" + +"Then what?" + +"Our sons will take our place if so it pleases God. Harry, dear, dear +lad, go and take a long holiday among the things you love, and after it +we will come to a kind and sensible conclusion about your future. While +you are away, I will do your work for you and you shall have your full +share of whatever money is made. Stay a year if you wish, but try and +find yourself before you come home." + +"I would like to do as you say, John, but a year is a long time to be +away from the girl you love. I should want her every hour and should be +utterly miserable without her." + +John was silent and troubled. Harry looked entreatingly at him, and it +was hard to resist the pleading in the young man's eyes. Finally John +asked a little coldly, + +"Do you want to get married?" + +"Not just yet--if I can get mother to go with me." + +"To the Mediterranean?" + +"Certainly." + +"Who is the girl?" + +"Miss Lugur, the schoolmaster's daughter." + +"Mother would not go. You could not expect it. I also should be much +against her spending a year away from home. Oh, you know it is out of +the question!" + +"I think mother will go. I shall ask her." + +"I wonder how you can find it in your heart to ask such a thing of her!" + +"Lucy Lugur, poor little girl, has no mother." + +"You cannot expect Mrs. Stephen Hatton to mother her." + +"Yes, I do. Mother has often told me she would do anything in the world +for me. I am going to ask her to go with me, then I can take Lucy." + +"Harry, you must not put her love in such a hard strait. Do be +reasonable." + +"I cannot be reasonable about Lucy Lugur. I love her, John; she is the +most beautiful woman in the world." + +"All right, I do not contradict you; but is that any reason for +sacrificing mother's comfort to her beauty?" + +"Mother likes to give up to me. If I ask her to go, she will go. I do +not forget, John, what you have promised; no indeed, and I am sure +mother will be quite as kind. I will now go and ask her." + +When he arrived at the Hall gate, he had a sudden sense of the injustice +of his intention, but the thought of Lucy Lugur put it down; and he +heralded his arrival by a long, sweet whistle, whose music penetrated +the distance and informed Mrs. Hatton of her son's approach. She was +drinking her afternoon cup of tea to angry thoughts of him, telling +herself that he ought to have been home on the previous day, that at +least he ought to have sent her a few lines when delayed. So troubled +was she by these reflections and others rising from them that she had +forgotten to put sugar in her tea, and was eating wheat bread when her +favorite thin slices of rye loaf were at her hand. The prodigious +inquietude of motherhood had her in its grip, and she had just begun to +tell herself that poor Harry might be sick in an hotel with no one to +look after him when her reverie of love and fear was dispelled in a +moment by the cheerful sound of Harry's whistle. + +The next moment she was on the porch to welcome him. If his delay was +wrong, she had quite forgotten the wrong; there was nothing in her heart +but mother love, running over and expressing itself in her beaming eyes, +her smiling face, her outstretched hands, and her joyful words. She +kissed him fondly and between laughing and crying led him into the house +and straight to her little tea-table. + +"There is room enough for you, my dear, dear lad! Where have you been +this ever so long?" she asked. "I was looking for you last Saturday +night--and John is home again, thank God, and----" + +"I know John is home, mother. I was at the mill. My horse met me at +Oxbar Station, and as I was riding, I called at the mill to look at my +mail, and so finding John there, I stopped and had a chat with him." + +"I am glad of that. What did he say to thee? He was feeling very bad, I +know, about the Naylor boys. I wonder what makes thee even thyself with +that low set. Thy father will be angry, if he knows, and Greenwood +thinks he is sure to know if Naylors are meddling in his family or his +affairs. Greenwood speaks very badly of the whole crowd--living and +dead." + +"Well, mother, you know none of the Naylors are Methodists; that sets +them down with Greenwood. The Naylors are all right. Fred Naylor has +been very kind to me." + +"Did you speak to John about them?" + +"Greenwood had already spoken and John was angry and got into a passion +at a simple business proposal they made." + +"John was right, he was that. I was in a passion myself, when I heard +of their proposal--downright impudence, I call it." + +"Nay, mother. They offered good money for what they asked. There was no +impudence in that. It was just business." + +"Naylors have no good money, not they. The kind they do have would +blacken and burn Hatton's hands to touch. Thy father ran the whole kith +and kit of the Naylors out of Hatton village the very year of thy birth. +He wouldn't have them in his village if he was alive and while I am lady +of Hatton Manor they are not coming back here. I will see to that." + +"There is a new generation of Naylors now, and----" + +"They are as bad and very likely worse than all before them. Families +that don't grow better grow worse. Greenwood says they are worse; but +I'm not standing on what he says. Thy father despised them, that is a +fact I can rely on and work from." + +"Father is dead, and he----" + +"Not he! He is living, and more alive than he ever was. He comes to me +often." + +"When you are asleep, I suppose." + +"You suppose right. But, Harry, can you tell me what passes in that +state of sleep when I or you or any other sleeper is shut up from every +human eye; when all the doors of the body are closed, and all the +windows darkened? Speak, my lad, of what you know something about, but +dreaming is a mystery to far wiser men than you are, or are likely to +be--unless Wisdom should visit you while you are dreaming." + +"Well, mother, I am going away for a year, and during that time I shall +forget the Naylors and they will forget me." + +"Whatever are you talking about, Harry Hatton? I will not hear of you +going on such a journey--no matter where to, so now you know." + +"It is John's advice." + +"It is very poor advice. For steady living in, there is no place like +Yorkshire." + +"I was telling John today what I have often told you, how I hated the +mill, how sick it made me, and that I must sell my interest in it in +order to do something else. Then John made me a proposal, and if you +think well of it I will do as John advises. But let us go to the porch, +it is so hot here. It feels like the dog days." + +"No wonder, with the toggery you have on your back. Whatever in the +world led you to make such a guy of yourself? I hope you didn't come +through the village." + +"I did. I had my horse brought to Oxbar Station, for that very purpose." + +"Well, I never! Do you think you look handsome in those things?" + +"I do." + +"You never made a bigger mistake. I can tell you that. But I want to +know what John is up to--sending you away for a whole year--such +nonsense!" + +Then Harry made John's proposal as attractive as he could, and Mrs. +Hatton listened with a face devoid of all expression, until he said: "I +want you with me, mother. I shall have no pleasure without you." + +"There is something else you want, Harry. What is it?" + +"Well, mother, there is a beautiful girl whom I love with all my heart +and soul. I want to take her with me, but I can not--unless you also +go." + +Mrs. Hatton's face flushed, and she dropped her eyes, knowing that they +were full of anger. "Who is this girl?" she asked coldly. + +"Lucy Lugur, the schoolmaster's daughter." + +"Could you not take her own mother?" + +"Lucy has no mother. Her father has been father and mother both to her +since she was two years old. He loves her beyond everything." + +"I can believe that. I know a little of Ralph Lugur. He has been to see +me twice about the children of the village." + +"He has them all at his beck and call. And Lucy, mother, she is so fair +and sweet! If you could only see her!" + +"I have seen her." + +"Oh, mother dear, don't speak unkindly of her!" + +"Nay; why should I? She is, as you say, very pretty; and I'll warrant +she is as good as she is pretty. I could trust Lugur to bring her up +properly--but she is not a mate for you." + +"I will have no other mate." + +"Miss Lugur may be all your fancy paints her, but why should your mother +be asked to leave her home, her duties, and pleasures for a year? To +subject herself to bad weather and sickness and loneliness and fatigue +of all kinds in order that she may throw the mantle of her social +respectability over an equivocal situation. I do not blame the girl, but +I feel more keenly and bitterly than I can tell you the humiliation and +discomfort you would gladly put upon me in order to give yourself the +satisfaction of Miss Lugur's company. Harry, you are the most selfish +creature I ever met. John has promised to give up your rightful +assistance in the mill, to really do your work for a year, your income +is to be paid in full, though you won't earn a farthing of it; you +expect the use of the yacht for yourself and a girl out of my knowledge +and beneath my social status. Oh, Harry! Harry! It is too much to ask of +any mother." + +"I never thought of it in this way. Forgive me, mother." + +"And who is to take care of John if I go with you? Who is to care for +the old home and all the treasures gathered in it? Who will look after +the farm and the horses and cattle and poultry, the fruit-trees and +lawns and flowers as I do? Do you think that all these cares are +pleasures to me? No, my dear lad, but they are my duty. I wouldn't have +thy father find out that I neglected even a brooding hen. No, I +wouldn't. And the yacht was thy father's great pleasuring. I only went +with him to double that pleasure. I don't like the sea, though I never +let him know it. Oh, my dear! But there! You haven't learned yet that +self-sacrifice is love, and no love without it." + +"Mother, I am ashamed of my selfishness. I never realized before how +many things you have to care for." + +"From cocklight to the dim, Harry, there is always something needing my +care. Must house and farm and John and all our dumb fellow creatures go +to the mischief for pretty Lucy Lugur? My dear, I'm saying these things +to you, because nobody else has a right to say them; but oh, Harry, it +breaks my heart to say them!" + +"Mother, forgive me. I did not think of anything but the fact that you +have always stood by me through thick and thin." + +"In all things right, I will stand by you. In whatever is wrong I will +be against you. You have fallen into the net of bad company, and you +can't mend that trouble--you can only run away from it. Take John's +advice, and get out of the reach of that Naylor influence." + +"I never saw anything wrong with Frank Naylor. He did not drink, he +never touched a card, and he was always respectful to the women we met." + +"Harry, you would not dare to repeat to me all that Frank Naylor _said_ +to you. Oh, my dear, there it is! When you can shut your _ears_, as +easily as your _eyes_, you can afford to be less particular about the +company you keep--not until." + +At this moment John entered, and the conversation became general and +impersonal. But the influence of uncertain and unlooked-for anxiety was +over all, and Harry was eager to escape it. He said the young men would +be expecting him at their association hall, as he had promised to +explain to them the mysteries of golf, which he wished them to favor +above cricket. + +He had, indeed, a promised obligation on this subject, but the exact +time was as yet within his own decision. Yet he was ready to fulfill it +that evening, rather than listen to the conversation about himself and +his future, which he knew would ensue whether he was present or not. And +the promise John had given him of a year's holiday was so satisfactory +that he longed to be alone and at liberty to follow it out and fit it +into his life. + +He felt that John had been generous to him, but he also felt that the +proposed manner of rest and recreation was in one respect altogether +unsatisfactory--he was to be sent away from Lucy Lugur. He was sure that +was John's real and ultimate motive, whatever other motive was virtually +put in its place. Mother and brother would agree on that point and he +thought of this agreement with a discontent that rapidly became anger. +Then he determined to marry Lucy, and so have a right to her company on +land or sea, at home or abroad. + +For he argued only from his own passionate desire. Lucy had never said +she loved him, yet he felt sure she did so. He loved her the moment they +met, and he had no doubt Lucy had been affected in the same manner as +himself. He knew her for his own, lost out of his soul-life long ago and +suddenly found one afternoon as she stood with her father at the gate of +their little garden. She had roses in her hands, or rather they were +lying across her white arms, and her exquisite face rose above them, +thrilling his heart with a strange but powerful sense of a right in her +that was wholly satisfying and indisputable. + +"I will suffer no one to part me from Lucy," he mused. "She is mine. She +belongs to me, and to no other man in this world. I will not leave her. +I might lose her; if I go away, she must go with me. She loves me! I +know it! I feel it! When she sat at my side as we were driving together +she _was me_. Her personality melted into mine, and Lucy Lugur and Harry +Hatton were one. If I felt this, Lucy felt it. I will tell her, and she +will believe me, for I am sure she shared that wonderful transfusion of +the 'thee into me' which is beyond all explanation, and never felt but +with the one soul that is our soul." + +Thus as he walked down to the village he thrilled himself with the +pictures of his own imaginings; for a passionate bewildering love, that +had all the unbearable realism of a dream, held him in its unconquerable +grip. There may be men who can force themselves to be reasonable in such +a condition, but Henry Hatton was not among them; and when he +unexpectedly met Lucy's father in the village, he quite forgot that the +man knew nothing at all of his affection for his daughter and his +intention to marry her. + +"Mr. Lugur," he cried almost joyfully, "I was looking for you, hoping to +meet you, and here you are! I am so glad!" + +Lugur looked up curiously. People did not usually address him with such +pronounced pleasure, and with Henry Hatton he had not been familiar, or +even friendly. "Good evening, Mr. Hatton," he answered, and he touched +the cap set so straight and positive on his big, dark head with slight +courtesy. "Have you any affair with me, sir?" he asked. + +"I have." + +"It is my busy night. I was going home, but----" + +"Allow me to walk with you, Mr. Lugur." + +"Very well. Talking will not hinder. I am at your service, sir." + +[Illustration: "He knew her for his own ... as she stood with her father +at the gate of their little garden."] + +Then Henry Hatton made his heart speak words which no one could have +doubted. He was a natural orator, and he was moved by an impetuous +longing, that feared nothing but its own defeat. He told Lugur all that +he had told himself, and the warmth and eagerness of his pleading +touched the man deeply, though he did not interrupt him until he said, +"I am going for a year's travel, and I want to marry Lucy, and take her +with me." + +Then he asked, "Have you spoken to my daughter on the subject of +marriage?" + +"I want your permission in order to gain hers." + +"Does she know that you love her?" + +"I have not told her so. I ask that you take me now to your home that I +may speak to her this hour." + +Lugur made no further remark, until they reached the schoolmaster's +house. Then he said, "There is a light, as you may see, in the +right-hand room; Lucy is there. Tell her I gave you permission to call +on her. Leave the door of the room open; I shall be in the room opposite +to it. You may remain an hour if you wish to do so. Leave at once if +your visit troubles Lucy." Then with a cold smile he added, "I am her +only cicerone, you see. She has no mother. You will remember _that_, Mr. +Hatton." As he spoke, he was looking for his latch-key and using it. +There was a lamp in the hall, and he silently indicated the door of the +room in which Lucy was sitting. At the same moment he opened a door +opposite and struck a light. Seeing Hatton waiting, he continued, "You +have already introduced yourself--go in--the door is open." + +He stood still a moment and listened to the faint flutter of Lucy's +movement, and the joyous note in her voice as she welcomed her lover. +With a sigh, he then turned to a table piled with papers and slates and +apparently gave himself up to the duty they entailed. + +In the meantime Harry had seated himself by the side of Lucy, and was +telling her in the delicious, stumbling patois of love all that was in +his heart. She was bewilderingly beautiful; all his thoughts of her had +been far below this intimate observation. Not that he analyzed or +tabulated her charms--that would have been like pulling a rose to +pieces. He only knew that her every glance and word and movement +revealed a new personal grace. He only felt that her dress so daintily +plain and neat and her simplicity and natural candor were the visible +signs of a clear and limpid nature such as gods and men must love. + +It was easy for Harry to tell her his love and his wishes. She +understood him at once, and with sweet shy glances answered those two or +three questions which are so generally whispered to a woman's heart and +which hold the secret of her life and happiness. In this wonderful +explanation the hour given was all too short, and Harry was just +beginning to plead for an immediate marriage so that they might see the +world together when Lugur entered the room and said it was the hour at +which they usually closed the-- + +Harry did not let him finish his request. "Sir," he cried +enthusiastically, "Lucy loves me. She loves me as I love her. I was +just asking her to marry me at once." + +"That is an impossible request, Mr. Hatton. Under no circumstances, none +whatever, would I permit Lucy to marry for at the least a year. Many +things must be determined first. For instance, I must have a +conversation with your mother and with Mr. John Hatton, your elder +brother." + +"You can see them tomorrow, sir--early in the morning--if you would be +so kind to Lucy and myself, we should be very grateful--what time can +you see them tomorrow?" + +"You go too fast, sir. I cannot see either of them tomorrow, nor yet for +many tomorrows." + +"Oh, sir, Lucy loves me and I love her, and----" + +"Love must learn to wait--to be patient and to be satisfied with hopes. +I am weary, and we will bid you good night." + +There was something so definite and positive in this good night that +Harry felt it to be irresistible, and with an air of disappointment made +his departure. At the outer door Lugur said, "I do not lack sympathy +with you, Mr. Hatton, in your desire to hurry your marriage forward, but +you must understand that there will be necessary delays. If you cannot +bear the strain of waiting and of patiently looking forward, you are +mistaken in the quality of your love and you had better give it up at +once." + +"No, sir. Right or wrong, it is my love, and Lucy is the only woman who +will ever bring joy or sorrow to me." + +Lugur did not answer, but his tall, dark figure standing with his hand +on the half-shut door impressed Harry painfully with the hopelessness of +further argument. He bowed silently, but as he passed through the little +gate the sound of the hastily closed door followed him up the hill to +Hatton Hall. Lugur went into the parlor to look for his daughter; she +had gone to her room. Some feeling of maidenly reserve had led her to +take this step. She never asked herself why or wherefore; she only felt +that it would be good for her to be alone, and the need had been so +urgent that she forgot her father's usual good-night kiss and blessing. +Lugur did not call her, but he felt the omission keenly. It was the +first change; he knew that it prefigured many greater ones, and he was +for the hour stunned by the suddenness of the sorrow he had to face. But +Lugur had a stout heart, a heart made strong and sure by many sufferings +and by one love. + +He sat motionless for an hour or more; his life was concentered in +thought, and thought does not always require physical movement. Indeed, +intense thought on any question is, as a rule, still and steady as a +rock. And Lugur was thinking of the one subject which was the prime +mover of his earthly life--thinking of his daughter and trying to +foresee the fate he had practically chosen for her, wondering if in +this matter he had been right or wrong. He had told himself that Lucy +must marry someone, and that Henry Hatton was the best of all her +suitors. Thirsk he hardly took into consideration; but there was young +Bradley and Squire Ashby and the Wesleyan minister, and his own +assistant in the school. He had seen that these men loved her, each in +his own way, but he liked none of them. Weighed in his balance, they +were all wanting. + +Neither was Henry Hatton without fault; but the Hatton family was good +to its root, as far as he knew or could hear tell, and at least he had +been frankly honest both with his daughter and himself. He found +strength and comfort in this reflection, and finally through it reached +the higher attitude, which made him rise to his feet, clasp his hands, +and lift his face with whispered prayer to the Father and Lover of +souls. Leaving Lucy in His care, his heart was at rest, and he lay down +in peace and slept. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE HEARTH FIRE + + + He who has drunk of Love's sharp strong wine, + Will drink thereof till death. + Love comes in silence and alone + To meet the elected One. + + * * * * * + +It was a chill, misty evening in the last days of September, and John +Hatton was sitting by the fire in the great central hall. He was +thinking of many things, but through all of them the idea of his brother +Harry swept like an obliterating cloud. He was amazed at the hot +impetuous love which had taken possession of the boy--for he still +thought of him as a boy--and wondering how best to direct and control a +passion that had grown like a force of Nature, which it really was. Now +great and fervid emotions are supposed to be the true realization of +life, but they do not, as a rule, soften the nature they invade; very +frequently they render it cruel and indifferent to whomever or whatever +appears to stand in the way of its desires. John realized this fact in +Harry's case. He was going from home for a year, and yet he had never +before been so careless and unconcerned about his home. + +It was not a pleasant train of thought, and he was pleased when it was +interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Hatton. "Why, John, my dear," she +said, "I was wondering if you had come home yet. Have you seen Harry?" + +"Not since breakfast." + +"He is with that girl, I suppose; or, if Lugur is at home, he is +watching the house she lives in." + +"He is very much in love. We must make the best of it. I thought he was +in love with Polly Crowther--but it seems not. There is a little +difference between the two girls." + +"There is a big difference between them, and it is all in favor of Polly +Crowther." + +"As far as we can judge at present it is, but--whatever have you in your +basket, mother? It smells like Paradise." + +"I have herbs, John. I have been crushing down my heartache with +work--there's nothing beats work if you're in trouble. I cleaned out my +still room today, and I was carrying there the last pickings of lavender +and rosemary, sage and marjoram, basil and mint. I can tell you, John, +there's a deal of help in some way or other through sweet, pungent +smells. They brightened me up a bit today, they did that!" + +"To be sure they did, mother. They rise naturally to Heaven, and if we +are willing, they carry our thoughts with them." + +"I don't know about that, John. My thoughts were not heavenly at all +today, and I hope they stayed where they belonged. Take the tongs, John, +and lift a lump of coal to the fire. I joy to see the blaze. I wouldn't +like Hatton hearthstone to have the ill luck that has just come to Yates +Manor House. You know, John, the fire in their hall has been burning for +nearly two hundred years, never, never allowed to go out. The young +squire always fed it as soon as the old squire went away. It was dead +and cold this morning. Yates is past comforting. He says it bodes all +kinds of misfortunes to them." + +"How long ago is it since Hatton Hall fire was lit?" + +"Well, John, our fire isn't out of counting, like some of the old hearth +fires in Yorkshire. But Hatton fire will never go out, John. It was lit +by a man that will not die, nor his name perish forever. _Why-a!_ John +Wesley kindled the fire on Hatton hearthstone." + +"Say what you can about it, mother. My father has told me the story many +a time, but I can never hear it too often." + +"My dear lad, it was in the days of thy great-grandfather. One afternoon +John Wesley came to Hatton and was met with honor and welcome. And word +was sent far and near, to squire and farmer, hedger and ditcher. And at +eight o'clock the good, great man stood up in Hatton's big barn in their +midst. And he talked heavenly to them of Christ and of the love of God +that was not willing that _any_ should perish, but that _all_ should +come to repentance. Eh, my dear, he talked till men and women were +weeping for joy and hope, and the big barn felt as if it was on fire. +And that night John Wesley sat a long while with the Master of Hatton, +and it was past midnight when they went to bed. But very early in the +morning--before cocklight it was--your great-grandfather came downstairs +to see that Wesley had a cup of tea before his early start onward. And +he found the good man had already lit a fire and infused the tea, and +then and there it was made the law of Hatton household that the fire +John Wesley kindled there must never go out, but be a sign and covenant +of good to the House of Hatton as long as there was a man in Hatton to +carry it on." As she was talking Mrs. Hatton had put her basket of herbs +on a little table, and with glowing cheeks she now bent her head and +inhaled their refreshing odors. John was silent for a few moments, and +profoundly touched by the old homely story; then he said, + +"My dear mother, it may be a son of Harry's that will be so favored. Had +we not better accept his marriage as pleasantly as we can? Lucy Lugur is +a beautiful girl, and that big fervent Welshman who is her father has +doubtless made her the image of all that God and man love in a woman." + +"Maybe Lugur has done his best with her, but women see a long sight +further into women than men do. I'll hev to seek and to find good +reasons for Harry marrying so far below himself before I'll hev this or +that to say or do with such an ill-sorted marriage. Now, John, get ready +for thy dinner; none of us are going to do any waiting for a lad that +thinks he can live on love." + +John rose, smiling, and as he did so said, "Was that the way Methodism +began, mother?" + +"To be sure, it was. It began in the lanes and streets and in the barns +and kitchens of old manor houses like Hatton Hall. Your +great-grandfather used to say it was like a loud cry at midnight +startling the sleepy world." + +"It was the most picturesque domestic event of last century, as well as +a religious----" + +"Picturesque! I never thought of Methodism in that way, John; but I'll +tell thee, it took the very heart of Yorkshire and set it to song and +prayer--and cotton-spinning. It stopped a deal of gambling and racing +and dog-and cock-fighting, and chapels and mills grew together all over +the length and breadth of Yorkshire. They did that, and all that! I've +heard my father say so many a time. Make haste now, my lad, dinner will +spoil if tha keeps it waiting. Methodism is like enough to stand +forever." + +In this conversation Mrs. Hatton had dropped easily and naturally into +the Yorkshire speech, as all Yorkshire people do when heart-touched. For +Yorkshire is neither a dialect nor a patois; it is the pure English of +a thousand years ago, the English Chaucer spoke, and which Yorkshire has +preserved in all its purity--especially about the Craven district. Mrs. +Hatton had gone through finishing schools of the latest fashion and she +made no trips in her usual social conversation, unless deeply moved, but +if a little Yorkshire was a fault, it was a very general one, and there +was no interesting conversation without such lapses into English pure +and undefiled and often startlingly picturesque and to the point. + +When John had left her she took her herbs to the still room, laid them +in their places, and removed the large white linen apron which covered +her from head to feet. Then she stood beautifully gowned in black satin +with fine thread-lace cuffs turned back nearly to the elbows and a large +collar of the same lace fastened at the throat with a brooch of gold and +diamonds. Her black hair was fashionably dressed and finished with a +small cap of lace and pink ribbon, and her feet shod in black satin +sandals--a splendid woman of fifty-three years old, showing every grace +at its finest with as yet no sign of decay in any of them. + +John gave her his arm proudly, but he noticed that her face clouded +before she was seated. She would not ask as to Harry's whereabouts, but +she missed his presence, and anger grew in her heart. "He is with that +girl," she thought, and she was sick with anxiety and inquietude. The +roast sirloin was done to the last perfect minute, and the Yorkshire +pudding deliciously brown and light; the table was set without a flaw or +a "forget," and the fire and light just as they should be. There was no +obvious outlet for her annoyance, and it took away her appetite and made +her silent. + +John tried various interesting public topics--topics she had been eager +about; but every allusion to them at this hour was scornfully received. +Then he made a social effort. "I met Miss Phyllis Broadbent today, +mother," he said. + +"Where did you meet her?" + +"She was walking past the mill." + +"Waiting for you--and I'll warrant it." + +"I would not say that much, mother. She was out collecting for the new +cooking-school. She said she wanted to see you very much." + +"And pray what for is she wanting to see me? I am not related to her. I +owe her nothing. I'm not going to give her anything and I don't want to +see her." + +"I suppose she wants your help in this new charity she has on hand. She +was very polite, and sent you all kinds of good wishes. There is no harm +in good wishes, is there?" + +"I'm not so sure of that. If Miss Phyllis gives her good wishes, there's +no harm in them, but--but I don't want to buy them at any price. I'll +tell you what it is, John--" + +But she never told him at that hour, for as she spoke Harry Hatton +opened the door and looked in. "I am wet--dripping wet, mother," he +said. "The mizzling rain turned to a downpour when I was halfway up the +hill, but I will be ready for dinner in twenty minutes." + +"And I am not going to keep beef and pudding on the table twenty minutes +for you, Harry." + +"That's right, mother. I don't deserve it. Send it to the kitchen. I'll +have some partridge and pastry when I come down." + +He was gone before his mother's answer could leave her lips; but there +was a light in her eyes and a tone in her voice that made her a +different woman as she said, "We will not talk of Miss Lugur tonight, +John. There is plenty else to talk about. She is non-essential, and I +believe in the man who said, 'Skip the non-essentials.'" + +This proposal was carried out with all John's wisdom and kindness. He +kept the conversation on the mill or on subjects relating to Harry's +proposed journey until there was a sudden silence which for a moment or +two no one appeared able to break. It was Mrs. Hatton who did so, and +with a woman's instinct she plunged at once into a subject too sacred to +dispute. + +"My dear Harry," she said, in her clear vibrant voice, "my dear lad, +John and I have just been talking of Wesley and how he came to light our +hearthstone. You see, poor Squire Yates' fire went out last night." + +"Never! Surely never, mother!" + +"It did, my dear. Yates has no son, he is old and forgetful, and his +nephew, who is only a Ramsby, was at Thornton market race, and nobody +thought of the fire, and so out it went. They do say the squire is dying +today. Well, then, Hatton Hall has two sons to guard her hearth, and I +want to tell you, Harry, how our fire was saved not thirty years ago. +Your grandfather was then growing poor and poorer every year, and with a +heavy heart he was think, think, thinking of some plan to save the dear +old home. + +"One morning your father was walking round the Woodleigh meadows, for he +thought if we sold them, and the Woodleigh house, we might put off +further trouble for a while and give Good Fortune time to turn round and +find a way to help us. And as he was walking and thinking Ezra Topham +met him. Now, then, Ezra and your father were chief friends, even from +their boyhood, and their fathers before them good friends, and indeed, +as you know the Yorkshire way in friendship, it might go back of that +and that again. And Ezra said these very words, + +"'Stephen, I'm going to America. My heart and hands were never made for +trading and cotton-spinning. I hev been raised on the land. I hev lived +on the land and eaten and drunk what the land gave me. All my +forefathers did the same, and the noise and smell of these new-fangled +factories takes the heart out of me. I hev a bit of brass left, and +while I hev it I am going to buy me a farm where good land is sold by +the acre and not by feet and inches. Now, then, I'll sell thee my mill, +and its fifty looms, and heppen it may do cheerfully for thee what it +will not do anyway for me. Will tha buy it?'" + +"Poor chap!" interrupted Harry. "I know just how he felt. I am sorry for +him." + +"You needn't be anything of that sort, Harry. He is a big landowner now +and a senator and a millionaire. So save thy pity for someone that needs +it. As I was saying, he offered to sell his mill to thy father and thy +father snapped at the offer, and it was settled there and then as they +stood in Woodleigh meadows." + +"What did father pay for it?" asked Harry. + +"Nay, my dear, I cannot tell thee. Thy father never told his women folk +what he made or what he spent. It wasn't likely. But it was a fair +bargain, no doubt, for when they had settled it, Ezra said, 'Good-bye, +Stephen! I shall not see thee again in this world!' and he pulled out +his watch and father took out his and they changed watches for the +memory of each other. Then they clasped hands and said farewell. But +they wrote to each other at every New Year, and when thy father died +Ezra's watch was sent back to him. Then Ezra knew his friend had no +longer any need to count time. He had gone into Eternity." + +"It was a good custom, mother," said John. "It is a pity such customs +are dying out." + +"They have to die, John," answered Mrs. Hatton, "for there's no +friendships like that now. People have newspapers and books dirt cheap +and clubs just as cheap, and all kinds of balls to amuse them--they +never feel the need of a friend. Just look at our John. He has lots of +acquaintances, but he does not want to change watches with any man--does +he, now?" + +The young men laughed, and Harry said if they had let friends go they +had not given up sweethearts. Then Mrs. Hatton felt they were on +dangerous ground, and she continued her story at once. + +"Thy father and I had been nearly three years married then, and John was +a baby ten months old. I had not troubled myself much about debt or +poverty or danger for the old Hall. I was happy enough with my little +son, and somehow I felt sure that Stephen Hatton would overget all his +worries and anxieties. + +"Now listen to me! I woke up that night and I judged by the high moon +that it was about midnight. Then I nursed my baby and tucked him snugly +in his cradle. Thy father had not come to his bed but that was no care +to me; he often sat reading or figuring half the night through. It was +Stephen Hatton's way--but suddenly I heard a voice--the voice of a man +praying. That is a sound, my dears, you can never mistake. When the soul +speaks to its God and its Father, it has a different voice to the one a +man uses with his fellowmen, when he talks to them about warps and yarns +and shillings. + +"There was a soft, restful murmur of running water from the little beck +by the rose garden, but far above it rose the voice of a man in strong +urgent prayer. It came from the summer-house among the rose-trees, and +as I listened, I knew it was your father's voice. Then I was frightened. +Perhaps God would not like me to listen to what was only meant for His +ear. I came away from the open window and sat down and waited. + +"In a short time your father came to me. I could see that he had been +praying. I could feel the spirit above the flesh. A great awe was over +him and he was strangely loving and gentle. 'Martha,' he said, 'I am +glad you are awake. I want to tell you something--something wonderful!' +And I sat down by him, and he clasped my hand and said, + +"'I was tired out with figuring and counting, and near midnight I went +out to cool and soothe my brain with the night air. And I suddenly +thought of Jacob on his mysterious journey, meeting the angels of God as +he slept in the wilderness, and wrestling with one for a blessing. And +with the thought the spirit of prayer came to me, and I knelt down in +the summer-house and prayed as I never prayed before in my life. + +"'I told God all my perplexities and anxieties. I asked Him to +straighten them out. I told God that I had bought Ezra's mill, and I +asked Him to be my counselor and helper. I told Him I knew nothing about +buying cotton or spinning cotton. I told Him it was the loss of +everything if I failed. I promised Him to do my best, and I asked Him to +help me to succeed; and, Martha, I solemnly vowed, if He would be with +me and do for me, that His poor and His sick and His little children +should have their share in every pound I made. And I swear to you, +Martha, that I will keep my word, and if I may speak for my sons and my +sons' sons, they also shall never fail in rendering unto God the thing I +have promised. Remind me of it. Say to me, "Stephen, the Lord God is thy +partner. Don't thee defraud Him of one farthing."' And, my dears, when I +promised he kissed me, and my cheeks were wet, and his cheeks were wet, +but we were both of us very sure and happy. + +"Well, my dear lads, after that your father walked straight forward to +his place among the biggest cotton-spinners in England. People all said, +Stephen Hatton was a very philanthropic man. He was something better. He +was a just and honest man who never lied, who never defrauded the poor +because they were poor, and who kept his contract with the Lord his God +to the last farthing. I hope to see his sons and his sons' sons keep the +covenant their father made for them. I do that. It would break my heart +if they did not!" + +Then John rose to his feet, precisely as he would have done if his +father had entered the room, and he answered, "Mother, I joined hands +with father six years ago on this subject. I will carry out all he +promised if it takes my last penny. We thought then that Harry was too +young to assume such--" + +"I am not too young now, mother, and I wish to join John in every +obligation my father made for himself and us. After this John must tithe +my share just as he tithes his own." + +Then while her heart was overflowing with a religious love and joy in +her sons, Mrs. Hatton rose and bid them good night. "I will go to my +room," she said. "I'll warrant I shall find the very company I want +there." + +"Stay with us, mother," said Harry. "I want to talk to you," and he was +so persistent that it fretted her, and she asked with a touch of +impatience, + +"Harry Hatton, have you yet to learn that when a woman wants to be by +herself she is expecting better company than you can give her?" + +For a few moments the young men were silent. Mrs. Hatton took so much +vitality out of the room with her that the level of the atmosphere was +sensibly disturbed, and had to be readjusted before it was comfortably +useful. John sat still during this period. His sight was inward and +consequently his eyes were dropped. Harry was restless, his sight was +outward and his eyes far-seeking. He was the first to speak. + +"John," he said, in a tone holding both anger and grief, "John, you +behaved unkindly to me this evening. You either persuaded mother to talk +as she did, or you fell in with her intention and helped her." + +"You might speak plainer, Harry." + +"I will. Both mother and you, either by accident or agreement, prevented +me naming Lucy. Lucy was the only subject I wanted to talk about, and +you prevented me." + +"If I did, it was the wisest and kindest thing I could do." + +"For yourselves--but how about me?" + +"I was thinking of you only." + +"Then you must think of Lucy with me." + +"It is not yet a question of _must_. If it comes to that, both mother +and I will do all the situation calls for. In the interval, we do not +wish to discuss circumstances we may never be compelled to face." + +"Then you are counting on my being drowned at sea, or on Lucy dying or +else marrying someone while I am away." + +John was silent so long that Harry began to enlarge on his last +proposition. "Of course," he continued, "I may be drowned, and if Lucy +was false to me a watery grave of any kind would be welcome; but----" + +"Harry," said John, and he leaned forward and put his hand on his +brother's knee, "Harry, my dear lad, listen to me. I am going to tell +you something I have never told even mother. You have met Lady Penryn, +I suppose?" + +"I have seen her three or four times in the hunting field. She rides +horses no one else would mount. She does everything at the danger point. +Lord Thirsk said she had been disappointed in love and wanted to kill +herself." + +"Did you think her handsome?" + +"Oh, dear, no! Far from it! She is blowsy and fat, has far too much +color, and carries too much flesh in spite of the rough way she uses +herself." + +"Harry, eight years ago I was as madly in love with Lady Penryn as you +are now with Lucy Lugur. All that you are suffering I have suffered. +Eight years ago we parted with tears and embraces and the most solemn +promises of faithful love. In four months she was married to Lord +Penryn." + +"Oh, John, what did you do?" + +"I forgot her." + +"How could you?" + +"As soon as I knew she was another man's wife, I did not dare to think +of her, and finding how much _thought_ had to do with this sin, I filled +my thoughts with complex and fatiguing business; in a word, I refused to +think of her in any way. + +"Six years afterwards I met her at a garden party; she was with a crowd +of men and women. She had lost all her power over me. My pulses beat at +their ordinary calm pace and my heart was unmoved." + +"And how did she bear the ordeal?" + +"She said, 'Good afternoon, Mr. Hatton. I think we may have met +before.' A few days ago, we passed each other on the highway between +Hatton and Overton. I lifted my hat, and she pretended not to see me." + +"Oh, John, how could the woman treat you so!" + +"She acted wisely. I thank her for her discretion. Now, Harry, give +yourself and Lucy time to draw back, if either of you find out you have +been mistaken. There are many engagements in life that can be broken and +no great harm done; but a marriage engagement, if once fulfilled, opens +to you the gates of all Futurity, and if there are children it is +irrevocable by any law. No divorce undoes it. You may likely unroll a +long line of posterity who will live when you are forgotten, but whose +actions, for good or evil, will be traced back to you." + +"Well, then, John, if I am to go away and give myself an opportunity to +draw back, I want to go immediately. Lucy's father takes her to an aunt +in Bradford tomorrow. I think when people grow old, they find a perfect +joy in separating lovers." + +"It is not only your love affairs that want pause and consideration, +Harry. You appear to hate your business as much as you ought to love and +honor it, and I am in hopes that a few weeks or months of nothing to do +will make you glad to come back to the mill. If not--" + +"What then will you do for me, John?" + +"I will buy your share of the mill." + +"Thank you, John. I know you are good to me, but you cannot tell how +certain I am about Lucy; yes, and the mill, too." + +"Well, my dear lad, I believe you tonight; but what I want you to +believe is that tomorrow some new light may shine and you may see your +thoughts on these two subjects in a different way. Just keep your mind +open to whatever you may see or hear that can instruct your intentions. +That is all I ask. If you are willing to be instructed, the Instructor +will come, not perhaps, but certainly." + +Four days after this conversation life in Hatton had broken apart, and +Harry was speeding down the Bay of Biscay and singing the fine old sea +song called after it, to the rhythm and music of its billowy surge. The +motion of the boat, the wind in the sails, the "chanties" of the sailors +as they went about their work, and the evident content and happiness +around him made Harry laugh and sing and toss away his cap and let the +fresh salt wind blow on his hot brain in which he fancied the clack and +clamor of the looms still lingered. He thought that a life at sea, +resting or sailing as the mood took him, would be a perfect life if only +Lucy were with him. + +Sitting at dinner he very pointedly made the absence of women the great +want in this otherwise perfect existence. The captain earnestly and +strongly denied it. "There is nowhere in the world," he said, "where a +woman is less wanted than on a ship. They interfere with happiness and +comfort in every way. If we had a woman on board tonight, she would be +deathly seasick or insanely frightened. A ship with a woman's name is +just as much as any captain can manage. You would be astonished at the +difference a name can make in a ship. When this yacht belonged to +Colonel Brotherton, she was called the _Dolphin_, and God and angels +know she tried to behave like one, diving and plunging and careering as +if she had fins instead of sails. I was captain of her then and I know +it. Well, your father bought her, and your mother threw a bottle of fine +old port over her bow, and called her the _Martha Hatton_, and she has +been a different ship ever since--ladylike and respectable, no more +butting of the waves, as if she was a ram; she lifts herself on and over +them and goes curtseying into harbor like a duchess." + +As they talked the wind rose, and the play of its solemn music in the +rigging of the yacht and in the deep bass of the billows was, as Harry +said, "like a chant of High Mass. I heard one for the sailors leaving +Hull last Christmas night," he said, "and I shall never forget it." + +"But you are a Methodist, sir?" + +"Oh, that does not hinder! A good Methodist can pray wherever there is +honest prayer going on. John was with me, and I knew by John's face he +was praying. I was but a lad, but I said 'Our Father,' for I knew that +Christ's words could not be wrong wherever they were said." + +"Well, sir, I hope you will recover your health soon and be able to +return to your business." + +"My health, Captain, is firstrate! I have not come to sea for my health. +Surely to goodness, John did not tell you that story?" + +"No, he did not, and I saw that you were well enough as soon as you came +on board." + +"Well, Captain, I am here to try how a life of pleasure and idleness +will suit me. I hate the mill, I hate its labor and all about it, and +John thought a few months of nothing to do would make me go cheerfully +back to work." + +"Do you think it will?" + +"I say no--downright." + +"And what then, sir?" + +"I really cannot say what I may do. I have a bit of money from my +father, and I know lots of good fellows who seem happy enough without +business or work of any kind. They just amuse themselves or have some +fad of pleasure-making like fast horses." + +"Such men ought never to have been born, sir. They only cumber the mills +and the market-places, the courts of law and the courts of the +church--yes, even the wide spaces of the ocean." + +"Are you not a bit hard, Captain?" + +"No; I am not hard enough. Do you think God sent any man that had his +five senses into this busy world to _amuse_ himself?" + +"Are you preaching me a sermon, Captain?" + +"Nay, not I! Preaching is nothing in my line. But you are on a new +road, sir, and no one can tell where it may lead to, so I'll just remind +you to watch your beginnings; the results will manage themselves." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM + +Love is the only link that binds us to those gone; the only link that +binds us to those who remain. Surely it _is_ the spiritual world--the +abiding kingdom of heaven, not far from any one of us. + +On a day of grace, she came of God's grace to me. + + +One night at the end of October Mrs. Hatton was sitting in the +living-room of the Hall. To say "sitting," however, is barely true, for +she was in that irritably anxious mood which both in men and women +usually runs into motion, and Mrs. Hatton was more frequently off her +chair than on it. She lifted the brass tongs and put a few pieces of +coal on the fire; she walked to the window and looked down the long +vista of trees; she arranged chairs and cushions, that did not need +arranging; she sent away the large tortoise-shell cat that was watching +as eagerly as herself for John's return; and finally her restlessness +found a tongue. + +"What for are you worrying about the lad, Martha Hatton? He's grown up, +you know, and he isn't worrying about you. I'll warrant that some way +or other he's with that Harlow girl, and where's his poor mother then? +Clean forgotten, of course. Sons and daughters, indeed! They are a +bitter pleasure, they are that. Here's John getting on to thirty years +old, and I never knew it in his shoes to run after a girl before--but +there--I'm down-daunted with the changes that will have to come--yes, +that will have to come--well, well, life is just a hurry-push! One +trouble after another--that's John's horse, I know its gallop, and it is +high time he was here, it is that. Besides, it's dribbling rain, and I +wouldn't wonder if it was teeming down in half an hour--and there's Tom +crying for all he's worth--I may as well let him in--come in, Tom!"--and +Tom walked in with an independent air to the rug and lay down by John's +footstool. Indeed, his attitude was impudent enough to warrant Mrs. +Hatton's threat to "turn him out-of-doors, if he did not carry himself +more like a decent cat and less like a blackguard." + +The creature knew well enough what was said to him. He lay prone on the +rug, with his head on his forepaws, watching Mrs. Hatton; and she was a +little uncomfortable and glad when John entered the room. The cat ran to +meet him, but John went straight to his mother's side and said, + +"Dear mother, I want your kiss and blessing tonight. God has given me +the desire of my heart, but I am not satisfied until you share my joy." + +"That means that God has given you the love and promise of Jane +Harlow." + +"Yes, that is what I mean. Sit down, mother; I must talk the matter over +with you, or I shall miss some of the sweetest part of it." + +Then she lifted her face and looked at him, and it was easy to see that +Love and the man had met. Never before in all his life had she seen him +so beautiful--his broad, white forehead, his bright contemplative eyes, +his sweet, loving, thoughtful face breaking into kind smiles, his gentle +manner, and his scrupulously refined dress made a picture of manhood +that appealed to her first, as a mother, and secondly, as a woman. And +in her heart an instantaneous change took place. She put her hands on +his shoulders and lifted her face for his kiss. + +"My good son!" she said. "Thy love is my love, and thy joy is my joy! +Sit thee down, John, and tell me all about it." + +So they sat down together on the bright hearth, sat down so close that +John could feel the constant touch of his mother's hand--that white, +firm hand which had guided and comforted him all his life long. + +"Mother," he said, "if anyone had told me this morning that I should be +Jane's betrothed husband before I slept this night, I would hardly have +believed in the possibility. But Love is like a flower; it lies quiet in +its long still growth, and then in some happy hour it bursts into +perfect bloom. I had finished my business at Overton and stayed to eat +the market dinner with the spinners. Then in the quiet afternoon I took +my way home, and about a mile above the village I met Jane. I alighted +and took the bridle off Bendigo's neck over my arm, and asked permission +to walk with her. She said she was going to Harlow House, and would be +glad of my company. As we walked she told me they intended to return +there; she said she felt its large rooms with their faded magnificence +to be far more respectable than the little modern villa with its +creaking floors and rattling windows in which they were living." + +"She is quite right," said Mrs. Hatton. "I wonder at them for leaving +the old place. Many a time and oft I have said that." + +"She told me they had been up there a good deal during the past summer +and had enjoyed the peace and solitude of the situation; and the large +silent rooms were full of stories, she said--love stories of the old gay +Regency days. I said something about filling them with love stories of +the present day, and she laughed and said her mother was going there to +farm the land and make some money out of it; and she added with a smile +like sunshine, 'And I am going to try and help her. That accounts for +our walk this afternoon, Mr. Hatton,' and I told her I was that well +pleased with the walk, I cared little for what had caused it. + +"In a short time we came in sight of the big, lonely house and entered +the long neglected park and garden. I noticed at once a splendid belt +of old ash-trees that shielded the house from the north and northeast +winds. I asked Jane if she knew who planted them, and she said she had +heard that the builder of the house planted the trees. Then I told her I +suspected the builder had been a very wise man, and when she asked why I +answered, Because he could hardly have chosen a better tree. The ash +represents some of the finest qualities in human nature.'" + +"That wasn't much like love talk, John." + +"It was the best kind of talk, mother. There had to be some commonplace +conversation to induce that familiarity which made love talk possible. +So I told her how the ash would grow _anywhere_--even at the seaside, +where all trees lean from the sea--_except the ash_. Sea or no sea, it +stands straight up. Even the oak will shave up on the side of the wind, +_but not the ash_. And best of all, the ash bears pruning better than +any other tree. Pruning! That is the great trial both for men and trees, +mother. None of us like it, but the ash-tree makes the best of it." + +"What did she say to all this rigmarole about trees?" + +"She said there was something very human about trees, that she had often +watched them tewing with a great wind, tossing and fretting, but very +seldom giving way to it. And she added, 'They are a great deal more +human than mountains. I really think they talk about people among +themselves. I have heard those ash-trees laughing and whispering +together. Many say that they know when the people who own them are going +to die. Then, on every tree there are some leaves splashed with white. +It was so the year father died. Do you believe in signs, Mr. Hatton?' +she asked. + +"Then, mother, without my knowledge or intention I answered, '_Oh, my +dear_! The world is full of signs and the man must be deaf and blind +that does not believe in them. I have seen just round Hatton that the +whole bird world is ruled by the signs that the trees hang out.' And she +asked me what they were, and I told her to notice next spring that as +soon as the birch-leaves opened, the pheasant began to crow and the +thrush to sing and the blackbird to whistle; and when the oak-leaves +looked their reddest, and not a day before, the whole tribe of finches +broke into song. + +"Thus talking, mother, and getting very close and friendly with each +other, we passed through the park, and I could not help noticing the +abundance of hares and pheasants. Jane said they had not been molested +since her father's death, but now they were going to send some of them +to market. As we approached the house, an old man came to meet us and I +gave my horse to his care. He had the keys of the house and he opened +the great door for us. The Hall was very high and cold and lonely, but +in a parlor on the right-hand side we found an old woman lighting a +fire which was already blazing merrily. Jane knew her well and she told +her to make us a pot of tea and bring it there. With her own hands she +drew forward a handsome Pembroke table, and then we went together +through the main rooms of the house. They were furnished in the time of +the Regency, Jane said, and it was easy to recognize the rich, ornate +extravagance of that period. In all this conversation, mother, we were +drawing nearer and nearer to each other and I kept in mind that I had +called her once 'my dear' and that she had shown no objection to the +words." + +"I suppose the old man and woman were John Britton and his wife Dinah. I +believe they have charge of the place." + +"I think so. I heard Jane give the man some orders about the glass in +the windows and he spoke to her concerning the bee skeps and the dahlia +bulbs being all right for winter. In half an hour there was a nice +little tea ready for us, and just imagine, mother, how it felt for me to +be sitting there drinking tea with Jane!" + +"Was it a nice tea, John?" + +"Mother, what can I tell you? I wasn't myself at all. I only know that +Dinah came in and out with hot cakes and that Jane put honey on them and +gave them to me with smiles and kind words. It was all wonderful! If I +had been dreaming, I might have felt just as much out of the body." + +"Jane can be very charming, I know that, John." + +"She was something better than charming, mother; she was kind and just +a little quiet. If she had been laughing and noisy and in one of her +merry moods, it would not have been half so enchanting. It was her sweet +sedateness that gave sureness and reality to the whole affair. + +"We left Harlow House just as the hunting-moon was rising. Its full +yellow splendor was over everything, and Jane looked almost spiritual in +its transfiguring light. Mother, I do not remember what I said, as I +walked with her hand-in-hand through the park. Ask your own heart, +mother. I have no doubt father said the same words to you. There can +only be one language for an emotion so powerful. Wise or foolish, Jane +understood what I said, and in words equally sweet and foolish she gave +me her promise. Oh, mother, it was not altogether the words! It was the +little tremors and coy unfoldings and sweet agitations of love revealing +itself--it wakened in Jane's heart like a wandering rose. And I saw this +awakening of the woman, mother, and it was a wonderful sight." + +"John, you have had an experience that most men miss; be thankful for +it." + +"I am, mother. As long as I live, I will remember it." + +"Did you see Mrs. Harlow?" + +"For a short time only. She was much pleased at her daughter's choice. +She thought our marriage might disarrange some of her own plans, but +she said Jane's happiness came before all other considerations." + +"Well, John, it is more than a few hours since you had that wonderful +tea with cakes and honey. You must have your proper eating, no matter +what comes or goes. What do you say to a slice of cold roast beef and +some apple pie?" + +"Nay, mother, I'm not beef hungry. I'll have the apple pie, and a +pitcher of new milk." + +"And then thou must go to bed and settle thyself with a good, deep +sleep." + +"To be sure, mother. Joy tires a man as trouble does, but a deep sleep +will rest and steady me." + +So John went to the deep, steadying sleep he needed; it was Mrs. Hatton +who watched the midnight hours away in anxious thought and careful +forebodings. She had not worried much about Harry's passion for Lucy +Lugur. She was sure that his Mediterranean trip would introduce him to +girls so much lovelier than Lucy that he would practically have +forgotten her when he returned. Harry had been in love with half a dozen +girls before Lucy. She let Harry slip out of her consideration. + +John's case was different. It was vitally true and intense. She +understood that John must marry or be miserable, and she faced the +situation with brimming eyes and a very heavy heart. She had given John +her loving sympathy, and she would not retract a word of it to him. But +to God she could open her heart and to Him she could tell even those +little things she would not speak of to any human being. She could ask +God to remember that, boy and man, John had stood by her side for nearly +thirty years, and that he was leaving her for a woman who had been +unknown a year ago. + +She could tell God that John's enthusiastic praise of this strange woman +had been hard to bear, and she divined that at least for a time she +might have to share her home with her. She anticipated all the little +offenses she must overlook, all the small unconsidered slights she must +pass by. She knew there would be difficulties and differences in which +youth and beauty would carry the day against truth and justice; and she +sat hour after hour marshaling these trials of her love and temper and +facing them all to their logical end. + +Some women would have said, "Time enough to face a trial when it comes." +No, it is too late then. Trials apprehended are trials defended; and +Martha Hatton knew that she could not trust herself with unexpected +trials. In that case she believed the natural woman would behave herself +naturally, and say the words and do the deeds called forth by the +situation. So Martha in this solemn session was seeking strength to give +up, strength to bear and to forbear, strength to see her household laws +and customs violated, and not go on the aggressive for their sanctity. + +She had a custom that devout women in all ages have naturally followed. +She sat quiet before God and spoke to Him in low, whispered words. It +was not prayer; it was rather the still confidence of one who asks help +and counsel from a Friend, able and willing to give it. + +"Dear God," she said, in a voice that none but God could hear, "give me +good, plain, household understanding--let me keep in mind that there is +no foolishness like falling out--help me to hold my temper well in hand +so that I may put things right as fast as they go wrong. I am jealous +about John--it _is_ hard to give him up. Thou gavest him to me, Thou +knowest. Oh, let nothing that happens unmother me!" + +In this way she sat in the dark and silence and asked and waited for the +answer. And no doubt it came, for about two o'clock she rose up like one +that had been strengthened and went calmly to her rest. + +In the morning the first shock of the coming change was over, the +everyday use and wont of an orderly house restored the feeling of +stability, and Martha told herself things might turn out better than +looked likely. John was just as loving and attentive as he had always +been, and when he asked her to call on Jane Harlow as soon as she could +and give her welcome into the Hatton family, she did not impute his +attentions to any selfish motive. + +Nevertheless, it was as the Lady of Hatton Manor, rather than as John's +mother, she went to make this necessary call. She dressed with the +greatest care, and though she was a good walker, chose to have her +victoria with its pair of white ponies carry her to the village. Jane +met her at the gate of their villa and the few words of necessary +welcome were spoken with a kindness which there was no reason to doubt. + +With Mrs. Harlow Martha had a queer motherly kind of friendship, and it +was really by her advice the ladies had been led to think of a return to +Harlow House. For she saw that the elder woman was unhappy for want of +some interest in life, and she was sure that the domestic instinct, as +well as the instinct for buying and selling, was well developed in her +and only wanted exercise. Indeed, an hour's conversation on the +possibilities of Harlow House, of the money to be made on game, poultry, +eggs, milk, butter, honey, fruit, had roused such good hopes in Mrs. +Harlow's heart that she could hardly wait until the house was put in +order and the necessary servants hired. + +She relied on Martha like a child, and anyone who did that was sure of +her motherly kindness. On this day Martha was particularly glad to turn +the conversation on the subject. She spoke of Jane's marriage and +pointed out what a comfort it would be when she was alone to be making a +bit of money at every turn. "Why!" she cried enthusiastically. "Instead +of moping over the fire with some silly tale of impossible tragedy, you +will have your dairy and poultry to look after. Even in winter they +bring in money, and there's game to send to market every week. Hares +come as fast as they go, and partridge are hardy and plentiful. Why, +there's a little fortune lying loose in Harlow! If I were you, I would +make haste to pick it up." + +This was a safe and encouraging subject, and Mrs. Hatton pressed it for +all it was worth. It was only Jane that saw any objections to their +immediate removal to Harlow House. She said Lord Harlow, as her nearest +relative and the head of their house, had been written to that morning, +being informed of her intended marriage, and she thought no fresh step +ought to be taken until they heard from him. + +But this or that, Martha Hatton spent more than two hours with the +Harlow ladies, and she left them full of hope and enthusiasm. And oh, +how good, how charming, how strengthening is a new hope in life! The two +ladies were ten or twelve degrees higher in moral atmosphere when Mrs. +Hatton left them than they had been before her call. And she went away +laughing and saying pleasant things and the last flirt of her white +kerchief as her victoria turned up the hill was like the flutter of some +glad bird's wing. + +In four days there was a letter of great interest and kindness from Lord +Harlow. He said that he was well acquainted with Mr. John Hatton from +many favorable sources and that the marriage arranged between him and +his niece Jane Harlow was satisfactory in all respects. Further she was +informed that Lady Harlow requested her company during the present +season in London. It would, she said, be her duty and her pleasure to +assist in getting ready her niece's wedding outfit, but she left her to +fix the day on which she would come to London. + +This letter was a little thunderbolt in the Harlow villa, and Jane said +she could not go away until her mother was settled at Harlow House. John +was much troubled at this early break in his love dream, but Mrs. Harlow +would not listen to any refusal of Lord and Lady Harlow's invitation. +She said Jane had never seen anything of life, and it was only right she +should do so before settling down at Hatton. Besides, her uncle and +aunt's gifts would be very necessary for her wedding outfit. In the +privacy of her own thoughts--yes, and several times to her daughter--she +sighed deeply over this late kindness of Lord and Lady Harlow. She +wished that Jane had been asked before she was engaged; nobody knew in +that case what good fortune might have come. It was such a pity! + +Mrs. Harlow's removal was not completed until Christmas was so close at +hand that it was thought best to make it the time for their return home. +It was really John and Mrs. Hatton who managed the whole business of the +removal, and to their efforts the complete comfort--and even beauty--of +the old residence was due. But the days spent in this work were days +full of the sweet intimacies of love. John could never forget one hour +of them, and it added to their charm to see and hear Martha Hatton +everywhere, her hands making beauty and comfort, her voice sounding like +a cheerful song in all the odd corners and queer places of the house. + +Upon the whole it was a wonderful Christmas, but when it was over the +realities of life were to face. Jane was going to London and John +wondered how he was to bear the days without her. In the spring he would +begin to build the house for himself he had long contemplated building. +The plan of it had been fully explained to Jane, and had been approved +by her, and John was resolved to break ground for the foundation as soon +as it was possible to do so. And he calculated somewhat on the diversion +he would find in building a home for the woman he so dearly loved. + +Then the parting came, and John with tears and misgivings sent his +darling into the unknown world of London. It was a great trial to him; +fears and doubts and sad forebodings gave him tragic hours. It was a new +kind of loneliness that he felt; nothing like it had ever come to him +before. + +"My food has lost all flavor," he said to his mother, "and I cannot get +any good sleep. I am very unhappy." + +"Well, my dear," she answered, "if you don't turn your suffering into +some sort of gain, you'll be a great loser. But if you turn it into +patience or good hope or good temper you will make gain out of it. You +will buy it with a price. You will pay yourself down for it. It will be +yours forever. To be plain with you, John, you have been peevish all day +long. I wouldn't if I were you. Nothing makes life taste so bitter in +your mouth as a peevish temper." + +"Why, mother! What do you mean?" + +"Just what I say, John, and it is not like you. You have no real +trouble. Jane Harlow is having what any girl would call a happy time. +There is nothing wrong in it. She does not forget you, and you must not +make troubles out of nothing, or else real troubles are sure to come. +Surely you know _who_ to go to in your trouble?" + +"Yes! Yes! In anxiety and fear we learn how necessary it was that God +should come to us as man. 'It is our flesh that we seek and that we find +in the Godhead. It is a face like my face that receives me, a Man like +to me that I love and am loved by forever.' I have learned how necessary +the revelation of Christ was in these lonely weeks. I did not know I was +cross. I will mend that." + +"Do, my dear. It isn't like John Hatton to be cross. No, it isn't!" + +Slowly the winter passed. John went several times to London during it +and was kindly and honorably entertained by Lord Harlow during his +visits. Then he saw his Jane in environments that made him a little +anxious about the future. Surrounded by luxury, a belle and favorite in +society, a constant participator in all kinds of amusement and the +recipient of much attention, how would she like to settle down to the +exact monotony of life at Hatton? + +It was well for John that he had none of the Hellenic spirit in him. He +was not tempted to sit down and contemplate his worries. No, the Hebrew +spirit was the nobler one, and he persistently chose it--"get thee forth +into their midst, and whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy +might." John instinctively followed this advice, so that even his +employees noticed his diligence and watchfulness about everything going +on. + +In the earliest days of April when spring was making the world fresh and +lovely and filling the balmy air with song, John thought of the home for +himself that he would build and he determined to see the man who was to +dig the foundation that night. He had just received a letter from Jane, +and she said she was weary of London, and longing to be with her dear +mother at Harlow House, or indeed anywhere that would allow her to see +him every day. A very little kindness went a long way with John and such +words lying near his heart made him wonderfully happy. And because he +was happy he was exceedingly busy. Even Greenwood did not trouble him +with observations; and official conversation was reduced to +monosyllables. People came in and left papers and went out without a +word; and there was a pressure on John to "do whatsoever his hand found +to do with all his might." + +Suddenly the door was flung open with unrestricted force and noise and +John raised his head to reprove the offender. Instead of this, he rose +from his chair and with open arms took his brother to his heart. "Why, +Harry!" he cried. "Mother will be glad to see you. I was thinking of you +while I dressed myself this morning. When did you reach England?" + +"I got to London three days ago." + +"Never! I wouldn't tell mother that! She will think you ought to have +been at Hatton three days ago." + +"I had to look after Lucy, first thing. I found her, John, in Bradford +in a sad state." + +"I don't understand you, Harry." + +"Her father had left her with a very strict aunt, and she was made to do +things she never had done--work about the house, you know--and she +looked ill and sorrowful and my heart ached for her. Her father was away +from her, and she thought I had forgotten her. The dear little woman! I +married her the next day." + +"Henry Hatton! What are you saying?" + +"I married there and then, as it were. It was my duty to do so." + +"It was your will. There was no duty in it." + +"Call it what you like, John. She is now my wife and I expect you and +mother will remember this." + +"You are asking too much of mother." + +"You said you would stand by me in this matter." + +"I thought you would behave with some consideration for others. Is it +right for you to expect mother to take an entire stranger into her home, +a girl for whom she had no liking? Why should mother do this?" + +"Because I love the girl." + +"You are shamelessly selfish, and a girl who could make a mother's love +for you a pretext for entering Hatton Hall as her right is not a nice +girl." + +"Lucy has done nothing of the kind. She is satisfied in the hotel. Do +you want me to stay at the hotel?" + +"I should feel very much hurt if you did." + +"But I shall stay where my wife stays." + +"You had better go and see mother. What she does I will second." + +"John, can you settle the matter of the mill now? I want no more to do +with it and you know you promised to buy my share in that case." + +"I want to build my home. I cannot build and buy at the same time." + +"Why need you build? There is Hatton Hall for you, and mother will not +object to the nobly born Jane Harlow." + +"We will not talk of Miss Harlow. Harry, my dear, dear brother, you have +come home to turn everything upside down. Let me have a little time to +think. Go and see mother. I will talk to you immediately afterwards. +Where did you leave the yacht?" + +"At London. I disliked Captain Cook. I felt as if I was with a tutor of +some sort all the time. He said he would take the yacht to her wharf at +Whitby and then write to you. You ought to have a letter today. I don't +think you are very glad to see me, John." + +"Oh, Harry, you have married that girl, quite regardless of how your +marriage would affect your family! You ought to have given us some time +to prepare ourselves for such a change." + +"Lucy was in trouble, and I could not bear to see her in trouble." + +"Well, go and see mother. Perhaps you can bear mother's trouble more +easily." + +"I hope mother will be kinder to me than you have been. John, I have no +money. Let me have a thousand pounds till we settle about the mill." + +"Do you know what you are asking, Harry? A thousand pounds would run +Hatton Hall for a year." + +"I have to live decently, I suppose." + +With these words he left the mill and went at once to the Hall. Mrs. +Hatton was in the garden, tying up some straying branches of +honeysuckle. At her feet were great masses of snowdrops tall and white +among moss and ivy, and the brown earthen beds around were cloth of gold +with splendid crocus flowers; but beyond these things, she saw her son +as soon as he reached the gate. And she called him by his name full and +heartily and stood with open arms to receive him. + +Harry plunged at once into his dilemma. "Mother! Mother!" he cried, +taking both her hands in his. "Mother, John is angry with me, but you +will stand by me, I know you will. It is about Lucy, mother. I found her +in great trouble, and I took her out of it. Don't say I did wrong, +mother. Stand by me--you always have done so." + +"You took her out of it! Do you mean that you married her?" + +"How else could I help her? She is my wife now, and I will take care +that no one troubles her. May I bring her to see you, mother?" + +Mrs. Hatton stood looking at Harry. It was difficult for her to take in +and believe what she heard, but in a few moments she said, + +"Where is she?" + +"At the little hotel in the village." + +"You must bring her here at once. She ought never to have gone to the +hotel. Dear me! What will people say?" + +"Thank you, mother." + +"Take my victoria. James is in the stable and he will drive it. Go for +your wife at once. She must come to your home." + +"And you will try and love her for my sake, mother?" + +"Nay, nay! If I can't love the lass for her own sake, I'll never love +her for thy sake. But if she is thy wife, she will get all the respect +due thy wife. If she can win more, she'll get more, and that is all +there is to it." + +With this concession Harry had to be satisfied. He brought his wife to +the Hall and Mrs. Hatton met her with punctilious courtesy. She gave her +the best guest room and sent her own maid to help her dress. The little +woman was almost frightened by the ceremonious nature of her reception. +But when John came home he called her "Lucy," and tempered by many +little acts of brotherly kindness, that extreme politeness which is +harder to bear than hard words. + +And as John and his mother sat alone and unhappy after Harry and his +wife had bid them good night, John attempted to comfort his mother. "You +carried yourself bravely and kindly, mother," he said, "but I see that +you suffer. What do you think of her?" + +"She is pretty and docile, but she isn't like a mother of Hatton men. +Look at the pictured women in the corridor upstairs. They were born to +breed and to suckle men of brain and muscles like yourself, John. The +children of little women are apt to be little in some way or other. Lucy +does not look motherly, but Harry is taken up with her. We must make the +best of the match, John, and don't let the trial of their stay here be +too long. Get them away as soon as possible." + +"Harry says that he has decided to make his home in or near London." + +"Then he is going to leave the mill?" + +"Yes." + +"What is he thinking of?" + +"Music or art. He has no settled plans. He says he must settle his home +first." + +"Well, when Harry can give up thee and me for that girl, we need not +think much of ourselves. I feel a bit humiliated by being put below +her." + +"Don't look at it in that way, mother." + +"Nay, but I can't help it. I wonder wherever Harry got his fool notions. +He was brought up in the mill and for the mill, and I've always heard +say that as the twig is bent the tree is inclined." + +"That is only a half-truth, mother. You have the nature of the tree to +reckon with. You may train a willow-tree all you like but you will never +make it an oak or an ash. Here is Harry who has been trained for a +cotton-spinner turns back on us and says he will be an artist or a +singer, and what can we do about it? It is past curing or altering now." + +But though the late owner of Hatton Mill had left the clearest +instructions concerning its relation to his two sons, the matter was not +easily settled. He had tied both of them so clearly down to his will in +the matter that it was found impossible to alter a tittle of his +directions. Practically it amounted to a just division of whatever the +mill had made after the tithe for charities had been first deducted. It +gave John a positive right to govern the mill, to decide all disputes, +and to stand in his place as master. It gave to Henry the same financial +standing as his brother, but strictly denied to either son who deserted +the mill any sum of larger amount than five thousand pounds; "to be made +in one payment, and not a shilling more." A codicil, however, three +years later, permitted one brother to buy the other out at a price to be +settled by three large cotton-spinners who had long been friends of the +Hatton family. These directions appeared to be plain enough but there +was delay after delay in bringing the matter to a finish. It was nearly +a month before Harry had his five thousand pounds in his pocketbook, and +during this time he made no progress with his mother. She thought him +selfish and indifferent about the mill and his family. In fact, Harry +was at that time a very much married man, and though John was capable of +considering the value of this affection, John's mother was not. John +looked on it as a safeguard for the future. John's mother saw it only as +a marked and offensive detail of the present. Lucy did nothing to help +the situation. In spite of the attention paid her, she knew that she was +unwelcome. "Your people do not like me, Harry," she complained; and +Harry said some unkind things concerning his people in reply. + +So the parting was cool and constrained, and Harry went off with his +bride and his five thousand pounds, caring little at that time for any +other consideration. + +"He will come to himself soon, mother," said John. "It isn't worth while +to fret about him." + +"I never waste anything, John, least of all love and tears. I can learn +to do without, as well as other mothers." + +But it was a hard trial, and her tired eyes and weary manner showed it. +John was not able to make any excuse she would listen to about Harry's +marriage. Its hurried and almost clandestine character deeply offended +her; and the young wife during her visit had foolishly made a point of +exhibiting her power over her husband, while both of them seemed +possessed by that egotistical spirit which insists on their whole world +seeing how vastly superior their love is to any other love that ever had +been. Undoubtedly the young couple were offensive to everyone, and Mrs. +Hatton said they had proved to her perfect satisfaction the propriety +and even the necessity for the retirement of newly married people to +some secluded spot for their honeymoon. + +Soon after their departure Jane Harlow returned. She came home attended +by the rumor of her triumphs and enriched by a splendid wardrobe and +many fine pieces of jewelry. She told modestly enough the story of the +life she had been leading, and Mrs. Hatton was intensely interested in +it. + +"Jane Harlow is a woman of a thousand parts, and you have chosen a wife +to bring you friendship and honor," she said to John. "Dear knows one +cannot weary in her company. She has an opinion on every subject." + +"She has been in highly cultivated society and it has improved her a +great deal, mother. Perhaps if Lucy had had the same opportunity she +would have been equally benefited." + +"I beg to remind you, John, of what you said about training trees--'the +nature of the tree has to be taken into account'; no amount of training +could make an oak out of a willow." + +"True, mother. Yet there are people who would prefer the willow to the +oak." + +"And you couldn't help such people, now could you? You might be sorry +for them. But there--what could you do?" + +And John said softly, + + "What can we do o'er whom the unbeholden + Hangs in a night, wherewith we dare not cope; + What but look sunward, and with faces golden, + Speak to each other softly of our Hope?" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +SHOCK AND SORROW + + + There's not a bonnie flower that springs + By fountain, shaw, or green, + There's not a bonnie bird that sings, + But minds me of my Jean. + + Only a child of Nature's rarest making, + Wistful and sweet--and with a heart for breaking. + +Life is a great school and its lessons go on continually. Now and then +perhaps we have a vacation--a period in which all appears to be at +rest--but in this very placidity there are often bred the storms that +are to trouble and perhaps renew us. For some time after the departure +of Harry and his bride, John's life appeared to flow in a smooth but +busy routine. Between the mill and Harlow House, he found the days all +too short for the love and business with which they were filled. And +Mrs. Hatton missed greatly the happy and confidential conversations that +had hitherto made her life with her son so intimate and so affectionate. + +Early in the spring John began the building of his own home, and this +necessarily required some daily attention, especially as he had designs +in his mind which were unusual to the local builders, and which seemed +to them well worthy of being quietly passed over. For the house was +characteristic of the man and the man was not of a common type. + +There was nothing small or mean about John's house. The hill on which it +stood was the highest ground on the Hatton Manor. It commanded a wide +vista of meadows, interspersed with peacefully flowing waters, until the +horizon on every hand was closed by ranges of lofty mountains. On this +hill the house stood broadly facing the east. It was a large, square +Georgian mansion, built of some white stone found in Yorkshire. Its +rooms were of extraordinary size and very lofty, their windows being +wide and high and numerous. Its corridors were like streets, its +stairways broad enough for four people to ascend them abreast. Light, +air, space were throughout its distinguishing qualities, and its +furnishings were not only very handsome, they had in a special manner +that honest size, solidity, and breadth which make English household +belongings so comfortable and satisfactory. The grounds were full of +handsome forest trees and wonderful grassy glades and just around the +house the soil had been enriched and planted with shrubbery and flowers. + +Its great proportions in every respect suited both John Hatton and the +woman for whom it was built. Both of them appeared to gain a positive +majesty of appearance in the splendid reaches of its immense rooms. +Certainly they would have dwarfed small people, but John and Jane +Hatton were large enough to appropriate and become a part of their +surroundings. John felt that he had realized his long, long dream of a +modern home, and Jane knew that its spacious, handsome rooms would give +to her queenly figure and walk the space and background that was most +charming and effective. + +In about a year after Harry's marriage it was completely finished and +furnished; then John Hatton and Jane Harlow were married in London at +Lord Harlow's residence. Harry's invitation did not include his wife, +and John explained that it was impossible for him to interfere about the +people Lord and Lady Harlow invited to their house or did not invite. "I +wish the affair was over," he exclaimed, "for no matter who is there I +shall miss you, Harry." + +"And Lucy?" + +"Yes; but I will tell you what will be far better. Suppose you and Lucy +run over to Paris and see the new paintings in the Salon--and all the +other sights?" + +"I cannot afford it, John." + +"The affording is my business. I will find the guineas, Harry. You know +that. And Lucy will not have to spend them in useless extravagant +dress." + +"All right, John! You are a good brother, and you know how to heal a +slight." + +So John's marriage took place without his brother's presence, and John +missed him and had a heartache about it. Subsequently he told his mother +so, upon which the Lady of Hatton Manor answered, + +"Harry managed very well to do without either mother or brother at his +own wedding. You know that, John; and I was none sorry to miss him at +yours. When you have to take a person you love with a person you don't +love, it is like taking a spoonful of bitterness with a spoonful of +jelly after it. I never could tell which spoonful I hated the worst." + +After the marriage John and his wife came directly to their own home. +John could not leave his mill and his business, and Lord and Lady Harlow +considered his resolution a wise proceeding. Jane was also praised for +her ready agreement to her husband's business exigencies. But really the +omission of the customary wedding-journey gave Jane no disappointment. +To take possession of her splendid home, to assume the social +distinction it gave her, and to be near to the mother she idolized were +three great compensations, superseding abundantly the doubtful pleasures +of railway travel and sightseeing. + +Jane's mother had caused a pleasant surprise at her daughter's wedding, +for the past year's efforts at Harlow House had amply proved Mrs. +Harlow's executive abilities in its profitable management; and she was +so sure of this future result that she did not hesitate to buy a rich +and fashionable wedding-garment or to bring to the light once more the +beautiful pearls she had worn at her own bridal. There were indeed few +ladies at John's wedding more effectively gowned than his +mother-in-law--_except his mother_. + +Mrs. Hatton's splendid health set off her splendid beauty, fine +carriage, and sumptuous gown of silver-gray brocaded satin, emphasized +by sapphires of great luster and value. + +"I hevn't worn them since father died, thou knowest," she had said to +John the day before the wedding, as she stood before him with the gems +in her hands, "but tomorrow he will expect me to wear them both for his +sake and thine, thou dear, dear lad!" And she looked up at her son and +down at the jewels and her eyes were dim with tears. Presently she +continued, "Jane was here this afternoon. I dare say thou art going to +the train with her tonight, and may be she will tell thee what she is +going to wear. She didn't offer to tell me, and I wouldn't ask her--not +I!" + +"What for?" + +"I thought she happen might be a bit superstitious about talking of her +wedding fineries. You can talk the luck out of anything, you know, +John." + +"Nay, nay, mother!" + +"To be sure, you can. _Why-a!_ Your father never spoke of any business +he wanted to come to a surety, and if I asked him about an offer or a +contract he would answer, 'Be quiet, Martha, dost ta want to talk it to +death?'" + +"I will keep mind of that, mother." + +"Happen it will be worth thy while to do so." + +"Father was a shrewd man." + +"Well, then, he left one son able to best him if so inclined." + +"You will look most handsome, mother. I shall be proud of you. There +will be none like you at the London house." + +"I think that is likely, John. Jane's mother will look middling well, +but I shall be a bit beyond her. She showed me her gown, and her pearls. +They were not bad, but they might hev been better--so they might!" + +It was thus John Hatton's marriage came off. There was a dull, chill +service in St. Margaret's, every word of which was sacred to John, a gay +wedding-breakfast, and a laughing crowd from whom the bride and +bridegroom stole away, reaching their own home late in the afternoon. +They were as quiet there as if they had gone into a wilderness. Mrs. +Hatton remained in London for two weeks, with an old school companion, +and Mrs. Harlow was hospitably entertained by Lord and Lady Harlow, who +thoroughly respected her successful efforts to turn Harlow House into +more than a respectable living. + +Perhaps she was a little proud of her work, and a little tiresome in +explaining her methods, but that was a transient trial to be easily +looked over, seeing that its infliction was limited to a short period. +On the whole she was praised and pleased, and she told Mrs. Hatton when +they met again, that it was the first time her noble brother-in-law had +ever treated her with kindness and respect. + +So the days grew to months, and the months to more than four years, and +the world believed that all was prosperous with the Hattons. Perhaps in +Harry Hatton's case expectations had been a little bettered by +realities. At least in a great measure he had realized the things he had +so passionately desired when he resigned his share in the mill and gave +life up to love, music, and painting. He certainly possessed one of +those wonderful West Riding voices, whose power and sweetness leaves an +abiding echo in memory. And in London he had found such good teachers +and good opportunities that John was now constantly receiving programs +of musical entertainments in which Harry Hatton had a prominent part. +Indeed, John had gone specially to the last Leeds musical event, and had +been greatly delighted with the part assigned Harry and the way in which +he rendered it. + +Afterwards he described to Harry's mother the popularity of her son. +"Why, mother," he said, "the big audience were most enthusiastic when +Harry stepped forward. He looked so handsome and his smile and bearing +were so charming, that you could not wonder the people broke into cheers +and bravos. I was as enthusiastic as anyone present. And he sang, yes, +he sang like an angel. Upon my word, mother, one could not expect a soul +who had such music in it to be silent." + +"I'm sure I don't know where he got the music. His father never sang a +note that I know of, and though I could sing a cradle song when a crying +child needed it, nobody ever offered me money to do it; and your father +has said more than often when so singing, '_Be quiet, Martha_!' So his +father and mother did not give Harry Hatton any such foolish notions and +ways." + +"Every good gift is from God, mother, and we ought not to belittle them, +ought we, now?" + +"I'm sure I don't know, John. I've been brought up with cotton-spinners, +and it is little they praise, if it be not good yarns and warps and +wefts and big factories with high, high chimneys." + +"Well, then, cotton-spinners are mostly very fine singers. You know +that, mother." + +"To be sure, but they don't make a business of singing, not they, +indeed! They work while they sing. But to see a strapping young man in +evening dress or in some other queer make of clothes, step forward +before a crowd and throw about his arms and throw up his eyes and sing +like nothing that was ever heard in church or chapel is a stunningly +silly sight, John. I saw and heard a lot of such rubbishy singing and +dressing when I was in London." + +"Still, I think we ought to be proud of Harry." + +"Such nonsense! I'm more than a bit ashamed of him. I am that! You +can't respect people who _amuse_ you, like you do men who put their +hands to the world's daily work. No, you can not, John. I would have +been better suited if Harry had stuck to his painting business. He could +have done that in his own house, shut up and quiet like; but when I was +in London I saw pictures of Henry Hatton, of our Harry, mind ye, singing +in all makes and manners of fool dresses. I hope to goodness his father +does not know a Hatton man is exhibiting himself to gentle and simple in +such disreputable clothes. I have been wondering your father hasn't been +to see me about it." + +"To see you, mother?" + +"To be sure. If there's anything wrong at Hatton, he generally comes and +gives me his mind on the same." + +"You mean that you dream he does?" + +"You may as well call it 'dreaming' as anything else. The name you give +it doesn't matter, does it?" + +"Not much, mother. I brought home with me two of Harry's paintings. They +are fine copies of famous pictures. I gave him fifty pounds for them and +thought them cheap at that." + +"Well, then, if I was buying Harry's work, I would not count on its +cheapness. I'll be bound that you bought them as an excuse for giving +him money. I would buy or give away, one or the other. I hate +make-believes--I do that!--of all kinds and for all reasons, good or +bad." + +"There was nothing like pretending in the transaction, mother. The +pictures were good, I paid their value and no more or less, because they +were only copies. Harry's technique is perfect, and his feeling about +color and atmosphere wonderful, but he cannot create a picture. He has +not the imagination. I am sorry for it." + +"Be sorry if you like, John. I have a poor opinion of imagination, +except in religious matters. However, Harry has chosen his own way: I +don't approve of it. I won't praise him, and I won't quarrel with him. +You can do as you like. One thing is sure--he is more than good enough +for the girl he married." + +"He is very fond of her and I do believe she keeps Harry straight. He +does just as she thinks best about most things." + +"Does he? Then he ought to be ashamed of himself to take orders from +her. Many times he sneaked round my orders and even his father's, and +then to humble a Hatton to obey the orders of a poor Welsh girl! It's a +crying shame! It angers me, John! It would anger anyone, it would. You +can't say different, John." + +"Yes, I can, mother. I assure you that Lucy is just the wife Harry +needs. And they have two fine little lads. I wish the eldest--called +Stephen after my father--was my own son. I do that!" + +"Nay, my dear. There's no need for such a wish. There are sons and +daughters for Hatton, no doubt of that. Thy little Martha is very dear +to my heart." + +"To mine also, mother." + +"Then be thankful--and patient. I'm going upstairs to get a letter I +want posted. Will you take it to the mail for me?" + +Then Mrs. Hatton left the room and John looked wistfully after her. "It +is always so," he thought. "If I name children, she goes. What does it +mean?" + +He looked inquiringly into his mother's face when she returned and she +smiled cheerfully back, but it was with the face of an angry woman she +watched him to the gate, muttering words she would not have spoken had +there been anyone to hear them nearby. And John's attitude was one of +uncertain trouble. He carried himself intentionally with a lofty +bearing, but in spite of all his efforts to appear beyond care, he was +evidently in the grip of some unknown sorrow. + +That it was unknown was in a large degree the core of his anxiety. He +had noticed for a long time that his mother was apparently very +unsympathetic when his wife was suffering from violent attacks of +sickness which made her physician tread softly and look grave, and that +even Jane's mother, though she nursed her daughter carefully, was +reticent and exceedingly nervous. _What could it mean?_ + +He had just passed through an experience of this kind, and as he +thought of Jane and her suffering the hurry of anxious love made him +quicken his steps and he went rapidly home, so rapidly that he forgot +the letter with which he had been intrusted. He knew by the light in +Jane's room that she was awake and he hastened there. She was evidently +watching and listening for his coming, for as soon as the door was +partly open, she half-rose from the couch on which she was lying and +stretched out her arms to him. + +In an instant he was kneeling at her side. "My darling," he whispered. +"My darling! Are you better?" + +"I am quite out of pain, John, only a little weak. In a few days I shall +be all right." But John, looking into the white face that had once been +so radiant, only faintly admitted the promise of a few days putting all +right. + +"I have been lonely today dear, so lonely! My mother did not come, and +Mother Hatton has not even sent to ask whether I was alive or dead." + +"Yet she is very unhappy about your condition. Jane, my darling Jane! +What is it that induces these attacks? Does your medical man know?" + +"If so, he does not tell me. I am a little to blame this time, John. On +the afternoon I was taken sick, I went in the carriage to the village. I +ought not to have gone. I was far from feeling well, and as soon as I +reached the market-house, I met two men helping a wounded girl to the +hospital. Do you remember, John?" + +"I remember. Her hand was caught in some machinery and torn a good deal. +I sent the men with her to the village." + +"While I was speaking to her, Mrs. Mark Levy drove up. She insisted on +taking what she called 'the poor victim' to the hospital in her +carriage; and before I could interfere the two men lifted the girl into +Mrs. Levy's carriage and they were off like lightning without a word to +me. I was so angry. I turned sick and faint and was obliged to come home +as quickly as possible and send for Dr. Sewell." + +"O Jane! Why did you care?" + +"I was shocked by that woman's interference." + +"She meant it kindly. I suppose----" + +"But what right had she to meddle with your hands? If the girl required +to be taken in a carriage to the hospital, there was my carriage. I +think that incident helped to make me sick." + +"You should have lifted the injured girl at once, Jane, and then Mrs. +Levy would have had no opportunity to take your place." + +"She is such an interfering woman. Her fingers are in everyone's way and +really, John, she has got the charitable affairs of Hatton town in her +hands. The girls' clubs rely on her for everything, and she gives +without any consideration, John. How much is her husband worth? Is he +very rich? She appears to have no end of money--and John, dear, she is +always in my way. I don't know how she manages it, but she is. I wish +you would get them out of our town, dear." + +"I cannot, Jane. Levy is a large property-owner. He is not indigent. He +is not lazy. He is not in any way immoral. He has become a large +taxpayer, and has of late political aspirations. He annoys me +frequently, but money is now everything. And he has money--plenty of it. +Until he came, we were the richest family in Hatton. Father and I have +really built Hatton. We have spent thousands of pounds in making it a +model community, but we have received little gratitude. I think, Jane, +that men have more respect for those who _make_ money, than for those +who _give it away_." + +"You don't like Mr. Levy, do you, John?" + +"He annoys me very frequently. It is not easy to like people who do +that." + +"His wife annoys me. Cannot we make up some plan to put them down a peg +or two?" + +"We can do nothing against them, my dear." + +"Why, John?" + +"Because 'God beholdeth mischief and spite to requite it.' And after +all, these Levys are only trying to win public respect and that by +perfectly honorable means. True they are pushing, but no one can push +Yorkshire men and women beyond their own opinions and their own +interests. In the meantime, they are helpful to the town." + +"Mrs. Swale, of Woodleigh, told me she had heard that Mrs. Levy came +from the Lake District and is a Christian. Do you believe that, John?" + +"Not for a minute. Mr. Levy is a Hebrew of long and honorable descent. +His family came from Spain to England in the time of Henry the Seventh. +Such Jews never marry Christian women. I do not believe either love or +money could make them do it. I have no doubt that Mrs. Levy has a family +record as ancient and as honorable as her husband's. She is a +kind-hearted woman and really handsome. She has four beautiful sons. I +tell you, Jane, when she stands in the midst of them she is a sight +worth looking at." + +Jane laughed scornfully, and Jane's husband continued with decided +emotion, "Yes, indeed, when you see Mrs. Levy with her four sons you see +a woman in her noblest attribute. You see her as _the mother of men_." + +"What is Mr. Levy's business? Who knows?" + +"Everyone in Hatton knows that he is an importer of Spanish wines and +fine tobaccos." + +"Oh! The ladies generally thought he was a money lender." + +"He may be--it is not unlikely." + +"Mrs. Swale said so." + +"I dare say Mrs. Swale's husband knows." + +"Well, John, the Levys cannot touch me. The Harlows have been in +Yorkshire before the Romans came and my family is not only old, it is +noble, or John Hatton would not have married me." + +"John Hatton would have married you if you had been a beggar-maid. There +is no woman in the world to him, but his own sweet Jane." Then Jane took +his hands and kissed them, and there was a few moments of most eloquent +silence--a silence just touched with happy tears. + +John spoke first. "Jane, my darling," he said, "do you think a few +months in the south would do you good? If you could lie out in the warm +breeze and the sunshine--if you were free of all these little social +worries--if you took your mother with you--if you----" + +"John, my dear one, I have an invitation from Lady Harlow to spend a few +weeks with her. Surrey is much warmer than Yorkshire. I might go there." + +"Yes," answered John, but his voice was reluctant and dissenting, and in +a few moments he said, "There is little Martha--could you take her with +you?" + +"Oh dear me! What would be the good of my going away to rest, if I drag +a child with me? You know Martha is spoiled and wilful." + +"Is she? I am sorry to hear that. She would, however, have her maid, and +she is now nearly three years old." + +"It would be useless for me to go away, unless I go alone. I suggested +Surrey because I thought you could come to see me every Saturday." + +The little compliment pleased John, and he answered, "You shall do just +as you wish, darling! I would give up everything to see you look as you +used to look." + +"You are always harping on that one string, John. It is only four years +since we were married. Have I become an old woman in four years?" + +"No, but you have become a sick woman. I want you to be well and +strong." + +Then she lay back on her pillows, and as she closed her eyes some quick, +hot tears were on her white face, and John kissed them away, and with a +troubled heart, uncertain and unhappy, he bid her good night. + +Nothing in the interview had comforted or enlightened him, but there was +that measure of the Divine spirit in John Hatton, which enabled him to +_rise above_ what he could not _go through_. He had found even from his +boyhood that for the chasms of life wings had been provided and that he +could mount heaven-high by such help and bring back strength for every +hour of need. And he was comforted by the word that came to him, and he +fell asleep to the little antiphony he held with his own soul: + + O Lord how happy is the time-- + + * * * * * +When from my weariness I climb, + Close to thy tender breast. + + * * * * * + + For there abides a peace of Thine, + Man did not make, and cannot mar. + + * * * * * + + Perfect I call Thy plan, + I trust what Thou shalt do. + +And in some way and through some intelligence he was counseled as he +slept, in two words--_Mark Sewell_. And he wondered that he had not +thought of his wife's physician before. Yet there was little need to +wonder. He was always at the mill when Doctor Sewell paid his visit, and +he took simply and reliably whatever Mrs. Harlow and Jane confided to +him. But when he awoke in the misty daylight, the echo of the two words +he had heard was still clear and positive in his mind; consequently he +went as soon as possible to Dr. Sewell's office. + +The Doctor met him as if he was an expected client. "You are come at +last, Hatton," he said. "I have been expecting you for a long time." + +"Then you know what instruction I have come for?" + +"I should say I do." + +"What is the matter with my wife's health?" + +"I ought to send you to her for that information. She can tell you +better than I can." + +"Sewell, what do you mean? Speak straight." + +"Hatton, there are some women who love children and who will even risk +social honor for maternity. There are other women who hate motherhood +and who will constantly risk suicide rather than permit it. Mrs. Hatton +belongs to the latter class." + +John was stupefied at these words. He could only look into the Doctor's +face and try to assimilate their meaning. For they fell upon his ears as +if each syllable was a blow and he could not gather them together. + +"My wife! Jane--do you mean?" and he looked helplessly at Sewell and it +was some minutes before John could continue the conversation or rather +listen to Sewell who then sat down beside him and taking his hand in his +own said, + +"Do not speak, Hatton. I will talk for you. I should have spoken long +ago, but I knew not whether you--you--forgive me, Hatton, but there are +such men. If I have slandered you in my thought, if I have done you this +great wrong----" + +"Oh Doctor, the hope and despair of my married life has been--the +longing for my sons and daughters." + +"Poor lad! And thee so good and kind to every little one, that comes in +thy way. It is too bad, it is that. By heaven, I am thankful to be an +old bachelor! Thou must try and understand, John, that women are never +the same, and yet that in some great matters, what creation saw them, +they are today. Their endless variety and their eternal similarity are +what charm men. In the days of the patriarchs there were women who would +not have children, and there were women also who longed and prayed for +them, even as Hannah did. It is just that way today. Their reasons then +and their reasons now may be different but both are equally powerful." + +"I never heard tell of such women! Never!" + +"They were not likely to come thy road. Thou wert long in taking a wife, +and when thou did so it was unfortunate thou took one bred up in the way +she should _not_ go. I know women who are slowly killing themselves by +inducing unnatural diseases through the denial and crucifixion of +Nature. Thy own wife is one of them. That she hes not managed the +business is solely because she has a superabundance of vitality and a +perfect constitution. Physically, Nature intended her for a perfect +mother, but--but she cannot go on as she is doing. I have told her +so--as plainly as I knew how. Now I tell thee. Such ways cannot go on." + +"They will be stopped--at once--this day--this hour." + +"Nay, nay. She is still very weak and nervous." + +"She wants to go to London." + +"Let her go." + +"But I must speak to her before she goes." + +"In a few days." + +"Sewell, I thank you. I know now what I have to meet. It is the grief +_not sure_ that slays hope in a man." + +"To be sure. Does Mrs. Stephen Hatton know of your wife's practices?" + +"No. I will stake my honor on that. She may suspect her, but if she was +certain she would have spoken to me." + +"Then it is her own mother, and most likely to be so." + +It was noon before John reached Hatton mill. He had received a shock +which left him far below his usual condition, and yet feeling so cruelly +hurt and injured that it was difficult to obey the physician's request +to keep his trouble to himself for a few days. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE GODDESS OF THE TENDER FEET + + + The goddess Calamity is delicate ...her feet are tender. Her feet + are soft, for she treads not upon the ground, she makes her path + upon the hearts of men.--PINDAR. + + Animosities perish, the humanities are eternal. + +One morning, nearly a week after his interview with Dr. Sewell, John +found Jane in her room surrounded by fine clothing and trunks and +evidently well enough to consider what he had to say to her. + +"What are you doing, Jane?" he asked. + +"Why, John, I am sorting out the dresses that are nice enough for +London. I think I shall be well enough to go to Aunt Harlow next week." + +"I wish you would come to my room. I want to speak to you." + +"Your room is such a bare, chilly place, John." + +"It is secluded and we must have no listener to what I am going to say +to you." + +Jane looked up quickly and anxiously, asking, "Are you in trouble, +John?" + +"Yes, in great trouble." + +"About money?" + +"Worse than that." + +"Then it is that tiresome creature, Harry." + +"No. It is yourself." + +"Oh, indeed; I think you had better look for someone else to quarrel +with." + +"I have no quarrel with anyone; I have something to say to you, and to +you, only; but there are always servants in and out of your rooms." + +She rose reluctantly, saying as she did so, "If I get cold, it makes no +matter, I suppose." + +"Everything about you is of the greatest importance to me, I suppose you +know that." + +"It may be so or it may not be so. You have scarcely noticed me for +nearly a week. I am going to London. There, I hope, I shall receive a +little more love and attention." + +"But you are not going to London." + +"I am going to London. I have written to Lady Harlow saying I would be +with her on next Monday evening." + +"Write to Lady Harlow at once and tell her you will not be able to leave +home." + +"That is no excuse for breaking my word." + +"Tell her I, your husband, need you here. No other excuse is necessary." + +Jane laughed as if she was highly amused. "Does 'I, my husband,' expect +Lady Harlow and Jane Hatton to change their plans for his whim?" + +"Not for any whim of mine, Jane, would I ask you to change your plans. I +have heard something which will compel me to pay more attention to +you." + +"Goodness knows, I am thankful for that! During my late illness, I think +you were exceedingly negligent." + +"Why did you make yourself so ill? Tell me that." + +"Such a preposterous question!" she replied, but she was startled and +frightened by it and more so by the anger in John's face and voice. In a +moment the truth flashed upon her consciousness and it roused just as +quickly an intense contradiction and a willful determination not only to +stand her ground but to justify her position. + +"If this is your catechism, John, I have not yet learned it." + +"Sit down, Jane. You must tell me the truth if it takes all the day. You +had better sit down." + +Then she threw herself into the large easy chair he pushed towards her; +for she felt strangely weak and trembling and John's sorrowful, angry +manner terrified her. + +"Jane," he said, "I have heard to my great grief and shame that it is +your fault we have no more children." + +"I think Martha is one too many." At the moment she uttered these words +she was sorry. She did not mean them. She had only intended to annoy +John. + +And John cried out, "Good God, Jane. Do you know what you are saying? +Suppose God should take the dear one from us this night." + +"I do not suppose things about God. I do not think it is right to +inquire as to what He may do." + +"Jane, it is useless to twist my question into another meaning. Suppose +you had not destroyed our other children before they saw the light?" + +"John," she cried, "how dare you say such dreadful things to me? I will +not listen to you. Open the door. You might well put the key in your +pocket--and I have been so ill. I have suffered so much--it is +dreadful"--and she fell into a fit of hysterical weeping. + +John waited patiently until she had sobbed herself quiet, then he +continued, "When I think of my sons or daughters, _written down in God's +Book_ and blotted out by _you_." + +"I will not listen. You are mad. Your 'sons or daughters' could not be +hurt by anyone before they had life." + +"They always had life. Before the sea was made or the mountains were +brought forth, + + 'Ere suns and moons could wax and wane, + God thought on _me_ his child,' + +and on _you_ and on _every soul_ made for immortality by the growth that +fresh birth gives it. He loves us with an everlasting love. No false +mother can destroy a child's soul, but she can destroy its flesh and so +retard and interfere with its eternal growth. This is the great sin--the +sin of blood-guiltiness--any woman may commit it." + +"You talk sheer nonsense, John. I do not believe anything you say." + +Then John went to a large Bible lying open on a table. "Listen, then," +he said, "to the Word of God"; and with intense solemnity he read aloud +to her the wonderful verses in the one-hundred-and-thirty-ninth Psalm, +between the twelfth and seventeenth, laying particular stress on the +sixteenth verse, "'Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being imperfect; +and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were +fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.' So then Jane, dear Jane, +you see from the very, very first, when as yet no member of the child +had been formed it was _written down in God's Book_ as a man or a woman +yet to be. All souls so written down, are the children of the Most High. +It was not only yourself and me you were wronging, Jane, you were +sinning against the Father and lover of souls, for we are all 'the +children of the most High.'" + +But Jane was apparently unmoved. "I am tired," she said wearily. "I want +to go to my room." + +"I have other things to say to you, most important things. Will you come +here this evening after dinner?" + +"No, I will not. I am going to see mother." + +"Call at Hatton House as you come back, and I will meet you there." + +"I shall not come back today. I feel ill--and no wonder." + +"When will you return?" + +"I don't know. I tell you I feel ill." + +"Then you had better not go to Harlow House." + +"Where else should a woman go in trouble but to her mother? When her +heart is breaking, then she knows that the nest of all nests is her +mother's breast." + +John wanted to tell her that God and a loving husband might and surely +would help her, but when she raised her lovely, sad eyes brimming with +tears and he saw how white and full of suffering her face was, he could +not find in his heart to dispute her words. For he suffered in seeing +her suffer far more than she could understand. + +At her own room door he left her and his heart was so heavy he could not +go to the mill. He could not think of gold and cotton while there was +such an abyss between him and his wife. Truly she had wronged and +wounded him in an intolerable manner, but his great love could look +beyond the wrong to her repentance and to his forgiveness. + +Walking restlessly about his room or lost in sorrowful broodings an hour +passed, and then he began to tell himself that he must not for the +indulgence of even his great grief desert his lawful work. If things +went wrong at the mill, because of his absence, and gain was lost for +his delay, he would be wronging many more than John Hatton. Come what +might to him personally, he was bound by his father's, as well as his +own, promise to be "diligent in business, serving the Lord." That was +the main article of Hatton's contract with the God they served--the +poor, the sick, the little children whom no one loved, he could not +wrong them because he was in trouble with his wife. + +Such thoughts came over him like a flood and he instantly rose up to +answer them. In half an hour he was at his desk, and there he lost the +bitterness of his grief in his daily work. _Work_, the panacea for all +sorrow, the oldest gospel preached to men! And because his soul was fit +for the sunshine it followed him, and the men who only met him among the +looms went for the rest of the day with their heads up and a smile on +their faces, so great is the strengthening quality in the mere presence +of a man of God, going about his daily business in the spirit of God. + +He found no wife to meet him at the end of the day. Jane had gone to +Harlow House and taken her maid and a trunk with her. He made no remark. +What wise thing could he do but quietly bear an evil that was past cure +and put a good face on it? He did not know whether or not Jane had +observed the same reticence, but he quickly reflected that no good could +come from servants discussing what they knew nothing about. + +However, when Jane did not return or send him any message, the +following day his anxiety was so great that he called on Dr. Sewell in +the evening and asked if he could tell him of his wife's condition. + +"I was sent for this morning to Harlow House," he answered. + +"Is she ill--worse?" + +"No. She is fretting. She ought to fret. I gave her some soothing +medicine. I am not sure I did right." + +"O Sewell, what shall I do?" + +"Go to Madame Hatton. She is a good, wise woman. She is not in love with +her daughter-in-law, but she is as just as women ever are. She will give +you far better counsel than a mere man can offer you." + +So late as it was, John rode up to Hatton Hall. It had begun to rain but +he heeded not any physical discomfort. Still he had a pleasant feeling +when he saw the blaze of Hatton hearthfire brightening the dark shadows +of the dripping trees. And he suddenly sent his boyish "hello" before +him, so it was Mrs. Hatton herself who opened the big hall door, who +stood in the glow of the hall lamp to welcome him, and who between +laughing and scolding sent him to his old room to change his wet +clothing. + +He came back to her with a smile and a dry coat, saying, "Dear mother, +you keep all the same upstairs. There isn't pin nor paper moved since I +left my room." + +"Of course I keep all the same. I would feel very lonely if I hadn't thy +room and Harry's to look into. They are not always empty. Sometimes I +feel as if you might be there, and Oh but I am happy, when I do so! I +just say a 'good morning' or a 'good night' and shut the door. It is a +queer thing, John." + +"What is queer, mother?" + +"That feeling of 'presence.' But whatever brings thee here at this time +of night? and it raining, too, as if there was an ark to float!" + +"Well, mother, there is in a way. I am in trouble." + +"I was fearing it." + +"Why?" + +"I heard tell that Jane was at Harlow. What is she doing there, my +dear?" + +"Dr. Sewell told me something about Jane." + +"Oh! He told you at last, did he! He ought to have told you long ago." + +"Has he known it a long time?" + +"He has--if he knows anything." + +"And you--mother?" + +"I was not sure as long as he kept quiet, and hummed and ha'ed about it. +But I said enough to Jane on two occasions to let her know I suspected +treachery both to her own life and soul and to thee." + +"And to my unborn children, mother." + +"To be sure. It is a sin and a shame, both ways. It is that! The last +time she was here, she told me as a bit of news, that Mary Fairfax had +died that morning of cancer, and I said, 'Not she. She killed herself.' +Then Jane said, 'You are mistaken, mother, she died of cancer.' I +replied a bit hotly, 'She gave herself cancer. I have no doubt of that, +and so she died as she deserved to die.' And when Jane said, 'No one +could give herself cancer,' I told her plain and square that she did it +by refusing the children God sent her to bear and to bring up for Him, +taking as a result the pangs of cancer. She knew very well what I +meant." + +"What did she say?" + +"Not a word. She was too angry to speak wisely and wise enough not to +speak at all." + +"Well, mother?" + +"I said much more of the same kind. I told her that no one ever abused +Nature and got off scot-free. _'Why-a!'_ I said, 'it is thus and so in +the simplest matters. If you or I eat too much we have a sick headache +or dyspepsia. If you dance or ride too much your heart suffers, and you +know what happened to Abram Bowles with drinking too much. It is much +worse,' I went on, 'if a tie is broken it is death to one or the other +or both, especially if it is done again and again. Nature maltreated +will send in her bill. That is sure as life and death, and the longer it +is delayed, the heavier the bill.' I went on and told her that Mary +Fairfax had been married seventeen years and had never borne but one +child. She had long credit, I said, but Nature sent in her bill at last, +and Mary had it to settle. Now, John, I did my duty, didn't I?" + +"You did, mother. What did Jane say?" + +"She said women had a hard lot to endure. She said they were born slaves +and died slaves and a good deal more of the same kind of talk. I told +her in reply that women were sent into life _to give life_, to be, as +thou said, _mothers of men_, and she laughed, a queer kind of laugh +though. Then I added, 'You may like the reason or not, Jane. You may +accept or defy it, but I tell you plainly, motherhood was and is and +always will be the chief reason and end of womanhood.'" + +"Well, mother?" + +"She was unpleasant and sarcastic and said this and that for pure +aggravation about the selfishness of men. So our cup of tea was a bit +bitter, and as a last fling she said my muffins were soggy and she would +send me her mother's receipt. And I have been making muffins for thirty +years, John!" + +"I am astonished at Jane. She is usually so careful not to hurt or +offend." + +"Well, she forgets once in a while. I had the best of the argument, for +I had only to remind her that it was I who taught her mother how to make +muffins and who gave her my receipt for the same. Then she said, +'Really,' and, 'It is late, I must go!' And go she did and I have not +seen her since." + +"I wish I knew what to do, mother." + +"Go to thy bed now and try to sleep. This thing is beyond thy ordering +or mending. Leave it to those who are wiser than thou art. It will be +put right at the right time by them. And don't meddle with it rashly. +Every step thou takes is like stirring in muddy water--every step makes +it muddier." + +"But I must go to Harlow and see Jane if she does not come home." + +"Thou must not go a step on that road. If thou does, thou may go on +stepping it time without end. She left thee of her own free will. Let +her come back in the same way. She is wrong. If thou wert wrong, I would +tell thee so. Yes, I would be the first to bid thee go to Harlow and say +thou wanted to be forgiven and loved again." + +"I believe that, mother." + +"By the Word of Christ, I would!" + +"I shall be utterly unhappy if I do not know that she is well." + +"Ask Sewell. If she is sick he will know and he will tell thee the +truth. Go now and sleep. Thy pillow may give thee comfort and wisdom." + +"Your advice is always right, mother. I will take it." + +"Thou art a good man, John, and all that comes to thee shall be good in +the fullness of its time and necessity. Kiss me, thou dear lad! I am +proud to be thy mother. It is honor enough for Martha Hatton!" + +That night John slept sorrowfully and he had the awakening from such a +sleep--the slow, yet sudden realization of his trouble finding him out. +It entered his consciousness with the force of a knockdown blow; he +could hardly stand up against it. Usually he sang or whistled as he +dressed himself, and this was so much a habit of his nature that it +passed without notice in his household. Once, indeed, his father had +fretfully alluded to it, saying, "Singing out of time is always singing +out of tune," and Mrs. Hatton had promptly answered, + +"Keep thyself to thyself, Stephen. Singing beats grumbling all to +pieces. Give me the man who _can_ sing at six o'clock in the morning. He +is worth trusting and loving, I'll warrant that. I wish thou would sing +thyself. Happen it might sweeten thee a bit." And Stephen Hatton had +kept himself to himself, about John's early singing thereafter. + +This morning there was no song in John's heart and no song on his lips. +He dressed silently and rapidly as if he was in a hurry to do something +and yet he did not know what to do. His mother's positive assertion, +that the best way out of the difficulty was to let it solve itself, did +not satisfy him. He wanted to see his wife. He knew he must say some +plain, hard words to her; but she loved him, and she would surely listen +and understand how hard it was for him to say them. + +He went early to the mill. He hoped there might be a letter there for +him. When he found none among his mail, he hurried back to his home. +"Jane would send her letter there," he thought. But there was no letter +there. Then his heart sank within him, but he took no further step at +that hour. Business from hundreds of looms called him. Hundreds of +workers were busy among them. Greenwood was watching for him. Clerks +were waiting for his directions and the great House of Labor shouted +from all its myriad windows. + +With a pitiful and involuntary "God help me!" he buckled himself to his +mail. It was larger than ordinary, but he went with exact and patient +care over it. He said to himself, "Troubles love to flock together and I +expect I shall find a worrying letter from Harry this morning"; but +there was no letter at all from Harry and he felt relieved. The only +personal note that came to him was a request that he would not fail to +be present at the meeting of the Gentlemen's Club that evening, as there +was important business to transact. + +He sat with this message in his hand, considering. He had for some time +felt uneasy about his continuance in the Club, for its social +regulations were strict and limited. Composed mostly of the landed +gentry in the neighborhood, it had very slowly and reluctantly opened +its doors to a few of the most wealthy manufacturers, and Harry's +appearance as a public and professional singer negatived his right to +its exclusive membership. In case Harry was asked to resign, John would +certainly withdraw with his brother. Yet the mere thought of such a +social humiliation troubled him. + +When the mail was attended to be rose quickly, shook himself, as if he +would shake off the trouble that oppressed him, and went through the +mill with Greenwood. This duty he performed with such minute attention +that the overseer privately wondered whatever was the matter with +"Master John," but soon settled the question, by a decision that "he hed +been worried by his wife a bit, and it hed put him all out of gear, and +no wonder." For Greenwood had had his own experiences of this kind and +had suffered many things in consequence of them. So he was sorry for +John as he told himself that "whether married men were rich or poor, +things were pretty equal for them." + +Just as the two men parted, Jonathan said, in a kind of afterthought +way, "There's a full meeting of the Gentlemen's Club tonight, sir. I +suppose you know." + +"Certainly, but how is it _you_ know?" + +"You may well ask that, sir. I am truly nobbut one o' John Hatton's +overseers, but I hev a son who has married into a landed family, and he +told me that some of the old quality were going to propose his +father-in-law for membership tonight. I promised my Ben I would ask your +vote in Master Akers' favor." + +"Akers has bought a deal of land lately, I hear." + +"Most of the old Akers' Manor back, and there are those who think he +ought to be recognized. I hope you will give him a ball of the right +color, sir." + +"Greenwood, I am not well acquainted with Israel Akers. I see him at the +market dinner occasionally, but----" + +"Think of it, sir. It is mebbe right to believe in a man until you find +out he isn't worthy of trust." + +"That is quite contrary to your usual advice, Greenwood." + +"_Privately_, sir, I am a very trusting man. That is my nature--but in +business it is different--trusting doesn't work in business, sir. You +know that, sir." + +John nodded an assent, and said, "Look after loom forty, Greenwood. It +was idle. Find out the reason. As to Akers, I shall do the kind and just +thing, you may rest on that. Is he a pleasant man personally?" + +"I dare say he is pleasant enough at a dinner-table, and I'll allow that +he is varry unpleasant at a piece table in the Town Hall. But webs of +stuff and pieces of cloth naturally lock up a man's best self. He +wouldn't hev got back to be Akers of Akerside if things wern't that way +ordered." + +This Club news troubled John. He did not believe that Akers cared a +penny piece for a membership, and pooh-pooh it as he would, this +trifling affair would not let him alone. It gnawed under the great +sorrow of Jane's absence, like a rat gnawing under his bed or chair. + +But come what will, time and the hour run through the hardest day; the +looms suddenly stopped, the mill was locked, the crowd of workers +scattered silently and wearily, and John rode home with a sick sense of +sorrow at his heart. He had no hope that Jane would be there. He knew +the dear, proud woman too well to expect from her such an impossible +submission. Tears sprang to his eyes as he thought of her, and yet there +was set before him an inexorable duty which he dared not ignore, for the +things of Eternity rested on it. + +He left his horse at the stable and walked slowly round to the front of +the house. As he reached the door it was swiftly opened, and in smiles +and radiant raiment Jane stood waiting to receive him. + +"John! John, dear!" she said softly, and he took her in his arms and +whispered her name over and over on her lips. + +"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," she said, "and it is the dinner +you like best of all. Do not loiter, John." + +He shook his head happily and took the broad low steps as a boy +might--two or three at a time. Everything now seemed possible to him. +"She is in an angel's temper," he thought. "She has divined between the +wrong and the right. She will throw the wrong over forever." + +And Jane watched him up the stairs with womanly pleasure. She said to +herself, "How handsome he is! How good he is! There are none like him." +Then her face clouded, and she went into the parlor and sat down. She +knew there was a trying conversation before her, but, "John cannot +resist the argument of my beauty," she thought, "It is sure to prevail." +In a few moments she continued her reflections. "I may be weak enough to +give a promise for the future, but I will never, never, admit I was +wrong in the past. Make your stand there, Jane Hatton, for if he ever +thinks you did wrong knowingly, you will lose all your influence over +him." + +During dinner and while the butler was in the room the conversation was +kept upon general subjects, and John in this interval spoke of Akers' +wish to join the Gentlemen's Club. + +"I am not astonished," answered Jane. "Mrs. Will Clough and her daughter +arrived in my Club a year ago. They are very pushing and what they call +'advanced.' They do not believe that the earth is the Lord's nor yet +that it belongs to man. They think it is woman's own heritage. And they +want the name of the Club changed. It has always been the Society Club. +Mrs. William Clough thinks a society club is shockingly behind the +times; and she proposed changing it to the Progressive Club. She said we +were all, she hoped, progressive women." + +"Well, Jane, my dear, this is interesting. What next?" + +"Mrs. Israel Akers said she had been told that 'very few of the +old-fashioned women were left in Hatton, that even the women in the +mills were progressing and getting nearer and nearer to the modern +ideal'; and she added in a plaintive voice, 'I'm a good bit past +seventy, and I hope some old-fashioned women will live as long as I do, +that we may be company for each other.' Mrs. Clough told her, 'she would +soon learn to love the new woman,' and she said plain out, 'Nay not I! I +can't understand her, and I doan't know what she means.' Then Mrs. +Brierly spoke of the 'old woman' as a downtrodden 'creature' not to be +put in comparison with the splendid 'new woman' who was beginning to +arrive. I'm sure, John, it puzzles me." + +"I can only say, Jane, that the 'old woman' has filled her position for +millenniums with honor and affection, almost with adoration. I would not +like to say what will be the result of her taking to men's ways and +men's work." + +"You know, John, you cannot judge one kind of woman from the other kind. +They are so entirely different. Women have been kept so ignorant. Now +they place culture and knowledge before everything." + +"Surely not before love, Jane?" + +"Yes, indeed! Some put knowledge and progress--always progress--before +everything else." + +"My dear Jane, think of this--all we call 'progress' ends with death. +What is that progress worth which is bounded by the grave? If progress +in men and women is not united with faith in God, and hope in His +eternal life and love, I would not lift my hand or speak one word to +help either man or woman to such blank misery." + +"Do not put yourself out of the way, John. There will be no change in +the women of today that will affect you. But no doubt they will +eventually halve--and better halve--the world's work and honors with +men. Do you not think so, John?" + +"My dear, I know not; women perhaps may cease to be women; but I am +positive that men will continue to be men." + +"I mean that women will do men's work as well as men do it." + +"Nature is an obstinate dame. She offers serious opposition to that +result." + +"Well, I was only telling you how far progressive ideas had grown in +Hatton town. Women propose to share with men the honors of statecraft +and the wealth of trading and manufacturing." + +"Jane, dear, I don't like to hear you talking such nonsense. The mere +fact that women _can not fight_ affects all the unhappy equality they +aim at; and if it were possible to alter that fact, we should be +equalizing _down_ and not up." Then he looked at his watch and said he +must be at the Club very soon. + +"Will you remain in the parlor until I return, Jane?" he asked. "I will +come home as quickly as possible." + +"No, John, I find it is better for me to go to sleep early. Indeed, as +you are leaving me, I will go to my room now. Good night, dear!" + +He said good night but his voice was cold, and his heart anxious and +dissatisfied. And after Jane had left the room he sat down again, +irresolute and miserable. "Why should I go to the Club?" he asked +himself. "Why should I care about its small ways and regulations? I have +something far more important to think of. I will not go out tonight." + +He sat still thinking for half an hour, then he looked again at his +watch and found that it was yet possible to be at the Club in time. So +with a great sigh he obeyed that urging of duty, which even in society +matters he could not neglect and be at rest. + +There was no light in Jane's room when he returned home and he spent the +night miserably. Waking he felt as if walking through the valley of the +shadows of loss and intolerable wrong. Phantoms created by his own +sorrow and fear pressed him hard and dreams from incalculable depths +troubled and terrified his soul. In sleep it was no better. He was then +the prisoner of darkness, fettered with the bonds of a long night and +exiled for a space from the eternal Providence. + +At length, however, the sun rose and John awoke and brought the terror +to an end by the calling on One Name and by casting himself on the care +and mercy of that One, who is "a very present help in time of trouble." +That was all John needed. He did not expect to escape trouble. All he +asked was that God would be to him "a very present help" in it. + +Slowly and thoughtfully he dressed, wondering the while from what depths +of awful and forgotten experiences such dreams came. He was yet +awestruck and his spirit quailed when he thought of the eternity +_behind_ him. Meanwhile his trouble with Jane had partly receded to the +background of thought and feeling. He did not expect to see her at his +breakfast table. That was now a long-time-ago pleasure and he thought +that by dinner-time he would be more able to cope with the +circumstances. + +But when he reached the hall the wide door stood open, the morning +sunshine flooded the broad white marble steps which led to the entrance +and Jane was slowly ascending them. She had a little basket of fruit in +her hand, she was most fittingly gowned, and she looked exquisitely +lovely. As soon as John saw her, he ran down the steps to meet her, and +she put her hand in his and he kissed it. Then they went to the +breakfast-table together. + +The truce was too sweet to be broken and John took the comfort offered +with gratitude. Jane was in her most charming mood, she waited on him as +lord and lover of the home, found him the delicacies he liked, and gave +with every one that primordial touch of loving and oneness which is the +very heaven of marriage. She answered his words of affection with +radiant smiles and anon began to talk of the Club balloting. "Was it +really an important meeting, John?" she asked. And to her great surprise +John answered, "It would have been hard to make it more important, +Jane." + +"About old Akers! What nonsense!" + +"Akers gave us no hesitation. He was elected without a dissenting vote. +Another subject was, however, opened which is of the most vital +importance to cotton-spinners." + +"Whatever is to do, John?" + +"America is likely to go to war with herself--the cotton-spinning States +of the North, against the cotton-growing States of the South." + +"What folly!" + +"In a business point, yes, but there is something grander than business +in it--an idea that is universally in the soul of man--the idea of +freedom." + +"Yes, I have read about that quarrel, but men won't fight if it +interferes with their business, with their money-making and spinning." + +"You are wrong, Jane. Men of the Anglo-Saxon race and breeding will +fight more stubbornly for an idea than for conquest, injury, or even for +some favorite leader. Most nations fight for some personality; the +English race and its congeners fight for a principle or an idea. My +dear, remember that America fought England for eight years only for her +right of representation." + +"How can a war in America hurt us?" + +[Illustration: "He ran down the steps to meet her, and she put her hand +in his."] + +"By cutting off our cotton supply--unless England helps the Southern +States." + +"But she will do that." + +"No, she will not." + +"What then?" + +"If the war lasts long, we shall have to shut our factories." + +"That is not a pleasant thought, John. Let us put it aside this lovely +morning." + +Yet she kept reverting to the subject, and as all men love to be +inquired of and to give information, John was easily beguiled, and the +breakfast hour passed without a word that in any way touched the +sorrowful anxiety in his heart. But at length they rose and John said, + +"Jane, my dear, come into the garden. We will go to the summer-house. I +want to speak to you, dear. You know----" + +"John, I cannot stay with you this morning. There will be a committee of +the ladies of the Home Mission here at eleven o'clock. I have some +preparations for them to make and if I get put out of my way in the +meantime I shall be unable to meet them." + +"Is not our mutual happiness of more importance than this meeting?" + +"Of course it is. But you know, John, many things in life compel us +continually to put very inferior subjects before either our personal or +our mutual happiness. A conversation such as you wish cannot be +hurried. I am not yet sure what decision I shall come to." + +"Decision! Why, Jane, there is only one decision possible." + +"You are taking advantage of me, John. I will not talk more with you +this morning." + +"Then good morning." + +He spoke curtly and went away with the words. Love and anger strove in +his heart, but before he reached his horse, he ran rapidly back. He +found Jane still standing in the empty breakfast-room; her hands were +listlessly dropped and she was lost in an unhappy reverie. + +"Jane," he cried, "forgive me. You gave me a breakfast in Paradise this +morning. I shall never forget it. Good-bye, love." He would have kissed +her, but she turned her head aside and did not answer him a word. Yet +she was longing for his kiss and his words were music in her heart. But +that is the way with women; they wound themselves six times out of the +half-dozen wrongs of which they complain. + +The next moment she was sorry, Oh, so sorry, that she had sent the man +she loved to an exhausting day of thought and work with an aching pain +in his heart and his mental powers dulled. She had taken all joy and +hope out of his life and left him to fight his way through the hard, +noisy, cruel hours with anxiety and fear his only companions. + +"I am so sorry! I am so sorry!" she whispered. "What was the use of +making him happy for fifty-nine minutes, and then undoing it all in the +sixtieth? I wish--I wish----" and she had a swift sense of wrong and +shame in uttering her wish, and so let it die unspoken on her closed +lips. + +At the park entrance John stood still a minute; his desire was to put +Bendigo to his utmost speed and quickly find out the lonely world he +knew of beyond Hatton and Harlow. There he could mingle his prayer with +the fresh winds of heaven and the cries of beasts and birds seeking +their food from God. His flesh had been well satisfied, but Oh how +hungry was his soul! It longed for a renewed sense of God's love and it +longed for some word of assurance from Jane. Then there flashed across +his memory the rumor of war and the clouds in the far west gathering +volume and darkness every day. No, he could not run away; he must find +in the fulfilling of his duty whatever consolation duty could give him, +and he turned doggedly to the mill and his mail. + +Once more as he lifted his mail, he had that fear of a letter from Harry +which had haunted him more or less for some months. He shuffled the +letters at once, searching for the delicate, disconnected writing so +familiar to him and hardly knew whether its absence was not as +disquieting as its presence would have been. + +The mail being attended to, he sent for Greenwood and spoke to him about +the likelihood of war and its consequences. Jonathan proved to be quite +well informed on this subject. He said he had been on the point of +speaking about buying all the cotton they could lay hands on, but +thought Mr. Hatton was perhaps considering the question and not ready to +move yet. + +"Do you think they will come to fighting, Greenwood?" Mr. Hatton asked. + +"Well, sir, if they'll only keep to cotton and such like, they'll never +fire a gun, not they. But if they keep up this slavery threep, they'll +fight till one side has won and the other side is clean whipped forever. +Why not? That's our way, and most of them are chips of the old oak +block. A hundred years or more ago we had the same question to settle +and we settled it with money. It left us all nearly bankrupt, but it's +better to lose guineas than good men, and the blackamoors were well +satisfied, no doubt." + +"How do our men and women feel, Greenwood?" + +"They are all for the black men, sir. They hevn't counted the cost to +themselves yet. I'll put it up to them if that is your wish, sir." + +"You are nearer to them than I am, Jonathan." + +"I am one o' them, sir." + +"Then say the word in season when you can." + +"The only word now, sir, is that Frenchy bit o' radicalism they call +liberty. I told Lucius Yorke what I thought of him shouting it out in +England." + +"Is Yorke here?" + +"He was ranting away on Hatton green last night, and his catchword and +watchword was liberty, liberty, and again liberty!' He advised them to +get a blue banner for their Club, and dedicate it to liberty. Then I +stopped him." + +"What did you say?" + +"I told him to be quiet or I would make him. I told him we got beyond +that word in King John's reign. I asked if he hed niver heard of the +grand old English word _freedom_, and I said there was as much +difference between freedom and liberty, as there was between right and +wrong--and then I proved it to them." + +"What I want to know, Greenwood, is this. Will our people be willing to +shut Hatton factory for the sake of--_freedom?"_ + +"Yes, sir--every man o' them, I can't say about the women. No man can. +Bad or good, they generally want things to go on as they are. If all's +well for them and their children, they doan't care a snap for public +rights or wrongs, except mebbe in their own parish." + +"Well, Jonathan, I am going to prepare, as far as I can, for the worst. +If Yorke goes too far, give him a set down and advise all our workers to +try and save a little before the times come when there will be nothing +to save." + +"Yes, sir. That's sensible, and one here and there may happen listen to +me." + +Then John began to consider his own affairs, for his married life had +been an expensive one and Harry also a considerable drain on his +everyday resources. He was in the midst of this uncomfortable reckoning, +when there was a strong decisive knock at the door. He said, "Come in," +just as decisively and a tall, dark man entered--a man who did not +belong to cities and narrow doorways, but whom Nature intended for the +hills and her wide unplanted places. He was handsomely dressed and his +long, lean, dark face had a singular attraction, so much so, that it +made everything else of small importance. It was a face containing the +sum of human life and sorrow, its love, and despair, and victory; the +face of a man that had been and always would be a match for Fate. + +John knew him at once, either by remembrance or some divination of his +personality, and he rose to meet him saying, "I think you are Ralph +Lugur. I am glad to see you. Sit down, sir." + +"I wish that I had come on a more pleasant errand, John Hatton. I am in +trouble about my daughter and her husband." + +"What is wrong there?" and John asked the question a little coldly. + +"You must go to London, and see what is wrong. Harry is gambling. Lucy +makes no complaints, but I have eyes and ears. I need no words." + +"Are you sure of what you are saying, Lugur?" + +"I went and took him out of a gambling-house three days ago." + +"Thank you! I will attend to the matter." + +"You have no time to lose. If I told you your brother was in a burning +house, what haste you would make to save him! He is in still greater +danger. The first train you can get is the best train to take." + +"O Harry! Harry!" cried John, as he rose and began to lock his desk and +his safe. + +"Harry loves and will obey you. Make haste to help him before he begins +to love the sin that is now his great temptation." + +"Do you know much of Harry?" + +"I do and I love him. I have kept watch over him for some months. He is +worth loving and worth saving. Go at once to him." + +"Have you any opinion about the best means to be used in the future?" + +"He must leave London and come to Hatton where he can be under your +constant care. Will you accept this charge? I do not mind telling you +that it is your duty. These looms and spindles any clever spinner can +direct right, but it takes a soul to save a soul. You know that." + +"I will be in London tonight, Mr. Lugur. You are a friend worth having. +I thank you." + +"Good-bye! I leave for Cardiff at once. I leave Harry with God and +you--and I would not be hard with Harry." + +"I shall not. I love Harry." + +"You cannot help loving him. He is doing wrong, but you cannot stop +loving him, and you know it was _while as yet we were sinners_, God +loved and saved us. Good-bye, sir!" + +The door closed and John turned the key and sat down for a few minutes +to consider his position. This sorrow on the top of his disagreement +with Jane and his anxiety about the threatened war in America called +forth all his latent strength. He told himself that he must now put +personal feelings aside and give his attention first of all to Harry's +case, it being evidently the most urgent of the duties before him. Jane +if left for a few days would no doubt be more reasonable. Greenwood +could be safely left to look after Hatton mill and to buy for it all the +cotton he could lay his hands on. He had not the time to visit his +mother, but he wrote her a few words of explanation and as he knew +Jane's parlors were full of women, he sent her the following note: + + MY DEARLY LOVED WIFE, + + Instant and important business takes me at a moment's notice to + London. I have no time to come and see you, and solace my heart + with a parting glance of your beauty, to hear your whispered + good-bye, or taste the living sweetness of your kiss, but you will + be constantly present with me. Waking, I shall be loving and + thinking of you; sleeping I shall be dreaming of you. Dearest of + all sweet, fair women, do not forget me. Let me throb with your + heart and live in your constant memory. I will write you every day, + and you will make all my work easy and all my hours happy if you + send me a few kind words to the Charing Cross Hotel. I do not + think I shall be more than three or four days absent, but however + short or long the time may be, I am beyond all words, + + Your devoted husband, + JOHN HATTON. + +This letter written, John hurried to the railway station, but in spite +of express trains, it was dark when he reached London, and long after +seven o'clock when he reached his brother's house. He noticed at once +that the parlors were unlit and that the whole building had a dark, +unprosperous, unhappy appearance. A servant woman admitted him, and +almost simultaneously Lucy came running downstairs to meet him, for +during the years that had passed since her marriage to Harry Hatton, +Lucy had become a real sister to John and he had for her a most sincere +affection. + +They went into a parlor in which there had been a fire and stood talking +for a few moments. But the fire was nearly out, and the girl had only +left a candle on the table, and Lucy said, "I was sitting upstairs, +John, beside the children. Harry told me it would be late when he +returned home, so I went to the nursery. You see children are such good +company. Will you go with me to the nursery? It is the girl's night out, +but if you prefer to----" + +"Let us go to the nursery, Lucy, and send the girl out. I have come +specially to have a long talk with you about Harry and her absence will +be a good thing." + +Then he took her hand and they went together to a large room upstairs. +There was a bright fire burning on this hearth and a large fur rug +before it. A pretty bassinet, in which a lovely girl-baby was sleeping, +was on one side of the hearth and Lucy's low nursing-chair on the other +side, and a little round table set ready for tea in the center. A +snow-white bed in a distant corner held the two boys, Stephen and Ralph, +who were fast asleep. John stooped first to the baby, and kissed it, and +Lucy said, "I have called her Agnes. It was my mother's name when she +was on earth. Do you think they call her Agnes in heaven, John?" + +_"He hath called thee by thy name_, is one of the tokens given us of +God's fatherhood, Lucy." + +"Well, John, a father must care what his children are called--if he +cares for the children." + +"Yes, we may be sure of that." As he spoke, he was standing by the +sleeping boys. He loved both, but he loved Stephen, the elder, with an +extraordinary affection. And as he looked at the sleeping child, the boy +opened his eyes. Then a beautiful smile illumined his face, a delightful +cry of wonder and joy parted his lips, and he held out his arms to John. +Without a moment's hesitation, John lifted him. + +"Dear little Stephen!" he said. "I wish you were a man!" + +"Then I would always stay with you, Uncle." + +"Yes, yes! Now you must go to sleep and tomorrow I will take you to the +Hippodrome." + +"And Ralph, too?" + +"To be sure, Ralph goes, too." Then he tenderly laid Stephen back in bed +and watched Lucy from the fireside. She talked softly to him, as she +went about the room, attending to those details of forethought of which +mothers have the secret. He watched her putting everything in place with +silent pleasure. He noted her deft, clever ways, the exquisite neatness +of her dress, her small feet so trigly shod, her lovely face bending +over the most trivial duty with a smile of sweet contentment; and he +could not help thinking hopefully of Harry. Indeed her atmosphere was so +afar from whatever was evil or sorrowful that John wondered how he was +to begin a conversation which must be a disturbance. + +Presently the room was in perfect order, and the children asleep; then +she touched a bell, but no one answered it. After waiting a few minutes, +she said, "John, the girl has evidently gone out. I must go down for my +supper tray. In five minutes I will be back." + +"I will go with you." + +"Thank you! When Harry is not home, I like to eat my last meal beside +the sleeping children. Then I can take a book and read leisurely, so the +hours pass pleasantly away." + +"Is Harry generally late?" + +"He has to be late. Very often his song is the last on the program. Here +is the tray. It is all ready--except your cup and plate. You will take a +cup of tea with me, John?" + +"Yes, but I am going to look for Harry soon and I may keep him all +night. Do you care? Are you afraid?" + +"Harry is safe with you. I am glad you are going to keep him all night, +I am not at all afraid," and as she arranged the tray and its contents +on the table by the hearth, John heard the sweetest strain of melody +thrill the little space between them. He looked at her inquiringly, and +she sang softly, + + "I dwell + Too near to God, for doubt or fear, + And share the eternal calm." + +"Where is Harry tonight?" he asked. + +"He was to sing at the _Odeon_ in the oratorio of 'Samson.' I used to go +and hear him but I cannot leave the children now." + +"My dear Lucy, I have come to London specially to talk with you and +Harry. I have been made miserable about Harry." + +"Who told you anything wrong of Harry?" + +"Your father. He is distressed at the road Harry is taking. He says +Harry is beginning to gamble." + +"Is my father sure of what he says?" + +"Lucy, I am Harry's elder brother. He is dear as life to me. I am your +true friend; be trustful of me. You may speak to me as to your own +heart. I have come to help you." + +Then she let all the minor notes of doubt and uncertainty go and +answered, "Harry needs you, John, though I hardly know how. He is in +great temptations--he lost every shilling of the last money you sent. I +do not know how he lost it. We are living now on money I saved when +Harry made so much more, and my father gave me fifty pounds when he was +here, but he advised me not to tell Harry I had it. I was to save it for +days Harry had none--for the children. O John, all this troubles me!" + +And John's face flamed up, for his family pride was keenly touched. How +could Henry Hatton humble his family and his own honor by letting the +poor schoolmaster feed his wife and children? And he threw aside then +some considerations he had intended to make in Lucy's favor, for he saw +that she already shared his anxiety, and so would probably be his best +helper in any plan for Harry's salvation, from the insidious temptation +by which he was assailed. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +JOHN INTERFERES IN HARRY'S AFFAIRS + + + Gamblers are reckless men, always living between ebb and flow. + + The germ of every sin, is the reflection, whether it be possible. + +After John had recovered from the shock which the knowledge of Lugur's +interference in the financial affairs of his brother had given him, he +drew closer to his sister and took her hand and she said anxiously, +"John, what can I do to help you in getting Harry into the right way? I +know and feel that all is at present just as it should _not_ be. I will +do whatever you advise." She was not weeping, but her face was white and +resolute and her eyes shone with the hope that had entered her heart. + +"As I traveled to London, Lucy, I thought of many ways and means, but +none of them stood the test of their probable ultimate results; and as I +entered my hotel I let them slip from me as useless. Then I saw a +gentleman writing his name in the registry book, and I knew it was +Matthew Ramsby. As soon as I saw him the plan for Harry's safety came +to me in a flash of light and conviction. So I went and spoke to him and +we had dinner together. And I asked him if he was ever coming to Yoden +to live, and he said, 'No, it is too far from my hunt and from the races +I like best.' Then I offered to rent the place, and he was delighted. I +made very favorable terms, and Harry must go there with you and your +dear children. Are you willing?" + +"O John! It would be like a home in Paradise. And Harry would be safe if +he was under your influence." + +"You know, Lucy, what Jane's mother has done with Harlow House. Yoden +can be made far prettier and far more profitable. You may raise any +amount of poultry and on the wold there is a fine run for ducks and +geese. I will see that you have cows and a good riding-horse for Harry +and a little carriage of some kind for yourself and the children." + +"I shall soon have all these pleasant things at my finger ends. O John!" + +"But you must have a good farmer to look after the cattle and horses, +the meadowland and the grain-land and also the garden and orchard must +be attended to. Oh, I can see how busy and happy you will all be! And, +Lucy, you must use all your influence to get Harry out of London." + +"Harry will go gladly, but how can he be employed? He will soon be weary +of doing nothing." + +"I have thought of that. What is your advice on this subject, Lucy?" + +"He is tired of painting, and he has let his musical business fall away +a great deal lately. He does not keep in practice and in touch with the +men of his profession. He has been talking to me about writing a novel. +I am sure he has all the material he wants. Do not smile, John. It might +be a good thing even if it was a failure. It would keep him at home." + +"So it would, Lucy. And Harry always liked a farm. He loves the land. He +used to trouble mother meddling in the management of Hatton until he got +plainly told to mind his own business." + +"Well, then, John, we will let him manage Yoden land, and encourage him +to write a book, and he need not give up his music. He has always been +prominent in the Leeds musical festivals and Mr. Sullivan insists on +Harry's solo wherever he leads." + +"You are right, Lucy. In Hatton Harry used to direct all our musical +entertainments and he liked to do so. Men and women will be delighted to +have him back." + +"And he was the idol of the athletic club. I have heard him talk about +that very often. O John, I can see Harry's salvation. I have been very +anxious, but I knew it would come. I will work joyfully with you in +every way to help it forward." + +"You have been having a hard time I fear, Lucy." + +"Outwardly it was sometimes hard, but there was always that wonderful +inner path to happiness--you know it, John." + +"And you never lost your confidence in God?" + +"If I had, I should have come to you. Did I ever do so? No, I waited +until God sent you to me. When I first went to Him about this anxiety, +He made me a promise. God keeps his promises." + +"Now I am going to look for Harry." + +"Do you know where he is?" + +"I know where the house he frequents is." + +"Suppose they will not let you see him?" + +"I am going to Scotland Yard first." + +"Why?" + +"For a constable to go with me." + +"You will be kind to Harry?" + +"As you are kind to little Agnes. I may have to strip my words for him +and make them very plain, but when that is done I will comfort and help +him. Will you sleep and rest and be sure all is well with Harry?" + +"As soon as my girl returns, I will do as you tell me. Tomorrow I--" + +"Let us leave tomorrow. It will have its own help and blessing, but +neither is due until tomorrow. We have not used up all today's blessing +yet. Good-bye, little sister! Sleeping or waking, dream of the happiness +coming to you and your children." + +It was only after two hours of delays and denials that John was able to +locate his brother. Lugur had given him the exact location of the +house, but the man at the door constantly denied Harry's presence. It +was a small, dull, inconspicuous residence, but John felt acutely its +sinister character, many houses having this strange power of revealing +the inner life that permeates them. The man obtained at Scotland Yard +was well acquainted with the premises, but at first appeared to be +either ignorant or indifferent and only answered John's questions in +monosyllables until John said, + +"If you can take me to my brother, I will give you a pound." + +Then there was a change. The word "pound" went straight to his nervous +center, and he became intelligent and helpful. + +"When the door is opened again," he said, "walk inside. There is a long +passage going backward, and a room at the end of that passage. The kid +you want will be in that room." + +"You will go with me?" + +"Why not? They all know me." + +"Tell them my name is John Hatton." + +"I don't need to say a word. I have ways of putting up my hand which +they know, and obey. Ring the bell. I'll give the doorman the word to +pass you in. Walk forward then and you'll find your young man, as I told +you, in the room at the end of the passage. I'll bet on it. I shall be +close behind you, but do your own talking." + +John followed the directions given and soon found himself in a room +handsomely but scantily furnished. There were some large easy chairs, a +wide comfortable sofa, and tables covered with green baize. A fire +blazed fitfully in a bright steel grate, but there were no pictures, no +ornaments of any kind, no books or musical instruments. The gas burned +dimly and the fire was dull and smoky, for there was a heavy fog outside +which no light could fully penetrate. The company were nearly all +middle-aged and respectable-looking. Their hands were full of cards, and +they were playing with them like men in a ghostly dream. They never +lifted their eyes. They threw down cards on the table in silence, they +gathered them up with a muttered word and went on again. They seemed to +John like the wild phantasmagoria of some visionary hell. Their silent, +mechanical movements, their red eyelids, their broad white faces, +utterly devoid of intellect or expression, terrified him. He could not +avoid the tense, shocked accent with which he called his brother's name. + +Harry looked up as if he had heard a voice in his sleep. A strained +unlovely light was on his face. His luck had turned. He was going to +win. He could not speak. His whole soul was bent upon the next throw and +with a cry of satisfaction he lifted the little roll of bills the +croupier pushed towards him. + +Then John laid his hand firmly on Harry's shoulder. "_Give that money to +me_," he said and in a bewildered manner Harry mechanically obeyed the +command. Then John, holding it between his finger and thumb, walked +straight to the hearth and threw the whole roll into the fire. For a +moment there was a dead silence; then two of the youngest men rose to +their feet. John went back to the table. Cards from every hand were +scattered there, and looking steadily at the men round it, John asked +with intense feeling, + +"GENTLEMEN, _what will it profit you, if you gain the whole world and +lose your own souls; for what shall a man give in exchange for his +soul?_" + +A dead silence followed these questions, but as John left the room with +his brother, he heard an angry querulous voice exclaim, + +"Most outrageous! Most unusual! O croupier! croupier!" + +Then he was at the door. He paid the promised pound, and as his cab was +waiting, he motioned to Harry to enter it. All the way to Charing Cross, +John preserved an indignant silence and Harry copied his attitude, +though the almost incessant beating of his doubled hands together showed +the intense passion which agitated him. + +Half an hour's drive brought them to the privacy of their hotel rooms +and as quickly as they entered them, John turned on his brother like a +lion brought to bay. + +"How dared you," he said in a low, hard voice, "how dared you let me +find you in such a place?" + +"I was with gentlemen playing a quiet game. You had no right to disturb +me." + +"You were playing with thieves and blackguards. There was not a +gentleman in the room--no, not one." + +"John, take care what you say." + +"A man is no better than the company he keeps. Go with rascals and you +will be counted one of them. Yes, and so you ought to be. I am ashamed +of you!" + +"I did not ask you to come into my company. I did not want you. It was +most interfering of you. Yes, John, I call it impudently interfering. I +gave way to you this time to prevent a police scene, but I will never do +it again! Never!" + +"You will never go into such a den of iniquity again. Never! Mind that! +The dead and the living both will block your way. We Hattons have been +honest men in all our generations. Sons of the soil, taking our living +from the land on which we lived in some way or other--never before from +dirty cards in dirty hands and shuffled about in roguery, treachery, and +robbery. I feel defiled by breathing the same air with such a crowd of +card-sharpers and scoundrels." + +"I say they were good honest gentlemen. Sir Thomas Leland was there, +and----" + +"I don't care if they were all princes. They were a bad lot, and theft +and cards and brandy were written large on every sickly, wicked, white +face of them. O Harry, how dared you disgrace your family by keeping +such company?" + +"No one but a Methodist preacher is respectable in your eyes, John. +Everyone in Hatton knew the Naylors, yet you gave them the same bad +names." + +"And they deserved all and more than they got. They gambled with horses +instead of cards. They ran nobler animals than themselves to death for +money--and money for which neither labor nor its equivalent is given is +dishonest money and the man who puts it in his pocket is a thief and +puts hell in his pocket with it." + +"John, if I were you I would use more gentlemanly language." + +"O Harry! Harry! My dear, dear brother! I am speaking now not only for +myself but for mother and Lucy and your lovely children. Who or what is +driving you down this road of destruction? I have left home at a hard +time to help you. Come to me, Harry! Come and sit down beside me as you +always have done. Tell me what is wrong, my brother!" + +Harry was walking angrily about the room, but at these words his eyes +filled with tears. He stood still and looked at John and when John +stretched out his arms, he could not resist the invitation. The next +moment his head was on John's breast and John's arm was across Harry's +shoulders and John was saying such words as the wounded heart loves to +hear. Then Harry told all his trouble and all his temptation and John +freely forgave him. With little persuasion, indeed almost voluntarily, +he gave John a sacred promise never to touch a card again. And then +there were some moments of that satisfying silence which occurs when a +great danger has been averted or a great wrong been put right. + +But Harry looked white and wretched. He had been driven, as it were, out +of the road of destruction, but he felt like a man in a pathless desert +who saw no road of any kind. The fear of a lost child was in his heart. + +"What is it, Harry?" asked John, for he saw that his brother was faint +and exhausted. + +"Well, John, I have eaten nothing since morning--and my heart sinks. I +have been doing wrong. I am sorry. I ought to have come to you." + +"To be sure. Now you shall have food, and then I have something to tell +you that will make you happy." So while Harry ate, John told him of the +renting of Yoden and laid before him all that it promised. And as John +talked the young man's countenance grew radiant and he clasped his +brother's hand and entered with almost boyish enthusiasm into every +detail of the Yoden plan. He was particularly delighted at the prospect +of turning the fine old house into an unique and beautiful modern home. +He laughed joyously as he saw in imagination the blending of the old +carved oak furniture with his own pretty maple and rosewood. His +artistic sense saw at once how the high dark chimney-pieces would glow +and color with his bric-a-brac, and how his historical paintings would +make the halls and stairways alive with old romance; and his copies of +Turner and other landscapes would adorn the sitting-and sleeping-rooms. + +John entered fully into his delight and added, "Why, Ramsby told me that +there were some fine old carpets yet on the floors and Genoese velvet +window-curtains lined with rose-colored satin which were not yet past +use." + +"Oh, delightful!" cried Harry. "We will blend Lucy's white lace ones +with them. John, I am coming into the dream of my life." + +"I know it, Harry. The farm is small but it will be enough. You will +soon have it like a garden. Harry, you were born to live on the land and +by the land, and when you get to Yoden your feverish dream of cities and +their fame and fortune will pass, even from your memory. Lucy and you +are going to be so busy and happy, happier than you ever were before!" + +It was however several days before the change could be properly entered +upon. There were points of law to settle and the packing and removal to +arrange for, and though John was anxious and unhappy he could not leave +Harry and Lucy until they thoroughly understood what was to be done. But +how they enjoyed the old place in anticipation! John smiled to see Harry +from morning to night in deshabille as workmanlike as possible, with a +foot rule or hammer constantly in his hand. + +Yes, the London house was all in confusion, but Oh, what a happy +confusion! Lucy was so busy, she hardly knew what to do first, but her +comfortable good-temper suffused the homeliest duties of life with the +sacred glow of unselfish love, and John, watching her sunny +cheerfulness, said to himself, + +"Surely God smiled upon her soul before it came to this earth." + +In a short time Lucy had got right under the situation. She knew exactly +what ought to be done and did it, being quite satisfied that Harry +should spend his time in measuring accurately and packing with extremest +care his pictures and curios and all the small things so large and +important to himself. And it was not to Harry but to Lucy that John gave +all important instructions, for he soon perceived that it was Harry's +way to rush into the middle of things but never to overtake himself. + +At length after ten days of unwearying superintendence, John felt that +Lucy and Harry could be left to manage their own affairs. Now, we like +the people we help and bless, and John during his care for his brother's +family had become much attached to every member of it, for even little +Agnes could now hold out her arms to him and lisp his name. So his last +duty in London was to visit Harry's house and bid them all a short +farewell. He found Harry measuring with his foot rule a box for one of +his finest paintings. It had to be precisely of the size Harry had +decided on and he was as bent on this result as if it was a matter of +great importance. + +"You see, John," he said, "it is a very hard thing to make the box fit +the picture. It is really a difficult thing to do." + +John smiled and then asked, "Why should you do it, Harry? It would be so +easy _not_ to do it, or to have a man who makes a business of the work +do it for you." And Harry shook his head and began the measurement of +box and picture over again. + +"The little chappies are asleep, John, I wouldn't disturb them. Lucy is +in the nursery. You had better tell her anything that ought to be done. +I shall be sure to forget with these measurements to carry in my head." + +"Put them on paper, Harry." + +"The paper might get lost." + +And John smiled and answered, "So it might." + +So John went to the nursery and first of all to the boys' bed. Very +quietly they slipped their little hands into his and told him in +whispers, "Mamma is singing Agnes to sleep, and we must not make any +noise." So very quiet good-bye kisses full of sweet promises were given +and John turned towards Lucy. She sat in her low nursing-chair slowly +rocking to-and-fro the baby in her arms. Her face was bent and smiling +above it and she was singing sweet and singing low a strain from a +pretty lullaby, + + "O rock the sweet carnation red, + And rock the silver lining, + And rock my baby softly, too, + With skein of silk entwining. + Come, O Sleep, from Chio's Isle! + And take my little one awhile!" + +She had lost all her anxious expression. She was rosy and smiling, and +looked as if she liked the nursery rhyme as well as Agnes did and that +Agnes liked it was shown by the little starts with which she roused +herself if she felt the song slipping away from her. + +"Let me kiss the little one," said John, "and then I must bid you +good-bye. We shall soon meet again, Lucy, and I am glad to leave you +looking so much better." + +Lucy not only looked much better, she was exceedingly beautiful. For her +nature reached down to the perennial, and she had kept a child's +capacity to be happy in small, everyday pleasures. It was always such an +easy thing to please her and so difficult for little frets to annoy her. +Harry's inconsequent, thoughtless ways would have worried and tried some +women to the uttermost, for he was frequently less thoughtful and less +helpful than he should have been. But Lucy was slow to notice or to +believe any wrong of her husband and even if it was made evident to her +she was ready to forgive it, ready to throw over his little tempers, his +hasty rudenesses, and his never-absent selfishness, the cloak of her +merciful manifest love. + +"What a loving little woman she is!" thought John, but really what +affected him most was her constant cheerfulness. No fear could make her +doubt and she welcomed the first gleam of hope with smiles that filled +the house with the sunshine of her sure and fortunate expectations. How +did she do it? Then there flashed across John's mind the words of the +prophet Isaiah, "Thou meetest him _that rejoiceth_, and worketh +righteousness." God does not go to meet the complaining and the doubting +and the inefficient. He goes to meet the cheerful, the courageous and +the good worker; that is, God helps those who help themselves. And God's +help is not a peradventure; it is potential and mighty to save; "for our +Redeemer is strong. He shall thoroughly plead our cause," in every +emergency of Life. + +Very early next morning John turned a happy face homeward. The hero of +today has generally the ball of skepticism attached to his foot, but +between John Hatton and the God he loved there was not one shadow of +doubt. John knew and was sure that everything, no matter how evil it +looked, would work together for good. + +It was a day of misty radiance until the sun rose high and paved the +clouds with fire. Then the earth was glad. The birds were singing as if +they never would grow old, and, Oh, the miles and miles of green, green +meadows, far, far greener than the youngest leaves on the trees! There +were no secrets and no nests in the trees yet, but John knew they were +coming. He could have told what kind of trees his favorite birds would +choose and how they would build their nests among the branches. + +Towards noon he caught the electric atmosphere pouring down the northern +mountains. He saw the old pines clambering up their bulwarks, and the +streams glancing and dancing down their rocky sides and over the brown +plowed fields below great flocks of crows flying heavily. Then he knew +that he was coming nigh to Hatton-in-Elmete and at last he saw the great +elm-trees that still distinguished his native locality. Then his heart +beat with a warmer, quicker tide. They blended inextricably with his +thoughts of mother and wife, child and home, and he felt strongly that +mystical communion between Man and Nature given to those + + Whose ears have heard + The Ancient Word, + Who walked among the silent trees. + +Not that Nature in any form or any measure had supplanted his thoughts +of Jane. She had been the dominant note in every reflection during all +the journey. Mountain and stream, birds and trees and shifting clouds +had only served as the beautiful background against which he set her in +unfading beauty and tenderness. For he was sure that she loved him and +he believed that Love would yet redeem the past. + +During his absence she had written him the most affectionate and +charming letters and when the train reached Hatton-in-Elmete, she was +waiting to receive him. He had a very pardonable pride in her appearance +and the attention she attracted pleased him. In his heart he was far +prouder of being Jane's husband than of being master of Hatton. She had +driven down to the train in her victoria, and he took his seat proudly +at her side and let his heart fully enjoy the happy ride home in the +sunshine of her love. + +A delightful lunch followed and John was glad that the presence of +servants prevented the discussion of any subject having power to disturb +this heavenly interlude. He talked of the approaching war, but as yet +there was no tone of fear in his speculations about its effects. He told +her of his visits to her uncle, and of the evenings they had spent +together at Lord Harlow's club; or he spoke in a casual way of Harry's +coming to Yoden and of little external matters connected with the +change. + +But as soon as they were alone Jane showed her disapproval of this +movement. "Whatever is bringing your brother back to the North?" she +asked. "I thought he objected both to the people and the climate." + +"I advised him to take Ramsby's offer for Yoden. The children needed +the country and Harry was not as I like to see him. I think they will be +very happy at Yoden. Harry always liked living on the land. He was made +to live on it." + +"I thought he was made to fiddle and sing," said Jane with a little +scornful laugh. + +"He does both to perfection, but a man's likes and dislikes change, as +the years go by." + +"Yes, plenty of women find that out." + +Her tone and manner was doubtful and unpleasant, the atmosphere of the +room was chilled, and John said in a tentative manner, "I will now ride +to Hatton Hall. Mother is expecting me, I know. Come with me, Jane, and +I will order the victoria. It is a lovely afternoon for a drive." + +"I would rather you went alone, John." + +"Why, my dear?" + +"It will spare me telling you some things I do not care to speak about." + +"What is wrong at Hatton Hall?" + +"Only Mrs. John Hatton." + +Then John was much troubled. The light went out of his eyes and the +smile faded from his face and he stood up as he answered, + +"You have misunderstood something that mother has said." + +"Why do you talk of things impossible, John?" Jane asked. "Mrs. Stephen +Hatton speaks too plainly to be misunderstood. Indeed her words enter +the ears like darts." + +"Yes, she strips them to the naked truth. If it be a fault, it is one +easy to excuse." + +"I do not find it so." + +"I am sorry you will not go with me, for I shall have to give a good +deal of this evening to Greenwood." + +"I expected that." + +"Go with me this afternoon, _do_, my dear! We can ride on to Harlow +also." + +"I spent all yesterday with my mother." + +"Then, good-bye! I will be home in an hour." + +John found it very pleasant to ride through the village and up Hatton +Hill again. He thought the very trees bent their branches to greet him +and that the linnets and thrushes sang together about his return. Then +he smiled at his foolish thought, yet instantly wondered if it might not +be true, and thus fantastically reasoning, he came to the big gates of +the Hall, and saw his mother watching for his arrival. + +He took her hands and kissed her tenderly. "O mother! Mother!" he cried. +"How glad I am to see you!" + +"To be sure, my dear lad. But if I had not got your note this morning, I +would have known by the sound of your horse's feet he was bringing John +home, for your riding was like that of Jehu, the son of Nimshi. But +there! Come thy ways in, and tell me what has happened thee, here and +there." + +They talked first of the coming war, and John advised his mother to +prepare for it. "It will be a war between two rich and stubborn +factions," he said. "It is likely enough to last for years. I may have +to shut Hatton mill." + +"Shut it while you have a bit of money behind it, John. I heard Arkroyd +had told his hands he would lock his gates at the end of the month." + +"I shall keep Hatton mill going, mother, as long as I have money enough +to buy a bale of cotton at any price." + +"I know you will. But there! What is the good of talking about +_maybe's_? At every turn and corner of life, there is sure to stand a +_maybe_. I wait until we meet and I generally find them more friendly +than otherwise." + +"I wanted Jane to come with me this afternoon, and she would not do so." + +"She is right. I don't think I expect her to come. She didn't like what +I said to her the last time she favored me with a visit." + +"What did you say to her, mother?" + +"I will not tell thee. I hev told her to her face and I will not be a +backbiter. Not I! Ask thy wife what I said to her and why I said it and +the example I set before her. She can tell thee." + +"Whatever is the matter with the women of these days, mother?" + +"I'm sure I cannot tell. If they had a thimbleful of sense, they would +know that the denial of the family tie is sure to weaken the marriage +tie. One thing I know is that society has put motherhood out of +fashion. It considers the nursery a place of punishment instead of a +place of pleasure. Young Mrs. Wrathall was here yesterday all in a +twitter of pleasure, because her husband is letting her take lessons in +music and drawing." + +"Why, mother, she must be thirty years old. What did you say to her?" + +"I reminded her that she had four little children and the world could +get along without water-color sketches and amateur music, but that it +could not possibly get along without wives and mothers." + +"You might have also told her, mother, that if the Progressive Club +would read history, they might find out that those times in any nation +when wives were ornaments and not mothers were always periods of +national decadence and moral failures." + +"Well, John, you won't get women to search history for results that +wouldn't please them; and to expect a certain kind of frivolous, selfish +woman to look beyond her own pleasure is to expect the great miracle +that will never come. You can't expect it." + +"But Jane is neither frivolous nor selfish." + +"I am glad to hear it." + +"Is that all you can say, mother?" + +"All. Every word. Between you and her I will not stand. I have given her +my mind. It is all I have to give her at present. I want to hear +something about Harry. Whatever is he coming to Yoden for? Yoden will +take a goodish bit of money to run it and if he hasn't a capable wife, +he had better move out as soon as he moves in." + +Then John told her the whole truth about Harry's position--his weariness +of his profession, his indifference to business, and his temptation to +gamble. + +"The poor lad! The poor lad!" she cried. "He began all wrong. He has +just been seeking his right place all these years." + +"Well, mother, we cannot get over the stile until we come to it. I think +Harry has crossed it now. And there could not be a better wife and +mother than Lucy Hatton. You will help and advise her, mother? I am sure +you will." + +"I will do what I can, John. She ought to have called the little girl +after me. I can scarce frame myself to love her under Agnes. However, it +is English enough to stick in my memory and maybe it may find the way to +my heart. As to Harry, he is my boy, and I will stand by him everywhere +and in every way I can. He is sweet and true-hearted, and clever on all +sides--the dangerous ten talents, John! We ought to pity and help him, +for their general heritage is + + "The ears to hear, + The eyes to see, + And the hands + That let all go." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +AT HER GATES + + + We shape ourselves the joy or tear, + Of which the coming life is made; + And fill our future atmosphere + With sunshine or with shade. + +It was just at the edge of the dark when John left his mother. He had +perhaps been strengthened by her counsel, but he had not been comforted. +In Hatton market-place he saw a large gathering of men and women and +heard Greenwood in a passionate tone talking to them. Very soon a voice, +almost equally powerful, started what appeared to be a hymn, and John +rode closer to the crowd and listened. + + "The Day of the Lord is at hand, at hand, + His storms roll up the sky; + The nations sleep starving on heaps of gold, + The dreamers toss and sigh. + The night is darkest before the morn, + When the pain is sorest the child is born, + And the Day of the Lord is at hand. + + "Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell, + Famine, and Plague, and War, + Idleness, Bigotry, Cant and Misrule, + Gather, and fall in the snare. + Hireling and Mammonite, Bigot and Knave, + Crawl to the battlefield, sneak to your grave, + In the Day of the Lord at hand." + +John did not hear Greenwood's voice among the singers, but at the close +of the second verse it rose above all others. "Lads and lasses of the +chapel singing-pew," he cried, "we will better that kind of stuff. Sing +up to the tune of Olivet," and to this majestic melody he started in a +clarion-like voice Toplady's splendid hymn, + + "Lo! He comes with clouds descending, + Once for favored sinners slain, + Thousand, thousand saints attending, + Swell the triumph of his train. + Hallelujah! + God appears on earth to reign." + +The words were as familiar as their mother tongue, and Greenwood's +authoritative voice in chapel, mill, and trade meetings, was quite as +intimate and potential. They answered his request almost as +automatically as the looms answered the signal for their movement or +stoppage; for music quickly fires a Yorkshire heart and a hymn led by +Jonathan Greenwood was a temptation no man or woman present could +resist. Very soon he gave them the word "_Home_," and they scattered in +every direction, singing the last verse. Then Greenwood's voice rose +higher and higher, jubilant, triumphant in its closing lines, + + "Yea, amen! Let all adore Thee, + High on thy eternal throne; + Saviour, take the power and glory, + Claim the kingdom for thine own. + Jah Jehovah! + Everlasting God come down." + +Greenwood's joyful enthusiasm was more than John could encounter at that +hour. He did not stop to speak with him, but rode swiftly home. He saw +and felt the brooding trouble and knew the question of more wage and +shorter hours, though now a smoldering one, might at any hour become a +burning one, only there was the coming war. If the men went on strike, +he could then reasonably lock his factory gates. No, he could not. The +inner John Hatton would not permit the outer man to do such a thing. His +looms must work while he had a pound of cotton to feed them. + +This resolution, warm and strong in his heart, cheered him, and he +hastened home. Then he wondered how it would be with him there, and a +feeling of unhappiness conquered for a moment. But John's mental bravery +was the salt to all his other virtues, and mental bravery does not quail +before an uncertainty. + +He hoped that Jane would, as was her usual custom, meet him at the +door, that she would hear his step and answer the call of it. But she +did not. Then he remembered that the night had turned chilly and that it +was near to dinner-time. She was probably in her dressing-room, but this +uncertainty was not cheerful. Yet he sang as he prepared himself for +dinner. He did not know why he sang for the song was not in his +heart--he only felt it to be an act of relief and encouragement. + +When he went to the dining-room Jane was there. She roused herself with +a sleepy languor and stretched out her arms to him with welcoming +smiles. For a moment he stood motionless and silent. She had dressed +herself wonderfully in a long, graceful robe of white broadcloth, rich +and soft and shining as the white satin which lay in folds about the +bosom and sleeves and encircled her waist in a broad belt. Her hair, +freed of puffs and braids, showed all its beauty in glossy smoothness +and light coils, and in its meshes was one large red rose, the fellow of +which was partly hidden among the laces at her bosom. Half-asleep she +went to meet him, and his first feeling was a kind of awe at the sight +of her. He had not dreamed she was so beautiful. Without a word he took +her hands and hiding his emotion in some commonplace remark, drew her to +his side. + +"You are lovelier than on your bridal morning, most sweet Jane," he +whispered. "What have you been doing to yourself?" + +"Well, John," she laughed, "Mrs. Tracy sent me word she was going to +call between four and five to give me a few points about the girls' +sewing-class, and I thought I would at the same time give her a few +points about dressing herself. You know she is usually a fright." + +"I thought--perhaps--you had dressed yourself to please me." + +"You are quite right, John. Your pleasure is always the first motive for +anything I do or wear." + +The dinner hour passed to such pleasant platitudes as John's description +of the manner in which Greenwood broke up the radical meeting in the +market-place; but in both hearts and below all the sweet intercourse +there lay a sense of tragedy that nothing could propitiate or avert. + +The subject, however, was not named till they were quite alone and the +very house in its intense stillness appeared to be waiting and listening +for the words to be spoken. John was about to speak them, but Jane rose +suddenly to her feet and looking steadily at him said, + +"John, what did your mother say about me this afternoon? I expect you to +tell me every word." + +"She would not talk about you in any way. She said she had given you her +whole mind straight to your face and would do no backbiting. That is, as +you know, mother's way." + +"Well, John, I would rather have the backbiting. I like to be treated +decently to my face. People are welcome to say whatever they like when +I am not present to be annoyed by their evil suspicions." + +"She told me to ask you what was said and I trust you will tell me." + +"I will. You remember that I had a whole society of women in the parlors +and I could only give you a short farewell; but I was much grieved to +send you away with such a brooding sorrow in your heart. The next day I +was putting the house in order and writing to you and I did not go out. +But on the morning of the third day I determined to visit my mother and +to call at Hatton Hall as I returned home. + +"I did not have a pleasant visit at Harlow. Since mother has begun to +save money, she has lost all interest in any other subject. I told her +how affairs were between us, and though she had hitherto been rabidly in +favor of no children she appeared that morning indifferent to everything +but the loss of a brood of young chickens which some animal had eaten or +carried off. On this subject she was passionately in earnest; she knew +to a farthing the amount of her loss, and when I persisted in telling +her how you and I had parted, she only reiterated in a more angry manner +her former directions and assurances on this subject. + +"After a very spare dinner she was more attentive to my trouble. She +said it had become a serious question in nearly all married lives--" + +"I deny that, Jane. The large majority of women, I am sure, when they +marry do not hold themselves outraged and degraded by the consequences, +nor do they consider natural functions less honorable than social ones. +Money can release a woman from work, but it cannot release her from any +service of love." + +"Men forget very easily the physical sufferings of wives. I love our +little Martha as well as, perhaps better than, you do, but I remember +clearly that for nearly a whole year I endured the solitude, sickness, +and acute suffering of maternity. And whatever else you do, you will +_never_ persuade me to like having children. And pray what kind of +children will women bear when they don't want them?" + +"Well, Jane, your question would stagger me, if I did not know that +Nature often skips a generation, and produces some older and finer +type." + +"Highly civilized men don't want children. Lady Harlow told me so, +John." + +"Well then, Jane, highly civilized men are in no danger. They need not +fear what women can do to them. They will only find women pleasant to +meet and easy to leave. I saw many, many women in the London parks and +shopping district so perverted as to be on friendly terms with dogs, and +in their homes, with cats and cockatoos, and who had no affection for +children--women who could try to understand the screams of a parrot, the +barking of a dog, but who would not tolerate the lovely patois of the +nursery. Jane, the salvation of society depends on good mothers, and if +women decline to be mothers at all, it is a shameful and dangerous +situation." + +"Oh, no! Why should I, for instance, undertake the reformation of +society? I wish rather to educate and reform myself." + +"All right! No education is too wide or too high for a mother. She has +to educate heroes, saints, and good workers. There would have been no +Gracchi, if there had been no Cornelia; no Samuel, if Hannah had not +trained him. The profession of motherhood is woman's great natural +office; no others can be named with it. The family must be put before +everything else as a principle." + +"John," she said coaxingly, "you are so far behind the times. The idea +of 'home' is growing antiquated, and the institution of the family is +passing out of date, my dear." + +"You are mistaken, Jane. Mother and home are the soul of the world; they +will never pass. I read the other day that Horace Walpole thanked God +that he came into the world when there were still such terms as +'afternoon' and 'evening.' I hope I may say I came when the ideas of +'home' and children' were still the moving principles of human society; +and I swear that I will do nothing to sink them below the verge. God +forbid!" + +"John, I am not concerned about principles. My care is not for anything +but what concerns ourselves and our home. I tell you plainly I do not +desire children. I will not have any more. I will do all I can to make +you honorable and happy. I will order and see to your house, servants, +and expenditures. I will love and cherish and bring up properly our dear +child. I will make you socially respected. I will read or write, or play +or sing to your desire. I will above all other things love and obey you. +Is not this sufficient, John?" + +"No, I want children. They were an understood consequence of our +marriage. I feel ashamed among my fellows----" + +"Yes, I suppose you would like to imitate Squire Atherton and take two +pews in church for your sons and daughters and walk up the aisle every +Sunday before them. It is comical to watch them. And poor Mrs. Atherton! +Once she was the beauty of the West Riding! Now she is a faded, draggled +skeleton, carelessly and unfashionably dressed, following meekly the +long procession of her giggling girls and sulky boys. Upon my word, +John, it is enough to cure any girl of the marriage fever to see Squire +Atherton and his friend Ashby and Roper of Roper's Mills and Coates of +Coates Mills and the like. And if it was an understood thing in our +marriage that I should suffer and perhaps die in order that a new lot of +cotton-spinners be born, why was it not so stated in the bond?" + +"My dear Jane, the trial to which you propose to subject me, I cannot +discuss tonight. You have said all I can bear at present. It has been a +long, long, hard day. God help me! Good night!" Then he bowed his head +and slowly left the room. + +Jane was astonished, but his white face, the sad, yonderly look in his +eyes, and the way in which he bit his lower lip went like a knife to her +heart. + +She sat still, speechless, motionless. She had not expected either his +prompt denial of her position or its powerful effect on him physically. +Never before had she seen John show any symptoms of illness, and his +sudden collapse of bodily endurance, his evident suffering and +deliberate walk frightened her. She feared he might have a fit and fall +downstairs. Colonel Booth had found his death in that way when he heard +of his son's accident on the railway. "All Yorkshiremen," she mused, +"are so full-blooded and hot-blooded, everything that does not please +them goes either to their brains or their hearts--and John _has_ a +heart." Yes, she acknowledged John had a heart, and then wondered again +what made him so anxious to have children. + +But with all her efforts to make a commonplace event of her husband's +great sorrow, she did not succeed in stifling the outcry in her own +heart. She whispered to it to "Be still!" She promised to make up for +it, even to undo it, sometime; but the Accuser would not let her rest, +and when exhaustion ended in sleep, chastised her with distracting, +miserable dreams. + +John walked slowly upstairs, but he had no thought of falling. He knew +that something had happened to the Inner Man, and he wanted to steady +and control him. It was not Jane's opinions; it was not public opinion, +however widespread it might be. It was the blood of generations of good +men and good women that roused in him a passionate protest against the +destruction of their race. His private sense of injustice and disloyalty +came later. Then the iron entered his soul and it was on this very bread +of bitterness he had now to feed it; for on this bread only could he +grow to the full stature of a man of God. His heart was bruised and +torn, but his soul was unshaken, and the hidden power and strength of +life revealed themselves. + +First he threw all anger behind him. He thought of his wife with +tenderness and pity only. He made himself recall her charm and her love. +He decided that it would be better not to argue the fatal subject with +her again. "No man can convince a woman," he thought. "She must be led +to convince herself. I will trust her to God. He will send some teacher +who cannot fail." Then he thought of the days of pleasantness they had +passed together, and his heart felt as if it must break, while from +behind his closed eyelids great tears rolled down his face. + +This incident, though so natural, shocked him. He arrested such evident +grief at once and very soon he stood up to pray. So prayed the gray +fathers of the world, Terah and Abram, Lot and Jacob; and John stood at +the open window with his troubled face lifted to the starlit sky. His +soul was seeking earnestly that depth in our nature where the divine and +human are one, for when the brain is stupefied by the inevitable and we +know not what to abandon and what to defend, that is the sanctuary where +we shall find help for every hour of need. + +What words, wonderful and secret, were there spoken it is not well to +inquire. They were for John's wounded heart alone, and though he came +from that communion weeping, it was + + --as a child that cries, + But crying, knows his Father near. + +Nothing was different but he sat down hushed and strengthened, and in +his heart and on his lips the most triumphant words a man or woman can +utter, _"Thy Will be done!"_ Then there was a great peace. He had cast +all his sorrow upon God and _left it with God_. He did not bring it back +with him as we are so ready to do. It was not that he comprehended any +more clearly why this sorrow and trial had come to darken his happy +home, but Oh, _what matters comprehension when there is faith!_ John did +not make inquiries; he knew by experience that there are spiritual +conditions as real as physical facts. The shadows were all gone. Nothing +was different, + + --yet this much he knew, + His soul stirred in its chrysalis of clay, + A strange peace filled him like a cup; he grew + Better, wiser and gladder, on that day: + This dusty, worn-out world seemed made anew, + Because God's Way, had now become his way. + +Then he fell into that sleep which God gives to his beloved, and when he +awoke it was the dayshine. The light streamed in through the eastern +windows, there was a robin singing on his window sill, and there was no +trouble in his heart but what he could face. + +His business was now urging him to be diligent, and his business--being +that of so many others, he durst not neglect it. Jane he did not see. +Her maid said she had been ill all night and had fallen asleep at the +dawning, and John left her a written message and went earlier to the +mill than usual. But Greenwood was there, busily examining bales of +cotton and singing and scolding alternately as he worked. John joined +him and they had a hard morning's work together, throughout which only +one subject occupied both minds--the mill and cotton to feed its looms. + +In the afternoon Greenwood took up the more human phase of the question. +He told John that six of their unmarried men had gone to America. "They +think mebbe they'll be a bit better off there, sir. I don't think they +will." + +"Not a bit." + +"And while you were away Jeremiah Stokes left his loom forever. It +didn't put him out any. It was a stormy night for the flitting--thunder +and lightning and wind and rain--but he went smiling and whispering, + + "There is a land of pure delight!" + +"The woman, poor soul, had a harder journey." + +"Who was she?" + +"Susanna Dobson. You remember the little woman that came from Leeds?" + +"Yes. Loom forty. I hope she has not left a large family." + +"Nay, if there had been a big family, she would varry likely hev been at +her loom today"--then there were a few softly spoken words, and John +walked forward, but he could not forget how singularly the empty loom +had appealed to him on that last morning he had walked through the mill +with Greenwood. There are strange coincidences and links in events of +which we know nothing at all--occult, untraceable altogether, material, +yet having distinct influences not over matter but over some one mind or +heart. + +A little before closing time Greenwood said, "Julius Yorke will be +spreading himself all over Hatton tonight. A word or two from thee, sir, +might settle him a bit." + +"I think you settled him very well last night." + +"It suited me to do so. I like to threep a man that is my equal in his +head piece. Yorke is nobbut a hunchbacked dwarf and he talks a lot of +nonsense, but he _feels_ all he says. He's just a bit of crooked +humanity on fire and talking at white heat." + +"What was he talking about?" + +"Rights and wrongs, of course. There was a good deal of truth in what he +said, but he used words I didn't like; they came out of some +blackguard's dictionary, so I told him to be quiet, and when he wouldn't +be quiet, we sung him down with a verse out o' John Wesley's hymn-book." + +"All right! You are a match for Yorke, Greenwood. I will leave him to +you. I am very weary. The last two days have been hard ones." + +There was a tone of pathos in John's words and voice and Greenwood +realized it. He touched his cap, and turned away. "Married men hev their +own tribulations," he muttered. "I hev had a heartache mysen all day +long about the way Polly went on this morning. And her with such a good +husband as I am!" + +Greenwood went home to such discouraging reflections, and John's were +just as discomforting. For he had left his wife on the previous night, +in a distressed unsettled condition, and he felt that there was now +something in Jane's, and his own, past which must not be referred to, +and indeed he had promised himself never to name it. + +But a past that is buried alive is a difficult ghost to lay, and he +feared Jane would not be satisfied until she had opened the dismal +grave of their dead happiness again--and perhaps again and again. He set +his lips straight and firm during this reflection, and said something of +which only the last four words were audible, "Thy grace is sufficient." + +However, there was no trace of a disposition to resume a painful +argument in Jane's words or attitude. She looked pale from headache and +wakefulness, but was dressed with her usual care, and was even more than +usually solicitous about his comfort and satisfaction. Still John +noticed the false note of make-believe through all her attentions and he +was hardly sorry when she ended a conversation about Harry's affairs by +a sudden and unexpected reversion to her own. "John," she said, with +marked interest, "I was telling you last night about my visit to Hatton +Hall while you were in London. You interrupted and then left me. Have +you any objections to my finishing the story now? I shall not go to +Hatton Hall again and as mother declines to tell her own fault, it is +only fair to me that you know the whole truth. I don't want you to think +worse of me than is necessary." + +"Tell me whatever you wish, Jane, then we will forget the subject." + +"As if that were possible! O John, as if it were possible to forget one +hour of our life together!" + +"You are right. It is not possible--no, indeed!" + +"Well, John, when I left Harlow House that afternoon, I went straight to +Hatton Hall. It was growing late, but I expected to have a cup of tea +there and perhaps, if asked, stay all night and have a good wise talk +over the things that troubled me. When I arrived at the Hall your mother +had just returned from the village. She was sitting by the newly-made +fire with her cloak and bonnet on but they were both unfastened and her +furs and gloves had been removed. She looked troubled, and even angry, +and when I spoke to her, barely answered me. I sat down and began to +tell her I had been at Harlow all day. She did not inquire after +mother's health and took no interest in any remark I made." + +"That was very unlike my mother." + +"It was, John. Finally I said, 'I see that you are troubled about +something, mother,' and she answered sharply, 'Yes, I'm troubled and +plenty of reason for trouble.' I asked if I could help in any way." + +John sat upright at this question and said, "What reply did mother +make?" + +"She said, 'Not you! The trouble is past all help now. I might have +prevented it a few days ago, but I did not know the miserable lass was +again on the road of sin and danger. Nobody knew. Nobody stopped her. +And, O merciful God, in three days danger turned out to be death! I have +just come back from her funeral.' 'Whose funeral?' I asked. 'Susanna +Dobson's funeral,' mother said. 'Did you never hear John speak of her?' +I told her you never spoke to me of your hands; I knew nothing about +them. 'Well then,' mother continued, 'I'll tell you something about +Susanna. Happen it may do you good. She came here with her husband and +baby all of three years ago, and they have worked in Hatton factory ever +since. She was very clever and got big wages. The day before John went +to London she was ill and had to leave her loom. The next day Gammer +Denby came to tell me she was very ill and must have a good doctor. I +sent one and in the afternoon went to see her. By this time her husband +had been called from the mill, and while I was sitting at the dying +woman's side, he came in.'" + +"Stop, Jane. My dear love, what is the use of bringing that dying bed to +our fireside? Mother should not have repeated such a scene." + +"She did, however. I was leaving the room when she said, 'Listen a +moment, Jane. The man entered angrily, and leaning on the footboard of +the bed cried out, "So you've been at your old tricks once more, +Susanna! This is the third time. You are a bad woman. I will never live +with you again. I am going away forever, and I'll take little Willy with +me. If you aren't fit to be a mother, you aren't fit to be a wife!" She +cried out pitifully, but he lifted the child in his arms and went out +with him.' + +"At these words, John, I rang the bell and ordered my horse. Mother paid +no attention to that, but continued, 'The woman raved all night, and +died early the next morning.' I said with a good deal of anger, that +her husband's brutality had killed her and that the grave was the only +place for a poor woman who was married to such a monster. And then I +heard the trampling of horses' feet and I came away without another +word. But my heart was hot and I was sick and trembling and I rode so +recklessly that it was a wonder I ever reached home." + +"My dear Jane, I think--" + +"Nay, John, I do not want you to express any opinion on the subject. I +should not respect you if you said your mother could do wrong, and I do +not wish to hear you say she did right. I only want you to understand +why I refuse to go to Hatton Hall any more." + +"Do not say that, Jane. I am sure mother was conscious of no feeling but +a desire to do good." + +"I do not like her way of doing good. I will not voluntarily go to +receive it. Would you do so, John?" + +"She is my mother. A few words could not drive us apart. She may come to +you, you may go to her. As to that, nothing is certain." + +"Except that your words are most uncertain and uncomforting, John." + +Then John rose and went to her side and whispered those little words, +those simple words, those apparently meaningless, disconnected words +which children and women love and understand so well. And she wept a +little and then smiled, and the wretched story was buried in love and +pity--and perhaps the poor soul knew it! + +"You see, Jane, my dear one, the Unknown fulfills what we never dare to +expect, so we will leave the door wide open for Faith and Hope." And as +John said these words, he had a sudden clear remembrance of the empty +loom and the fair little woman he had so often seen at work there. Then +a prayer leaped from his heart to the Everlasting Mercy, a prayer we too +seldom use, "Father, forgive, they know not what they do." + +For a moment or two they sat hand in hand and were silent. Then Jane, +who was visibly suffering, from headache, went to her room, and John +took a pencil and began to make figures and notes in his pocketbook. His +face and manner was quiet and thoughtful. He had consented to his trial +outwardly; inwardly he knew it to be overcome. And to suffer, to be +wronged and unhappy, yet not to cease being loving and pleasant, implies +a very powerful, Christ-like disposition. + +He knew well very hard days were before his people, and he was now +endeavoring by every means in his power to provide alleviations for the +great tragedy he saw approaching. All other things seemed less urgent, +and a letter from Harry full of small worries about pictures and +bric-a-brac was almost an irritation. But he answered it in brotherly +fashion and laid the responsibility so kindly on Harry himself that the +careless young fellow was proudly encouraged and uplifted. + +In the meantime the small cloud in the far west was casting deeper +shadows of forthcoming events, but in the lovely springtime they were +not very alarming. Also in Hatton town the people relied on the Master +of Hatton. They told themselves he was doing all that could be done to +ward off evil and they trusted in him. And no one foresaw as yet how +long the struggle would last. So Harry Hatton's return to the home +county and neighborhood was full of interest. He was their favorite and +their friend, and he had been long enough away to blot out any memory of +his faults; and indeed a fault connected with horses calls forth from +Yorkshiremen ready excuse and forgiveness. As to the mill, few of its +workers blamed him for hating it. They hated it also and would have +preferred some other out-door employment. So Harry's return was far more +interesting than the supply of cotton, and then England might do this +and that and perhaps France might interfere. That wide, slippery word +"perhaps" led them into many delusive suppositions. + +Very nearly three weeks after John left him in London, Harry announced +his purpose of being in Yoden the following afternoon. He said his +furniture and trunks had arrived there three days previously, having +gone to Yoden by railway. In the afternoon John went up the hill to tell +his mother and found her thoroughly aware of all Harry's plans. + +"I went to Yoden, John, a week ago," she said, "to hire men to meet the +furniture and take it to the house. Well, I can tell you I was a bit +amazed to find there had been a lot of workmen there for more than two +weeks--paperers, painters, decorators and upholsterers. I thought you +had sent them to Yoden." + +"Not I! Not one of them. Did you think I could be so wicked? I want +every penny I can touch for cotton." + +"Wicked or not, the men were there. They were not men of this side of +England either. I asked who sent them to Yoden, and one of them told me +they came from Sandfords', Bond Street, London. I dare say Harry sent +them." + +"Then I fear Harry must pay for it. It is a bad time for him to be +extravagant." + +"Well then, if Harry can't pay, I can. Don't thee be cross with the poor +lad. He hesn't found life very pleasant so far and now that a bit of +pleasure comes into it, he's right to make the most of it." + +"All shall be as you wish, mother. Will you meet them tomorrow +afternoon?" + +"Nay, I know better. Lucy will be worn out, dusty and hungry, and she'll +thank nobody for bothering her, until she is rested. I'll go early next +morning. Lucy knows there is a time to call and a time to bide at home." + +John took dinner with his mother, and as they were eating it, Mrs. +Hatton said, "I suppose Jane is at Thirsk Hall tonight." + +"Yes," answered John. "I refused the invitation. I could not think of +feasting and dancing with the cry of War and Famine at my door." + +"You are saying too much, John. Neither war nor famine can touch you." + +"If it touches those who work for me and with me, it touches me. I must +think of them as well as myself." + +"How is little Martha? I never see her now." + +"Jane keeps her at her own side. She has many fine new ideas about the +bringing up of children." + +"Did she take Martha to Thirsk with her?" + +"Not likely. I hope not." + +"_Hum-m!!_" + +Towards dusk John rode slowly down the hill. Somehow he had missed the +usual tonic of his mother's company, and Harry's unexpected expenses +troubled him, for it is the petty details of life rather than its great +sorrows which fret and irritate the soul. Indeed, to face simple daily +duties and trials bravely and cheerfully is the most heroic struggle and +the greatest victory the soul can win. That it is generally unwitnessed +and unapplauded, that it seldom gains either honor or gratitude, that it +is frequently despised and blamed, is not to be regarded. It is the fine +tooling or graving on the soul capable of bearing it, of that supreme +grace we call character; that grace that makes all the difference +between one human being and another that there is between a block of +granite and a reach of shifting sand. Every person we meet, has more or +less of this quality, and not to be influenced by it is to belong to +those hard blocks of humanity whom Carlyle calls formulas and phantoms. + +Well, this little incident of Harry's unexpected extravagance was a line +of character-tooling on John's soul. He felt the first keen touches, was +suddenly angry, then passive, and as he rode down the hill, satisfied. +Some way or other he felt sure the expense would not interfere with the +things so vitally important to him. As he rode through the village he +noticed that the Spinners' Hall was lit up and that there was a mixed +sound of song and laughter and loud talking within and as Jane was at +Thirsk he alighted at the door of the hall and went in. + +On the platform there was one of his own spinners, a lad of seventeen +years old. The audience were mostly young men and women, and they were +dressed for dancing. A mirthful spirit pervaded the room and the usual +order was wanting. The lad speaking appeared to be an object of +criticism and amusement rather than of respect but he went on talking in +a schoolboy fashion of "the rights of the people." He was in a West +Riding evening-suit, he had a flower in his coat, and a pair of white +gloves in his hand. + +"Rich people all hev their rights," he said, "but a poor lad like me +can't spend his hard-earned wage without heving to pay this and that +sixpenny claim--" + +"For board and lodging, Sam," cried a pretty girl impatient for the +talking to cease, and the dance to begin. + +"Silence!" a voice called authoritatively and the lecturer stopped and +looked round. Then a big dark man pushed his way through the tittering +crowd of girls and reaching the platform, stretched out his hand and +grasping one of its supports, leaped lightly to it. The feat was not an +easy one and it was boldly and gracefully done; a hearty cheer greeted +its success. Even John joined in it and then he looked at the man and +though there was a slight change in appearance, knew him. It was Ralph +Lugur, and as soon as he was generally recognized, order and silence +reigned. He turned first to the speaker. + +"Samuel, my boy," he said, "keep quiet until you learn how to talk. Your +place is at a bobbin frame, it isn't on a platform. What do you know +about a rich man's rights?" and a pretty girl looked saucily at the +blushing lad and laughed. + +"I'll tell you, friends," continued Lugur, "how much right a rich man +has in his wealth. He has practically very little. The Poor Laws, the +Sunday Laws, the School Laws, the Income Tax, and twenty other taxes +that he must pay completely prevent him from doing as he likes with his +own money. Rich men are only the stewards of the poor man. They have to +provide him with bread, homes, roads, ships, railways, parks, music, +schools, doctors, hospitals, and a large variety of other comforts and +amusements. And, my dear friends, this is not tyranny. Oh no! It is +civilization. And if all these obligations did not control him, there +are two powerful and significant people whom he _has_ to obey whether he +likes to or not. I mean a lady you don't know much about, called Mrs. +Grundy; and a gentleman whom you know as much of as you want to know, +called Policeman A. Don't you fall into the mistake of taking sides +against your country. No! Don't do that but, + + "Let the laws of your own land, + Good or bad, between you stand." + +Then he slipped off the platform, and the band began to tune up. And the +boy who had been sent off the platform to his bobbin frame went up to +the pretty girl who had laughed at his oratorical efforts and asked her +to dance. She made a mocking curtsey, and refused his request, and John +who knew both of them said, "Don't be so saucy, Polly. Samuel will do +better next time." But Polly with a little laugh turned away singing, + + "He wears a penny flower in his coat, lah-de-dah! + And a penny paper collar round his throat, lah-de-dah! + In his mouth a penny pick, + In his hand a penny stick, + And a penny in his pocket, lah-de-dah-heigh!" + +John and Lugur walked through the village together, and then John +discovered that the remodeling of Yoden was Lugur's gift to the young +people who were really to begin life over again in its comfortable +handsome shelter. + +"My father, Colonel Thomas Lugur, died two years ago," said Lugur, "and +as it is now certain that my elder brother was killed in a late Afghan +engagement, I came into the Lugur estate naturally. It is not considered +a very rich one, but it is quite large enough for all the demands I +shall make on it." + +Some words of congratulation followed, and then they talked of Harry. +"He has a good heart," said Lugur, "and when I learned you were moving +in such a sensible way for his salvation, I wanted to help. The +improvements I have made at Yoden were not carelessly chosen. Harry +loves beautiful surroundings. They may mean little to you or to me, but +to him they are almost necessary. He is easily persuaded, but you cannot +reason with him. As a general thing you cannot reason with youth. You +may as well try to beat a cloud with a stick. Youth moves in the sublime +region of its own aspirations." + +John laughed softly as he answered, "That is the difficult point with +Harry. He cannot find a reality that fills his ideals." + +"Well then, Hatton, that is a sign of a rich and varied nature. We must +bear with patience and good nature Harry's gushing, little +condescensions, for he really thinks the majority of his elders to be +grossly ignorant, perverse, and cynical. Yet he really loves us in spite +of our faults, so I think we must be lenient with his faults." + +Lugur's ideas exactly fitted John's and as the men parted Lugur said, "I +foresee that we shall be friends. Call on me, if in the bad days coming +I can help you." + +"I will do so gladly, Lugur"--and then a silent clasp of their hands +said all that was necessary. + +At the entrance to John's grounds Lugur turned to the railway station +and John walked slowly onward through the wooded park till he came to +the main entrance of the house. There were few lights in the front rooms +and when the door was opened to him he was painfully conscious of a +great silence. He had expected the want of company and light, for Jane +had told him she would not return until the following day; but even if +we expect unpleasant conditions, the realized expectation does not +console us for them. But his dinner was immediately served and he ate it +with leisurely enjoyment, letting his thoughts drift calmly with his +physical rest and refreshment. + +After dinner he was quickly absorbed in a variety of calculations and, +lost in this arbitrary occupation, forgot all else until the clock +chimed ten. Then with a sigh he folded away a note of results and +ordered the closing of the house. A new light was immediately on his +face, and he went upstairs like a man who has a purpose. This purpose +took him to little Martha's sleeping-room. He opened the door gently. +There was only a rush light burning, but its faint beams showed him the +soft white bed on which his darling lay sleeping. Noiselessly he stepped +to her side and for a few moments stood in silent prayer, looking at the +lovely sleeper. No one saw him, no one heard him, and he left the little +sanctuary unnoticed by any human eye. + +Then he went to his own room, turned the key in his chamber door, and +walked straight to the Bible lying open on its stand; and as he read, a +glory seemed to shine over its pages and his face reflected the comfort +and joy he found there. And afterwards as he stood before the Book with +lifted eyes and clasped hands, he was a visible incarnation of that +beautiful manliness which is the outcome and result of nearly two +thousand years of Christian thought and feeling. + +[Illustration: "Noiselessly he stepped to her side and ... stood in +silent prayer."] + +He had not permitted himself to think of his wife. His calculations had +demanded his whole mind and intellect and he had purposely occupied +himself with subjects that would not permit wandering thought. For he +was aware that he had once been jealous of Lord Thirsk and he knew that +it was not pleasant for him to think of Jane brightening with her +beauty Lord Thirsk's mansion while he sat lonely in his own silent home. + +But he soon put all such reveries vigorously, even a little angrily, +under the positive stamp of his foot as he began to take his own share +in the circumstance. "I could have gone with Jane--I did not want to +go--I don't like Thirsk--I do not want his hospitality. How could I +feast and dance when I know some of my men must be out of work and out +of bread in a few weeks--Jane does not feel as I do--Mother does not +either--I cannot expect it--but I know!--I know!--I took my own wish and +way, and I have no right to complain--I must be just and fair--just and +fair to all--to all;" and with this decision, he slept well, courting +sleep consciously, because he knew that the times were too full of +anxiety to lose the rest so needful in unhappy and doubtful brooding. + +In the morning a thing quite unlooked-for occurred. When John went into +the breakfast-room Jane was there to receive him. "O John!" she cried, +"I am delighted that I caught you napping. I left Thirsk at seven +o'clock. Are you not glad to see me?" + +"Glad!" He could not find words to express his gladness, but his silent +kisses spoke for him and his beaming eyes and the warm clasp of his +strong hand. And his coffee was not coffee, it was some heavenly nectar, +and his bread was more than the staff of life, it was the bread of +love. She brought her chair close to his side, she said _that_ was the +place of honor. She fed his heart with soft, beaming glances, and she +amused him with laughable descriptions of her partners. "After you, +John," she said with a pretty seriousness, "after you, John, all other +men look so small!" And what man wholly devoted to his wife, would not +have been intoxicated with the rapture of a love so near and yet so far +from understanding him? + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +JANE RECEIVES A LESSON + +"There are times in life when circumstances decide for us; it is then +the part of wisdom to accept and make the best of what they offer." + + +Of course Harry would have felt it intolerable to come home just like +his neighbors. So he returned to the Hatton district as if he had +condescended to accept some pressing invitation to do so. It was, +however, almost the last exhibition of his overweening youthful egotism. +His mother's best carriage was at the station for Mrs. Henry Hatton and +family; his mother's gigs and wagons there for his servants and baggage. +Two or three of the village societies to which he had belonged or did +yet belong crowded the railway platform. They cheered him when he +alighted, and sent him homeward to the music of, + + There may be fairer lands beyond the sea, + But it's Home! It's Home in the North Country! + +Harry's mother was delighted. This public approbation justified her own +rather extravagant welcome, and when John's face showed a shadow of +disapproval, she was not pleased. + +"It is too much especially at this time, mother. It is more than Harry +can or will live up to. Trust me, mother, for I know the men. This noisy +welcome was not so much a mark of their friendship and admiration as it +was a bid for Harry's help and patronage, and when Harry gets weary of +giving and doing or becomes unable to give or do, they will feel wronged +and offended and perhaps express their dissatisfaction just as +pointedly." + +"He is thy own brother, and I wouldn't be jealous of his popularity if I +was thee." + +"Jealous! Mother! How can you accuse me of such a feeling?" He could say +no more for he was deeply pained at the charge. + +"Well, John, I was wrong to say 'jealous.' I said it because it was the +ugliest word I could think of at the moment." + +"If you thought I was jealous, you were right to tell me so." + +"Nay, my lad, I didn't think so--not for a moment--so I was wrong. Well, +then, we all say the wrong word sometimes." + +"To be sure we do." + +"Just out of pure ugliness." + +"Or misunderstanding?" + +"Not in Martha Hatton's case. She understands well enough. Sometimes she +is sorry, as she is now. Generally speaking, she is satisfied with +herself. Why did you not go to Yoden with your brother? Were you afraid +of vexing Jane?" + +"I thought as you did, that they would prefer going home alone. The +children were tired and hungry. Lucy had a headache, and after sending +off their baggage and servants, I gave them a promise to see them +tomorrow. I think, too, that Mr. Lugur was sure to be at Yoden." + +This air of returning home victorious over some undeserved misfortune +and of taking possession of a home to which he had some ancient right, +was the tone given to Harry's settlement at Yoden, and for a long time +he felt compelled to honor it, even after it had become stale and +tedious. For it pleased his mother, and she did many unconsidered things +to encourage it. For instance, she gave a formal dinner at Hatton Hall +to which she invited all the county families and wealthy manufacturers +within her knowledge. A dinner at Hatton Hall was a rare social ceremony +and had not been observed since the death of the late Master of Hatton. +But Stephen Hatton had been a member of Parliament, and chairman of many +clubs and associations, and it belonged to his public position to give +dinners to his supporters. + +However, Hatton dinners and receptions had always been popular when in +vogue, and the countryside was well satisfied in their apparent renewal; +and as there were two weeks given to prepare for the occasion, it was +fairly possible that everyone invited would answer the call personally. +For several reasons John seriously objected to the entertainment, but +seeing that opposition would be both offensive and useless, he accepted +what he could not decline. + +Then he began to look for ways in which good might come from such an +occasion. It would certainly give him an opportunity of trying to unite +the cotton-spinners in Hatton district and of systematizing the best +manner of helping the already large body of men out of work. In Hatton +Hall he found that it gave his mother a delightful rejuvenation. She +became the busiest and happiest of women amid her preparations, and it +brought his wife and Lucy together in a sensible way after he had given +up all hope of doing so. For when Lucy received her invitation she began +at once to consider what she must wear at such an important social +function. Harry had but a confused idea, Mrs. Stephen Hatton's favorite +fashions were considerably behind the period, and Mr. Lugur's advice was +after the strictest Methodist rules. + +So Lucy waived all rites and ceremonies and called on Mrs. John Hatton +for advice. Jane was alone when the visit was made, and the heaviness +and boredom of mid-afternoon was upon her. Mrs. Harry's card was a +relief. It would please John very much, she reflected, and so looking in +her mirror and finding her dress correct and becoming, she had Lucy +brought to her private sitting-room. She met her sister-in-law with a +kindness that astonished herself, and nothing occurred during the visit +to make her regret her courtesy. + +Lucy's sweet nature and her utter want of self-consideration won its +way, as it always did; and Jane was astonished at her youthful freshness +and her great beauty. They shook hands and smiled pleasantly, and then +Lucy apologized for her initiative call and Jane waxed ashamed of her +cold, aloof attitude. She felt that she had lost something irrevocably +by her neglect of domestic duties so obvious and so generally observed. +"I did not think you were really settled yet," she explained, "and it +was so kind of you to call first." + +"I am afraid it is rather a selfish call, Mrs. Hatton." + +"Oh, you must not call me Mrs. Hatton. There are three of us, you know; +though it is likely that our mother-in-law assumes the title, and you +are Mrs. Harry and I am Mrs. John. It would be quite in sympathy with +her way, and her manner of thinking. So call me Jane, and I will call +you Lucy. John always speaks of you as Lucy." + +"John gave me a sister's place from the first. John does not know how to +be unkind. I came, Jane, to ask you how I must dress for the Hatton +dinner. I could make nothing of Harry's advice." + +"What did he suggest?" + +"Anything from cloth of gold to book muslin." + +"And the color?" + +"A combination impossible. Harry's idea of color in pictures is +wonderfully good; in dress it would be for me almost ridiculous. I think +Harry likes all colors and he did not know which to select. He advises +me also, that I must wear a low-cut bodice and very short sleeves. I +have never done this, and I do not think that I should either feel right +or do right to follow such advice." + +"There would not be anything wrong in such a dress, but you would not be +graceful in any kind of garment you do not wear _habitually_." + +Then Jane showed her sister-in-law all her finest costumes, told her +what modistes made them, and at what social functions they were worn. +When this exhibition was over, the afternoon was advanced. They drank a +cup of tea together and Jane thought Mrs. Harry the most attractive and +affectionate woman she had ever met. She begged her to send for Harry +and to stay for dinner, and Lucy was delighted at the invitation but +said she could not leave her children because Agnes was not yet weaned +and "she will need me and cry for me." Then with an enchanting smile she +added, "And you know, I should want her. A mother cannot leave a nursing +babe, can she?" + +These words were the only minor notes in the interview; they were the +only words Jane did not tell her husband. Otherwise, she made a charming +report of the visit. "She is a darling!" was her comment, and, "No +wonder that Harry adores her. John, she makes you feel that goodness is +beautiful, and she looks so young and lovely and yet she has three +children! It is amazing!" + +John longed to intimate that the three children might be the secret of +Lucy's youth and beauty, but he refrained himself even from good words. +And which of us cannot recall certain interviews in life when we +refrained from good words and did wisely; and other times when we said +good words and did foolishly? So all John said was, + +"Did you tell her how to dress, Jane?" + +"No. I let her look at my prettiest frocks, and she took note of what +she thought possible. I gave her an introduction to my dressmaker who is +clever enough to make anything Lucy is likely to desire. What is there +about Lucy that makes her so enchanting? While she was in my room, I +felt as if there were violets in it." + +"It is the perfume of a sweet, loving life, Jane. She brought the love +of God into the world with her. Her soul was never at enmity with Him. +She would look incredulously at you, if you told her so. I wish you +would return her call--very soon, Jane." + +"Oh, I certainly shall! I have fallen in love with Lucy, besides people +would talk ill-naturedly about me, if I did not." + +"Would you care for that?" + +"Surely. You do not think, John, that I call on the Taylors and Dobsons +and such people because I like them. I am trying to make friends and +votes for you, when you decide to take your father's place in the +House." + +"Then, my dear, you are sacrificing yourself uselessly. I don't know a +Yorkshire man who would vote for any candidate for any office because he +liked him personally. I would not do so. My father never did such a +thing, and Harry, though so thoughtless and emotional, would be equally +stubborn." + +"But why? Such nonsense, John!" + +"No. You do not vote for yourself only; your interest is bound up with +the interests of many others. You may be voting for a generation yet +unborn. A vote is a sacred obligation." + +"I am glad you have told me this. I can now drop several names from my +visiting list." + +"If you think that is the right way--" + +"What do you think is the right way?" + +"The kind way is the right way and also the wise way." + +"O John, what uncomfortable things you can think of!" + +Until the great dinner at Hatton Hall was over, it formed the staple of +conversation in the neighborhood. Everyone wondered who would be there +and who would be left out. About the dinner itself there was no doubt, +for there is little variety in such entertainments. The meat and the +drink offerings are similar, and the company are bound by fashion and +commonplaces. In the days of John's father men drank heavily of red +wines and it was the recognized way for ladies to leave them awhile to +discuss their port and politics. John Hatton's hospitality was of a more +modern type, although it still preserved a kind of antique stateliness. +And this night it had a very certain air of a somewhat anxious +amusement. The manufacturers silently wondered as to the condition of +each other's mills, and the landed gentry had in their minds a fear of +the ability of the land to meet the demands that were likely to be made +upon it. + +It was a happy turn of feeling that followed an impetuous, unanimous +call for song, and Harry rose in their midst and made the room ring to, + + "Ye mariners of England, + That guard our native seas, + Whose flag has braved a thousand years, + The battle and the breeze. + + "Britannia needs no bulwarks, + No towers along the steep, + Her march is on the mountain waves, + Her home is on the deep. + + "The meteor flag of England! + Shall yet terrific burn, + Till Danger's troubled night depart, + And the Star of Peace return." + +The last line spoke for every heart, and the honest, proud, joyous burst +of loyalty and admiration made men and women something more than men +and women for a few glorified moments. Then the satisfied lull that +followed was thrilled anew by that most delicious charmful music ever +written, "O sweetest melody!" This was the event of the evening. It drew +Harry close to every heart. It made his mother the proudest woman in +Yorkshire. It caused John to smile at his brother and to clasp his hand +as he passed him. It charmed Jane and Lucy and they glanced at each +other with wondering pleasure and delight. + +After the songs some of the elder guests sat down to a game of whist, +the younger ones danced Money Musk, Squire Beverly and Mrs. Stephen +Hatton leading, while Harry played the old country dance with a snap and +movement that made hearts bound and feet forget that age or rheumatism +were in existence. + +At eleven o'clock the party dispersed and the great dinner was over. +Harry had justified it. His mother felt sure of that. He had sung his +way into every heart, and if John was so indifferent about political +honors and office, she could think of no one better to fill Stephen +Hatton's place than his son Harry. Her dreams were all for Harry because +John formed his own plans and usually stood firmly by them, while Harry +was easily persuaded and not averse to see things as others saw them. + +The next day Harry wrote a very full account of the dinner and the +company who attended it, describing each individual, their social rank +or station, their physical and mental peculiarities, their dress and +even their ornaments or jewelry. This account was read to all the +family, then dated, sealed and carefully placed among the records and +heirlooms of Hatton Hall. The receptacle containing these precious +relics was a very large, heavily carved oak chest, standing in the +Master's room. This chest was iron-bound, triple-locked, and required +four strong men to lift it, and the family traditions asserted it had +stood in its present place for three hundred and forty years. It was the +palladium of Hatton Hall and was regarded with great honor and +affection. + +After this event there were no more attempts at festivity. The clouds +gathered quickly and a silent gloom settled over all the cotton-spinning +and weaving districts of England. But I shall only touch this subject as +it refers to the lives and characters of my story. Its facts and +incidents are graven on thousands of lives and chronicled in numerous +authentic histories. It is valuable here as showing how closely mankind +is now related and that the cup of sorrow we have to drink may be +mingled for us at the ends of the earth by people whose very names are +strange on our lips. Then + + ... "Impute it not a crime + To me or my swift passage, that I slide + O'er years." + +Very sorrowful years in which the strong grew stronger, and the weak +perished, unless carried in the Everlasting Arms. Three of them had +passed in want and suffering, constantly growing more acute. Mill after +mill closed, and the dark, quiet buildings stood among the starving +people like monuments of despair. No one indeed can imagine the pathos +of these black deserted factories, that had once blazed with sunlight +and gaslight and filled the town with the stir of their clattering looms +and the traffic of their big lorries and wagons and the call and song of +human voices. In their blank, noiseless gloom, they too seemed to +suffer.[1] + +FOOTNOTE: + +[Footnote 1: I need hardly remind my readers that I refer to the war of +1861 between the Northern and Southern States. At this time it was in +its third year, and the Southern States were closely blockaded and no +cotton allowed to leave them. Consequently the cotton-spinning counties +of Yorkshire and Lancashire were soon destitute of the necessary staple, +and to be "out of cotton" meant to more than a million cotton-spinning +families absolute starvation--for a cotton-spinner's hands are fit for +no other labor, and are spoiled by other work. This starvation was borne +with incredible faith and patience, because the success of the +blockading States meant freedom for the slaves of the cotton-growing +States.] + +A large proportion of mill-owners had gone to the continent. They could +live economically there and keep their boys and girls at inexpensive +schools and colleges. They were not blamed much, even by their +employees. "Rathmell is starting wife and childer, bag and baggage for +Geneva today," said one of them to another, and the answer was, "Happen +we would do the same thing if we could. He hes a big family. He'll hev +to spare at both ends to make his bit o' brass do for all. He never hed +any more than he needed." + +This was an average criticism and not perhaps an unfair one. Men, +however, did not as a rule talk much on the subject; they just quietly +disappeared. Everyone knew it to be a most unexpected and unmerited +calamity. They had done nothing to deserve it, they could do nothing to +prevent it. Some felt that they were in the hands of Destiny; the large +majority were patient and silent because they believed firmly that it +was the Lord's doing and so was wonderful in their eyes. Some even said +warmly it was time slavery was put down, and that millions could not be +set free without somebody paying for it, and to be sure England's skirts +were not clean, and she would hev to pay her share, no doubt of it. Upon +the whole these poor, brave, blockaded men and women showed themselves +at this time to be the stoutest and most self-reliant population in the +world; and in their bare, denuded homes there were acted every day more +living, loving, heroic stories than fiction or poetry ever dreamed of. +So far the sufferers of Hatton had kept their troubles to themselves and +had borne all their privations with that nobility which belongs to human +beings in whom the elements are finely mixed. + +John had suffered with them. His servants, men and women, had gradually +been dismissed, until only a man and woman remained. Jane had at first +demurred and reminded John that servants must live, as well as +spinners. + +"True," answered John, "but servants can do many things beside the one +thing they are hired to do. A spinner's hands can do nothing but spin. +They are unfit for any other labor and are spoiled for spinning if they +try it. Servants live in other people's houses. Nearly all of Hatton's +spinners own, or partly own, their homes. In its seclusion they can bear +with patience whatever they have to bear." + +Throughout the past three years of trouble John had been the Greatheart +of his people, and they loved and trusted him. They knew that he had +mortgaged or sold all his estate in order to buy cotton and keep them at +work. They knew that all other factories in the neighborhood had long +been closed and that for the last four months Hatton had been running +only half-time, and alas! John knew that his cotton was nearly gone and +that peace appeared to be as far off as ever. + +"You see, sir," said Greenwood, in a half-admiring and half-apologizing +way, "both North and South are mostly of good English breed and they +don't know when they are whipped." + +One afternoon Mrs. Stephen Hatton called at the mill to see John. It was +such a strange thing for her to do that he was almost frightened when he +heard of it. Strengthening his heart for anything, he went to his +private room to meet her, and his anxiety was so evident that she said +immediately in her cheerful comforting way, + +"Nay, nay, my lad, there is nothing extra for thee to worry about. I +only want thee to look after something in a hurry--it must be in a +hurry, or I would not have come for thee." + +"I know, mother. What is it?" + +"They have brought thirty-four little children from Metwold here, and +they are in a state of starvation. I want thee to see about getting +mattresses and blankets into the spinners' lecture room. I have looked +after food for them." + +"Have you anything to spare for this purpose, mother?" + +"No, I hev not, John. The town hes plenty. They will do whatever thou +tells them to do." + +"Very well, mother. I will go at once." + +"I hev been in the village all day. I hev seen that every poor nursing +woman hes hed some soup and tea and that these thirty-four little ones +were well and properly fed. Now I am going home to save every drop of +milk I can spare for them." + +"Is it fair for Metwold to send her starving children here?" + +"If thou could see them, John, thou would never ask that question. Some +of them are under three years old. They are only skin and bone, they are +as white as if they were dead--helpless, enfeebled, crippled, and, John, +three of them are stone blind from starvation!" + +"O my God!" cried John, in an acute passion of pity and entreaty. + +"Every sign of severe and speechless misery is on their small, shrunken +faces and that dreadful, searching look that shows the desperate hunger +of a little child. John, I cried over every one of them. Where was the +pitiful Christ? Why did He not comfort them?" + +"Mother! Mother! Tell me no more. I can not bear it. Who brought them +here?" + +"The town officer. They were laid on straw in big wagons. It was a hard +journey." + +"Where are their mothers?" + +"Dead or dying." + +"I will see they have beds and blankets. Do you want money, mother, for +this service?" + +"No." + +"But you must." + +"I never give money. I give myself, my health, my time, my labor. +Money--no!" + +"Why not money?" + +"Because money answers all ends, and I don't know what end is coming; +but I do know that it will be a very uncommon end that money can't +answer. Thou must have spent nearly all of it thou had." + +"It will come back to me." + +"If the war stops soon, happen some of it will come back. If it does not +stop soon, thou art standing to lose every shilling of it. So thou sees +I must save my shillings in case my children need them. How is Jane?" + +"Very well. She is the greatest help and comfort to me. I do not know +how I could have borne and done without her." + +"Mebbe thy mother might hev helped thee." + +And John answered with a beaming smile, "My mother never failed me." + +"What is Jane doing?" + +"Did you not hear that Mrs. Levy and Jane started a sewing-club for the +girl mill-hands? Very few of this class of workers can sew, and they are +being taught how to make all kinds of garments for themselves and +others. They meet in a large room over Mr. Levy's barn. He has had it +well warmed and he gives them one good meal every day." + +"I am sure I never thought Jane would notice that woman." + +"Mrs. Levy? She says she has the sweetest, kindest nature, and the +wisest little ways of meeting emergencies. And I can tell you, mother, +that her husband has given his full share of help both in money and work +during all these last three bitter years. He will be a greater honor to +the Gentlemen's Club than any of the gentlemen who have run away to rest +in Italy and left Hatton to starve or survive as she could. Have you +seen Harry lately? How is he managing?" + +"Harry does not manage at all, but _he is very manageable_, the best +quality a man can possess. Lucy manages Harry and everything else at +Yoden to perfection. She expects another baby with the spring, but she +is well and cheerful and busy as a bee." + +"Does Yoden farm do anything worth while?" + +"To be sure it does. Lugur helps Harry about the farm and Harry likes +work in the open, but Harry's voice is worth many farms. It has improved +lately, and next week he goes to Manchester to sing in oratorio. He will +bring a hundred pounds or more back with him." + +"Then at last he is satisfied and happy." + +"Happy as the day is long. He is wasteful though, in money matters, and +too ready to give the men he knows a sovereign if they are in trouble. +And it is just wasting yourself to talk to him about wasting money. I +told him yesterday that I had heard Ben Shuttleworth had been showing a +sovereign Mr. Harry gave him and that he ought not to waste his money, +and he said some nonsense about saved money being lost money, and that +spending money or giving it away was the only way to save it. Harry +takes no trouble and Medway, the new preacher, says, Henry Hatton lifts +up your heart, if he only smiles at you." + +"So he does, mother--God bless him!" + +"Well, John, I can't stop and talk with thee all day, it isn't likely; +but thou art such a one to tempt talk. I must be off to do something. +Good-bye, dear lad, and if thy trouble gets hard on thee and thou wants +a word of human love, thy mother always has it ready and waiting for +you--so she has!" + +John watched his mother out of sight; then he locked his desk and went +about her commission. She had trusted him to find beds for thirty-four +children, and it never entered his mind that any desire of hers could +possibly be neglected. Fortunately, circumstances had gone before him +and prepared for his necessity. The mattresses were easily found and +carried to the prepared room, and the children had been nourished on +warm milk and bread, had been rolled in blankets and had gone to sleep +ere John arrived at his own home. He was half-an-hour behind time, and +Jane did not like that lost half-hour, so he expected her usual little +plaintive reproach, "You are late tonight, John." But she met him +silently, slipped her hand into his and looked into his face with eyes +tender with love and dim with sorrow. + +"Did you see those little children from Metwold, John?" + +"No, my dear. Mother told me about them." + +"Your mother is a good woman, John. I saw her today bathing babies that +looked as if they had never been washed since they were born. Oh, how +they smiled lying in the warm water! And how tenderly she rubbed them +and fed them and rocked them to sleep in her arms. John, your mother +would mother any miserable neglected child. She made me cry. My anger +melted away this afternoon as I watched her. I forgave her everything." + +"O my darling! My darling Jane!" + +"I wanted to kiss her, and tell her so." + +After this confession it seemed easier for John to tell his wife that he +must close the mill in the morning. They were sitting together on the +hearth. Dinner was over and the room was very still. John was smoking a +cigar whose odor Jane liked, and her head leaned against his shoulder, +and now and then they said a low, loving word, and now and then he +kissed her. + +"John," she said finally, "I had a letter from Aunt Harlow today. She is +in trouble." + +"I am sorry for it." + +"Her only child has been killed in a skirmish with the Afghans--killed +in a lonely pass of the mountains and buried there. It happened a little +while since and his comrades had forgotten where his grave was. The man +who slew him, pointed it out. He had been buried in his uniform, and my +uncle received his ring and purse and a scarf-pin he bought for a +parting present the day he sailed for India." + +"I do not recollect. I never saw him, I am sure." + +"Oh, no! He went with his regiment to Simla seventeen years ago. Then he +married a Begum or Indian princess or something unusual. She was very +rich but also very dark, and Uncle would not forgive him for it. After +the marriage his name was never mentioned in Harlow House, but he was +not forgotten and his mother never ceased to love him. When they heard +of his death, Uncle sent the proper people to make investigations +because of the succession, you know." + +"I suppose now the nephew, Edwin Harlow, will be heir to the title and +estate?" + +"Yes, and Uncle and Aunt so heartily dislike him. Uncle has spent so +many, many years in economizing and restoring the fortune of the House +of Harlow, and now it will all go to--Edwin Harlow. I am sorry to +trouble you with this bad news, when you have so much anxiety of your +own." + +"Listen, dearest--I must--shut--the mill--tomorrow--some time." + +"O John!" + +"There is no more cotton to be got--and if there was, I have not the +money to buy it. Would you like to go to London and see your uncle and +aunt? A change might do you good." + +"Do you think I would leave you alone in your sorrow? No, no, John! The +only place for me is here at your side. I should be miserable anywhere +else." + +John was much moved at this proof of her affection, but he did not say +so. He clasped her hand a little tighter, drew her closer to his side, +and kissed her, but the subject dropped between them into a silence +filled with emotion. John could not think of anything but the trial of +the coming day. Jane was pondering two circumstances that seemed to have +changed her point of view. Do as she would, she could not regard things +as she had done. Of a stubborn race and family, she had hitherto +regarded her word as inviolable, her resolves, if once declared, as +beyond recall. She quite understood Lord and Lady Harlow's long +resentment against their son, and she knew instinctively that her +uncle's extreme self-denial for the purpose of improving the Harlow +estate was to say to his heir, "See how I have loved you, in spite of my +silence." + +Now Jane had declared her mind positively to John on certain questions +between them, and it never occurred to her that retraction was possible. +Or if it did occur, she considered it a weakness to be instantly +conquered. Neither Jane Harlow nor Jane Hatton could say and then unsay. +And she was proud of this racial and family characteristic, and +frequently recalled it in the motto of her house--_"I say! I do!"_ + +It is evident then that some strong antagonistic feeling would be +necessary to break down this barrier raised by a false definition of +honor and yet the circumstances that initially assailed it were of +ordinary character. The first happened a few weeks previously. Jane had +gone out early to do some household shopping and was standing just +within the open door of the shop where she had made her purchases. +Suddenly she heard John's clear, joyous laugh mingling with the clatter +of horses' feet. The sound was coming near and nearer and in a moment +or two John passed on his favorite riding-horse and with him was his +nephew Stephen Hatton on a pretty pony suitable to his size. John was +happy, Stephen was happy, and _she! She_ had absolutely no share in +their pleasure. They were not thinking of her. She was outside their +present life. + +An intense jealousy of the boy took possession of her. She went home in +a passion of envy and suspicion. She was a good rider, but John in these +late years had never found time to give her a gallop, and indeed had +persuaded her to sell her pretty riding-horse and outfit. Yet Stephen +had a pony and she was sure John must have bought it. Stephen must have +been at the mill early. _Why?_ Then she recalled John's look of love and +pride in the boy, his watchful care over him, his laughter and apparent +cheerfulness. + +She brooded over these things for some hours, then gave her thought +speech and in slow, icy tones said with intense feeling, "Of course, he +regards Stephen as the future master of Hatton Hall and Hatton factory. +He is always bringing Stephen and my Martha together. He intends them to +marry. They shall not. Martha is mine--she is Harlow"--then after a long +pause, "They are cousins. I shall have religious scruples." + +She did not name this incident to John and it was some days before John +said, "Stephen is going to be a fine horseman. His grandfather bought +him a pony, a beautiful spirited animal, and Steve was at once upon his +back. Yorkshire boys take to horses, as ducks to the water. Mother says +I leaped into the saddle before I was five years old." + +Jane smiled faintly at this last remark and John said no more on the +subject. He understood it to be the better way. But it had been ever +since a restless, unhappy thought below all other thoughts in Jane's +mind, and finally she had swift personal whispers and slow boring +suppositions which, if she had put them into words, would have sounded +very like, "Lucy may be disappointed yet! John might have a son of his +own. Many things happen as the clock goes round." + +She was in one of these jealous moods on the morning after John had told +her he must close the mill. Then Mrs. Levy called, and asked if she +would drive with her to Brent's Farm. "We have received a large number +of young children from Metwold," she said, "and I want to secure milk +for them." + +"Brent's Farm!" replied Jane. "I never heard of the place." + +"O my dear Mrs. Hatton, it is only a small farm on the Ripon road. The +farmer is a poor man but he has five or six cows and he sells their milk +in Hatton. I want to secure it all." + +"Is that fair to the rest of his customers?" asked Jane, with an air of +righteous consistency. + +"I do not know," was the answer. "I never asked myself. I think it is +fair to get it for babies who cannot bargain for their milk--the people +they take it from can speak for themselves." + +They found Brent's Farm to be a rough, roomy stone cottage on the +roadside. There was some pasture land at the back of the house and some +cows feeding on it. A stone barn was not far off, and the woman who +answered their call said, "If you be wanting Sam Brent, you'll find him +in the barn, threshing out some wheat." + +Mrs. Levy went to interview the milk dealer; Jane was cold and went into +the cottage to warm herself. "It is well I'm at ironing today," said +Mrs. Brent, "for so I hev a good fire. Come your ways in, ma'am, and sit +on the hearth. Let me make you a cup o' tea." + +"My friend will be here in a few minutes," Jane answered. "She only +wants to make a bargain with Mr. Brent for all his milk." + +"Then she won't be back in a few minutes; Sam Brent does no business in +a hurry. It's against his principles. You bed better hev a cup o' hot +tea." + +It seemed easier to Jane to agree than to dispute, and as the kettle was +simmering on the hob it was ready in five minutes. "You see," continued +Mrs. Brent, "I hev a big family, and washing and ironing does come a bit +hard on me now, but a cup o' tea livens me up, it does that!" + +"How many children have you, Mrs. Brent?" + +"I hev been married seventeen years, and I hev ten lads and lasses--all +of them fair and good and world-like. God bless them!" + +"Ten! Ten! How do you manage?" + +"Varry well indeed. Sam Brent is a forelooking man. They hev a good +father, and I try to keep step with him. We are varry proud of our +childer. The eldest is a boy and helps his father with the cows main +well. The second is a girl and stands by her mother--the rest are at +school, or just babies. It _is_ hard times, it is that, but God blesses +our crust and our cup, and we don't want. We be all well and healthy, +too." + +"I wonder you are not broken down with bearing so many children." + +"Nay, not I! Every fresh baby gives me fresh youth and health--if I do +it justice. Don't you find it so, ma'am?" + +"No." + +"How many hev you hed?" + +"One. A little girl." + +"Eh, but that's a shame! What does your good man say?" + +"He would like more." + +"I should think he _would_ like more. And it is only fair and square he +should _hev_ more! Poor fellow!" + +"I do not think so." + +"Whatever is the matter with thee?" + +"I think it is a shame and a great wrong for a woman to spend her life +in bearing and rearing children." + +"To bear and to rear children for His glory is exactly and perfectly +what God sent her into the world to do. It is her work in the days which +the Lord her God gives her. Men He told to work. Women He told to hev +children and plenty o' them." + +"There are more women working in the factories than men now." + +"They hev no business there. They are worse for it every way. They ought +to be in some kind of a home, making happiness and bringing up boys and +girls. Look at the whimpering, puny, sick babies factory women +bear--God, how I pity them!" + +"Tell me the truth, Mrs. Brent. Were you really glad to have ten +children?" + +"To be sure, I was glad. Every one of them was varry welcome. I used to +say to mysen, 'God must think Susy Brent a good mother, or He wouldn't +keep on sending her children to bring up for Him.' It is my work in this +life, missis, to bring up the children God sends me, and _I like my +work_!" With the last four words, she turned a beaming face to Jane and +sent them home with an emphatic thump of her iron on the little shirt +she was smoothing. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +PROFIT AND LOSS + + + The trifles of our daily life, + The common things scarce worth recall, + Whereof no visible trace remains, + These are the main springs after all. + + O why to those who need them not, + Should Love's best gifts be given! + How much is wasted, wrecked, forgot, + On this side of heaven? + +The thing that John feared, had happened to him, no miracle had +prevented it, and that day he must shut the great gates of Hatton +factory. He could hardly realize the fact. He kept wondering if his +father knew it, but if so, he told himself he would doubtless know the +why and the wherefore and the end of it. He would know, also, that his +son John had done all a man could do to prevent it. This was now a great +consolation and he had also a confident persuasion that the enforced +lock-out would only last for a short time. + +"Things have got to their worst, Greenwood," he said, "and when the tide +is quite out, it turns instantly for the onward flow." + +"To be sure it does, sir," was the answer. "Your honored father, sir, +used to say, 'If changes don't come, make them come. Things aren't +getting on without them.'" + +"How long can we run, Greenwood?" + +"Happen about four hours, sir." + +"When the looms give up, send men and women to the lunchroom." + +"All right, sir." + +Was it all right? If so, had he not been fighting a useless battle and +got worsted? But he could not talk with his soul that morning. He could +not even think. He sat passive and was dumb because it was evidently +God's doing. Perhaps he had been too proud of his long struggle, and it +was good spiritual correction for him to go down into the valley of +humiliation. Short ejaculatory prayers fell almost unconsciously from +his lips, mainly for the poor men and women he must lock out to poverty +and suffering. + +Finally his being became all hearing. Life appeared to stand still a +moment as loom after loom stopped. A sudden total silence followed. It +was broken by a long piercing wail as if some woman had been hurt, and +in a few minutes Greenwood looked into his office and said, "They be all +waiting for you, sir." The man spoke calmly, even cheerfully, and John +roused himself and with an assumed air of hopefulness went to speak to +his workers. + +They were standing together and on every face there was a quiet +steadfastness that was very impressive. John went close to them so that +he seemed to mingle with them. "Men and women," he said, "I have done my +best." + +"Thou hes, and we all know it." + +It was Timothy Briggs, the manager of the engine room, who spoke, a man +of many years and many experiences. "Thou hes done all a man could do," +he added, "and we are more than a bit proud of thee." + +"I do not think we shall be long idle," continued John, "and when we +open the gates again, there will be spinning and weaving work that will +keep the looms busy day and night. And the looms will be in fine order +to begin work at an hour's notice. When the first bell rings, I shall be +at my desk; let me see how quickly you will all be at your looms again." + +"How long, master, will it be till we hear the sound of the bell again?" + +"Say till midsummer. I do not think it will be longer. No, I do not. Let +us bear the trial as cheerfully as we can. I am not going a mile from +Hatton, and if any man or woman has a trouble I can lighten, let them +come to me. And our God is not a far-off God. He is a very present help +in time of need." With these words John lifted his hat a moment, and as +he turned away, Greenwood led the little company out, singing +confidently, + + "We thank Him for all that is past, + We trust Him for all that's to come." + +John did not go home for some hours. He went over his books and brought +all transactions up to date, and accompanied by Greenwood made a careful +inspection of every loom, noted what repairs or alterations were +necessary, and hired a sufficient number of boys to oil and dust the +looms regularly to keep the mill clean and all the metal work bright and +shining. So it was well on in the afternoon when he turned homeward. +Jane met him at the park gates, and they talked the subject over under +the green trees with the scent of the sweetbriar everywhere and the +April sunshine over every growing thing. She was a great help and +comfort. He felt her encouraging smiles and words to be like wine and +music, and when they sat down to dinner together, they were a wonder to +their household. They did not speak of the closed mill and they did not +look like people who expected a hard and sorrowful time. + +"They hev a bit o' money laid by for theirsens," said the selfish who +judged others out of their own hearts; but the majority answered +quickly, "Not they! Not a farthing! Hatton hes spent his last shilling +to keep Hatton mill going, and how he is going to open it when peace +comes caps everyone who can add this and that together." + +The first week of idleness was not the worst. John and Greenwood found +plenty to do among the idle looms, but after all repairs and alterations +had been completed, then John felt the stress of hours that had no +regular daily task. For the first time in his life his household saw him +irritable. He spoke impatiently and did not know it until the words were +beyond recall. Jane had at such times a new feeling about her husband. +She began to wonder how she could bear it if he were always "so short +and dictatorial." She concluded that it must be his mill way. "But I am +not going to have it brought into my house," she thought. "Poor John! He +must be suffering to be so still and yet so cross." + +One day she went to Harlow House to see her mother and she spoke to her +about John's crossness. Then she found that John had Mrs. Harlow's +thorough sympathy. + +"Think of the thousands of pounds he has lost, Jane. For my part I +wonder he has a temper of any kind left; and all those families on his +hands, as it were. I am sure it is no wonder he is cross at times. Your +father would not have been to live with at all." + +"I hope you have not lost much, mother." + +"O Jane, how could I help losing? Well then, I have been glad I could +give. When hungry children _look_ at you, they do not need to speak. My +God, Jane! You must have seen that look--if it was in Martha's eyes----" + +Jane caught her breath with a cry, "O mother! Mother! Do not say such +words! I should die!" + +"Yes. Many mothers did die. It was like a knife in their heart. When did +you see John's mother?" + +"The day the children came from Metwold." + +"Did you speak to her?" + +"No." + +"Why not? She has been kind to me." + +"You have given her milk for the children, I suppose." + +"All I could spare. I do not grudge a drop of it." + +Then Jane laid her arm across her mother's shoulders and looked lovingly +at her. "I am so glad," she said. "You may value money highly, mother, +but you can cast it away for higher things." + +"I hope I should never hesitate about that, Jane. A baby's life is worth +all the money I have"--and Jane sighed and went home with a new thought +in her heart. + +She found John and his little daughter in the garden planting bulbs and +setting out hardy geraniums. She joined them, and then she saw the old, +steadfast light on her husband's face and the old sure smile around his +mouth. She put her hand in his hand and looked at him with a question in +her loving eyes. He smiled and nodded slightly and drew her hand through +his arm. + +"Let us go into the house," he said. "The evenings are yet chilly"--and +they walked together silently and were happy without thought or +intention of being happy. A little later as they sat alone, Jane said, +"You look so much better than you have done lately, John. Have you had +any good news?" + +"Yes, my dear one--the best of news." + +"Who brought it?" + +"One who never yet deceived me." + +"You know it to be true?" + +"Beyond a doubt. My darling, I have been thinking of the sad time you +have had here." + +"I hope I have done some good, John." + +"You have done a great deal of good. The trouble is nearly over, it will +be quite over in a few weeks. Now you could go to London and see your +aunt. A change will do you good." + +"Cannot you and Martha go with me? You have nothing to do yet." + +"I shall have plenty to do in a short time. I must be preparing for it." + +"Then I must be content with Martha. It will be good for the child to +have a change." + +"Oh, I could not part with both you and Martha!" + +"Nor could I part with both you and Martha. Besides, who is to watch +over the child? She would be too much alone. I should be miserable in +London without her." + +"I thought while you were in London, I would have the house thoroughly +cleaned and renovated. I would open it up to every wind of heaven and +let them blow away all sad, anxious thoughts lurking in the corners and +curtains." + +"O John, I would like that so much! It would be a great comfort to me. +But you can see that Martha would be running about cold and warm, wet +and dry, and her old nurse went to Shipley when she left here." + +"I have considered these things, Jane, and decided that I would take +Martha up to Hatton Hall, and we would stay with mother while you were +away. It would be a great pleasure to mother, and do us all good." + +"But, John, London would be no pleasure to me without Martha." + +"I feel much the same, Jane. Martha is the joy of life to me. You must +leave me my little daughter. You know her grandmother will take every +care of her." + +"I can take care of her myself. She has been my companion and comforter +all through these past four years of sorrow. I cannot part with her, not +for a day." + +This controversy regarding the child was continued with unremitting +force of feeling on both sides for some time, but John finally gave way +to Jane's insistence, and the early days of April were spent in +preparations for the journey to London and the redecoration of the home. +Then one exquisite spring morning they went away in sunshine and smiles, +and John returned alone to his lonely and disorderly house. The very +furniture looked forlorn and unhappy. It was piled up and covered with +unsightly white cloths. John hastily closed the doors of the rooms that +had always been so lovely in their order and beautiful associations. He +could not frame himself to work of any kind, his heart was full of +regrets and forebodings. "I will go to my mother," he thought. "Until I +hear they are safe in Lord Harlow's house, I can do nothing at all." + +So he went up to Hatton Hall and found his mother setting her +dinner-table. "Eh, but I am glad to see thee, John!" she cried joyfully. +"Come thy ways in, dear lad. There's a nice roast turning over a +Yorkshire pudding; thou art just in a fit time. What brought thee up the +hill this morning?" + +"I came to see your face and hear your voice, mother." + +"Well now! I am glad and proud to hear that. How is Martha and her +mother?" + +"They are on their way to London." + +"However could thou afford it?" + +"Sometimes we spend money we cannot afford." + +"To be sure we do--and are always sorry for it. Thou should have brought +Martha up here and sent her mother to London by herself." + +"Jane would not go without her." + +"I'm astonished at thee! I am astonished at thee, John Hatton!" + +"I did not want her to go. I said all I could to prevent it." + +"That was not enough. Thou should not have permitted her to go." + +"Jane thought the change would do her good." + +"Late hours, late dinners, lights, and noise, and crowded streets, and +air that hes been breathed by hundreds and thousands before it reaches +the poor child, and----" + +"Nay, mother, that's enough. Count up no more dangers. I am miserable as +it is. How goes all with you?" + +"Why, John, it goes and goes, and I hardly know where it goes or how it +goes, and the mischief of it all is this--some are getting so used to +the Government feeding and clothing them that they'll think it a +hardship when they hev to feed and clothe themselves." + +"Not they, or else they are not men of this countryside. How is Harry? I +heard a queer story about him and others yesterday." + +"Queer it might be, but it was queer in a good way if it is set against +Harry. What did you hear?" + +"That Harry had trained a quartette of singers and that they had given +two concerts in Harrow-gate and three in Scarborough and Halifax, and +come back with nearly five hundred pounds for the starving mill-hands in +Hatton District." + +"That is so--and I'm thankful to say it! People were glad to give. Many +were not satisfied with buying tickets; they added a few pounds or +shillings as they could spare them. Lord Thirsk went with the company +as finance manager. People like a lord at the head of anything, and +Thirsk is Yorkshire, well known and trusted." + +"No more known and trusted than is Hatton. I think Harry might have +asked me. It is a pity they did not think of this plan earlier." + +"There may be time enough for the plan to wear itself out yet." + +"No. We shall have peace and cotton in three months." + +"However can thou say a thing like that?" + +"Because I know it." + +Then she looked steadily at him. He smiled confidently back, and no +further doubt troubled her. "I believe thee, John," she said, "and I +shall act accordingly." + +"You may safely do so, mother. How is Lucy?" "Quite well, and the new +baby is the finest little fellow I ever saw. Harry says they are going +to call him John. Harry is very fond of thee." + +"To be sure he is and I am fond of him. I wonder how they manage for +cash? Do you think they need it? Have they asked you for any?" + +"Not a farthing. Lucy makes the income meet the outgo. The farm feeds +the family and Harry earns more than a little out of the music and song +God put into him." + +"A deal depends on a man's wife, mother." + +"Everything depends on her. A man must ask his wife whether he is to do +well with his life or make a failure of it. What wilt thou do with +thyself while Jane is in London?" + +"I am going to stay with you mostly, mother. There will be painters and +paperers and cleaners in my home and a lot of dirt and confusion." + +"Where is thy economy now, John?" + +"When God turns again and blesses Hatton, He will come with both hands +full. The mill is in beautiful order, ready for work at any moment. I +will make clean and fair my dwelling; then a blessing may light on both +places." + +It was in this spirit he worked and as the days lengthened his hopes and +prospects strengthened and there was soon so much to do that he could +not afford the time for uncalled anxiety. He was quickly set at rest +about his wife and daughter. Jane wrote that they had received a most +affectionate welcome and that Martha had conquered her uncle and aunt's +household. + + Uncle is not happy, if Martha is out of sight [she wrote] and Aunt + is always planning some new pleasure for her. And, John, Uncle is + never tired of praising your pluck and humanity. He says he wishes + the Almighty had given him such an opportunity; he thinks he would + have done just as you have done. It was a little strange that Uncle + met a great Manchester banker the other day, and while they were + talking of the trouble, now so nearly over, this man said, + "Gentlemen, a great many of us have done well, but there is a + cotton-spinner in the Yorkshire wolds that has excelled us + all--one John Hatton. He mortgaged and sold all he had and kept his + looms going till the war was practically over. His people have not + been idle two months. What do you think of that?" + + Some man answered, he did not think it was extraordinary, for John + Hatton of Hatton-Elmete was of the finest blood in England. He + could not help doing the grand thing if it was there to be done. + And then another man took it up and said your blood and family had + nothing to do with your conduct. Many poor spinners would have done + as you did, if they had been your equals in money. Then the first + speaker answered, "We can do without any of your 'equality' talk, + Sam Thorpe. What the cream is, the cheese is. Chut! Where's your + equality now?" Uncle told me much more but that is enough of praise + for you, at once. Martha and I are very happy, and if all the news + we hear is true, I expect you to be living by the factory bell when + we get home. Dear, good John, we love you and think of you and talk + of you all the day long. + + JANE. + +Jane's letters came constantly and they gave to this period of getting +ready for work again a sense of great elation. If a man only passed John +on the hill or in the corridors of the mill during these days, he caught +spirit and energy and hope from his up-head and happy face and firm +step. At the beginning of May the poor women had commenced with woeful +hearts to clean their denuded houses, and make them as homelike as they +could; and before May was half over, peace was won and there were +hundreds of cotton ships upon the Atlantic. + +John's finished goods were all now in Manchester warehouses, and +Greenwood was watching the arrival of cotton and its prices in +Liverpool. John had very little money--none in fact that he could use +for cotton, but he confidently expected it, though ignorant of any +certain cause for expectation. + +As he was eating dinner with his mother one day, she said, "Whatever +have you sent Greenwood to Liverpool for?" + +"To buy any cotton he can." + +"But you have no money." + +"Simpson and Hager paid me at once for the calicoes I sent them. I shall +be getting money every day now." + +"Enough?" + +"I shall have enough--some way or other--no fear." + +"I'll tell you what, John. I can lend you twenty thousand pounds. I'll +be glad to do it." + +"O mother! Mother! That will be very salvation to me. How good you are! +How good you are!" and there was a tone in John's voice that was perhaps +entirely fresh and new. It went straight to his mother's heart, and she +continued, "I'll give you a check in the morning, John. You are varry, +varry welcome, my dear lad." + +"How can you spare me so much?" + +"Well, I've been saving a bit here and there and now and then for thirty +years, and with interest coming and coming, a little soon counts up. +Why, John, I must have been saving for this very strait all these years. +Now, the silent money will talk and the idle money roll here and there, +making more. That is what money is cut round for--I expect." + +"Mother, this is one of the happiest hours in my life. I was carrying a +big burden of anxiety." + +"Thou need not have carried it an hour; thou might hev known that God +and thy mother would be sufficient." + +The next morning John went down the hill with a check for twenty +thousand pounds in his pocket and a prayer of rest in his heart and a +bubbling song on his lips. And all my readers must have noticed that +good fortune as well as misfortune has a way of coming in company. There +is a tendency in both to pour if they rain, and that day John had +another large remittance from a Manchester house and the second mail +brought him a letter which was as great a surprise as his mother's loan. +It was from Lord Harlow and read as follows: + + JOHN HATTON, MY GOOD FRIEND, + + I must write you about three things that call for recognition from + me. The first is that I am forever your debtor for the fresh + delightful company of your little daughter. I have become a new man + in her company. She has lifted a great burden from my heart and + taught me many things. In my case it has been out of the mouths of + babes I have heard wisdom. My second reason for gratitude to you is + the noble and humane manner in which you have taken the loss and + privations this war entailed. The name of Hatton has been thrice + honored by your bearing of it and I count my niece the most + fortunate of women to be your wife. She and Martha have in a large + measure helped to console me for the loss of my dear son. The third + call for recognition is, that I owe you some tangible proof of my + gratitude. Now I have a little money lying idle or nearly so, and + if you can spend it in buying cotton, I do not know of any better + use it can be put to. I am sending in this a check on Coutts' Bank + for ten thousand pounds. If it will help you a little, you will do + me a great favor by setting poor men and women to work with it. I + heard dear little Martha reading her Bible lesson to her mother + this morning. It was about the man who folded his talent in a + napkin and did nothing with it. Take my offer, John, and help me to + put my money to use, so that the Master may receive His own with + usury, when he calls for it. + + Yours in heart and soul, + HARLOW. + +John answered this letter in person. He ran down to London by a night +train and spent a day with Jane and Martha and his uncle and aunt. It +was such a happy day that it would hardly have been possible to have +duplicated it, and John was wise to carry it back to Hatton untouched by +thought or word, by look or act which could in any way shadow its +perfection. He had longed to take his wife and child back to Hatton with +him, but Lady Trelawney was to give a children's May garden-party on +the eighteenth of May and Martha had been chosen queen of the May, and +when her father saw her in the dress prepared for the occasion and +witnessed her enthusiasm about the ceremony and the crowning of herself +queen, he put down all his personal desires and gave a ready consent to +her stay in London until the pageant was over. Then Jane dressed her in +the lace and satin of her coronation robe, with its spangled train of +tulle, put on her bright brown hair the little crown of shining gilt and +mock jewels, put in her hand the childish scepter and brought her into +the drawing-room and bade all make obeisance to her. And the child +played her part with such a sweet and noble seriousness that everyone +present wondered at her dignity and grace, and John's eyes were full as +his heart and the words were yet unknown to human tongues that could +express his deep love and emotion. Perhaps Lord Harlow made the best and +truest of commentaries when he said, + +"My dear friends, let us be thankful that we have yet hearts so +childlike as to be capable of enjoying this simple pleasure; for we are +told that unless we become as little children, we are not fit for the +kingdom of heaven." + +The next day soon after noon John was in his factory, but the image of +his child still lived in his eyes. His vision was everywhere obstructed +by looms and belts and swirling bands, but in front of them there was a +silvery light and in its soft glow he saw--he saw clearly--the image of +the lovely May Queen in her glimmering dress of shining white with the +little gilt crown on her long brown hair. Nor could he dismiss this +phantom until he went up to Hatton Hall and described her fairy Majesty +to his mother. + +"And when are they coming home, John?" asked Mrs. Hatton. "Jane's house +is as fine as if it was new and Martha's governess is wearying for her. +Martha ought to be at her lessons now. Her holiday is over by all +rights." + +"The festival will be on the twenty-eighth, and they will come on the +thirtieth if the weather be fine." + +"What has the weather to do with it?" + +"Well, Jane does not like to travel in wet weather. It drabbles her +skirts and depresses her spirits--always." + +"Dear me! It is a pity she can't order the weather she prefers. I was +taught when a year or two younger than Martha six lines that my mother +bid me remember as long as I lived. I have not forgot to mind them yet." + +"Why didn't you teach them to me?" + +"You never feared rain--quite the other way." + +"Tell them to me now, mother. It is your duty, you know," and John +laughed and bent forward and took in his large brown hand the plump, +small, white one she put out to meet his. + +"Well then, listen John, and see thou mind them: + + "The rain has spoiled the farmer's day, + Shall weather put my work away? + Thereby are two days lost. + Nature shall mind her own affairs, + I will attend my proper cares, + In rain or sun or frost." + +And the days went busily forward and John though he counted off day by +day was happy. Every loom he had was busy overtime. His manufactured +goods, woven in such stress and sorrow, were selling well, his cotton +sheds were filling rapidly. Men and women were beginning to sing at +their work again, for as one result of the day John spent with Harlow, +his lordship had opened a plain, good, and very cheap furniture store, +where the workers in cotton factories could renew on easy installments +the furniture they had sold for a mouthful of bread. It was known only +as "The Hatton Furniture Store" and John Hatton, while denying any share +in its business, stood as guarantee for its honesty, and no one was +afraid to open an account there. It really seemed as if Hatton village +had never before been so busy, so hopeful, and so full of life. The +factory bell had never sounded so cheerful. The various societies and +civic brotherhood meetings never had been so crowded and so cordial. Old +quarrels and grudges had died out and had been forgotten forever while +men and women broke their last crust of bread together or perhaps +clemmed themselves to help feed the children of the very man that had +wronged them. Consequent on these pleasant surroundings, Hatton Chapel +was crowded, the singing-pew held the finest voices in the countryside, +and there was such a renewal of religious interest that Greenwood chose +the most jubilant hymn tunes he could find in all Methodist Psalmody. + +Then suddenly in spite of all these pleasant happenings strange +misgivings began to mix with John's days and cross and darken his hours +of rest. Every morning he got his London letter, always full of love and +satisfactions, yet uncalled-for and very unlikely apprehensions came +into his thoughts and had power to shake his soul as they passed. He was +angry at himself. He called himself ungrateful to God who had so +wonderfully helped him. He prayed earnestly for a thankful, joyful +spirit, and he assumed the virtue of cheerfulness though he was far from +feeling it. But he said nothing of this delusive temper to his mother. +He was in reality ashamed of his depression, for he knew + + Love that is true must hush itself, + Nor pain by its useless cry; + For the young don't care, and the old must bear, + And Time goes by--goes by. + +One morning John said to his mother, "Today Martha is queen of the May. +Tomorrow they will pack, and do their last shopping and on Friday +afternoon they promise to be home. The maids and men will be all in +their places by tonight, and I think Jane will be pleased with the +changes I have made." + +"She ought to be, but ought often stands for nothing. It cost thee a +goodish bit when thou hedn't much to count on." + +"Not so much, mother--some paint and paper and yards of creton." + +"And new white curtains 'upstairs and downstairs and in my lady's +chamber.' Add to that men's and women's wage; and add to that, the love +that could neither be bought nor sold." + +"She is worth it all many times over." + +"Happen she may be. Her aunt has had a heartbreaking lesson. She may say +a few words to unsay words that she never should have spoken." + +"I shall be thinking of Martha all day. I hope she will keep her +confidence." + +"What art thou talking about? Martha will do herself no injustice. It +isn't likely. What is the matter with thee, John? Thou art as +down-hearted as if all had gone wrong instead of right. O thou of little +faith!" + +"I know and I am sorry and ashamed, mother." + +The next morning John had a charming letter from Jane. Martha had done +wonderfully. She had played her part to perfection and there were only +exclamations of delight at the airy, fairy cleverness of her conceptions +of mimic royalty. Jane said the illustrated papers had all taken +Martha's picture, and in fact the May Day Dream had been an +unqualified, delightful success. "And the praise is all given to Martha, +John. I shall have her likeness taken today as she appeared surrounded +by her ladies. We shall surely see you at home on Friday." + +John was so immensely proud of this news, that he went up the hill +earlier than usual in order to give it to his mother. And her attitude +disappointed him. She was singularly indifferent, he thought, and +answered his excited narrative by a fervent wish that they "were safely +back at Hatton." He wondered a little but let the circumstance pass. +"She has been worried about some household misdoing," he thought, and he +tried during their dinner together to lead her back to her usual homely, +frank cheerfulness. He only very partially succeeded, so he lit a cigar +and lay down on the sofa to smoke it. And as his mother knit she lifted +her eyes occasionally and they were full of anxious pity. She knew not +_why_, and yet in her soul there was a dark, swelling sorrow which would +not for any adjuration of Scripture nor any imploration of prayer, be +stilled. + +"I wonder what it is," she whispered. "I wonder if Jane----" then there +was a violent knocking at the front door, and she started to her feet, +uttering as she did so the word, "_Now!_" She knew instinctively, +whatever the trouble was, it was standing at her threshold, and she took +a candle in her hand and went to meet it face to face. It was a stranger +on a big horse with a telegram. He offered it to Mrs. Hatton, but John +had quickly followed his mother and he took it from her and read its +appalling message: + + Come quickly! Martha is very, very ill! + +A dark, heavy cloud took possession of both hearts, but John said only, +"Come with me, mother." "No," she answered, "this is Jane's opportunity. +I must not interfere with it. I shall be with you, dear John, though you +may not see. My kiss and blessing to the little one. God help her! +Hurry, John! I will have your horse at the door in ten minutes." + +In that long, dark, hurrying ride to London, he suddenly remembered that +for two days he had been haunted by a waylaying thought of some verses +he had read and cut out of a daily paper, and with the remembrance, back +they came to his mind, setting themselves to a phantom melody he could +hardly refrain himself from softly singing, + + "Many waters go softly dreaming + On to the sea, + But the river of Death floweth softest, + By tower and tree. + + "No rush of the mournful waters + Breaks on the ear, + To tell us when Life is strongest, + That Death flows near. + + "But through throbbing hearts of cities + In the heat of the day, + The cool, dark River passeth + On its silent way. + + "This is the River that follows + Wherever we go, + No sand so dry and thirsty, + But these strange waters flow. + + "Many waters go softly dreaming + On to the sea, + But the river of Death flows softest + To Thee and me. + + "And the Lord's voice on the waters + Lingereth sweet, + He that is washed needest only + To wash his feet." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE LOVE THAT NEVER FAILS + + + Go in peace, soul beautiful and blest! + + Yet high above the limits of our seeing, + And folded far within the inmost heart, + And deep below the deeps of conscious being, + Thy splendor shineth! There O God! Thou art. + +When John reached London it was in the gray misty dawning. The streets +were nearly deserted, and an air of melancholy hung over the long rows +of low dwellings. At Harlow House he saw at once that every window was +shrouded, and he turned heartsick with the fear that he was too late. A +porter, whose eyes were red with weeping, admitted him, and there was an +intolerable smell of drugs, the odor of which he recollected all the +days of his future life. + +"She is still alive, sir--but very ill." + +John could not answer, but his look was so urgent and so miserable the +man divined the hurry of heart and spirit that he was possessed by and +without another word led him to the room where the child lay dying. The +struggle was nearly over and John was spared the awful hours of slow +strangulation which had already done their work. She was not insensible. +She held tight the hand of her mother, kneeling by her side, and gazed +at John with eyes wearing a new, deep look as if a veil had been rent +and she with open face saw things sweet and wonderful. Her pale, mute +mouth smiled faintly and she tried to stretch out her arms to him. There +she lay, a smitten child, fallen after a bewildering struggle with a +merciless foe. John with a breaking heart lifted her in his arms and +carried her gently to-and-fro. The change and motion relieved her a +little and what words of comfort and love he said in that last communion +only God knows. But though he held her close in his strong arms, she +found a way to pass from him to God. Quivering all over like a wounded +bird, she gave John her last smile, and was not, for God took her. The +bud had opened to set free the rose--the breathing miracle into silence +passed. Weeping passionately, his tears washed her face. He was in an +agony of piteous feeling in which there was quite unconsciously a strain +of resentment. + +"She is gone!" he cried, and the two physicians present bowed their +heads. Then Jane rose and took the body from the distracted father's +arms. She was white and worn out with suffering and watching, but she +would allow no one to make the child's last toilet but herself. For this +ceremony she needed no lace or satin, no gilt or mock jewelry. She +washed the little form free of all earth's stain, combed loose the +bright brown hair, matted with the sweat of suffering, and dressed her +for the last--the last time, in one of the pretty white linen nightgowns +she had made for her darling but a few weeks previously. + +Oh, who dare inquire what passed in Jane's soul during that hour? The +God who wrote the child's name in His book before she was born, He only +knew. Of all that suffered in Martha's loss, Jane suffered incredibly +more than any other. She fell prostrate on the floor at the feet of the +Merciful Father when this duty was done--prostrate and speechless. +Prayer was beyond her power. She was dumb. God had done it and she +deserved it. She heard nothing John said to her. All that long, long day +she sat by her dead child, until in the darkening twilight some men came +into the room on tiptoe. They had a small white coffin in their care, +and placed it on a table near the bed. Then Jane stood up and if an +unhappy soul had risen from the grave, it could not have shocked them +more. She stood erect and looked at them. Her tall form, in its crushed +white gown, her deathly white face, her black eyes gleaming with the +lurid light of despair, her pale quivering lips, her air of hopeless +grief, shocked even these men, used to the daily sight of real or +pretended mourners. With a motion of her hand she prevented them coming +closer to the dead child, and then by an imperative utterance of the +word, "_Go_," sent them from the room. With her own hand she laid +Martha in her last bed and disposed its one garment about the rigid +little limbs. She neither spoke nor wept for Ah! in her sad soul she +knew that never day or night or man or God could bring her child back to +her. And she remembered that once she had said in an evil moment that +this dear, dead child was "one too many." Would God ever forgive her? + +By a late train that night they left for Hatton Hall, reaching the +village about the time for the mill to open. No bell summoned its hands +to cheerful work. They were standing at various points, and when the +small white coffin went up the hill, they silently followed, softly +singing. At the great gates the weeping grandmother received them. + +For one day the living and the dead dwelt together in hushed and +sorrowful mourning, nor did a word of comfort come to any soul. The +weight of that grief which hung like lead upon the rooms, the stairs, +the galleries where her step had lately been so light, was also on every +heart; and although we ought to be diviner for our dead, the strength of +this condition was not as yet realized. John had shut himself in his +room, and the grandmother went about her household duties silently +weeping and trying to put down the angry thoughts which would arise +whenever she remembered how stubbornly her daughter-in-law had refused +to leave Martha with her, and make her trip to London alone. She knew +it was "well with the child," but Oh the bitter strength of regrets +that strain and sicken, + + Yearning for love that the veil of Death endears. + +Jane sat silent, tearless, almost motionless beside her dead daughter. +Now and then John came and tried to comfort the wretched woman, but in +her deepest grief, there was a tender motherly strain which he had not +thought of and knew not how to answer. "Her little feet! Her little +feet, John! I never let them wander alone or stray even in Hatton +streets without a helper and guide. O John, what hand will lead them +upward and back to God? Those little feet!" + +"Her angel would be with her and she would know the way through the +constellations. Together they would pass swift as thought from earth to +heaven. Martha loved God. They who love God will find their way back to +Him, dear Jane." + +The next day there was no factory bell. Nearly the whole village was +massed in Hatton churchyard, and towards sunset the crowd made a little +lane for the small white coffin to the open grave waiting for it. None +of the women of the family were present. They had made their parting in +the familiar room that seemed, even at that distracting hour, full of +Martha's dear presence. But Jane, sitting afterwards at its open window, +heard the soft singing of those who went to the grave mouth with the +child, and when a little later John and Harry returned together, she +knew that _all had been_. + +She did not go to meet them, but John came to her. "Let me help you, +dear one," he said tenderly. "One is here who will give you comfort." + +"None can comfort me. Who is here?" + +"The new curate. He said words at the graveside I shall never forget. He +filled them with such glory that I could not help taking comfort." + +"O John, what did he say?" + +"After the service was over, and the people dispersing, he stood talking +to Harry and myself, and then he walked up the hill with us. I asked him +for your sake." + +"I will come down in half an hour, John." + +"Then I will come and help you." + +And in half an hour this craver after some hope and comfort went down, +and then John renewed the conversation which was on the apparent cruelty +of children being born to live a short time and then leave Earth by the +inscrutable gate of Death. + +"It seems to be so needless, so useless," said Jane. + +"Not so," the curate answered. "Let me repeat two verses of an ancient +Syrian hymn, written A.D. 90, and you will learn what the earliest +Fathers of the Church thought of the death of little children. + + "The Just One saw that iniquity increased on earth, + And that sin had dominion over all men, + And He sent His Messengers, and removed + A multitude of fair little ones, + And called them to the pavilion of happiness. + + "Like lilies taken from the wilderness, + Children are planted in Paradise; + And like pearls in diadems, + Children are inserted in the Kingdom; + And without ceasing, shall hymn forth his praise." + +"Will you give me a copy of those verses?" asked Jane with great +emotion. + +"I will. You see a little clearer now?" + +"Yes." + +"And the glory and the safety for the child? Do you understand?" + +"I think I do." + +"Then give thanks and not tears because the King desired your child, for +this message came forth from Him in whom we live and move and have our +being: 'Come up hither, and dwell in the House of the Lord forever. The +days of thy life have been sufficient. The bands of suffering are +loosed. Thy Redeemer hath brought thee a release.' So she went forth +unto her Maker. She attained unto the beginning of Peace. She departed +to the habitations of just men made perfect, to the communion of saints, +to the life everlasting." + +In such conversation the evening passed and all present were somewhat +comforted, yet it was only alleviation; for comfort to be lasting, must +be in a great measure self-evolved, must spring from our own +convictions, our own assurance and sense of absolute love and justice. + +However, every sorrow has its horizon and none are illimitable. The +factory bell rang clearly the next morning, and the powerful call of +duty made John answer it. God had given, and God had taken his only +child, but the children of hundreds of families looked to the factory +for their daily bread. Yea, and he did not forget the contract with God +and his father which bound him to the poor and needy and which any +neglect of business might imperil. He lifted his work willingly and +cheerfully, for work is the oldest gospel God gave to man. It is good +tidings that never fail. It is the surest earthly balm for every grief +and whatever John Hatton was in his home life and in his secret hours, +he was diligent in business, serving God with a fervent, cheerful +spirit. In the mill he never named his loss but once, and that was on +the morning of his return to business. Greenwood then made some remark +about the dead child, and John answered, + +"I am very lonely, Greenwood. This world seems empty without her. Why +was she taken away from it?" + +"Perhaps she was wanted in some other world, sir." + +John lifted a startled face to the speaker, and the man added with an +air of happy triumph, as he walked away, + +"A far better world, sir." + +For a moment John rested his head on his hand, then he lifted his face +and with level brows fronted the grief he must learn to bear. + +Jane's sorrow was a far more severe and constant one. Martha had been +part of all her employments. She could do nothing and go nowhere, but +the act and the place were steeped in memories of the child. All her +work, all her way, all her thoughts, began and ended with Martha. She +fell into a dangerous condition of self-immolation. She complained that +no one cared for her, that her suffering was uniquely great, and that +she alone was the only soul who remembered the dead and loved them. + +Mrs. Stephen came from her retreat in Hatton Hall one day in order to +combat this illusion. + +"Three mothers living in Hatton village hev buried children this week, +Jane," she said. "Two of them went back to the mill this morning." + +"I think it was very wicked of them." + +"They _hed_ to go back. They had living children to work for. When the +living cling to you, then you must put the dead aside for the living. +God cares for the dead and they hev all they want in His care. If you +feel that you must fret youself useless to either living or dead, try +the living. They'll mostly give you every reason for fretting." + +"John has quite forgotten poor little Martha." + +"He's done nothing of that sort, but I think thou hes forgotten John, +poor fellow! I'm sorry for John, I am that!" + +"You have no cause to say such things, mother, and I will not listen to +them. John has become wrapped up in that dreadful mill, and when he +comes home at night, he will not talk of Martha." + +"I am glad he won't and thou ought to be glad too. How can any man work +his brains all day in noise and worry and confusion and then come home +and fret his heart out all night about a child that is in Heavenly +keeping and a wife that doesn't know what is good either for herself or +anybody else. Listen to me! I am going to give thee a grain of solid +truthful sense. The best man in the world will cease giving sympathy +when he sees that it does no good and that he must give it over and over +every day. I wonder John gave it as long as he did! I do that. If I was +thee, I would try to forget myself a bit. I would let the sunshine into +these beautiful rooms. If thou doesn't, the moths will eat up thy fine +carpets and cushions, and thou will become one of those chronic, +disagreeable invalids that nobody on earth--and I wouldn't wonder if +nobody in heaven either--cares a button for." + +Jane defended herself with an equal sincerity, and a good many truths +were made clear to her that had only hitherto been like a restless +movement of her consciousness. In fact the Lady of Hatton Hall left her +daughter-in-law penetrated with a new sense of her position. Nor was +this sense at all lightened or brightened by her parting remarks. + +"I am thy true friend, Jane, that is something better than thy +mother-in-law. I want to see thee and John happy, and I assure thee it +will be easy now to take one step thou must never take if thou wants +another happy hour. John is Yorkshire, flesh and bone, heart and soul, +and thou ought to know that Yorkshiremen take no back steps. If John's +love wanes, though it be ever so little, it has waned for thee to the +end of thy life. Thou can never win it back. _Never!_ So, I advise thee +to mind thy ways, and thy words." + +"Thank you, mother. I know you speak to me out of a sincere heart." + +"To be sure I do. And out of a kind heart also. _Why-a!_ When John said +to me, 'Mother, I love Jane Harlow,' I answered, 'Thou art right to love +her. She is a fit and proper wife for thee,' and I made up my mind to +love thee, too--faults included." + +"Then love me now, mother. John minds your lightest word. Tell him to be +patient with me." + +"I will--but thou must do thy best to even things. Thou must be more +interested in John. Martha is with God. If she hed lived, thou would +varry soon be sending her off to some unlovelike, polite +boarding-school, and a few years later thou would make a grand feast, +and deck her in satin and lace and jewels and give her as a sacrifice to +some man thou knew little about--just as the old pagans used to dress +up the young heifers with flowers and ribbons before they offered them +in blood and flame to Jupiter or the like of him. Martha was God's child +and He took her, and I must say, thou gave her up to Him in a varry +grudging way." + +"Mother, I am going to do better. Forgive me." + +"Nay, my dear lass, seek thou God's forgiveness and all the rest will +come easy. It is against Him, and Him only, thou hast sinned; but He is +long-suffering, plenteous in mercy, and ready to forgive." And then +these two women, who had scarcely spoken for years, kissed each other +and were true friends ever after. So good are the faithful words of +those who dare to speak the truth in love and wisdom. + +As it generally happens, however, things were all unfavorable to Jane's +resolve. John had been impeded all day by inefficient or careless +services; even Greenwood had misunderstood an order and made an +impossible appointment which had only been canceled with offense and +inconvenience. The whole day indeed had worked itself away to cross +purpose, and John came home weary with the aching brows that annoyance +and worry touch with a peculiar depressing neuralgia. It need not be +described; there are very few who are not familiar with its exhausting, +melancholy dejection. + +John did his best to meet his wife's more cheerful mood, but the +strongest men are often very poor bearers of physical pain. Jane would +have suffered--and did often suffer--the same distress with far less +complaint. Women, too, soon learn to alleviate such a cruel sensation, +but John had a strong natural repugnance for drugs and liniments, and it +was only when he was weary of Jane's entreaties that he submitted to a +merciful medication which ended in a restorative sleep. + +This incident did not discourage Jane in her new resolve. She told +herself at once that the first steps on a good or wise road were sure to +be both difficult and painful; and in the morning John's cheerful, +grateful words and his brave sunny face repaid her fully for the +oblivion to which she had consigned her own trials and the subjection +she had enforced upon her own personality. + +This was the new battle-ground on which she now stood, and at first John +hardly comprehended the hard, self-denying conflict she was waging. One +day he was peculiarly struck with an act of self-denial which also +involved for Jane a slight humiliation, that he could not but wonder at +her submission. He looked at her in astonishment and he did not know +whether he admired her self-control and generosity or not. The +circumstance puzzled and troubled him. That afternoon he had to go to +Yoden to see his brother, and he came home by way of Hatton Hall. + +As he anticipated, he found his mother pleasantly enjoying her cup of +afternoon tea, and she rose with a cry of love to welcome him. + +"I was thinking of thee, John, and then I heard thy footsteps. I hev +the best pot of tea in Yorkshire at my right hand; I'm sure thou wilt +hev a cup." + +"To be sure I will. It is one of the things I came for, and I want to +talk to you half an hour." + +"Say all that is in thy heart, and there's nothing helps talk, like a +cup of good tea. Whatever does thou want to talk to me about?" + +"I want to talk to you about Jane." + +"Well then, be careful what thou says. No man's mother is a fair +counselor about his wife. They will both say more than they ought to +say, especially if she isn't present to explain; and when they don't +fully understand, how can they advise?" + +"You could not be unjust to anyone, mother?" + +"Well, then?" + +"She is so much better than she has ever been since the child went +away." + +"She is doing her best. Thou must help her with all thy heart and soul." + +"All her love for me seems to have come back." + +"It never left thee for a moment." + +"But for weeks and months she has not seemed to care for anything but +her memory of Martha." + +"That is the way men's big unsuspecting feet go blundering and crushing +through a woman's heart. In the first place, she was overwhelmed with +grief at Martha's sudden death and at her own apparent instrumentality +in it." + +"I loved Martha as well, perhaps better, than Jane." + +"Not thou! Thou never felt one thrill of a mother's love. Jane would +have died twice over to save her child. Thou said with all the +bitterness of death in thy soul, 'God's will be done.'" + +"We will let that pass. Why has her grief been so long-continued?" + +"Thou _hed_ to put thine aside. A thousand voices called on thee for +daily bread. Thou did not dare to indulge thy private sorrow at the risk +of neglecting the work God had given thee to do. Jane had nothing to +interest her. Her house was so well arranged it hardly needed oversight. +The charities that had occupied her heart and her hands were ended and +closed. In every room in your house, in every avenue of your garden and +park Martha had left her image. Many hours every day you were in a total +change of scene and saw a constant variety of men and women. Jane told +me that she saw Martha in every room. She saw and heard her running up +and down stairs. She saw her at her side, she saw her sleeping and +dreaming. Poor mother! Poor sorrowful Jane! It would be hard to be kind +enough and patient enough with her." + +"Do you think she will always be in this sad condition?" + +"Whatever can thou mean? God has appointed Time to console all loss and +all grief. Martha will go further and further away as the days wear on +and Jane will forget--we all do--we all _hev_ to forget." + +"Some die of grief." + +"Not they. They may induce some disease, to which they are disposed by +inordinate and sinful sorrow--and die of that--no one dies of grief, or +grief would be our most common cause of death. I think Jane will come +out of the Valley of the Shadow a finer and better woman--she was always +of a very superior kind." + +"Mother, you allude to something that troubles me. I have seen Jane bear +and do things lately that a year ago she would have indignantly refused +to tolerate. Is not this a decadence in her superior nature?" + +"Thou art speaking too fine for my understanding. If thou means by +'decadence' that Jane is growing worse instead of better, then thou art +far wrong--and if it were that way, I would not wonder if some of the +blame--maybe the main part of it--isn't thy fault. Men don't understand +women. How can they?" + +"Why not?" + +"Well, if the Bible is correct, women were made after men. They were the +Almighty's improvement on his first effort. There's very few men that I +know--or have ever known--that have yet learned to model themselves +after the improvement. It's easier for them to manifest the old Adam, +and so they go on living and dying and living and dying and remain only +men and never learn to understand a woman." + +John laughed and asked, "Have you ever known an improved man, mother?" + +"Now and then, John, I have come across one. There was your father, for +instance, he knew a woman's heart as well as he knew a loom or a sample +of cotton, and there's your brother Harry who is just as willing and +helpful as his wife Lucy, and I shall not be far wrong, if I say the +best improvement I have seen on the original Adam is a man called John +Hatton. He is nearly good enough for any woman." + +Again John laughed as he answered, "Well, dear mother, this is as far as +we need to go. Tell me in plain Yorkshire what you mean by it." + +"I mean, John, that in your heart you are hardly judging Jane fairly. I +notice in you, as well as in the general run of husbands, that if they +hev to suffer at all, they tell themselves that it is their wife's +fault, and they manage to believe it. It's queer but then it's a man's +way." + +"You think I should be kinder to Jane?" + +"Thou art kind enough in a way. A mother might nurse her baby as often +as it needed nursing, but if she never petted it and kissed it, never +gave it smiles and little hugs and simple foolish baby talk, it would be +a badly nursed and a very much robbed child. Do you understand?" + +"You think I ought to give Jane more petting?" + +Mrs. Hatton smiled and nodded. "She calls it _sympathy_, John, but that +is what she means. Hev a little patience, my dear lad. Listen! There is +a grand wife and a grand mother in Jane Hatton. If you do not develop +them, I, your mother, will say, 'somehow it is John's fault.'" + +Now life will always be to a large extent what we make it. Jane was +trying with all her power to make her life lovable and fair, and the +beginning of all good is action, for in this warfare they who would win +must struggle. Hitherto, since Martha's death, she had found in nascent, +indolent self-pity the choicest of luxuries. Now she had abandoned this +position and with courage and resolve was devoting herself to her +husband and her house. Unfortunately, there were circumstances in John's +special business cares that gave an appearance of Duncan Grey's wooing +to all her efforts--when the lassie grew kind, Duncan grew cool. It was +truly only an appearance, but Jane was not familiar with changes in +Love's atmosphere. John's steadfast character had given her always fair +weather. + +In reality the long strain of business cares and domestic sorrow had +begun to tell even upon John's perfect health and nervous system. Facing +absolute ruin in the war years and surrounded by pitiable famine and +death, he had kept his cheerful temper, his smiling face, his resolute, +confident spirit. Now, he was singularly prosperous. The mill was busy +nearly night and day, all his plans and hopes had been perfected; yet +he was often either silent or irritable. Jane seldom saw him smile and +never heard him sing and she feared that he often shirked her company. + +One hot morning at the end of August she had a shock. He had taken his +breakfast before she came down and he had left her no note of greeting +or explanation. She ran to a window that overlooked the main avenue and +she could see him walking slowly towards the principal entrance. Her +first instinct was to follow him--to send the house man to delay him--to +bring him back by some or any means. Once she could and would have done +so, but she did not feel it wise or possible then. What had happened? +She went slowly back to her breakfast, but there was a little ball in +her throat--she could not swallow--the grief and fear in her heart was +surging upward and choking her. + +All that her mother-in-law had said came back to her memory. Had John +taken that one step away? Would he never take it back to her? She was +overwhelmed with a climbing sorrow that would not down. Yet she asked +with assumed indifference, + +"Was the Master well this morning?" + +"It's likely, ma'am. He wasn't complaining. That isn't Master's way." + +Then she thought of her own complaining, and was silent. + +After breakfast she went through the house and found every room +impossible. She flooded them with fresh air and sunshine, but she could +not empty them of phantoms and memories and with a little half-uttered +cry she put on her hat and went out. Surely in the oak wood she would +find the complete solitude she must have. She passed rapidly through the +band of ash-trees that shielded the house on the north and was directly +in the soft, deep shadow of umbrageous oaks a century old. They +whispered among themselves at her coming, they fanned her with a little +cool wind from the encircling mountains, and she threw herself +gratefully down upon the soft, warm turf at their feet. + +Then all the sorrow of the past months overwhelmed her. She wept as if +her heart would break and there was a great silence all around which the +tinkle of a little brook over its pebbly bed only seemed to intensify. +Presently she had no more tears left and she dried her eyes and sat +upright and was suddenly aware of a great interior light, pitiless and +clear beyond all dayshine. And in it she saw herself with a vision more +than mortal. It was an intolerable vision, but during it there was +formed in her soul the faculty of prayer. + +Out of the depths of her shame and sorrow she called upon God and He +heard her. She told Him all her selfishness and sin and urged by some +strong spiritual necessity, begged God's forgiveness and help with the +conquering prayers that He himself gave her. "Cast me not from Thy +Presence," she cried. "Take not Thy holy spirit from me," and then +there flashed across her trembling soul the horror and blackness of +darkness in which souls "cast from God's presence" must dwell forever. +Prostrate in utter helplessness, she cast herself upon the Eternal +Father's mercy. If He would forgive her selfish rebellion against the +removal of Martha, if He would give her back the joy of the first years +of her espousal to her husband, if He would only forgive her, she could +do without all the rest--and then in a moment, in the twinkling of an +eye, she knew she was forgiven. An inexpressible glory filled her soul, +washed clean of sin. Love beyond words, peace and joy beyond expression, +surrounded her. She stood up and lifted her face and hands to heaven and +cried out like one in a swoon of triumph, + +"Thou hast called me by my name! I am Thine!" + +All doubt, all fear, all sorrow, all pain was gone. She knew as by +flashlight, her whole duty to her husband and her relatives and friends. +She was willing with all her heart to perform it. She went to the little +stream and bathed her face and she thought it said as it ran onward, +_"Happy woman! Happy woman!"_ The trees looked larger and greener, and +seemed to stand in a golden glow. The shepherd's rose and the stately +foxgloves were more full of color and scent. She heard the fine inner +tones of the birds' songs that Heaven only hears; and all nature was +glorified and rejoiced with her. She had a new heart and the old cares +and sorrows had gone away forever. + +Such conversions are among the deepest, real facts in the history of the +soul of man. They have occurred in all ages, in all countries, and in +all conditions of life, for we know that they are the very truth, as we +have seen them translated into action. There is no use attempting to +explain by any human reason facts of such majesty and mystery, for how +can natural reason explain what is supernatural? + +In a rapture of joy Jane walked swiftly home. She was not conscious of +her movements, the solid earth might have been a road of some buoyant +atmosphere. All the world looked grandly different, and she herself was +as one born again. Her servants looked at her in amazement and talked +about "the change in Missis," while the work of the household dropped +from their hands until old Adam Boothby, the gardener, came in for his +dinner. + +"She passed me," he said, "as I was gathering berries. She came from the +oak wood, and O blind women that you be, couldn't you see she hed been +with God? The clear shining of His face was over her. She's in a new +world this afternoon, and the angels in heaven are rejoicing over her, +and I'm sure every man in Hatton will rejoice with her husband; he's hed +a middling bad time with her lately or I'm varry much mistaken." + +Then these men and women, who had been privately unstinting in their +blame of Missis and her selfish way, held their peace. She had been with +God. About that communion they did not dare to comment. + +As it neared five o'clock, Jane's maid came into the kitchen with +another note of surprise. "Missis hes dressed hersen in white from head +to foot," she cried. "She told me to put away her black things out of +sight. I doan't know what to think of such ways. It isn't half a year +yet since the child died." + +"I'd think no wrong if I was thee, Lydia Swale. Thou hesn't any warrant +for thinking wrong but what thou gives thysen, and thou be neither judge +nor jury," said an old woman, making Devonshire cream. + +"In white from top to toe," Lydia continued, "even her belt was of white +satin ribbon, and she put a white rose in her hair, too. It caps me. +It's a queer dooment." + +"Brush the black frocks over thy arm and then go and smarten thysen up a +bit. It will be dinner-time before thou hes thy work done." + +"Happen it may. I'm not caring and Missis isn't caring, either. She'll +never wear these frocks again--she might as well give them to me." + +In the meantime Jane was looking at herself in the long cheval mirror. +The rapture in her heart was still reflected on her face, and the white +clothing transfigured her. "John must see that the great miracle of +life has happened to me, that I have really been born again. Oh, how +happy he will be!" + +With this radiant thought she stepped lightly down to the long avenue by +which John always came home. About midway, there was a seat under a +large oak-tree and she saw John sitting on it. He was reading a letter +when Jane appeared, but when he understood that it really was Jane, he +was lost in amazement and the letter fell to the ground. + +"John! John!" she cried in a soft, triumphant voice. "O John, do you +know what has happened to me?" + +"A miracle, my darling! But how?" And he drew her to his side and kissed +her. "You are like yourself--you are as lovely as you were in the hour I +first saw you." + +"John, I went to the oak-wood early this morning. I carried with me all +my sins and troubles, and as I thought of them my heart was nearly +broken and I wept till I could weep no longer. Then a passionate longing +to pray urged me to tell God everything, and He heard me and pitied and +forgave me. He called me by name and comforted me, and I was so happy! I +knew not whether I was in this world or in Paradise; every green thing +was lovelier, every blue thing was bluer, there was a golden glory in my +heart and over all the earth, and I knew not that I had walked home till +I was there. John, dear John! You understand?" + +"My darling! You make me as happy as yourself." + +"Happy! John, I shall always make you happy now. I shall never grieve or +sadden or disappoint you again. Never once again! O my love! O my dear +good husband! Love me as only you can love me. Forgive me, John, as God +has forgiven me! Make me happy in your love as God has made life +glorious to me with His love!" + +And for some moments John could not speak. He kissed her rapturously and +drew her closer and closer to his side, and he sought her eyes with that +promise in his own which she knew instinctively would surround and +encompass and adore her with unfailing and undying affection as long as +life should last. + +In a communion nigh unto heaven they spent the evening together. John +had left his letter lying on the ground where he met his white-robed +wife. He forgot it, though it was of importance, until he saw it on the +ground in the morning. He forgot everything but the miracle that had +changed all his water into wine. It seemed as if his house could not +contain the joy that had come to it. He threw off all his sadness, as he +would have cast away a garment that did not fit him, by a kind of +physical movement; and the years in which he had known disappointment +and loss of love dropped away from him. For Jane had buried in tenderest +words and hopes all the cruel words which had so bitterly wounded and +bereaved and impoverished his life. Jane had promised and God was her +surety. He had put into her memory a wondrous secret word. She had heard +His voice, and it could never again leave her heart; + + And who could murmur or misdoubt, + When God's great sunshine finds them out? + + * * * * * + + + + +SEQUENCES + + +There are few episodes in life which break off finally. Life is now so +variable, travel so easy, there are no continuing cities and no lasting +interests, and we ask ourselves involuntarily, "What will the sequence +be?" When I left Yorkshire, I was too young and too ignorant of the +ever-changing film of daily existence to think or to care much about +sequences; and the Hattons were a family of the soil; they appeared to +be as much a part of it as the mountains and elms, the blue bells and +the heather. I never expected to see them again and the absence of this +expectation made me neither sorry nor glad. + +One day, however, a quarter of a century after the apparent close of my +story, I was in St. Andrews, the sacred, solemn-looking old city that is +the essence of all the antiquity of Scotland. But it was neither its +academic air nor its ecclesiastical forlornness, its famous links nor +venerable ruins of cloister and cathedral that attracted me at that +time. It was the promise of a sermon by Dean Stanley which detained me +on my southward journey. I had heard Dean Stanley once, and naturally I +could not but wish to hear him again. + +He was to preach in the beautiful little chapel of St. Salvator's +College and I went with the crowd that followed the University faculty +there. One of the incidents of this walk was seeing an old woman in a +large white-linen cap, carrying an umbrella, innocently join the gowned +and hooded procession of the University faculty. I was told afterwards +that Stanley was greatly delighted at her intrusion. He wore a black +silk gown and bands, the Oxford D.D. hood, a broad scarf of what looked +like cr๊pe, and the order of the Bath, and his text was, "Ye have need +of patience." The singing was extraordinarily beautiful, beginning with +that grand canticle, "Lord of All Power and Might," as he entered the +pulpit. His beautiful beaming face and the singular way in which he +looked up with closed eyes was very attractive and must be well +remembered. But I did not notice it with the interest I might have done, +if other faces had not awakened in my memory a still keener interest. +For in a pew among those reserved for the professors and officials of +the city, I saw one in which there was certainly seated John Hatton and +his wife. There were some young men with them, who had a remarkable +resemblance to the couple, and I immediately began to speculate on the +probabilities which could have brought a Yorkshire spinner to the +ecclesiastical capital of Scotland. + +After the service was over I found them at the Royal Hotel. Then I began +to learn the sequence. The landlord of the Royal introduced it by +informing me that Mr. and Mrs. John Hatton were _not_ there, but that +Sir John Hatton and Lady Hatton _were_ staying at the Royal. They were +delighted to see me again and for three days I was almost constantly in +Lady Hatton's company. During these days I learned in an easy +conversational way all that had followed "the peace that God made." No +trouble was in its sequence--only that blessing which maketh rich and +addeth no sorrow therewith. + +"Yes," Lady Hatton answered to my question concerning the youths I had +seen in the church with them, "they were my boys. I have four sons. The +eldest, called John, is attending to his father's business while my +husband takes a little holiday. Stephen is studying law, and George is +preparing for the Navy; my youngest boy, Elbert, is still at Rugby." + +"And your daughters?" I asked. + +She smiled divinely. "Oh!" she replied. "They are such darlings! Alice +is married and Jane is married and Clara is staying with her +grandmother. She is only sixteen. She is very beautiful and Mrs. Hatton +will hardly let her leave the Hall." + +"Then Mrs. Hatton is still alive?" I said. + +"Yes, indeed, very much so. She will _live_ to her last moment, and +likely 'pass out of it,' as our people say, busy with heart and head and +hands." + +"And what of Mrs. Harry?" I asked. + +"Ah, she left us some years ago! Just faded away. For nearly two years +she knew she was dying, and was preparing her household for her loss, +yet joining as best she could in all the careless mirth of her children. +But she talked to me of what was approaching and said she often +whispered to herself, 'Another hour gone.' Dear Lucy, we all loved her. +Her children are doing well, the boys are all in Sir John's employ." + +"And Mr. Harry? Does he still sing?" + +"Not much since Lucy's death. But he looks after the land, and paints +and reads a great deal, and we are all very fond of Harry. His mother +must see him every day, and Sir John is nearly as foolish. Harry was +born to be loved and everyone loves him. He has gone lately to the +Church of England, but Sir John, though a member of Parliament, stands +loyally by the Methodist church." + +"And you?" + +"I go with Sir John in everything. I try to walk in his steps, and so +keep middling straight. Sir John lives four square, careless of outward +shows. It is years and years since I followed my own way. Sir John's +ways are wiser and better. He is always ready for the duty of the hour +and never restless as to what will come after it. Is not that a good +rule?" + +"Are you on your way home now?" I asked. + +"Oh, no! We are going as far as the Shetlands. John had a happy holiday +there before we were married. He is taking Stephen and George to see the +lonely isles." + +"You have had a very happy life, Lady Hatton?" + +"Yes," she answered. "The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places." + +"And you have beautiful children." + +"Thank God! His blessing and peace came to me from the cradle. One day I +found my Bible open at II Esdras, second chapter, and my eyes fell on +the fifteenth verse: 'Mother, embrace thy children and bring them up +with gladness.' I knew a poor woman who had ten children, and instead of +complaining, she was proud and happy because she said God must have +thought her a rare good mother to trust her with ten of His sons and +daughters." + +"I have not seen much of Sir John." + +"He is on the yacht with the boys most of the time. They are visiting +every day some one or other of the little storied towns of Fife. +Sometimes it is black night when they get back to St. Andrews. But they +have always had a good time even if it turned stormy. John finds, or +makes, good come from every event. Greenwood--you remember Greenwood?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"He used to say Sir John Hatton is the full measure of a man. He was +very proud of Sir John's title, and never omitted, if it was possible to +get it in, the M.P. after it. Greenwood died a year ago as he was +sitting in his chair and picking out the hymns to be sung at his +funeral. They were all of a joyful character." + +So we talked, and of course only the best in everyone came up for +discussion, but then in fine healthy natures the best _does_ generally +come to the top--and this was undoubtedly one reason that conversation +on any subject always drifted in some way or other to John Hatton. His +faith in God, his love for his fellowmen, his noble charity, his +inflexible justice, his domestic virtues, his confidence in himself, and +his ready-handed use of all the means at his command--yea, even his +beautiful manliness, what were they but the outcome of one thousand +years of Christian faith transmitted through a royally religious +ancestry? + +When a good man is prosperous in all his ways they say in the North "God +smiled on him before he was born," and John Hatton gave to this blessing +a date beyond limitation, for a little illuminated roll hanging above +the desk in his private room bore the following golden-lettered +inscription: + + ...God smiled as He has always smiled, + Ere suns and moons could wax and wane, + God thought on me His child. + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Measure of a Man +by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEASURE OF A MAN *** + +***** This file should be named 16453-8.txt or 16453-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/4/5/16453/ + +Produced by Polly Stratton, Charles Aldarondo and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Measure of a Man + +Author: Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr + +Illustrator: Frank T. Merrill + +Release Date: August 6, 2005 [EBook #16453] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEASURE OF A MAN *** + + + + +Produced by Polly Stratton, Charles Aldarondo and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><!-- Page -7 --><a name="Page_-7" id="Page_-7" /> +<a href="images/front.jpg"><img src="images/front-t.jpg" width="400" alt=""Holding Bendigo's bridle, he had walked with her to the +Harlow residence." + +Page 43." title="" /></a> +<b>"Holding Bendigo's bridle, he had walked with her to the +Harlow residence." + +Page 43.</b> +</div> + +<p><!-- Page -6 --><a name="Page_-6" id="Page_-6" /></p> + +<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /></div> + +<h1>THE MEASURE<br /> +OF A MAN</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>AMELIA E. BARR</h2> + +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF "THE BOW OF ORANGE RIBBON,"<br /> +"PLAYING WITH FIRE," "THE WINNING OF LUCIA," ETC.<br /> +<br /> +ILLUSTRATED BY<br /> +FRANK T. MERRILL<br /> +<br /> +D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br /> +NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> +<br /> +1915<br /></p> + +<p class="center"><!-- Page -5 --><a name="Page_-5" id="Page_-5" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><!-- Page -4 --><a name="Page_-4" id="Page_-4" /> +WITH SINCERE ESTEEM<br /> +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK<br /> +TO</p> +<h3>MRS. ARTHUR ROBERTS</h3> +<p class="center">OF<br /> +EVANSTON, ILLINOIS<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><!-- Page -3 --><a name="Page_-3" id="Page_-3" />PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>My Friends:</p> + +<p>I had a purpose in writing this novel. It was to honor and magnify the +sweetness and dignity of the condition of Motherhood, and of those +womanly virtues and graces, which make the Home the cornerstone of the +Nation. For it is not with modern Americans, as it was with the old +Greek and Roman world. They put the family below the State, and the +citizen absorbed the man. On the contrary, we know, that just as the +Family principle is strong the heart of the Nation is sound. "Give me +one domestic grace," said a famous leader of men, "and I will turn it +into a hundred public virtues."</p> + +<p>A Home, however splendidly appointed, is ill furnished without the sound +of children's voices; and the patter of children's feet. It may be +strictly orderly, but it is silent and forlorn; and has an air of +solitude. Solitude is a great affliction, and Domestic Solitude is one +of its hardest forms. No number of balls and dinner parties, no visits +from friends, can make up for the absence of sons and daughters round +the family table and the family hearth.</p> + +<p>Yet there certainly is a restless feminine minority, who declare, both +by precept and example, Family Life to be a servitude. Alas! They have +not given themselves oppor<!-- Page -2 --><a name="Page_-2" id="Page_-2" />tunity to discover that self-sacrifice is the +meat and drink of all true affection.</p> + +<p>But women have learned within the last two decades to listen to every +side of an argument. Their Club life, with its variety of "views," has +led them to decide that every phase of a question ought to be +attentively considered. So I do not doubt that my story will receive +justice, and I hope approval, from all the women—and men—that read it.</p> + +<p class="right"> +Affectionately to all, <br /> +AMELIA E. BARR.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><!-- Page -1 --><a name="Page_-1" id="Page_-1" />CONTENTS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><th align='left'>CHAPTER</th><th align='center'>PAGE</th></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>I. THE GREAT SEA WATERS</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>II. THE PEOPLE OF THE STORY</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">18</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>III. LOVE VENTURES IN</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">39</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>IV. BROTHERS</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">56</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>V. THE HEARTH FIRE</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">78</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>VI. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">99</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>VII. SHOCK AND SORROW</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">125</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>VIII. THE GODDESS OF THE TENDER FEET</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">146</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>IX. JOHN INTERFERES IN HARRY'S AFFAIRS</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">182</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>X. AT HER GATES</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">204</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>XI. JANE RECEIVES A LESSON</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">235</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>XII. PROFIT AND LOSS</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">262</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>XIII. THE LOVE THAT NEVER FAILS</td><td align='center'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">286</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>SEQUENCES</td><td align='center'><a href="#SEQUENCES">312</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><!-- Page 0 --><a name="Page_0" id="Page_0" />LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<p>"Holding Bendigo's bridle, he had walked with her to the Harlow +residence"...<i><a href="#Page_-7">Frontispiece</a></i></p> + +<p>"He knew her for his own ... as she stood with her father at the gate of +their little garden"...<a href="#Page_72">72</a></p> + +<p>"He ran down the steps to meet her, and she put her hand in his"...<a href="#Page_168">168</a></p> + +<p>"Noiselessly he stepped to her side and ...stood in silent prayer"...<a href="#Page_232">232</a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1><!-- Page 1 --><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1" />THE MEASURE OF A MAN</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I" />CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="center">THE GREAT SEA WATERS</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Gray sky, brown waters, as a bird that flies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart flits forth to these;<br /></span> +<span>Back to the winter rose of Northern skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Back to the Northern seas.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="stanza"> +<span>The sea is His, and He made it.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I saw a man of God coming over the narrow zigzag path that led across a +Shetland peat moss. Swiftly and surely he stepped. Bottomless bogs of +black peat-water were on each side of him, but he had neither fear nor +hesitation. He walked like one who knew his way was ordered, and when +the moss was passed, he pursued his journey over the rocky moor with the +same untiring speed. Now and then he sang a few lines, and now and then +he lifted his cap, and stood still to listen to the larks. For the larks +sing at midnight in the Shetland summer, and to the music of their +heaven-soaring songs he <!-- Page 2 --><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2" />set one sweet name, and in the magical radiance +over land and sea had that momentary vision of a beloved face which the +second-sight of Memory sometimes grants to a pure, unselfish love. Then +with a joyful song nestling in his heart, he went rapidly forward. And +the night was as the day, for the moon was full and the rosy spears of +the Aurora were charging the zenith from every point of the horizon.</p> + +<p>Very early he came to a little town. It was asleep and there was no +sound of life in it; but a large yacht was lying at the silent pier with +steam visible, and he went directly to her. During the full tide she had +drifted a few feet from land, but he took the open space like a longer +step, walked straight to the wheel, and softly whistled.</p> + +<p>Then the Captain came quickly up the companion-way, and there was light +and liking on his face, as he said,</p> + +<p>"Welcome, sir! I was expecting thee."</p> + +<p>"To be sure. I sent you word I should be here before sunrising. Are you +ready to sail?"</p> + +<p>"Quite ready, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then cast off at once," and immediately there was movement all through +the boat—the sound of setting sail, the lifting of the anchor, the rush +of steam, and the hoarse melancholy voices of the sailors. Then the man +laid his hand on the wheel, and with wind and tide in her favor, the +yacht was soon racing down the great North Sea.</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 3 --><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3" />It is Yoden's time at the wheel, sir," said the Captain. "If so be he +is wanted."</p> + +<p>"He is not wanted yet. I am going to take her as far as the Hoy—if it +suits you, Captain."</p> + +<p>"Take your will, sir. I am always well suited with it."</p> + +<p>Now John Hatton was a cotton-spinner, but he knew the ways of a boat, +and the winds and tides that would serve her, and the road southward she +must take; and at his will she went, as if she was a solan flying for +the rocks. When they first started, the sea-birds were dozing on their +perches, waiting for the dawn, and their unwonted silence lent a +stronger sense of loneliness to the gray, misty waters. But as they +approached the pillars of Hoy, the wind rose and the waves swelled +refulgent in the crimsoning east.</p> + +<p>Then the man at the wheel was seen in all his great beauty—a man of +lofty stature perfectly formed and full of power and grace in every +movement. His head had an antique massiveness and was crowned with +bright brown hair thrown backward. His forehead was wide and +contemplative, his eyes large and gray and thickly fringed, lustrous but +<i>not</i> piercing. His loving and vehement soul was not always at their +windows, but when there, it drew or commanded all who met its gaze. His +nose was long and straight, showing great refinement, and his chin +unblunted by animal passions. A wonderful face, because the soul and the +mind always found <!-- Page 4 --><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4" />their way at once and in full force to it, as well as +to the gestures, the speech, and every action of the body. And this was +the quality which gave to the whole man that air of distinction with +which Nature autographs her noblest work.</p> + +<p>When they reached the Hoy he left the wheel and stood in wonder and awe +gazing at the sea around him. For some time it had been cloudy and +unquiet, but among these great basaltic pillars and into their black +measureless caves it flung itself with the rush and roar of a ten-knot +tide gone mad. Yet the thundering bellow of its waves was not able to +drown the aërial clamor of the millions of sea-birds that made these +lonely pillars and cliffs their home. Eagles screamed from their +summits. Great masses of marrots and guillemots rocked on the foam. +Kittiwakes of every kind in incalculable numbers and black and +brown-backed gulls by the thousands filled the air as thickly as +snowflakes in a winter's storm; while from shelves and pinnacles of the +cliffs, incredible numbers of gannots were diving with prodigious force +and straight as an arrow, after their prey—all plunging, rising, +screaming and shrieking, like some maddened human mob, the more terrible +because of the ear-piercing metallic ring of their unceasing clamor.</p> + +<p>After a long silence John Hatton turned to his Captain and said,</p> + +<p>"Is it always like this, Captain?"</p> + +<p>"It is often much livelier, sir. I have seen swarms <!-- Page 5 --><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5" />of sea-birds miles +long, darkening the air with their wings. Our Great Father has many sea +children, sir. Next summer—God willing!—we might sail to the Faroe +Islands, and you would be among His whales, and His whale men."</p> + +<p>"Then you have been to the Faroes?"</p> + +<p>"More than once or twice. I used to take them on my road to Iceland. It +is a wayless way there, but I know it. And the people are a happy, +comfortable, pious lot; they are that! Most of them whale-hunters and +whale-eaters."</p> + +<p>"Eaters?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, sir. When it is fresh, a roast of whale isn't half bad. I +once tried it myself."</p> + +<p>"Once?"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I didn't want it twice. You know, I'm beef-bred. That makes +a difference, sir. I like to go to lonely islands, and as a general +thing I favor the kind of people that live on them."</p> + +<p>"What is the difference between these lonely islanders and Yorkshire men +like you and me?"</p> + +<p>"There is a good bit of difference, in more ways than one, sir. For +instance, they aren't fashionable. The women mostly dress the same, and +there are no stylish shapes in the men's 'oils' and guernseys. Then, +they call no man 'master.' God is their employer, and from His hand they +take their daily bread. And they don't set themselves up against Him, +and grumble about their small wages and their long hours. And if the +weather is bad, and they are kept off <!-- Page 6 --><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6" />a sea that no boat could live in, +they don't grumble like Yorkshire men do, when warehouses are +overstocked and trade nowhere, and employers hev to make shorter hours +and less pay."</p> + +<p>"What then?"</p> + +<p>"The men smoke a few more pipes, and the women spin a few more hanks of +wool. And in the long evenings there's a good bit of violin-playing and +reciting, but there's no murmuring against their Great Master. And +there's no drinking, or dance halls. And when the storm is over, the men +untie their boats with a shout and the women gladly clean up the stour +of the idle time."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see a Yorkshire strike?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure I hev; I had my say at the Hatton strike, I hed that! You +were at college then, and your father was managing it, so we could not +take the yacht out as expected, and I run down to Hatton to hev a talk +with Stephen Hatton. There was a big strike meeting that afternoon, and +I went and listened to the men stating 'their grievances.' They talked a +lot of nonsense, and I told them so. 'Get all you can rightly,' I said, +'but don't expect Stephen Hatton or any other cotton lord to run +factories for fun. They won't do it, and you wouldn't do it yersens!'"</p> + +<p>"Did they talk sensibly?"</p> + +<p>"They talked foolishness and believed it, too. It was fair capping to +listen to them. There was some women present, slatterns all, and I told +them <!-- Page 7 --><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7" />to go home and red up their houses and comb up their hair, and try +to look like decent cotton-spinners' wives. And when this advice was +cheered, the women began to get excited, and I thought I would be safer +in Hatton Hall. Women are queer creatures."</p> + +<p>"Were you ever married, Captain?"</p> + +<p>"Not to any woman. My ship is my wife. She's father and mother and +brother and sister to me. I have no kin, and when I see how much trouble +kin can give you, I don't feel lonely. The ship I sail—whatever her +name—is to me 'My Lady,' and I guard and guide and cherish her all the +days of her life with me."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say 'her life,' Captain?"</p> + +<p>"Because ships are like women—contrary and unreasonable. Like women +they must be made to answer the rudder, or they go on the rocks. There +are, of course, men-of-war, and they get men's names, and we give them +fire and steel to protect themselves, but when your yacht with sails +set, goes curtsying over the waves like a duchess, you know she's +feminine, and you wouldn't call her after your father or yourself, but +your sweetheart's name would be just suitable, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>John smiled pleasantly, and his silence encouraged the Captain to +continue. "Why, sir, the very insurance offices speak of a ship as +<i>she</i>, and what's more they talk naturally of the 'life and death of a +ship,' and I can tell you, sir, if you had ever seen a <!-- Page 8 --><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8" />ship fight for +her life and go down to her death, you would say they were right. Mr. +Hatton, there is no sadder sight than a ship giving up the fight, +because further fight is useless. Once I was present at the death of a +ship. I pray God that I may never see the like again. Her captain and +her men had left her alone, and from the boats standing abaft, they +silently watched her sinking. Sir, many a man dies in his bed with all +his kin around, and does not carry as much love with him as she did. +<i>Why-a</i>! The thought of that hour brings a pain to my heart yet—and it +is thirty years ago."</p> + +<p>"You are a true sailor, Captain."</p> + +<p>"To be sure I am. As the Fife men say, 'I was born with the sea in my +mouth.' I thank God for it! Often I have met Him on the great deep, for +'His path is on the waters.' I don't believe I would have found Him as +easy and as often, in a cotton-spinning factory—no, I don't!"</p> + +<p>"A good man like you, Captain, ought to have a wife and a home."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure of that, Mr. Hatton. On my ship at sea I am lord and +master, and my word is law as long as I stop at sea. If any man does not +like my word and way, he can leave my ship at the first land we touch, +and I see that he does so. But it is different with a wife. She is in +your house to stay, whether you like it or not. All you have is hers if +you stick to the marriage vow. Yes, sir, she even takes your name for +her own, and if she does <!-- Page 9 --><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9" />not behave well with it, you have to take the +blame and the shame, whether you deserve it or not. It is a one-sided +bargain, sir."</p> + +<p>"Not always as bad as that, Captain."</p> + +<p>"Why, sir, your honored father, who lorded it over every man he met and +contradicted everything he didn't like, said, 'Yes, my dear,' to +whatever Mrs. Hatton desired or declared. I hed to do the same thing in +my way, and Mrs. Hatton on board this yacht was really her captain. I'm +not saying but what she was a satisfactory substitute, for she hed the +sense to always ask my advice."</p> + +<p>"Then she acted under orders, Captain."</p> + +<p>"To be sure. But I am Captain Lance Cook, of Whitby, a master navigator, +a fourth in direct line from Captain James Cook, who sailed three times +round the world, when that was a most uncommon thing to do. And every +time he went, he made England a present of a few islands. Captain James +Cook made his name famous among Englishmen of the sea, and I hevn't come +across the woman yet I considered worthy to share it."</p> + +<p>"You may meet her soon now, Captain. There is a 'new woman' very much +the fashion these days. Perhaps you have not seen her yet."</p> + +<p>"I have seen her, sir. I have seen all I want to see of her. She appears +to hev got the idea into her head that she ought to hev been a man, and +some of them have got so far in that direction that you are forced to +say that in their dress and looks <!-- Page 10 --><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10" />there isn't much difference. However, +I hev heard very knowing men declare they always found the old woman in +all her glory under the new one, and I wouldn't wonder if that was the +case. What do you think, Mr. Hatton?"</p> + +<p>"It may be, Captain, that it is the 'new man' that is wanted, and not +the 'new woman.' I think most men are satisfied with the old woman. I am +sure I am," and his eyes filled with light, and he silently blessed the +fair woman who came into his memory ere he added, "but then, I have not +a great ancestor's name to consider. The Hattons never gave anything in +the way of land to England."</p> + +<p>"They hev done a deal for Yorkshire, sir."</p> + +<p>"That was their duty, and their pleasure and profit. Yorkshire men are +kinsmen everywhere. If I met one in Singapore, or Timbuctoo, I would say +'<i>Yorkshire</i>?' and hold out my hand to him."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I've seen Yorkshire men I wouldn't offer my hand to; I hev +that, and sorry I am to say it! I never was in Singapore harbor, and I +must acknowledge I never saw or heard tell of Timbuctoo harbor."</p> + +<p>John laughed pleasantly. "Timbuctoo is in Central Africa. It was just an +illustration."</p> + +<p>"Illustration! You might have illustrated with a true harbor, sir—for +instance, New York."</p> + +<p>"You are right. I ought to have done so."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, it's hard to illustrate and stick to truth. There is the +boatswain's whistle! I must <!-- Page 11 --><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11" />go and see what's up. Pentland Firth is +ever restless and nobody minds that, but she gets into sudden passions +which need close watching, and I wouldn't wonder if there was not now +signs of a Pentland tantrum."</p> + +<p>The Captain's supposition was correct. In a few minutes the ship was +enveloped in a livid creeping mist, and he heard the Captain shout, +"<i>All hands stand by to reef!</i>" Reef they did, but Pentland's temper was +rapidly rising, and in a few minutes there was an impetuous shout for +the storm jib, "<i>Quick</i>," and down came a blast from the north, and with +a rip and a roar the yacht leaped her full length. If her canvas had +been spread, she would have gone to the bottom; but under bare masts she +came quickly and beautifully to her bearings, shook herself like a gull, +and sped southward.</p> + +<p>All night they were beating about in a fierce wind and heavy sea; and +Hatton, lying awake, listened to the mysterious hungering voice of the +waves, till he was strangely sad and lonely. And there was no Captain to +talk with, though he could hear his hoarse, strong voice above the roar +of wind and waters. For the sea was rising like the gable of a house, +but the yacht was in no trouble; she had held her own in far worse seas. +In the morning the sky was of snaky tints of yellow and gray, but the +wind had settled and the waves were flatting; but John saw bits of +trailing wreckage floating about their black depths, making the Firth +look savagely haggard.</p> + +<p><!-- Page 12 --><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12" />On the second evening the Captain came to eat his dinner with John. +"The storm is over, Mr. Hatton," he said. "The sea has been out of her +wits, like an angry woman; but," he added with a smile, "we got the +better of her, and the wind has gone down. There is not breeze enough +now to make the yacht lie over."</p> + +<p>"I could hear your voice, strong and cheerful, above all the uproar, +Captain, so I had no fear."</p> + +<p>"We had plenty of sea room, sir, a good boat, and—"</p> + +<p>"A good captain."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, you may say that. The Pentland roared and raged a bit, but +the sea has her Master. She hears a voice we cannot hear. It says only +three words, Mr. Hatton, three words we cannot hear, but a great calm +follows them."</p> + +<p>"And the three words are—?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Peace! Be still</i>!"</p> + +<p>Then John Hatton looked with a quick understanding into his Captain's +face, and answered with a confident smile,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"O Saxon Sailor thou hast had with thee,<br /></span> +<span>The Sailor of the Lake of Galilee."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I hope, and I believe so, sir. I have been in big storms, and <i>felt</i> +it."</p> + +<p>"I got a glimpse of you in a flash of lightning that I shall never +forget, Captain Cook. You were <!-- Page 13 --><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13" />standing by the wheel, tightening your +hat on your head; your feet were firm on the rolling deck, and you were +searching the thickest of the storm with a cheerful, confident face. Do +you like a storm?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, smooth sea-sailing is no great pleasure. I would rather see +clouds of spray driving past swelling sails, than feel my way through a +nasty fog. Give me a sea as high as a masthead, compact as a wall, and +charging with the level swiftness of a horse regiment, and I would +rather take a ship through it, than make her cut her way through a +thick, black fog, as if she was a knife. In a storm you see what you are +doing, and where you are going, but you hev to steal and creep and sneak +through a fog, and never know what trap or hole may be ahead of you. I +know the sea in all her ways and moods, sir. Some of them are rather +trying. But my home and my business is on her, and in her worst temper +she suits me better than any four-walled room, where I would feel like a +stormy petrel shut up in a cage. The sea and I are kin. I often feel as +if I had tides in my blood that flow and ebb with her tides."</p> + +<p>"I would not gainsay you, Captain. Every man's blood runs as he feels. +You were a different man and a grander man when you were guiding the +yacht through the storm than you are sitting here beside me eating and +drinking. My blood begins to flow quick when I go into big rooms filled +with a thousand <!-- Page 14 --><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14" />power looms. Their noise and clatter is in my ears a +song of praise, and very often the men and women who work at them are +singing grandly to this accompaniment. Sometimes I join in their song, +as I walk among them, for the Great Master hears as well as sees, and +though these looms are almost alive in their marvelous skill, it may be +that He is pleased to hear the little human note mingling with the +voices of the clattering, humming, burring looms."</p> + +<p>"To be sure He is. The song of labor is His, and I hev no doubt it is +quite as sweet in His ear as the song of praise. Your song is among the +looms, and mine is among the winds and waves, but they are both the +same, sir. It is all right. I'm sure I'm satisfied."</p> + +<p>"How you do love the sea, Captain!"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, I was born on it and, please God, I hope my death may be +from it and my grave in it, nearby some coast where the fisher-folk live +happily around me."</p> + +<p>There was a few moments' silence, then John Hatton asked, "Are we likely +to have fine weather now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, middling fine, until we pass Peterhead. At Aberdeen and +southward it may be still finer, and you might have a grand sail along +the east coast of Scotland and take a look at some of its famous towns."</p> + +<p>This pleasant prospect was amply verified. It was <!-- Page 15 --><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15" />soon blue seas and +white sea-birds and sunny skies, with a nice little whole-sail breeze in +the right direction. But John was not lured by any of the storied towns +of the east coast. "What time I can now spare I will give to Edinburgh," +he said, in answer to the Captain's suggestion concerning St. Andrews, +Aberdeen, Anstruther and Largo. "I am straight for Edinburgh now. I feel +as if my holiday was over. I heard the clack of the looms this morning. +They need me, I dare say. I suppose we can be in Leith harbor by +Saturday night, Captain?"</p> + +<p>"It may be Sunday, sir, if this wind holds. It is an east-windy +west-windy coast, and between here and Edinburgh the wind doesn't know +its own mind an hour at a time."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, say Sunday. I will stay a few days in Edinburgh, and then +it must be Whitby and home."</p> + +<p>It was Sunday afternoon when the yacht was snug in Leith harbor, and the +streets of Edinburgh were full of congregations returning home from the +different churches. He went to an hotel on Prince Street and ordered a +good dinner spread in his sitting-room. It was a large outlooking +apartment, showing him in the glorious sunset the Old Town piled as by a +dreamer, story over story, and at the top of this dream-like hill, the +gray ancient castle with bugles and the roll of drums sounding behind +its ramparts. Bridges leaped across a valley edged with gardens +connecting the Old Town with <!-- Page 16 --><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16" />the New Town. Wherever his eyes fell, all +was romance and memories of romance, a magically</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Towered, templed Metropolitan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waited upon by hills,<br /></span> +<span>River, and wide-spread ocean; tinged<br /></span> +<span>By April light, or draped and fringed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As April vapor wills.<br /></span> +<span>Hanging like some vast Cyclops' dream<br /></span> +<span>High in the shifting weather gleam.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>After dinner he sat at the open window, thinking of many things, until +he finally fell asleep to dream of that illuminated vault in the castle, +in which glitters mysteriously the crown and scepter of the ancient +kings and queens of Scotland.</p> + +<p>Into the glamour of this vision there came suddenly a dream of his +mother, and his home, and he awakened from it with an intense conviction +that his mother needed his presence, and that he must make all haste to +reach his home. In half an hour he had paid his bill and taken a +carriage for Leith harbor, and the yacht was speeding down the Firth ere +the wan, misty daylight brightened the colorless sea. The stillness of +sea and sky was magical and they were a little delayed by the calm, but +in due time the wind sprang up suddenly and the yacht danced into Whitby +harbor.</p> + +<p>Then John parted from Captain Cook, saying as he did so, "Good-bye, +Captain. We have had a happy holiday together. Get the yacht in order +<!-- Page 17 --><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17" />and revictualed, for in two weeks my brother Henry may join you. I +believe he is for the south."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, sir. It has been a good time for me. You have been my teacher +more than my master, and you are a rich man and I am a poor one."</p> + +<p>"A man's a man for all that, Captain."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, not always. Many are not men in spite of <i>all that</i>. God be +with you, sir."</p> + +<p>"And with you, Captain." Then they clasped hands and turned away, each +man where Duty called him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II" /><!-- Page 18 --><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18" />CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="center">THE PEOPLE OF THE STORY</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Slowly, steadily, to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swings our life in its weary way;<br /></span> +<span>Now at its ebb, and now at its flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the evening and morning make up the day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sorrow and happiness, peace and strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fear and rejoicing its moments know;<br /></span> +<span>Yet from the discords of such a life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The clearest music of heaven may flow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Duty led John Hatton to take the quickest road to Hatton-in-Elmete, a +small manufacturing town in a lovely district in Yorkshire. In Saxon +times it was covered with immense elm forests from which it was +originally called Elmete, but nearly a century ago the great family of +Hatton (being much reduced by the passage of the Reform Bill and their +private misfortunes) commenced cotton-spinning here, and their mills, +constantly increasing in size and importance, gave to the Saxon Elmete +the name of Hatton-in-Elmete.</p> + +<p>The little village had become a town of some importance, but nearly +every household in it was <!-- Page 19 --><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19" />connected in some way or other with the +cotton mills, either as cotton masters or cotton operatives. There were +necessarily a few professional men and shopkeepers, but there was street +after street full of cotton mills, and the ancient manor of the lords of +Hatton had become thoroughly a manufacturing locality.</p> + +<p>But Hatton-in-Elmete was in a beautiful locality, lying on a ridge of +hills rising precipitously from the river, and these hills surrounded +the town as with walls and appeared to block up the way into the world +beyond. The principal street lay along their base, and John Hatton rode +up it at the close of the long summer day, when the mills were shut and +the operatives gathered in groups about its places of interest. Every +woman smiled at him, every man touched his cap, but a stranger would +have noticed that not one man bared his head. Yorkshire men do not offer +that courtesy to any man, for its neglect (originally the expression of +strong individuality and self-respect) had become a habit as natural and +spontaneous as their manner or their speech.</p> + +<p>About a mile beyond the town, on the summit of a hill, stood Hatton +Hall, and John felt a hurrying sense of home as soon as he caught a +glimpse of its early sixteenth-century towers and chimneys. The road to +it was all uphill, but it was flagged with immense blocks of stone and +shaded by great elm-trees; at the summit a high, old-fashioned iron gate +<!-- Page 20 --><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20" />admitted him into a delightful garden. And in this sweet place there +stood one of the most ancient and picturesque homes of England.</p> + +<p>It is here to be noticed that in the early centuries of the English +nation the homes of the nobles distinctly represented local feeling and +physical conditions. In the North they generally stood on hillsides +apart where the winds rattled the boughs of the surrounding pines or +elms and the murmur of a river could be heard from below. The hill and +the trees, the wind and the river, were their usual background, with the +garden and park and the great plantations of trees belting the estate +around; the house itself standing on the highest land within the circle.</p> + +<p>Such was the location and adjuncts of the ancient home of the Hattons, +and John Hatton looked up at the old face of it with a conscious love +and pride. The house was built of dark millstone grit in large blocks, +many of them now green and mossy. The roof was of sandstone in thin +slabs, and in its angles grass had taken root. In front there was a +tower and tall gables, with balls and pinnacles. The principal entrance +was a doorway with a Tudor arch, and a large porch resting on stone +pillars. Within this porch there were seats and a table, pots of +flowers, and a silver Jacobean bell. And all round the house were gables +and doorways and windows, showing carvings and inscriptions wherever the +ivy had not hid them.</p> + +<p><!-- Page 21 --><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21" />The door stood wide open and in the porch his mother was sitting. She +had a piece of old English lace in her hand, which she was carefully +darning. Suddenly she heard John's footsteps and she lifted her head and +listened intently. Then with a radiant face she stood upright just as +John came from behind the laurel hedge into the golden rays of the +setting sun, and her face was transfigured as she called in a strong, +joyful voice,</p> + +<p>"O John! John! I've been longing for you days and days. Come inside, my +dear lad. Come in! I'll be bound you are hungry. What will you take? +Have a cup of tea, now, John; it will be four hours before suppertime, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Very well, mother. I haven't had my tea today, and I am a bit hungry."</p> + +<p>"Poor lad! You shall have your tea and a mouthful in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>"I'll go to my room, mother, and wash my face and hands. I am not fit +company for a dame so sweet as you are," and he lifted his right hand +courteously as he passed her.</p> + +<p>In less than half an hour there was tea and milk, cold meat and fruit +before John, and his mother watched him eating with a beaming +satisfaction. And when John looked into her happy face he wondered at +his dream in Edinburgh, and said gratefully to himself,</p> + +<p>"All is right with mother. Thank God for that!"</p> + +<p><!-- Page 22 --><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22" />She did not talk while John was eating, but as he sat smoking in the +porch afterwards, she said,</p> + +<p>"I want to ask you where you have been all these weeks, John, but Harry +isn't here, and you won't want to tell your story twice over, will you, +now?"</p> + +<p>"I would rather not, mother."</p> + +<p>"Your father wouldn't have done it, whether he liked to or not. I don't +expect you are any different to father. I didn't look for you, John, +till next week."</p> + +<p>"But you needed me and wanted me?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever makes you say that?"</p> + +<p>"I dreamed that you wanted me, and I came home to see."</p> + +<p>"Was it last Sunday night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"About eleven o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"I did not notice the time."</p> + +<p>"Well, for sure, I was in trouble Sunday. All day long I was in trouble, +and I am in a lot of trouble yet. I wanted you badly, John, and I did +call you, but not aloud. It was just to myself. I wished you were here."</p> + +<p>"Then yourself called to myself, and here I am. Whatever troubles you, +mother, troubles me."</p> + +<p>"To be sure, I know that, John. Well, then, it is your brother Harry."</p> + +<p>A look of anxiety came into John's face and he asked in an anxious +voice, "What is the matter with Harry? Is he well?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 23 --><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23" />Quite well."</p> + +<p>"Then what has he been doing?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, it's something he wants to do."</p> + +<p>"He wants to get married, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, I haven't heard of any foolishness of that make. I'll tell you +what he wants to do—he wants to rent his share in the mill to Naylor's +sons."</p> + +<p>Then John leaped to his feet and said angrily, "Never! Never! It cannot +be true, mother! I cannot believe it! Who told you?"</p> + +<p>"Your overseer, Jonathan Greenwood, and Harry asked Greenwood to stand +by him in the matter, but Jonathan wouldn't have anything to do with +such business, and he advised me to send for you. He says the lad is +needing looking after—in more ways than one."</p> + +<p>"Where is Harry?"</p> + +<p>"He went to Manchester last Saturday."</p> + +<p>"What for, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know for certain. He said on business. You had better talk with +Jonathan. I didn't like the way he spoke of Harry. He ought to remember +his young master is a bit above him."</p> + +<p>"That is the last thing Jonathan would remember, but he is a +good-hearted, straight-standing man."</p> + +<p>"Very, if you can believe in his words and ways. He came here Saturday +to insinuate all kinds of 'shouldn't-be's' against Harry, and then on +Sunday he was dropping his 'Amens' about the chapel so <!-- Page 24 --><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24" />generously I +felt perfectly sure they were worth nothing."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother, you may trust me to look after all that is wrong. Let not +your heart be troubled. I will talk with Jonathan in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Nay, I'll warrant he will be here tonight. He will have heard thou art +home, and he will be sure he is wanted before anybody else."</p> + +<p>"If he comes tonight, tell him I cannot see him until half-past nine in +the morning."</p> + +<p>"That is right—but what for?"</p> + +<p>"Because I am much troubled and a little angry. I wish to get myself in +harness before I see anyone."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, John, that Harry never liked the mill, but while father +lived he did not dare to say so. Poor lad! He hated mill life."</p> + +<p>"He ought at least to remember what his grandfather and father thought +of Hatton Mill. Why, mother, on his twenty-first birthday, father +solemnly told him the story of the mill and how it was the seal and +witness between our God and our family—yet he would bring strangers +into our work! I'll have no partner in it—not the best man in England! +Yet Harry would share it with the Naylors, a horse-racing, betting, +irreligious crowd, who have made their money in byways all their +generations. Power of God! Only to think of it! Only to think of it! +Harry ought to be ashamed of himself—he ought that."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 25 --><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25" />Now, John, my dear lad, I will not hear Harry blamed when he is not +here to speak for himself—no, I will not! Wait till he is, and it will +be fair enough then to say what you want to. I am Harry's mother, and I +will see he gets fair play. I will that. It is my bounden duty to do so, +and I'll do it."</p> + +<p>"You are right, mother, we must all have fair judgment, and I will see +that the brother I love so dearly gets it."</p> + +<p>"God love thee, John."</p> + +<p>"And, mother, keep a brave and cheerful heart. I will do all that is +possible to satisfy Harry."</p> + +<p>"I can leave him safely with God and his brother. And tomorrow I can now +look after the apricot-preserving. Barker told me the fruit was all +ready today, but I could not frame myself to see it properly done, but +tomorrow it will be different." Then because she wanted to reward John +for his patience, and knowing well what subject was close to his heart, +she remarked in a casual manner,</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Harlow was here yesterday, and she said her apricots were safely +put away."</p> + +<p>"Was Miss Harlow with her?"</p> + +<p>"No. There was a tennis game at Lady Thirsk's. I suppose she was there."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen her lately?"</p> + +<p>"She took tea with me last Wednesday. What a beauty she is! Such color +in her cheeks! It was like the apricots when the sun was on them. Such +<!-- Page 26 --><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26" />shining black hair so wonderfully braided and coiled! Such sparkling, +flashing black eyes! Such a tall, splendid figure! Such a rosy mouth! It +seemed as if it was made for smiles and kisses."</p> + +<p>"And she walks like a queen, mother!"</p> + +<p>"She does that."</p> + +<p>"And she is so bright and independent!"</p> + +<p>"Well, John, she is. There's no denying it."</p> + +<p>"She is finely educated and also related to the best Yorkshire families. +Could I marry any better woman, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Well, John, as a rule men don't approve of poor wives, but Miss Jane +Harlow is a fortune in herself."</p> + +<p>"Two months ago I heard that Lord Thirsk was very much in love with her. +I saw him with her very often. I was very unhappy, but I could not +interfere, you know, could I?"</p> + +<p>"So you went off to sea, and left mother and Harry and your business to +anybody's care. It wasn't like you, John."</p> + +<p>"No, it was not. I wanted you, mother, a dozen times a day, and I was +half-afraid to come back to you, lest I should find Miss Jane married or +at least engaged."</p> + +<p>"She is neither one nor the other, or I am much mistaken. Whatever are +you afraid of? Jane Harlow is only a woman beautiful and up to date, she +is not a 'goddess excellently fair' like the woman you are always +singing about, not she! I'm <!-- Page 27 --><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27" />sure I often wonder where she got her +beauty and high spirit. Her father was just a proud hanger-on to his +rich relations; he lived and died fighting his wants and his debts. Her +mother is very near as badly off—a poor, wuttering, little creature, +always fearing and trembling for the day she never saw."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps this poverty and dependence may make her marry Lord Thirsk. He +is rich enough to get the girl he wants."</p> + +<p>"His money would not buy Jane, if she did not like him; and she doesn't +like him."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I asked her. While we were drinking our tea, I asked her if she were +going to make herself Lady Thirsk. She made fun of him. She mocked the +very idea. She said he had no chin worth speaking of and no back to his +head and so not a grain of <i>forthput</i> in him of any kind. 'Why, he can't +play a game of tennis,' she said, 'and when he loses it he nearly cries, +and what do you think, Mrs. Hatton, of a lover like that?' Those were +her words, John."</p> + +<p>"And you believe she was in earnest?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. Jane is too proud and too brave a girl to lie—unless——"</p> + +<p>"Unless what, mother?"</p> + +<p>"It was to her interest."</p> + +<p>"Tell me all she said. Her words are life or death to me."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 28 --><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28" />They are nothing of the kind. Be ashamed of yourself, John Hatton."</p> + +<p>"You are right, mother. My life and death are by the will of God, but I +can say that my happiness or wretchedness is in Jane Harlow's power."</p> + +<p>"Your happiness is in your own power. Her 'no' might be a disappointment +in hours you weren't busy among your looms and cotton bales, or talking +of discounts and the money market, but its echo would grow fainter every +hour of your life, and then you would meet the other girl, whose 'yes' +would put the 'no' forever out of your memory."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother, you have given me hope, and I have been comforted by you +'as one whom his mother comforteth.' If the dear girl is not to be won +by Thirsk's title and money, I will see what love can do."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, John, what love can do"—and she went to a handsome set +of hanging book shelves containing the favorite volumes of Dissent +belonging to John's great-grandfather, Burnet, Taylor, Doddridge, +Wesley, Milton, Watts, quaint biographies, and books of travel. From +them she took a well-used copy of Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying," and +opening it as one familiar with every page, said,</p> + +<p>"Listen, John, learn what Love can do.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Love solves where learning perplexes. Love attracts the best in + every one, for it gives the best, Love redeemeth, <!-- Page 29 --><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29" />Love lifts up, + Love enlightens, Love hath everlasting remembrance, Love advances + the Soul, Love is a ransom, and the tears thereof are a prayer. + Love is life. So much Love, so much Life. Oh, little Soul, if rich + in Love, thou art mighty." </p></div> + +<p>"My dear mother, thank you. You are best of all mothers. God bless you."</p> + +<p>"Your father, John, was a man of few words, as you know. He copied that +passage out of this very book, and he wrote after it, 'Martha Booth, I +love you. If you can love me, I will be at the chapel door after +tonight's service, then put your hand in mine, and I will hope to give +you hand and heart and home as long as I live.' And for years he kept +his word, John—he did that!"</p> + +<p>"Father always kept his word. If he but once said a thing, no power on +earth could make him unsay it. He was a handsome, well-built man."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, what are you thinking of?"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking that Lord Thirsk is, by the majority of women, +considered handsome."</p> + +<p>"What kind of women have that idea?"</p> + +<p>"Why, mother, I don't exactly know. If I go into my tailor's, I am told +about his elegant figure, if into my shoemaker's, I hear of his small +feet, if to Baylor's glove counter, some girl fitting my number seven +will smilingly inform me that Lord Thirsk wears number four. And if you +see him walking or <!-- Page 30 --><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30" />driving, he always has some pretty woman at his +side."</p> + +<p>"What by all that? His feet are fit for nothing but dancing. He could +not take thy long swinging steps for a twenty-mile walk; he couldn't +take them for a dozen yards. His hands may be small enough, and white +enough, and ringed enough for a lady, but he can't make a penny's worth +with them. I've heard it said that if he goes to stay all night with a +friend he has to take his valet with him—can't dress himself, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"He is always dressed with the utmost nicety and in the tip-top of the +fashion."</p> + +<p>"I'll warrant him. Jane told me he wore a lace cravat at the Priestly +ball, and I have no doubt that his pocket handkerchief was edged with +lace. And yet she said, 'No woman there laughed at him.'"</p> + +<p>"At any rate he has fine eyes and hair and a pleasant face."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't bother myself to deny it. If anyone fancies curly hair and +big brown eyes and white cheeks and no chin to speak of and no feet fit +to walk with and no hands to work with, it isn't Martha Hatton and it +isn't Jane Harlow, I can take my affidavit on that," and the confident +smile which accompanied these words was better than any sworn oath to +John Hatton.</p> + +<p>"You see, John," she continued, "I talked the man up and down with Jane, +from his number four gloves to his number four shoes, and I know what +<!-- Page 31 --><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31" />she said—what she said in her own way, mind you. For Jane's way is to +pretend to like what she does not like, just to let people feel the road +to her real opinions."</p> + +<p>"I do not quite understand you, mother."</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether I quite understand myself, and it isn't my way to +explain my words—people usually know what I mean—but I will do it for +once, as John Hatton is wanting it. For instance, I was talking to Jane +about her lovers—I did not put you among them—and she said, 'Mrs. +Hatton, there are no lovers in these days. The men that are men are no +longer knights-errant. They don't fight in the tournament lists for +their lady-love, nor even sing serenades under her window in the +moonlight. We must look for them,' she said, 'in Manchester warehouses, +or Yorkshire spinning-mills. The knights-errant are all on the stock +exchange, and the poets write for <i>Punch</i>.' And I could not help +laughing, and she laughed too, and her laugh was so infectious I could +not get clear of it, and so poured my next cup of tea on the tea board."</p> + +<p>"I wish I had been present."</p> + +<p>"So do I, John. Perhaps then you would have understood the +contradictious girl, as well as I did. You see, she wanted me to know +that she preferred the Manchester warehouse men, and the Yorkshire +spinners, and the share-tumblers of the stock exchange to knights and +poets and that make of men. Now, some women would have said the words +<!-- Page 32 --><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32" />straightforward, but not Jane. She prefers to state her likings and +dislikings in riddles and leave you to find out their meaning."</p> + +<p>"That is an uncomfortable, uncertain way."</p> + +<p>"To be sure it is, but if you want to marry Jane Harlow, you had better +take it into account. I never said she was perfect."</p> + +<p>"If ever she is my wife, I shall teach her very gently to speak +straightforward words."</p> + +<p>"Then you have your work set, John. Whether you can do it or not, is a +different thing. I don't want you to marry Jane Harlow, but as you have +set your heart on her, I have resolved to make the most of her strong +points and the least of her weak ones. You had better do the same."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a few moments, then John asked, "Was that all, +mother?"</p> + +<p>"We had more to say, but it was of a personal nature—I don't think it +concerns you at present."</p> + +<p>"Nay, but it does, mother. Everything connected with Jane concerns me."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hatton appeared reluctant to speak, but John's anxiety was so +evident, she answered, "Well, then, it was about my children."</p> + +<p>"What about them?"</p> + +<p>"She said she had heard her mother speak of my 'large family' and yet +she had never seen any of them but Henry and yourself. She wondered if +her mother had been mistaken. And I said, 'Nay, your mother told the +truth, thank God!'</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 33 --><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33" />'You see,' she continued, 'I was at school until a year ago, and our +families were not at all intimate.' I said, 'Not at all. Your father was +a proud man, Miss Harlow, and he would not notice a cotton-spinner on +terms of social equality. And Stephen Hatton thought himself as good as +the best man near him. So he was. And no worse for the mill. It kept up +the Hall, so it did.' She said I was right, and would I tell her about +my children."</p> + +<p>"I hope you did, mother. I do hope you did."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I am proud of them all, living or dead—here or <i>there</i>. So I +said, 'Well, Miss Harlow, John is not my firstborn. There was a lovely +little girl, who went back to God before she was quite a year old. +People said I ought to think it a great honor to give my first child to +God, but it was a great grief to me. Soon after her death John was born, +and after John came Clara Ann. She married before she was eighteen, a +captain of artillery in the army, and she has ever since been with him +in India, Africa, or elsewhere. Then I had Stephen, who is now a +well-known Manchester warehouse man and seldom gets away from his +business. Then Paul was given to me. He is a good boy, and a fine +sailor. His ship is the <i>Ajax</i>, a first-class line of battleship. I see +him now and then and get a letter from every port he touches. Then came +Harry, who served an apprenticeship with his father, but never liked the +mill; and at last, the sweetest gift of all God's gifts, twin daughters, +<!-- Page 34 --><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34" />called Dora and Edith. They lived with us nearly eight years, and died +just before their father. They were born in the same hour and died +within five minutes of each other. The Lord gave them, and the Lord took +them away, and blessed be the name of the Lord!' This is about what I +said, John."</p> + +<p>The conversation was interrupted here, by the entrance of a parlor-maid. +She said, "Sir, Jonathan Greenwood is here to ask if you can see him +this evening."</p> + +<p>"Tell him I cannot. I will see him at the mill about half-past nine in +the morning."</p> + +<p>The girl went away, but returned immediately. "Jonathan says, sir, that +will do. He wants to go to a meeting tonight, sir." Then Mrs. Hatton +looked at her son, and exclaimed, "How very kind of your overseer to +make your time do! Is that his usual way?"</p> + +<p>"About it. He is a very independent fellow, and he knows no other way of +talking. But father found it worth his while to put up with his free +speech. Jonathan has a knowledge of manufactures and markets which +enables him to protect our interests, and entitles him to speak his mind +in his own way."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad the same rule does not go in my kitchen. I have a first-class +cook, but if she asked me for a holiday and I gave her two days and she +said nothing but, 'That will do,' I would tell her to her face I was +giving her something out of my comfort and my pocket, and not something +that would <!-- Page 35 --><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35" />only 'do' in the place of what she wanted. I would show her +my side of the question. I would that."</p> + +<p>"For what reason?"</p> + +<p>"I would be doing my duty."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother, you could not match her and the bits of radicalism she +would give you. Keep the peace, mother; you have not her weapons in your +armory."</p> + +<p>"I am just talking to relieve myself, John. I know better than to fratch +with anyone—at least I think I do."</p> + +<p>"Just before I went away, mother, Jonathan came to me and said, 'Sir, I +hev confidence in human nature, generally speaking, but there's tricks +and there's turns, and if I was you I would run no risks with them +Manchester Sulbys'. Then he put the Sulby case before me, and if I had +not taken his advice, I would have lost three hundred pounds. It is +Jonathan's way to love God and suspect his neighbor."</p> + +<p>"He will find it hard to do the two things at the same time, John."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand how John works the problem, mother, but he does it +at least to his own satisfaction. He has told us often in the men's +weekly meeting that he is 'safe religiously, and that all his eternal +interests are settled,' but I notice that he trusts no man until he has +proved him honest."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe in such Christians, John, and I hope there are not very +many of the same make."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 36 --><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36" />Indeed, mother, this union of a religious profession with a sharp +worldly spirit is the common character among our spinners. Jonathan has +four sons, and he has brought every one of them up in the same way."</p> + +<p>"One of the four got married last week—married a girl who will have a +factory and four hundred looms for her fortune—old Aker's +granddaughter, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. Jonathan told me about it. He looked on the girl as a good +investment for <i>his</i> family, and discussed her prospects just as he +would have discussed discounts or the money market."</p> + +<p>Then John went to look after the condition of the cattle and horses on +the home farm. He found all in good order, told the farmer he had done +well, and made him happy with a few words of praise and appreciation. +But he said little to Mrs. Hatton on the subject, for his thoughts were +all close to the woman he loved. As they sat at supper he continually +wondered about her—where she was, what she was doing, what company she +was with, and even how she was dressed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hatton did not always answer these queries satisfactorily. In fact, +she was a little weary of "dear Jane," and had already praised her +beyond her own judgment. So she was not always as sympathetic to this +second appeal for information as she might have been.</p> + +<p>"I'll warrant, John," she answered a little judi<!-- Page 37 --><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37" />cially, "that Jane is +at some of the quality houses tonight; and she'll be singing or dancing +or playing bridge with one or other of that pale, rakish lot I see when +I drive through the town."</p> + +<p>"Mother!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, John, a bad, idle, lounging lot, that don't do a day's work to pay +for their living."</p> + +<p>"They are likely gentlemen, mother, who have no work to do."</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen! No, indeed! I will give them the first four letters of the +word—no more. They are not gentlemen, but they may be <i>gents</i>. We don't +expect much from <i>gents</i>, and how the women of today stand them beats +me."</p> + +<p>John laughed a little, but he said he was weary and would go to his +room. And as he stood at Mrs. Hatton's side, telling her that he was +glad to be with her again, she found herself in the mood that enabled +her to say,</p> + +<p>"John, my dear lad, you will soon marry, either Jane or some other +woman. You must do it, you know, for you must have sons and daughters, +that you may inherit the promise of God's blessing which is for you and +<i>your children</i>. Then your family must have a home, but not in Hatton +Hall—not just yet. There cannot be two mistresses in one house, can +there?"</p> + +<p>"No, but by my father's will and his oft-repeated desire, this house is +your home, mother, as long as you live. I am going to build my own house +on <!-- Page 38 --><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38" />the hill, facing the east, in front of the Ash plantation."</p> + +<p>"You are wise. Our chimneys will smoke all the better for being a little +apart."</p> + +<p>"And you, my mother, are lady and mistress of Hatton Hall as long as you +live. I will suffer no one to infringe on your rights." Then he stooped +his handsome head to her lifted face and kissed it with great +tenderness; and she turned away with tears in her eyes, but a happy +smile on her lips. And John was glad that this question had been raised +and settled, so quickly, and so lovingly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III" /><!-- Page 39 --><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39" />CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="center">LOVE VENTURES IN</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Man's life is all a mist, and in the dark<br /></span> +<span>Our fortunes meet us.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>John had been thinking about building his own home for some time and he +resolved to begin it at once. Yet this ancient Hatton Hall, with its +large, low rooms, its latticed windows and beautifully carved and +polished oak panelings, was very dear to him. Every room was full of +stories of Cavaliers and Puritans. The early followers of George Fox had +there found secret shelter and hospitality. John Wesley had preached in +its great dining-room, and Charles Wesley filled all its spaces and +corridors with the lyrical cry of his wonderful hymns. There were +harmless ghosts in its silent chambers, or walking in the pale moonlight +up the stairs or about the flower garden. No one was afraid of them; +they only gave a tender and romantic character to the surroundings. If +Mrs. Hatton felt them in a room, she curtsied and softly withdrew, and +John, on more than one occasion, had asked, "Why depart, dear ghosts? +There is room enough for us all in the old house."</p> + +<p><!-- Page 40 --><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40" />But for all this, and all that, it did not answer the spirit of John's +nature and daily life. He was essentially a man of his century. He loved +large proportions and abundance of light and fresh air, and he dreamed +of a home of palatial dimensions with white Ionic pillars and wide +balconies and large rooms made sunny by windows tall enough for men of +his stature to use as doors if they so desired. It was to be white as +snow, with the Ash plantation behind it and gardens all around and the +river washing their outskirts and telling him as he sat in the +evenings—with Jane at his side—where it had come from and what it had +seen and heard during the day.</p> + +<p>He went to sleep in this visionary house and did not awaken until the +sun was high up and hurrying men and women to work. So he rose quickly, +for he counted himself among this working-class, felt his +responsibilities, and began to reckon with the difficulties he had to +meet and the appointments he could not decline. He had promised to see +his overseer at half-past nine, and he knew Jonathan would have a few +disagreeable words ready, if he broke his promise—words it was better +to avoid than to notice or discount.</p> + +<p>At half-past eight he was ready to ride to the mill. His gig was +waiting, but he chose his saddle horse, because the creature so lovingly +neighed and neighed to the sound of his approaching footsteps, evidently +rejoicing to see him, and pawing the <!-- Page 41 --><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41" />ground with his impatience to feel +him in the saddle. John could not resist the invitation. He sent the +uncaring gig away, laid his arm across Bendigo's neck, and his cheek +against Bendigo's cheek. Then he whispered a few words in his ear and +leaped into the saddle as only a Yorkshireman or a gypsy can leap, and +Bendigo, thrilling with delight, carried his master swiftly away from +the gig and its driver, neighing with triumph as he passed them.</p> + +<p>When about halfway to the mill he met Miss Harlow returning home from +her early morning walk. She was dressed with extreme simplicity in a +short frock of pink corduroy, and a sailor hat of coarse Dunstable +straw, with a pink ribbon round it. Long, soft, white leather gauntlets +covered her hands, and she carried in them a little basket of straw, +full of bluebells and ferns. John saw her approaching and he noticed the +lift of her head and the lift of her foot and said to himself, "Proud! +Proud!" but in his heart he thought no harm of her stately, graceful +carriage. To him she was a most beautiful girl, fresh and fair and,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>—graceful as the mountain doe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sniffs the forest air,<br /></span> +<span>Bringing the smell of the heather bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the tresses of her hair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>They met, they clasped hands, they looked into each other's eyes, and +something sweet and subtle <!-- Page 42 --><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42" />passed between them. "I am so glad, so glad +to see you," said John, and Miss Harlow said the same words, and then +added, "Where have you been? I have missed you so much."</p> + +<p>"And, Oh, how happy I am to hear that you have missed me! I have been +away to the North—on the road to Iceland. May I call on you this +evening, and tell you about my journey?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed! If you will pleasure me so far, I will send an excuse to +Lady Thirsk, and stay at home to listen to you."</p> + +<p>"That would be a miraculous favor. May I come early?"</p> + +<p>"We dine early. Come and take your dinner with us. Mother will be glad +to see you and to hear your adventures, and mother's pleasure is my +greatest happiness."</p> + +<p>"Then I will come."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, he took out his watch and looked at it. "I have an +engagement in ten minutes," he said. "Will you excuse me now?"</p> + +<p>"I will. I wish I had an engagement. Poor women! They have bare lives. I +would like to go to business. I would like to make money. There are days +in which I feel that I could run a thousand spindles or manage a +department store very well and very happily."</p> + +<p>"Why do you talk of things impossible? Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>"Until seven o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 43 --><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43" />Until seven."</p> + +<p>He had dismounted to speak to her and, holding Bendigo's bridle, had +walked with her to the Harlow residence. He now said, "Good-bye," and +the light of a true, passionate lover was on his face, as he leaped into +the saddle. She watched him out of sight and then went into her home, +and with an inscrutable smile, began to arrange the ferns and bluebells +in a vase of cream-colored wedgewood.</p> + +<p>In the meantime John had reached the Hatton mill, and after his long +absence he looked up at it with conscious pride. It was built of brick; +it was ten stories high; every story was full of windows, every story +airy as a bird-cage. Certainly it was not a thing of architectural +beauty, but it was a grandly organized machine where brains and hands, +iron and steel worked together for a common end. As John entered its big +iron gates, he saw bales of cotton going into the mill by one door, and +he knew the other door at which they would come out in the form of woven +calico. In rapid thought he followed them to the upper floors, and then +traveled down with them to the great weaving-rooms in the order their +processes advanced them. He knew that on the highest floor a devil would +tear the fiber asunder, that it would then go to the scutcher, and have +the dust and dirt blown away, then that carding machines would lay all +the fibers parallel, that drawing machines would group them into slender +ribbons, and a roving machine twist them into a soft cord, <!-- Page 44 --><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44" />and then +that a mule or a throstle would spin the roving into yarn, and the yarn +would go to the weaving-rooms, where a thousand wonderful machines would +turn them into miles and miles of calico; the machines doing all the +hard work, while women and girls adjusted and supplied them with the +material.</p> + +<p>It was to the great weaving-room John went first. As soon as he stood in +the open door he was seen and in a moment, as if by magic, the looms +were silenced, and the women and girls were on their feet, looking at +him with eager, pleasant faces. John lifted his hat and said good +morning and a shout of welcome greeted him. Then at some signal the +looms resumed their noisy work and the women lifted the chorus from some +opera which they had been singing at John's entrance, and "t' master's +visit" was over.</p> + +<p>He went next to his office, and Jonathan brought his daybook and +described, in particular detail, the commercial occurrences which had +made the mills' history during his absence. Not all of them were +satisfactory, and John passed nothing by as trivial. Where interferences +had been made with his usual known methods, he rebuked and revoked them; +and in one case where Jonathan had disobeyed his order he insisted on an +apology to the person injured by the transaction.</p> + +<p>"I told Clough," he said, "that he should have what credit would put him +straight. You, Jonathan, <!-- Page 45 --><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45" />have been discounting and cutting him down on +yarns. You had no authority to do this. I don't like it. It cannot be."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I was looking out for you. Clough will never straight +himself. Yarns are yarns, and yarns are up in the market; we can use all +we hev ourselves. Clough hes opinions not worth a shilling's credit. +They are all wrong, sir."</p> + +<p>"His opinions may be wrong, his life is right."</p> + +<p>"Why, sir, he's nothing but a Radical or a Socialist."</p> + +<p>"Jonathan, I don't bring politics into business."</p> + +<p>"You're right, sir. When I see any of our customers bothering with +politics, I begin to watch for their names in t' bankruptcy list. Your +honorable father, sir, could talk with both Tories and Radicals and fall +out with neither. Then he would pick up his order-book, and forget what +side he'd taken or whether he hed been on any side or not."</p> + +<p>"Write to Clough and tell him you were sorry not to fill his last order. +Say that we have now plenty of yarns and will be glad to let him have +whatever he wants."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir. If he fails—"</p> + +<p>"It may be your fault, Jonathan. The yarns given him when needed, might +have helped him. Tomorrow they may be too late."</p> + +<p>"I don't look at things in that way, sir."</p> + +<p>"Jonathan, how do you look at the Naylors' proposal?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 46 --><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46" />As downright impudence. They hev the money to buy most things they +want, but they hevn't the money among them all to buy a share in your +grand old name and your well-known honorable business. I told Mr. Henry +that."</p> + +<p>"However did the Naylors get at Mr. Henry?"</p> + +<p>"Through horses, sir. Mr. Henry loves horses, and he hes an idea that he +knows all about them. I heard Fred Naylor had sold him two racers. He +didn't sell them for nothing—you may be sure of that."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what Mr. Henry paid for them, Jonathan?"</p> + +<p>"Not I, sir. But I do know Fred Naylor; he never did a honest day's +work. He is nothing but a betting book in breeches. He bets on +everything, from his wife to the weather. I often heard your father say +that betting is the argument of a fool—and Jonathan Greenwood is of the +same opinion."</p> + +<p>"Have you any particular dislike to the Naylors?"</p> + +<p>"I dislike to see Mr. Henry evening himself with such a bad lot; every +one of them is as worthless as a canceled postage stamp."</p> + +<p>"They are rich, I hear."</p> + +<p>"To be sure they are. I think no better of them for that. All they hev +has come over the devil's back. I hev taken the measure of them three +lads, and I know them to be three poor creatures. Mr. <!-- Page 47 --><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47" />Henry Hatton +ought not to be counted with such a crowd."</p> + +<p>"You are right, Jonathan. In this case, I am obliged to you for your +interference. I think this is all we need to discuss at this time."</p> + +<p>"Nay, but it isn't. I'm sorry to say, there is that little lass o' +Lugur's. You must interfere there, and you can't do it too soon."</p> + +<p>"Lugur? Who is Lugur? I never heard of the man. He is not in the Hatton +factory, that I know."</p> + +<p>"He isn't in anybody's factory. He is head teacher in the Methodist +school here."</p> + +<p>"Well, what of that?"</p> + +<p>"He has a daughter, a little lass about eighteen years old."</p> + +<p>"And she is pretty, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"There's none to equal her in this part of England. She's as sweet as a +flower."</p> + +<p>"And her father is——"</p> + +<p>"Hard as Pharaoh. She's the light o' his eyes, and the breath o' his +nostrils. So she ought to be. Her mother died when she was two years +old, and Ralph Lugur hes been mother and father both to her. He took her +with him wherever he went except into the pulpit."</p> + +<p>"The pulpit? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"He was a Methodist preacher, but he left the pulpit and went into the +schoolroom. The Conference was glad he did so, for he was little in the +way of preaching but he's a great scholar, and I <!-- Page 48 --><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48" />should say he hesn't +his equal as a teacher in all England. He has the boys and girls of +Hatton at a word. Sir, you'll allow that I am no coward, but I wouldn't +touch the hem of Lucy Lugur's skirt, if it wasn't in respect and honor, +for a goodish bit o' brass. No, I wouldn't!"</p> + +<p>"What would you fear?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Why-a!</i> I don't think he'd stop at anything decent. It is only ten +days since he halted Lord Thirsk in t' High Street of Hatton, and then +told him flat if he sent any more notes and flowers to Miss Lugur, +'Miss,' mind you, he would thrash him to within an inch of his life."</p> + +<p>"What did Lord Thirsk say?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the little man was frightened at first—and no wonder, for Lugur +is big as Saul and as strong as Samson—but he kept his head and told +Lugur he would 'take no orders from him.' Furthermore, he said he would +show his 'admiration of Miss Lugur's beauty, whenever he felt disposed +to do so.' It was the noon hour and a crowd was in the street, and they +gathered round—for our lads smell a fight—and they cheered the little +lord for his plucky words, and he rode away while they were cheering and +left Lugur standing so black and surly that no one cared to pass an +opinion he could hear. Indeed, my eldest daughter kept her little lad +from school that afternoon. She said someone was bound to suffer for +Lugur's setdown and it wasn't going to be her John Henry."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 49 --><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49" />He seems to be an ill-tempered man—this Lugur, and we don't want such +men in Hatton."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, we breed our own tempers in Hatton, and we can frame to put +up with them—<i>but strangers</i>!" and Jonathan appeared to have no words +to express his suspicion of strangers.</p> + +<p>"If Lugur is quarrelsome he must leave Hatton. I will not give him house +room."</p> + +<p>"You hev a good deal of influence, sir, but you can't move Lugur. No, +you can't. Lugur hes been appointed by the Methodist Church, and there +is the Conference behind the church, sir. I hev no doubt but what we +shall hev to put up with the sulky beggar whether we want it or like it +or not."</p> + +<p>"It would be a queer thing, Jonathan Greenwood, if John Hatton did not +have influence enough to put a troubler of Hatton town out of it. The +Methodist Church is too sensible to oppose what is good for a +community."</p> + +<p>"Sir, you are reckoning your bill without your host. The church would +likely stand by you, but all the women would stand by Lugur. And what is +queerer still, all his scholars would fight anyone who said a word +against him. He hes a way, sir, a way of his own with children, and I +hev wondered often what is the secret of it."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I'll give you an example, sir. You know Silas Bolton hes a very bad +lad, but the other day he went to Lugur and confessed he had stripped +old Pad<!-- Page 50 --><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50" />get's apple-tree. Well, Lugur listened to him and talked to him +and then lifted his leather strap and gave him a dozen good licks. The +lad never whimpered, and t' master shook hands with him when the bit o' +business was over and said, 'You are a brave boy, Will Bolton. I don't +think you'll do a mean, cowardly act like that again, and if such is +your determination, you can learn me double lessons for tomorrow; then +all will be square between you and me'—and Bolton's bad boy did it."</p> + +<p>"That was right enough."</p> + +<p>"I hevn't quite finished, sir. In two days he went with the boy to tell +old Padget he was sorry, and the man forgave him without one hard word; +but I hev heard since, that t' master paid for the apples out of his own +pocket, and I would not wonder if he did. What do you think of the man +now?"</p> + +<p>"I think a man like that is very much of a man. I shall make it my +business to know him. But what has my brother to do with either Mister +or Miss Lugur?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Henry hes been doing just what Lord Thirsk did; he has been sending +Lucy Lugur flowers and for anything I know, letters. At any rate I saw +them together in Mr. Henry's phaeton on the Lancashire road at ten +o'clock in the morning. I was going to Shillingworth's factory, and I +stayed there an hour, and as I came back to Hatton, Mr. Henry was just +leaving her at Lugur's house door."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 51 --><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51" />Where do they live?"</p> + +<p>"In Byle's cottage at the top of the Brow."</p> + +<p>"That was quite out of your way, Jonathan."</p> + +<p>"I know it was. I took that road on purpose. I guessed the little woman +was out with Mr. Henry, because she knew between ten and eleven o'clock +her father was safe in t' schoolroom. Well, I saw Mr. Henry leave her at +her own door, and though I doan't believe one-half that I hear, I can +trust my own eyes even if I hevn't my spectacles on. And I doan't bother +my head about other men's daughters and sweethearts, but Mr. Henry is a +bit different. I loved and served his father. I love and serve his +brother, and t' young man himself is very easy to love."</p> + +<p>John was silent, and Jonathan continued, "I knew I was interfering, +but—"</p> + +<p>"You were doing your duty. I would thank you for it, but a man that +serves Duty gets his wages in the service—and is satisfied."</p> + +<p>Jonathan only nodded his head in assent, but there was the pleasant +light of accepted favor on his face and he really felt much relieved +when John added, "I will have a talk with my brother when he comes home +about the Naylors and Miss Lugur. You can dismiss the subject from your +mind. I'm sure you have plenty to worry you with the mill and its +workers."</p> + +<p>"I hev, sir, that I hev, and all the more because Lucius Yorke hes been +here while you were away <!-- Page 52 --><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52" />and he left a promise with the lads and +lassies to come again and give you a bit of his mind when you bed +finished your laking and larking and could at least frame yourself to +watch the men and women working for you. Yorke is a sly one—you ought +to watch him."</p> + +<p>John smiled, dropped his eyes, and began to turn his paper-knife about. +"Well, Jonathan," he answered, "when Yorke comes, tell him John Hatton +will be pleased to know his mind. I do not think, Jonathan, that he +knows it himself, for I have noticed that he has turned his back on his +own words several times since he gave me his mind a year ago."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, a man's mind can grow, just as his body grows."</p> + +<p>"I know that—but it can grow in a wrong direction as easily as in a +right one. Now I must attend to my secretary; he sent me word that there +was a large mail waiting."</p> + +<p>"I'll warrant it. Mr. Henry hesn't been near the mill since Friday +morning," and with these words the overseer lifted his books and records +and left the room.</p> + +<p>John sat very still with bent head; he shut his eyes and turned them on +his heart, but it was not long before his thoughtful face was brightened +by a smile as he whispered to himself, "I must hear what Harry has to +say before I judge him. Jonathan has strong prejudices, and Harry must +have <!-- Page 53 --><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53" />what he considers 'reasonable cause' for what he wishes."</p> + +<p>He waited anxiously all morning, going frequently to his brother's +office, but it was mid-afternoon when he heard Harry's quick light step +on the corridor. His heart beat to the sound, he quickly opened his +door, and as he did so, Harry cried,</p> + +<p>"John! I am so glad you are here!"</p> + +<p>Then John drew the bright handsome lad to his side, and they entered his +office together, and as soon as they were alone, John bent to his +brother, drew him closer, and kissed him.</p> + +<p>"I have been restless and longing to see you, Harry. Where have you +been, dear lad?"</p> + +<p>It was noticeable that John's tone and attitude was that of a father, +more than a brother, for John was ten years older than Harry and through +all his boyhood, his youth, and even his manhood he had fought for and +watched over and loved him with a fatherly, as well as a brotherly, +love. After their father's death, John, as eldest son, took the place +and assumed the authority of their father and was by right of birth head +of the household and master of the mill.</p> + +<p>Hitherto John's authority had been so kind and so thoughtful that Harry +had never dreamed of opposing it, yet the brothers were both conscious +this afternoon that the old attitude towards each other had suffered a +change. Harry showed it first in his dress, which was extravagant and +very unlike the <!-- Page 54 --><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54" />respectable tweed or broadcloth common to the +manufacturers of the locality. Harry's garb was that of a finished +horseman. It was mostly of leather of various colors and grades, from +the highly dressed Spanish leather of his long, black boots to the soft, +white, leather gauntlets, which nearly covered his arms. He had a +leather jockey cap on his head, and a leather whip in his hand, and he +gave John a long, loving look, which seemed to ask for his admiration +and deprecate, if not dispute, his expected dislike.</p> + +<p>For John's looks traveled down the handsome figure, whose hand he still +clasped, with evident dismay and dissatisfaction, and Harry retaliated +by striking his booted leg with his riding-whip. For an instant they +stood thus looking at each other, both of them quite aware of the +remarkable contrast they made. Harry's tall, slight form, black hair, +and large brown eyes were a vivid antithesis to John's blond blue-eyed +strength and comeliness. To her youngest son, Mrs. Hatton, who was a +daughter of the Norman house of D'Artoe, had transmitted her quick +temperament, her dark beauty, and her elastic grace of movement.</p> + +<p>Harry's beauty had a certain local fame; when people spoke of him it was +not of Henry Hatton they spoke, they called him "t' young master," or +more likely, "that handsome lad o' Hattons." He was more popular and +better loved than John, because his temper and his position permitted +him a <!-- Page 55 --><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55" />greater familiarity with the hands. They came to John for any +solid favor or any necessary information, they came to Harry for help in +their ball or cricket games or in any musical entertainment they wished +to give. And Harry on such occasions was their fellow playmate, and took +and gave with a pleasant familiarity that was never imposed on.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV" /><!-- Page 56 --><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56" />CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p class="center">BROTHERS</p> + + +<p>The pleasant habit of existence, the sweet fable of Life and Love.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>They sin who tell us Love can die,<br /></span> +<span>With Life all other passions fly,<br /></span> +<span>Love is indestructible.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>A mother is a mother still, the holiest thing alive.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>This afternoon the brothers looked at each other with great love, but +there was in it a sense of wariness; and Harry was inclined to bluff +what he knew his brother would regard with inconvenient seriousness.</p> + +<p>"Will you sit, Harry? Or are you going at once to mother? She is a bit +anxious about you."</p> + +<p>"I will sit with you half an hour, John. I want to talk with you. I am +very unhappy."</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay! You don't look unhappy, I'm sure; and you have no need to +feel so."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I have. If a man hates his lifework, he is very likely to hate +his life. You know, John, that I have always hated mills. The sight of +their long chimneys and of the human beings groveling at the <!-- Page 57 --><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57" />bottom of +them for their daily bread gives me a heartache. And the smell of them! +O John, the smell of a mill sickens me!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Harry Hatton?"</p> + +<p>"I mean the smell of the vaporous rooms, and the boiling soapsuds, and +the oil and cotton and the moisture from the hot flesh of a thousand men +and women makes the best mill in England a sweating-house of this age of +corruption."</p> + +<p>"Harry, who did you hear speak of cotton mills in that foolish way? Some +ranter at a street corner, I suppose. Hatton mill brings you in good, +honest money. I think little of feelings that slander honest work and +honest earnings."</p> + +<p>"John, my dear brother, you must listen to me. I want to get out of this +business, and Eli Naylor and Thomas Henry Naylor will rent my share of +the mill."</p> + +<p>"Will they? No! Not for all the gold in England! What are you asking me, +Harry Hatton? Do you think I will shame the good name of Hatton by +associating it with scoundrels and blacklegs? Your father kicked +Hezekiah Naylor out of this mill twenty years ago. Do you think I will +take in his sons, and let them share our father's good name, and the +profits of the wonderful business he built up? I say <i>no</i>! A downright, +upright <i>no</i>! Why, Harry, you must be off your head to think of such a +thing as possible. It is enough to make father come back from the +grave."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 58 --><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58" />You are talking nonsense, John. If father is in heaven, he wouldn't +come back here about an old mill full of weariness and hatred and +wretched lives; and if he isn't in heaven, he wouldn't be let come back. +I am not afraid of father now."</p> + +<p>"If you must sell or rent your share, I will make shift to buy or lease +it. Then what do you mean to do?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fred Naylor is going to coach me for horse-racing. You know I love +horses, and Naylor says they will make me more money than I can count."</p> + +<p>"Don't you tell me anything the Naylors say. I won't listen to it. +Horse-racing is gambling. You don't come from gamblers. You will be a +fool among them and every kind of odds will be against you."</p> + +<p>"And I shall make money fast and pleasantly."</p> + +<p>"Supposing you do make money fast, you will spend it still faster. That +is the truth."</p> + +<p>"Horse-racing is a manly amusement. No one can deny that, John."</p> + +<p>"But, Harry, you did not come into this world to <i>amuse</i> yourself. You +came to do the work God Almighty laid out for you to do. It wasn't +horse-racing."</p> + +<p>"I know what I am talking about, John."</p> + +<p>"Not you. You are cheating and deceiving yourself, and any sin is easy, +after that sin."</p> + +<p>"I have told you already what I thought of mill work."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 59 --><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59" />You have not thought right of it. We have nearly eight hundred +workers; half of them are yours. It is your duty to see that these men +and women have work and wage in Hatton mill."</p> + +<p>"I will not do it, John."</p> + +<p>"You are not going to horse-racing. I want you to understand that, once +and for all. Have no more to do with any of the Naylors. Drop them +forever."</p> + +<p>"I can not, John. I will not."</p> + +<p>"Rule your speech, Henry Hatton. John Hatton is not saying today what he +will unsay tomorrow. You are not going to horse-racing and +horse-trading. Most men who do so go to the dogs next. People would +wonder far and wide. You must choose a respectable life. I know that the +love of horses runs through every Yorkshireman's heart. I love them +myself. I love them too well to bet on them. My horse is my +fellow-creature, and my friend. Would you bet on your friend, and run +him blind for a hundred or two?"</p> + +<p>"Naylor has made thousands of pounds."</p> + +<p>"I don't care if he has made millions. All money made without labor or +without equivalent is got over the devil's back to be squandered in some +devil's pastime. Harry, bettors infer dupes. When you have to pay a +jockey a small fortune to do his duty, he may be an honest man—but +there are inferences. Can't you think of something better to do?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 60 --><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60" />I wanted to be an artist and father would not let me. I wanted to have +my voice trained and father laughed at me. I wanted to join the army and +father was angry and asked me if I did not want to be a pugilist. He +would not hear of anything but the mill. John, I won't go to the mill +again. I won't be a cotton-spinner, and I'll be glad if you will buy me +out at any price."</p> + +<p>"I won't do that—not yet. I'll tell you what I will do. I will rent +your share of the mill for a year if you will take Captain Cook and the +yacht and go to the Mediterranean, and from the yacht visit the old +cities and see all the fine picture galleries, and listen to the music +of Paris and Milan or even Vienna. You must stay away a year. I want you +to realize above all things that to live to <i>amuse</i> yourself is the +hardest work the devil can set you to do."</p> + +<p>"I promised Fred Naylor I would rent him my share."</p> + +<p>"How dared you make such a promise? Did you think that I, standing as I +do, for my father, Stephen Hatton, would ever lower the Hatton name to +Hatton and Naylor? I am ashamed of you, Harry! I am that!"</p> + +<p>"John, I am so unhappy in the mill. You don't understand—"</p> + +<p>"Your duty is in the mill. If a man does his duty, he cannot be unhappy. +No, he can not."</p> + +<p>"I have been doing my duty five years, and hating <!-- Page 61 --><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61" />every hour of it. And +I promised the Naylor boys—"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"That I would sell or rent my share in this mill to them."</p> + +<p>"It is impossible for you to keep that promise. You cannot sell a +shilling's worth belonging to the mill property without mine and +mother's permission. Neither of us will give it. Your plan won't work, +Harry. Mother and I will stand by Hatton mill as firm as an anvil beaten +upon. Both of us will do anything we can to make you reasonably happy, +but you must never dare to name selling or renting your right to anyone +but your brother. The mill is ours! No stranger shall own a bobbin in +it! One or both of us will run it until we follow our father, and +then—"</p> + +<p>"Then what?"</p> + +<p>"Our sons will take our place if so it pleases God. Harry, dear, dear +lad, go and take a long holiday among the things you love, and after it +we will come to a kind and sensible conclusion about your future. While +you are away, I will do your work for you and you shall have your full +share of whatever money is made. Stay a year if you wish, but try and +find yourself before you come home."</p> + +<p>"I would like to do as you say, John, but a year is a long time to be +away from the girl you love. I should want her every hour and should be +utterly miserable without her."</p> + +<p><!-- Page 62 --><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62" />John was silent and troubled. Harry looked entreatingly at him, and it +was hard to resist the pleading in the young man's eyes. Finally John +asked a little coldly,</p> + +<p>"Do you want to get married?"</p> + +<p>"Not just yet—if I can get mother to go with me."</p> + +<p>"To the Mediterranean?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Who is the girl?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Lugur, the schoolmaster's daughter."</p> + +<p>"Mother would not go. You could not expect it. I also should be much +against her spending a year away from home. Oh, you know it is out of +the question!"</p> + +<p>"I think mother will go. I shall ask her."</p> + +<p>"I wonder how you can find it in your heart to ask such a thing of her!"</p> + +<p>"Lucy Lugur, poor little girl, has no mother."</p> + +<p>"You cannot expect Mrs. Stephen Hatton to mother her."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. Mother has often told me she would do anything in the world +for me. I am going to ask her to go with me, then I can take Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Harry, you must not put her love in such a hard strait. Do be +reasonable."</p> + +<p>"I cannot be reasonable about Lucy Lugur. I love her, John; she is the +most beautiful woman in the world."</p> + +<p>"All right, I do not contradict you; but is that <!-- Page 63 --><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63" />any reason for +sacrificing mother's comfort to her beauty?"</p> + +<p>"Mother likes to give up to me. If I ask her to go, she will go. I do +not forget, John, what you have promised; no indeed, and I am sure +mother will be quite as kind. I will now go and ask her."</p> + +<p>When he arrived at the Hall gate, he had a sudden sense of the injustice +of his intention, but the thought of Lucy Lugur put it down; and he +heralded his arrival by a long, sweet whistle, whose music penetrated +the distance and informed Mrs. Hatton of her son's approach. She was +drinking her afternoon cup of tea to angry thoughts of him, telling +herself that he ought to have been home on the previous day, that at +least he ought to have sent her a few lines when delayed. So troubled +was she by these reflections and others rising from them that she had +forgotten to put sugar in her tea, and was eating wheat bread when her +favorite thin slices of rye loaf were at her hand. The prodigious +inquietude of motherhood had her in its grip, and she had just begun to +tell herself that poor Harry might be sick in an hotel with no one to +look after him when her reverie of love and fear was dispelled in a +moment by the cheerful sound of Harry's whistle.</p> + +<p>The next moment she was on the porch to welcome him. If his delay was +wrong, she had quite forgotten the wrong; there was nothing in her heart +but mother love, running over and expressing itself in her beaming eyes, +her smiling face, her out<!-- Page 64 --><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64" />stretched hands, and her joyful words. She +kissed him fondly and between laughing and crying led him into the house +and straight to her little tea-table.</p> + +<p>"There is room enough for you, my dear, dear lad! Where have you been +this ever so long?" she asked. "I was looking for you last Saturday +night—and John is home again, thank God, and——"</p> + +<p>"I know John is home, mother. I was at the mill. My horse met me at +Oxbar Station, and as I was riding, I called at the mill to look at my +mail, and so finding John there, I stopped and had a chat with him."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that. What did he say to thee? He was feeling very bad, I +know, about the Naylor boys. I wonder what makes thee even thyself with +that low set. Thy father will be angry, if he knows, and Greenwood +thinks he is sure to know if Naylors are meddling in his family or his +affairs. Greenwood speaks very badly of the whole crowd—living and +dead."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother, you know none of the Naylors are Methodists; that sets +them down with Greenwood. The Naylors are all right. Fred Naylor has +been very kind to me."</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to John about them?"</p> + +<p>"Greenwood had already spoken and John was angry and got into a passion +at a simple business proposal they made."</p> + +<p>"John was right, he was that. I was in a pas<!-- Page 65 --><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65" />sion myself, when I heard +of their proposal—downright impudence, I call it."</p> + +<p>"Nay, mother. They offered good money for what they asked. There was no +impudence in that. It was just business."</p> + +<p>"Naylors have no good money, not they. The kind they do have would +blacken and burn Hatton's hands to touch. Thy father ran the whole kith +and kit of the Naylors out of Hatton village the very year of thy birth. +He wouldn't have them in his village if he was alive and while I am lady +of Hatton Manor they are not coming back here. I will see to that."</p> + +<p>"There is a new generation of Naylors now, and——"</p> + +<p>"They are as bad and very likely worse than all before them. Families +that don't grow better grow worse. Greenwood says they are worse; but +I'm not standing on what he says. Thy father despised them, that is a +fact I can rely on and work from."</p> + +<p>"Father is dead, and he——"</p> + +<p>"Not he! He is living, and more alive than he ever was. He comes to me +often."</p> + +<p>"When you are asleep, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"You suppose right. But, Harry, can you tell me what passes in that +state of sleep when I or you or any other sleeper is shut up from every +human eye; when all the doors of the body are closed, and all the +windows darkened? Speak, my lad, of what you know something about, but +dreaming is a mys<!-- Page 66 --><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66" />tery to far wiser men than you are, or are likely to +be—unless Wisdom should visit you while you are dreaming."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother, I am going away for a year, and during that time I shall +forget the Naylors and they will forget me."</p> + +<p>"Whatever are you talking about, Harry Hatton? I will not hear of you +going on such a journey—no matter where to, so now you know."</p> + +<p>"It is John's advice."</p> + +<p>"It is very poor advice. For steady living in, there is no place like +Yorkshire."</p> + +<p>"I was telling John today what I have often told you, how I hated the +mill, how sick it made me, and that I must sell my interest in it in +order to do something else. Then John made me a proposal, and if you +think well of it I will do as John advises. But let us go to the porch, +it is so hot here. It feels like the dog days."</p> + +<p>"No wonder, with the toggery you have on your back. Whatever in the +world led you to make such a guy of yourself? I hope you didn't come +through the village."</p> + +<p>"I did. I had my horse brought to Oxbar Station, for that very purpose."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never! Do you think you look handsome in those things?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"You never made a bigger mistake. I can tell you that. But I want to +know what John is up to—<!-- Page 67 --><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67" />sending you away for a whole year—such +nonsense!"</p> + +<p>Then Harry made John's proposal as attractive as he could, and Mrs. +Hatton listened with a face devoid of all expression, until he said: "I +want you with me, mother. I shall have no pleasure without you."</p> + +<p>"There is something else you want, Harry. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, mother, there is a beautiful girl whom I love with all my heart +and soul. I want to take her with me, but I can not—unless you also +go."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hatton's face flushed, and she dropped her eyes, knowing that they +were full of anger. "Who is this girl?" she asked coldly.</p> + +<p>"Lucy Lugur, the schoolmaster's daughter."</p> + +<p>"Could you not take her own mother?"</p> + +<p>"Lucy has no mother. Her father has been father and mother both to her +since she was two years old. He loves her beyond everything."</p> + +<p>"I can believe that. I know a little of Ralph Lugur. He has been to see +me twice about the children of the village."</p> + +<p>"He has them all at his beck and call. And Lucy, mother, she is so fair +and sweet! If you could only see her!"</p> + +<p>"I have seen her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother dear, don't speak unkindly of her!"</p> + +<p>"Nay; why should I? She is, as you say, very pretty; and I'll warrant +she is as good as she is <!-- Page 68 --><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68" />pretty. I could trust Lugur to bring her up +properly—but she is not a mate for you."</p> + +<p>"I will have no other mate."</p> + +<p>"Miss Lugur may be all your fancy paints her, but why should your mother +be asked to leave her home, her duties, and pleasures for a year? To +subject herself to bad weather and sickness and loneliness and fatigue +of all kinds in order that she may throw the mantle of her social +respectability over an equivocal situation. I do not blame the girl, but +I feel more keenly and bitterly than I can tell you the humiliation and +discomfort you would gladly put upon me in order to give yourself the +satisfaction of Miss Lugur's company. Harry, you are the most selfish +creature I ever met. John has promised to give up your rightful +assistance in the mill, to really do your work for a year, your income +is to be paid in full, though you won't earn a farthing of it; you +expect the use of the yacht for yourself and a girl out of my knowledge +and beneath my social status. Oh, Harry! Harry! It is too much to ask of +any mother."</p> + +<p>"I never thought of it in this way. Forgive me, mother."</p> + +<p>"And who is to take care of John if I go with you? Who is to care for +the old home and all the treasures gathered in it? Who will look after +the farm and the horses and cattle and poultry, the fruit-trees and +lawns and flowers as I do? Do you think that all these cares are +pleasures to me? No, <!-- Page 69 --><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69" />my dear lad, but they are my duty. I wouldn't have +thy father find out that I neglected even a brooding hen. No, I +wouldn't. And the yacht was thy father's great pleasuring. I only went +with him to double that pleasure. I don't like the sea, though I never +let him know it. Oh, my dear! But there! You haven't learned yet that +self-sacrifice is love, and no love without it."</p> + +<p>"Mother, I am ashamed of my selfishness. I never realized before how +many things you have to care for."</p> + +<p>"From cocklight to the dim, Harry, there is always something needing my +care. Must house and farm and John and all our dumb fellow creatures go +to the mischief for pretty Lucy Lugur? My dear, I'm saying these things +to you, because nobody else has a right to say them; but oh, Harry, it +breaks my heart to say them!"</p> + +<p>"Mother, forgive me. I did not think of anything but the fact that you +have always stood by me through thick and thin."</p> + +<p>"In all things right, I will stand by you. In whatever is wrong I will +be against you. You have fallen into the net of bad company, and you +can't mend that trouble—you can only run away from it. Take John's +advice, and get out of the reach of that Naylor influence."</p> + +<p>"I never saw anything wrong with Frank Naylor. He did not drink, he +never touched a card, and he was always respectful to the women we met."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 70 --><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70" />Harry, you would not dare to repeat to me all that Frank Naylor <i>said</i> +to you. Oh, my dear, there it is! When you can shut your <i>ears</i>, as +easily as your <i>eyes</i>, you can afford to be less particular about the +company you keep—not until."</p> + +<p>At this moment John entered, and the conversation became general and +impersonal. But the influence of uncertain and unlooked-for anxiety was +over all, and Harry was eager to escape it. He said the young men would +be expecting him at their association hall, as he had promised to +explain to them the mysteries of golf, which he wished them to favor +above cricket.</p> + +<p>He had, indeed, a promised obligation on this subject, but the exact +time was as yet within his own decision. Yet he was ready to fulfill it +that evening, rather than listen to the conversation about himself and +his future, which he knew would ensue whether he was present or not. And +the promise John had given him of a year's holiday was so satisfactory +that he longed to be alone and at liberty to follow it out and fit it +into his life.</p> + +<p>He felt that John had been generous to him, but he also felt that the +proposed manner of rest and recreation was in one respect altogether +unsatisfactory—he was to be sent away from Lucy Lugur. He was sure that +was John's real and ultimate motive, whatever other motive was virtually +put in its place. Mother and brother would agree on that point and he +thought of this agreement with a dis<!-- Page 71 --><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71" />content that rapidly became anger. +Then he determined to marry Lucy, and so have a right to her company on +land or sea, at home or abroad.</p> + +<p>For he argued only from his own passionate desire. Lucy had never said +she loved him, yet he felt sure she did so. He loved her the moment they +met, and he had no doubt Lucy had been affected in the same manner as +himself. He knew her for his own, lost out of his soul-life long ago and +suddenly found one afternoon as she stood with her father at the gate of +their little garden. She had roses in her hands, or rather they were +lying across her white arms, and her exquisite face rose above them, +thrilling his heart with a strange but powerful sense of a right in her +that was wholly satisfying and indisputable.</p> + +<p>"I will suffer no one to part me from Lucy," he mused. "She is mine. She +belongs to me, and to no other man in this world. I will not leave her. +I might lose her; if I go away, she must go with me. She loves me! I +know it! I feel it! When she sat at my side as we were driving together +she <i>was me</i>. Her personality melted into mine, and Lucy Lugur and Harry +Hatton were one. If I felt this, Lucy felt it. I will tell her, and she +will believe me, for I am sure she shared that wonderful transfusion of +the 'thee into me' which is beyond all explanation, and never felt but +with the one soul that is our soul."</p> + +<p>Thus as he walked down to the village he thrilled <!-- Page 72 --><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72" />himself with the +pictures of his own imaginings; for a passionate bewildering love, that +had all the unbearable realism of a dream, held him in its unconquerable +grip. There may be men who can force themselves to be reasonable in such +a condition, but Henry Hatton was not among them; and when he +unexpectedly met Lucy's father in the village, he quite forgot that the +man knew nothing at all of his affection for his daughter and his +intention to marry her.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lugur," he cried almost joyfully, "I was looking for you, hoping to +meet you, and here you are! I am so glad!"</p> + +<p>Lugur looked up curiously. People did not usually address him with such +pronounced pleasure, and with Henry Hatton he had not been familiar, or +even friendly. "Good evening, Mr. Hatton," he answered, and he touched +the cap set so straight and positive on his big, dark head with slight +courtesy. "Have you any affair with me, sir?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I have."</p> + +<p>"It is my busy night. I was going home, but——"</p> + +<p>"Allow me to walk with you, Mr. Lugur."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Talking will not hinder. I am at your service, sir."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<a href="images/pg72.jpg"><img src="images/pg72-t.jpg" width="400" alt=""He knew her for his own ... as she stood with her father +at the gate of their little garden."" title="" /></a> +<b>"He knew her for his own ... as she stood with her father +at the gate of their little garden."</b> +</div> + +<p>Then Henry Hatton made his heart speak words which no one could have +doubted. He was a natural orator, and he was moved by an impetuous +longing, that feared nothing but its own defeat. He told Lugur all that +he had told himself, and the <!-- Page 73 --><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73" /><!-- Page 74 --><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74" />warmth and eagerness of his pleading +touched the man deeply, though he did not interrupt him until he said, +"I am going for a year's travel, and I want to marry Lucy, and take her +with me."</p> + +<p>Then he asked, "Have you spoken to my daughter on the subject of +marriage?"</p> + +<p>"I want your permission in order to gain hers."</p> + +<p>"Does she know that you love her?"</p> + +<p>"I have not told her so. I ask that you take me now to your home that I +may speak to her this hour."</p> + +<p>Lugur made no further remark, until they reached the schoolmaster's +house. Then he said, "There is a light, as you may see, in the +right-hand room; Lucy is there. Tell her I gave you permission to call +on her. Leave the door of the room open; I shall be in the room opposite +to it. You may remain an hour if you wish to do so. Leave at once if +your visit troubles Lucy." Then with a cold smile he added, "I am her +only cicerone, you see. She has no mother. You will remember <i>that</i>, Mr. +Hatton." As he spoke, he was looking for his latch-key and using it. +There was a lamp in the hall, and he silently indicated the door of the +room in which Lucy was sitting. At the same moment he opened a door +opposite and struck a light. Seeing Hatton waiting, he continued, "You +have already introduced yourself—go in—the door is open."</p> + +<p>He stood still a moment and listened to the faint flutter of Lucy's +movement, and the joyous note in <!-- Page 75 --><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75" />her voice as she welcomed her lover. +With a sigh, he then turned to a table piled with papers and slates and +apparently gave himself up to the duty they entailed.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Harry had seated himself by the side of Lucy, and was +telling her in the delicious, stumbling patois of love all that was in +his heart. She was bewilderingly beautiful; all his thoughts of her had +been far below this intimate observation. Not that he analyzed or +tabulated her charms—that would have been like pulling a rose to +pieces. He only knew that her every glance and word and movement +revealed a new personal grace. He only felt that her dress so daintily +plain and neat and her simplicity and natural candor were the visible +signs of a clear and limpid nature such as gods and men must love.</p> + +<p>It was easy for Harry to tell her his love and his wishes. She +understood him at once, and with sweet shy glances answered those two or +three questions which are so generally whispered to a woman's heart and +which hold the secret of her life and happiness. In this wonderful +explanation the hour given was all too short, and Harry was just +beginning to plead for an immediate marriage so that they might see the +world together when Lugur entered the room and said it was the hour at +which they usually closed the—</p> + +<p>Harry did not let him finish his request. "Sir," he cried +enthusiastically, "Lucy loves me. She loves <!-- Page 76 --><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76" />me as I love her. I was +just asking her to marry me at once."</p> + +<p>"That is an impossible request, Mr. Hatton. Under no circumstances, none +whatever, would I permit Lucy to marry for at the least a year. Many +things must be determined first. For instance, I must have a +conversation with your mother and with Mr. John Hatton, your elder +brother."</p> + +<p>"You can see them tomorrow, sir—early in the morning—if you would be +so kind to Lucy and myself, we should be very grateful—what time can +you see them tomorrow?"</p> + +<p>"You go too fast, sir. I cannot see either of them tomorrow, nor yet for +many tomorrows."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, Lucy loves me and I love her, and——"</p> + +<p>"Love must learn to wait—to be patient and to be satisfied with hopes. +I am weary, and we will bid you good night."</p> + +<p>There was something so definite and positive in this good night that +Harry felt it to be irresistible, and with an air of disappointment made +his departure. At the outer door Lugur said, "I do not lack sympathy +with you, Mr. Hatton, in your desire to hurry your marriage forward, but +you must understand that there will be necessary delays. If you cannot +bear the strain of waiting and of patiently looking forward, you are +mistaken in the quality of your love and you had better give it up at +once."</p> + +<p>"No, sir. Right or wrong, it is my love, and <!-- Page 77 --><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77" />Lucy is the only woman who +will ever bring joy or sorrow to me."</p> + +<p>Lugur did not answer, but his tall, dark figure standing with his hand +on the half-shut door impressed Harry painfully with the hopelessness of +further argument. He bowed silently, but as he passed through the little +gate the sound of the hastily closed door followed him up the hill to +Hatton Hall. Lugur went into the parlor to look for his daughter; she +had gone to her room. Some feeling of maidenly reserve had led her to +take this step. She never asked herself why or wherefore; she only felt +that it would be good for her to be alone, and the need had been so +urgent that she forgot her father's usual good-night kiss and blessing. +Lugur did not call her, but he felt the omission keenly. It was the +first change; he knew that it prefigured many greater ones, and he was +for the hour stunned by the suddenness of the sorrow he had to face. But +Lugur had a stout heart, a heart made strong and sure by many sufferings +and by one love.</p> + +<p>He sat motionless for an hour or more; his life was concentered in +thought, and thought does not always require physical movement. Indeed, +intense thought on any question is, as a rule, still and steady as a +rock. And Lugur was thinking of the one subject which was the prime +mover of his earthly life—thinking of his daughter and trying to +foresee the fate he had practically chosen for her, wonder<!-- Page 78 --><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78" />ing if in +this matter he had been right or wrong. He had told himself that Lucy +must marry someone, and that Henry Hatton was the best of all her +suitors. Thirsk he hardly took into consideration; but there was young +Bradley and Squire Ashby and the Wesleyan minister, and his own +assistant in the school. He had seen that these men loved her, each in +his own way, but he liked none of them. Weighed in his balance, they +were all wanting.</p> + +<p>Neither was Henry Hatton without fault; but the Hatton family was good +to its root, as far as he knew or could hear tell, and at least he had +been frankly honest both with his daughter and himself. He found +strength and comfort in this reflection, and finally through it reached +the higher attitude, which made him rise to his feet, clasp his hands, +and lift his face with whispered prayer to the Father and Lover of +souls. Leaving Lucy in His care, his heart was at rest, and he lay down +in peace and slept.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V" /><!-- Page 79 --><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79" />CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p class="center">THE HEARTH FIRE</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>He who has drunk of Love's sharp strong wine,<br /></span> +<span>Will drink thereof till death.<br /></span> +<span>Love comes in silence and alone<br /></span> +<span>To meet the elected One.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a chill, misty evening in the last days of September, and John +Hatton was sitting by the fire in the great central hall. He was +thinking of many things, but through all of them the idea of his brother +Harry swept like an obliterating cloud. He was amazed at the hot +impetuous love which had taken possession of the boy—for he still +thought of him as a boy—and wondering how best to direct and control a +passion that had grown like a force of Nature, which it really was. Now +great and fervid emotions are supposed to be the true realization of +life, but they do not, as a rule, soften the nature they invade; very +frequently they render it cruel and indifferent to whomever or whatever +appears to stand in the way of its desires. John realized this fact in +Harry's case. He was going from home for a year, and yet he had never +before been so careless and unconcerned about his home.</p> + +<p><!-- Page 80 --><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80" />It was not a pleasant train of thought, and he was pleased when it was +interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Hatton. "Why, John, my dear," she +said, "I was wondering if you had come home yet. Have you seen Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Not since breakfast."</p> + +<p>"He is with that girl, I suppose; or, if Lugur is at home, he is +watching the house she lives in."</p> + +<p>"He is very much in love. We must make the best of it. I thought he was +in love with Polly Crowther—but it seems not. There is a little +difference between the two girls."</p> + +<p>"There is a big difference between them, and it is all in favor of Polly +Crowther."</p> + +<p>"As far as we can judge at present it is, but—whatever have you in your +basket, mother? It smells like Paradise."</p> + +<p>"I have herbs, John. I have been crushing down my heartache with +work—there's nothing beats work if you're in trouble. I cleaned out my +still room today, and I was carrying there the last pickings of lavender +and rosemary, sage and marjoram, basil and mint. I can tell you, John, +there's a deal of help in some way or other through sweet, pungent +smells. They brightened me up a bit today, they did that!"</p> + +<p>"To be sure they did, mother. They rise naturally to Heaven, and if we +are willing, they carry our thoughts with them."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that, John. My thoughts <!-- Page 81 --><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81" />were not heavenly at all +today, and I hope they stayed where they belonged. Take the tongs, John, +and lift a lump of coal to the fire. I joy to see the blaze. I wouldn't +like Hatton hearthstone to have the ill luck that has just come to Yates +Manor House. You know, John, the fire in their hall has been burning for +nearly two hundred years, never, never allowed to go out. The young +squire always fed it as soon as the old squire went away. It was dead +and cold this morning. Yates is past comforting. He says it bodes all +kinds of misfortunes to them."</p> + +<p>"How long ago is it since Hatton Hall fire was lit?"</p> + +<p>"Well, John, our fire isn't out of counting, like some of the old hearth +fires in Yorkshire. But Hatton fire will never go out, John. It was lit +by a man that will not die, nor his name perish forever. <i>Why-a!</i> John +Wesley kindled the fire on Hatton hearthstone."</p> + +<p>"Say what you can about it, mother. My father has told me the story many +a time, but I can never hear it too often."</p> + +<p>"My dear lad, it was in the days of thy great-grandfather. One afternoon +John Wesley came to Hatton and was met with honor and welcome. And word +was sent far and near, to squire and farmer, hedger and ditcher. And at +eight o'clock the good, great man stood up in Hatton's big barn in their +midst. And he talked heavenly to them of Christ <!-- Page 82 --><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82" />and of the love of God +that was not willing that <i>any</i> should perish, but that <i>all</i> should +come to repentance. Eh, my dear, he talked till men and women were +weeping for joy and hope, and the big barn felt as if it was on fire. +And that night John Wesley sat a long while with the Master of Hatton, +and it was past midnight when they went to bed. But very early in the +morning—before cocklight it was—your great-grandfather came downstairs +to see that Wesley had a cup of tea before his early start onward. And +he found the good man had already lit a fire and infused the tea, and +then and there it was made the law of Hatton household that the fire +John Wesley kindled there must never go out, but be a sign and covenant +of good to the House of Hatton as long as there was a man in Hatton to +carry it on." As she was talking Mrs. Hatton had put her basket of herbs +on a little table, and with glowing cheeks she now bent her head and +inhaled their refreshing odors. John was silent for a few moments, and +profoundly touched by the old homely story; then he said,</p> + +<p>"My dear mother, it may be a son of Harry's that will be so favored. Had +we not better accept his marriage as pleasantly as we can? Lucy Lugur is +a beautiful girl, and that big fervent Welshman who is her father has +doubtless made her the image of all that God and man love in a woman."</p> + +<p>"Maybe Lugur has done his best with her, but women see a long sight +further into women than <!-- Page 83 --><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83" />men do. I'll hev to seek and to find good +reasons for Harry marrying so far below himself before I'll hev this or +that to say or do with such an ill-sorted marriage. Now, John, get ready +for thy dinner; none of us are going to do any waiting for a lad that +thinks he can live on love."</p> + +<p>John rose, smiling, and as he did so said, "Was that the way Methodism +began, mother?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, it was. It began in the lanes and streets and in the barns +and kitchens of old manor houses like Hatton Hall. Your +great-grandfather used to say it was like a loud cry at midnight +startling the sleepy world."</p> + +<p>"It was the most picturesque domestic event of last century, as well as +a religious——"</p> + +<p>"Picturesque! I never thought of Methodism in that way, John; but I'll +tell thee, it took the very heart of Yorkshire and set it to song and +prayer—and cotton-spinning. It stopped a deal of gambling and racing +and dog-and cock-fighting, and chapels and mills grew together all over +the length and breadth of Yorkshire. They did that, and all that! I've +heard my father say so many a time. Make haste now, my lad, dinner will +spoil if tha keeps it waiting. Methodism is like enough to stand +forever."</p> + +<p>In this conversation Mrs. Hatton had dropped easily and naturally into +the Yorkshire speech, as all Yorkshire people do when heart-touched. For +Yorkshire is neither a dialect nor a patois; it is the <!-- Page 84 --><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84" />pure English of +a thousand years ago, the English Chaucer spoke, and which Yorkshire has +preserved in all its purity—especially about the Craven district. Mrs. +Hatton had gone through finishing schools of the latest fashion and she +made no trips in her usual social conversation, unless deeply moved, but +if a little Yorkshire was a fault, it was a very general one, and there +was no interesting conversation without such lapses into English pure +and undefiled and often startlingly picturesque and to the point.</p> + +<p>When John had left her she took her herbs to the still room, laid them +in their places, and removed the large white linen apron which covered +her from head to feet. Then she stood beautifully gowned in black satin +with fine thread-lace cuffs turned back nearly to the elbows and a large +collar of the same lace fastened at the throat with a brooch of gold and +diamonds. Her black hair was fashionably dressed and finished with a +small cap of lace and pink ribbon, and her feet shod in black satin +sandals—a splendid woman of fifty-three years old, showing every grace +at its finest with as yet no sign of decay in any of them.</p> + +<p>John gave her his arm proudly, but he noticed that her face clouded +before she was seated. She would not ask as to Harry's whereabouts, but +she missed his presence, and anger grew in her heart. "He is with that +girl," she thought, and she was sick with anxiety and inquietude. The +roast sirloin was <!-- Page 85 --><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85" />done to the last perfect minute, and the Yorkshire +pudding deliciously brown and light; the table was set without a flaw or +a "forget," and the fire and light just as they should be. There was no +obvious outlet for her annoyance, and it took away her appetite and made +her silent.</p> + +<p>John tried various interesting public topics—topics she had been eager +about; but every allusion to them at this hour was scornfully received. +Then he made a social effort. "I met Miss Phyllis Broadbent today, +mother," he said.</p> + +<p>"Where did you meet her?"</p> + +<p>"She was walking past the mill."</p> + +<p>"Waiting for you—and I'll warrant it."</p> + +<p>"I would not say that much, mother. She was out collecting for the new +cooking-school. She said she wanted to see you very much."</p> + +<p>"And pray what for is she wanting to see me? I am not related to her. I +owe her nothing. I'm not going to give her anything and I don't want to +see her."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she wants your help in this new charity she has on hand. She +was very polite, and sent you all kinds of good wishes. There is no harm +in good wishes, is there?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure of that. If Miss Phyllis gives her good wishes, there's +no harm in them, but—but I don't want to buy them at any price. I'll +tell you what it is, John—"</p> + +<p>But she never told him at that hour, for as she <!-- Page 86 --><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86" />spoke Harry Hatton +opened the door and looked in. "I am wet—dripping wet, mother," he +said. "The mizzling rain turned to a downpour when I was halfway up the +hill, but I will be ready for dinner in twenty minutes."</p> + +<p>"And I am not going to keep beef and pudding on the table twenty minutes +for you, Harry."</p> + +<p>"That's right, mother. I don't deserve it. Send it to the kitchen. I'll +have some partridge and pastry when I come down."</p> + +<p>He was gone before his mother's answer could leave her lips; but there +was a light in her eyes and a tone in her voice that made her a +different woman as she said, "We will not talk of Miss Lugur tonight, +John. There is plenty else to talk about. She is non-essential, and I +believe in the man who said, 'Skip the non-essentials.'"</p> + +<p>This proposal was carried out with all John's wisdom and kindness. He +kept the conversation on the mill or on subjects relating to Harry's +proposed journey until there was a sudden silence which for a moment or +two no one appeared able to break. It was Mrs. Hatton who did so, and +with a woman's instinct she plunged at once into a subject too sacred to +dispute.</p> + +<p>"My dear Harry," she said, in her clear vibrant voice, "my dear lad, +John and I have just been talking of Wesley and how he came to light our +hearthstone. You see, poor Squire Yates' fire went out last night."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 87 --><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87" />Never! Surely never, mother!"</p> + +<p>"It did, my dear. Yates has no son, he is old and forgetful, and his +nephew, who is only a Ramsby, was at Thornton market race, and nobody +thought of the fire, and so out it went. They do say the squire is dying +today. Well, then, Hatton Hall has two sons to guard her hearth, and I +want to tell you, Harry, how our fire was saved not thirty years ago. +Your grandfather was then growing poor and poorer every year, and with a +heavy heart he was think, think, thinking of some plan to save the dear +old home.</p> + +<p>"One morning your father was walking round the Woodleigh meadows, for he +thought if we sold them, and the Woodleigh house, we might put off +further trouble for a while and give Good Fortune time to turn round and +find a way to help us. And as he was walking and thinking Ezra Topham +met him. Now, then, Ezra and your father were chief friends, even from +their boyhood, and their fathers before them good friends, and indeed, +as you know the Yorkshire way in friendship, it might go back of that +and that again. And Ezra said these very words,</p> + +<p>"'Stephen, I'm going to America. My heart and hands were never made for +trading and cotton-spinning. I hev been raised on the land. I hev lived +on the land and eaten and drunk what the land gave me. All my +forefathers did the same, and the noise and smell of these new-fangled +factories takes <!-- Page 88 --><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88" />the heart out of me. I hev a bit of brass left, and +while I hev it I am going to buy me a farm where good land is sold by +the acre and not by feet and inches. Now, then, I'll sell thee my mill, +and its fifty looms, and heppen it may do cheerfully for thee what it +will not do anyway for me. Will tha buy it?'"</p> + +<p>"Poor chap!" interrupted Harry. "I know just how he felt. I am sorry for +him."</p> + +<p>"You needn't be anything of that sort, Harry. He is a big landowner now +and a senator and a millionaire. So save thy pity for someone that needs +it. As I was saying, he offered to sell his mill to thy father and thy +father snapped at the offer, and it was settled there and then as they +stood in Woodleigh meadows."</p> + +<p>"What did father pay for it?" asked Harry.</p> + +<p>"Nay, my dear, I cannot tell thee. Thy father never told his women folk +what he made or what he spent. It wasn't likely. But it was a fair +bargain, no doubt, for when they had settled it, Ezra said, 'Good-bye, +Stephen! I shall not see thee again in this world!' and he pulled out +his watch and father took out his and they changed watches for the +memory of each other. Then they clasped hands and said farewell. But +they wrote to each other at every New Year, and when thy father died +Ezra's watch was sent back to him. Then Ezra knew his friend had no +longer any need to count time. He had gone into Eternity."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 89 --><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89" />It was a good custom, mother," said John. "It is a pity such customs +are dying out."</p> + +<p>"They have to die, John," answered Mrs. Hatton, "for there's no +friendships like that now. People have newspapers and books dirt cheap +and clubs just as cheap, and all kinds of balls to amuse them—they +never feel the need of a friend. Just look at our John. He has lots of +acquaintances, but he does not want to change watches with any man—does +he, now?"</p> + +<p>The young men laughed, and Harry said if they had let friends go they +had not given up sweethearts. Then Mrs. Hatton felt they were on +dangerous ground, and she continued her story at once.</p> + +<p>"Thy father and I had been nearly three years married then, and John was +a baby ten months old. I had not troubled myself much about debt or +poverty or danger for the old Hall. I was happy enough with my little +son, and somehow I felt sure that Stephen Hatton would overget all his +worries and anxieties.</p> + +<p>"Now listen to me! I woke up that night and I judged by the high moon +that it was about midnight. Then I nursed my baby and tucked him snugly +in his cradle. Thy father had not come to his bed but that was no care +to me; he often sat reading or figuring half the night through. It was +Stephen Hatton's way—but suddenly I heard a voice—the voice of a man +praying. That is a sound, my dears, you can never mistake. When the soul +speaks to <!-- Page 90 --><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90" />its God and its Father, it has a different voice to the one a +man uses with his fellowmen, when he talks to them about warps and yarns +and shillings.</p> + +<p>"There was a soft, restful murmur of running water from the little beck +by the rose garden, but far above it rose the voice of a man in strong +urgent prayer. It came from the summer-house among the rose-trees, and +as I listened, I knew it was your father's voice. Then I was frightened. +Perhaps God would not like me to listen to what was only meant for His +ear. I came away from the open window and sat down and waited.</p> + +<p>"In a short time your father came to me. I could see that he had been +praying. I could feel the spirit above the flesh. A great awe was over +him and he was strangely loving and gentle. 'Martha,' he said, 'I am +glad you are awake. I want to tell you something—something wonderful!' +And I sat down by him, and he clasped my hand and said,</p> + +<p>"'I was tired out with figuring and counting, and near midnight I went +out to cool and soothe my brain with the night air. And I suddenly +thought of Jacob on his mysterious journey, meeting the angels of God as +he slept in the wilderness, and wrestling with one for a blessing. And +with the thought the spirit of prayer came to me, and I knelt down in +the summer-house and prayed as I never prayed before in my life.</p> + +<p>"'I told God all my perplexities and anxieties. I <!-- Page 91 --><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91" />asked Him to +straighten them out. I told God that I had bought Ezra's mill, and I +asked Him to be my counselor and helper. I told Him I knew nothing about +buying cotton or spinning cotton. I told Him it was the loss of +everything if I failed. I promised Him to do my best, and I asked Him to +help me to succeed; and, Martha, I solemnly vowed, if He would be with +me and do for me, that His poor and His sick and His little children +should have their share in every pound I made. And I swear to you, +Martha, that I will keep my word, and if I may speak for my sons and my +sons' sons, they also shall never fail in rendering unto God the thing I +have promised. Remind me of it. Say to me, "Stephen, the Lord God is thy +partner. Don't thee defraud Him of one farthing."' And, my dears, when I +promised he kissed me, and my cheeks were wet, and his cheeks were wet, +but we were both of us very sure and happy.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear lads, after that your father walked straight forward to +his place among the biggest cotton-spinners in England. People all said, +Stephen Hatton was a very philanthropic man. He was something better. He +was a just and honest man who never lied, who never defrauded the poor +because they were poor, and who kept his contract with the Lord his God +to the last farthing. I hope to see his sons and his sons' sons keep the +covenant their father made for them. I do that. It would break my heart +if they did not!"</p> + +<p><!-- Page 92 --><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92" />Then John rose to his feet, precisely as he would have done if his +father had entered the room, and he answered, "Mother, I joined hands +with father six years ago on this subject. I will carry out all he +promised if it takes my last penny. We thought then that Harry was too +young to assume such—"</p> + +<p>"I am not too young now, mother, and I wish to join John in every +obligation my father made for himself and us. After this John must tithe +my share just as he tithes his own."</p> + +<p>Then while her heart was overflowing with a religious love and joy in +her sons, Mrs. Hatton rose and bid them good night. "I will go to my +room," she said. "I'll warrant I shall find the very company I want +there."</p> + +<p>"Stay with us, mother," said Harry. "I want to talk to you," and he was +so persistent that it fretted her, and she asked with a touch of +impatience,</p> + +<p>"Harry Hatton, have you yet to learn that when a woman wants to be by +herself she is expecting better company than you can give her?"</p> + +<p>For a few moments the young men were silent. Mrs. Hatton took so much +vitality out of the room with her that the level of the atmosphere was +sensibly disturbed, and had to be readjusted before it was comfortably +useful. John sat still during this period. His sight was inward and +consequently his eyes were dropped. Harry was restless, his sight was +outward and his eyes far-seeking. He was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 93 --><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93" />John," he said, in a tone holding both anger and grief, "John, you +behaved unkindly to me this evening. You either persuaded mother to talk +as she did, or you fell in with her intention and helped her."</p> + +<p>"You might speak plainer, Harry."</p> + +<p>"I will. Both mother and you, either by accident or agreement, prevented +me naming Lucy. Lucy was the only subject I wanted to talk about, and +you prevented me."</p> + +<p>"If I did, it was the wisest and kindest thing I could do."</p> + +<p>"For yourselves—but how about me?"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of you only."</p> + +<p>"Then you must think of Lucy with me."</p> + +<p>"It is not yet a question of <i>must</i>. If it comes to that, both mother +and I will do all the situation calls for. In the interval, we do not +wish to discuss circumstances we may never be compelled to face."</p> + +<p>"Then you are counting on my being drowned at sea, or on Lucy dying or +else marrying someone while I am away."</p> + +<p>John was silent so long that Harry began to enlarge on his last +proposition. "Of course," he continued, "I may be drowned, and if Lucy +was false to me a watery grave of any kind would be welcome; but——"</p> + +<p>"Harry," said John, and he leaned forward and put his hand on his +brother's knee, "Harry, my dear lad, listen to me. I am going to tell +you something <!-- Page 94 --><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94" />I have never told even mother. You have met Lady Penryn, +I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I have seen her three or four times in the hunting field. She rides +horses no one else would mount. She does everything at the danger point. +Lord Thirsk said she had been disappointed in love and wanted to kill +herself."</p> + +<p>"Did you think her handsome?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, no! Far from it! She is blowsy and fat, has far too much +color, and carries too much flesh in spite of the rough way she uses +herself."</p> + +<p>"Harry, eight years ago I was as madly in love with Lady Penryn as you +are now with Lucy Lugur. All that you are suffering I have suffered. +Eight years ago we parted with tears and embraces and the most solemn +promises of faithful love. In four months she was married to Lord +Penryn."</p> + +<p>"Oh, John, what did you do?"</p> + +<p>"I forgot her."</p> + +<p>"How could you?"</p> + +<p>"As soon as I knew she was another man's wife, I did not dare to think +of her, and finding how much <i>thought</i> had to do with this sin, I filled +my thoughts with complex and fatiguing business; in a word, I refused to +think of her in any way.</p> + +<p>"Six years afterwards I met her at a garden party; she was with a crowd +of men and women. She had lost all her power over me. My pulses beat at +their ordinary calm pace and my heart was unmoved."</p> + +<p>"And how did she bear the ordeal?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 95 --><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95" />She said, 'Good afternoon, Mr. Hatton. I think we may have met +before.' A few days ago, we passed each other on the highway between +Hatton and Overton. I lifted my hat, and she pretended not to see me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, John, how could the woman treat you so!"</p> + +<p>"She acted wisely. I thank her for her discretion. Now, Harry, give +yourself and Lucy time to draw back, if either of you find out you have +been mistaken. There are many engagements in life that can be broken and +no great harm done; but a marriage engagement, if once fulfilled, opens +to you the gates of all Futurity, and if there are children it is +irrevocable by any law. No divorce undoes it. You may likely unroll a +long line of posterity who will live when you are forgotten, but whose +actions, for good or evil, will be traced back to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, John, if I am to go away and give myself an opportunity to +draw back, I want to go immediately. Lucy's father takes her to an aunt +in Bradford tomorrow. I think when people grow old, they find a perfect +joy in separating lovers."</p> + +<p>"It is not only your love affairs that want pause and consideration, +Harry. You appear to hate your business as much as you ought to love and +honor it, and I am in hopes that a few weeks or months of nothing to do +will make you glad to come back to the mill. If not—"</p> + +<p>"What then will you do for me, John?"</p> + +<p>"I will buy your share of the mill."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 96 --><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96" />Thank you, John. I know you are good to me, but you cannot tell how +certain I am about Lucy; yes, and the mill, too."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear lad, I believe you tonight; but what I want you to +believe is that tomorrow some new light may shine and you may see your +thoughts on these two subjects in a different way. Just keep your mind +open to whatever you may see or hear that can instruct your intentions. +That is all I ask. If you are willing to be instructed, the Instructor +will come, not perhaps, but certainly."</p> + +<p>Four days after this conversation life in Hatton had broken apart, and +Harry was speeding down the Bay of Biscay and singing the fine old sea +song called after it, to the rhythm and music of its billowy surge. The +motion of the boat, the wind in the sails, the "chanties" of the sailors +as they went about their work, and the evident content and happiness +around him made Harry laugh and sing and toss away his cap and let the +fresh salt wind blow on his hot brain in which he fancied the clack and +clamor of the looms still lingered. He thought that a life at sea, +resting or sailing as the mood took him, would be a perfect life if only +Lucy were with him.</p> + +<p>Sitting at dinner he very pointedly made the absence of women the great +want in this otherwise perfect existence. The captain earnestly and +strongly denied it. "There is nowhere in the world," he said, "where a +woman is less wanted than on a ship. They interfere with happiness and +comfort <!-- Page 97 --><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97" />in every way. If we had a woman on board tonight, she would be +deathly seasick or insanely frightened. A ship with a woman's name is +just as much as any captain can manage. You would be astonished at the +difference a name can make in a ship. When this yacht belonged to +Colonel Brotherton, she was called the <i>Dolphin</i>, and God and angels +know she tried to behave like one, diving and plunging and careering as +if she had fins instead of sails. I was captain of her then and I know +it. Well, your father bought her, and your mother threw a bottle of fine +old port over her bow, and called her the <i>Martha Hatton</i>, and she has +been a different ship ever since—ladylike and respectable, no more +butting of the waves, as if she was a ram; she lifts herself on and over +them and goes curtseying into harbor like a duchess."</p> + +<p>As they talked the wind rose, and the play of its solemn music in the +rigging of the yacht and in the deep bass of the billows was, as Harry +said, "like a chant of High Mass. I heard one for the sailors leaving +Hull last Christmas night," he said, "and I shall never forget it."</p> + +<p>"But you are a Methodist, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that does not hinder! A good Methodist can pray wherever there is +honest prayer going on. John was with me, and I knew by John's face he +was praying. I was but a lad, but I said 'Our Father,' for I knew that +Christ's words could not be wrong wherever they were said."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 98 --><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98" />Well, sir, I hope you will recover your health soon and be able to +return to your business."</p> + +<p>"My health, Captain, is firstrate! I have not come to sea for my health. +Surely to goodness, John did not tell you that story?"</p> + +<p>"No, he did not, and I saw that you were well enough as soon as you came +on board."</p> + +<p>"Well, Captain, I am here to try how a life of pleasure and idleness +will suit me. I hate the mill, I hate its labor and all about it, and +John thought a few months of nothing to do would make me go cheerfully +back to work."</p> + +<p>"Do you think it will?"</p> + +<p>"I say no—downright."</p> + +<p>"And what then, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I really cannot say what I may do. I have a bit of money from my +father, and I know lots of good fellows who seem happy enough without +business or work of any kind. They just amuse themselves or have some +fad of pleasure-making like fast horses."</p> + +<p>"Such men ought never to have been born, sir. They only cumber the mills +and the market-places, the courts of law and the courts of the +church—yes, even the wide spaces of the ocean."</p> + +<p>"Are you not a bit hard, Captain?"</p> + +<p>"No; I am not hard enough. Do you think God sent any man that had his +five senses into this busy world to <i>amuse</i> himself?"</p> + +<p>"Are you preaching me a sermon, Captain?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 99 --><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99" />Nay, not I! Preaching is nothing in my line. But you are on a new +road, sir, and no one can tell where it may lead to, so I'll just remind +you to watch your beginnings; the results will manage themselves."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI" /><!-- Page 100 --><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100" />CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p class="center">LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM</p> + +<p>Love is the only link that binds us to those gone; the only link that +binds us to those who remain. Surely it <i>is</i> the spiritual world—the +abiding kingdom of heaven, not far from any one of us.</p> + +<p>On a day of grace, she came of God's grace to me.</p> + + +<p>One night at the end of October Mrs. Hatton was sitting in the +living-room of the Hall. To say "sitting," however, is barely true, for +she was in that irritably anxious mood which both in men and women +usually runs into motion, and Mrs. Hatton was more frequently off her +chair than on it. She lifted the brass tongs and put a few pieces of +coal on the fire; she walked to the window and looked down the long +vista of trees; she arranged chairs and cushions, that did not need +arranging; she sent away the large tortoise-shell cat that was watching +as eagerly as herself for John's return; and finally her restlessness +found a tongue.</p> + +<p>"What for are you worrying about the lad, Martha Hatton? He's grown up, +you know, and he <!-- Page 101 --><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101" />isn't worrying about you. I'll warrant that some way +or other he's with that Harlow girl, and where's his poor mother then? +Clean forgotten, of course. Sons and daughters, indeed! They are a +bitter pleasure, they are that. Here's John getting on to thirty years +old, and I never knew it in his shoes to run after a girl before—but +there—I'm down-daunted with the changes that will have to come—yes, +that will have to come—well, well, life is just a hurry-push! One +trouble after another—that's John's horse, I know its gallop, and it is +high time he was here, it is that. Besides, it's dribbling rain, and I +wouldn't wonder if it was teeming down in half an hour—and there's Tom +crying for all he's worth—I may as well let him in—come in, Tom!"—and +Tom walked in with an independent air to the rug and lay down by John's +footstool. Indeed, his attitude was impudent enough to warrant Mrs. +Hatton's threat to "turn him out-of-doors, if he did not carry himself +more like a decent cat and less like a blackguard."</p> + +<p>The creature knew well enough what was said to him. He lay prone on the +rug, with his head on his forepaws, watching Mrs. Hatton; and she was a +little uncomfortable and glad when John entered the room. The cat ran to +meet him, but John went straight to his mother's side and said,</p> + +<p>"Dear mother, I want your kiss and blessing tonight. God has given me +the desire of my heart, but I am not satisfied until you share my joy."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 102 --><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102" />That means that God has given you the love and promise of Jane +Harlow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is what I mean. Sit down, mother; I must talk the matter over +with you, or I shall miss some of the sweetest part of it."</p> + +<p>Then she lifted her face and looked at him, and it was easy to see that +Love and the man had met. Never before in all his life had she seen him +so beautiful—his broad, white forehead, his bright contemplative eyes, +his sweet, loving, thoughtful face breaking into kind smiles, his gentle +manner, and his scrupulously refined dress made a picture of manhood +that appealed to her first, as a mother, and secondly, as a woman. And +in her heart an instantaneous change took place. She put her hands on +his shoulders and lifted her face for his kiss.</p> + +<p>"My good son!" she said. "Thy love is my love, and thy joy is my joy! +Sit thee down, John, and tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>So they sat down together on the bright hearth, sat down so close that +John could feel the constant touch of his mother's hand—that white, +firm hand which had guided and comforted him all his life long.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "if anyone had told me this morning that I should be +Jane's betrothed husband before I slept this night, I would hardly have +believed in the possibility. But Love is like a flower; it lies quiet in +its long still growth, and then in some happy hour it bursts into +perfect bloom. I had fin<!-- Page 103 --><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103" />ished my business at Overton and stayed to eat +the market dinner with the spinners. Then in the quiet afternoon I took +my way home, and about a mile above the village I met Jane. I alighted +and took the bridle off Bendigo's neck over my arm, and asked permission +to walk with her. She said she was going to Harlow House, and would be +glad of my company. As we walked she told me they intended to return +there; she said she felt its large rooms with their faded magnificence +to be far more respectable than the little modern villa with its +creaking floors and rattling windows in which they were living."</p> + +<p>"She is quite right," said Mrs. Hatton. "I wonder at them for leaving +the old place. Many a time and oft I have said that."</p> + +<p>"She told me they had been up there a good deal during the past summer +and had enjoyed the peace and solitude of the situation; and the large +silent rooms were full of stories, she said—love stories of the old gay +Regency days. I said something about filling them with love stories of +the present day, and she laughed and said her mother was going there to +farm the land and make some money out of it; and she added with a smile +like sunshine, 'And I am going to try and help her. That accounts for +our walk this afternoon, Mr. Hatton,' and I told her I was that well +pleased with the walk, I cared little for what had caused it.</p> + +<p>"In a short time we came in sight of the big, lonely house and entered +the long neglected park <!-- Page 104 --><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104" />and garden. I noticed at once a splendid belt +of old ash-trees that shielded the house from the north and northeast +winds. I asked Jane if she knew who planted them, and she said she had +heard that the builder of the house planted the trees. Then I told her I +suspected the builder had been a very wise man, and when she asked why I +answered, Because he could hardly have chosen a better tree. The ash +represents some of the finest qualities in human nature.'"</p> + +<p>"That wasn't much like love talk, John."</p> + +<p>"It was the best kind of talk, mother. There had to be some commonplace +conversation to induce that familiarity which made love talk possible. +So I told her how the ash would grow <i>anywhere</i>—even at the seaside, +where all trees lean from the sea—<i>except the ash</i>. Sea or no sea, it +stands straight up. Even the oak will shave up on the side of the wind, +<i>but not the ash</i>. And best of all, the ash bears pruning better than +any other tree. Pruning! That is the great trial both for men and trees, +mother. None of us like it, but the ash-tree makes the best of it."</p> + +<p>"What did she say to all this rigmarole about trees?"</p> + +<p>"She said there was something very human about trees, that she had often +watched them tewing with a great wind, tossing and fretting, but very +seldom giving way to it. And she added, 'They are a great deal more +human than mountains. I really think <!-- Page 105 --><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105" />they talk about people among +themselves. I have heard those ash-trees laughing and whispering +together. Many say that they know when the people who own them are going +to die. Then, on every tree there are some leaves splashed with white. +It was so the year father died. Do you believe in signs, Mr. Hatton?' +she asked.</p> + +<p>"Then, mother, without my knowledge or intention I answered, '<i>Oh, my +dear</i>! The world is full of signs and the man must be deaf and blind +that does not believe in them. I have seen just round Hatton that the +whole bird world is ruled by the signs that the trees hang out.' And she +asked me what they were, and I told her to notice next spring that as +soon as the birch-leaves opened, the pheasant began to crow and the +thrush to sing and the blackbird to whistle; and when the oak-leaves +looked their reddest, and not a day before, the whole tribe of finches +broke into song.</p> + +<p>"Thus talking, mother, and getting very close and friendly with each +other, we passed through the park, and I could not help noticing the +abundance of hares and pheasants. Jane said they had not been molested +since her father's death, but now they were going to send some of them +to market. As we approached the house, an old man came to meet us and I +gave my horse to his care. He had the keys of the house and he opened +the great door for us. The Hall was very high and cold and lonely, but +in a parlor on the right-hand side we found an <!-- Page 106 --><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106" />old woman lighting a +fire which was already blazing merrily. Jane knew her well and she told +her to make us a pot of tea and bring it there. With her own hands she +drew forward a handsome Pembroke table, and then we went together +through the main rooms of the house. They were furnished in the time of +the Regency, Jane said, and it was easy to recognize the rich, ornate +extravagance of that period. In all this conversation, mother, we were +drawing nearer and nearer to each other and I kept in mind that I had +called her once 'my dear' and that she had shown no objection to the +words."</p> + +<p>"I suppose the old man and woman were John Britton and his wife Dinah. I +believe they have charge of the place."</p> + +<p>"I think so. I heard Jane give the man some orders about the glass in +the windows and he spoke to her concerning the bee skeps and the dahlia +bulbs being all right for winter. In half an hour there was a nice +little tea ready for us, and just imagine, mother, how it felt for me to +be sitting there drinking tea with Jane!"</p> + +<p>"Was it a nice tea, John?"</p> + +<p>"Mother, what can I tell you? I wasn't myself at all. I only know that +Dinah came in and out with hot cakes and that Jane put honey on them and +gave them to me with smiles and kind words. It was all wonderful! If I +had been dreaming, I might have felt just as much out of the body."</p> + +<p>"Jane can be very charming, I know that, John."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 107 --><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107" />She was something better than charming, mother; she was kind and just +a little quiet. If she had been laughing and noisy and in one of her +merry moods, it would not have been half so enchanting. It was her sweet +sedateness that gave sureness and reality to the whole affair.</p> + +<p>"We left Harlow House just as the hunting-moon was rising. Its full +yellow splendor was over everything, and Jane looked almost spiritual in +its transfiguring light. Mother, I do not remember what I said, as I +walked with her hand-in-hand through the park. Ask your own heart, +mother. I have no doubt father said the same words to you. There can +only be one language for an emotion so powerful. Wise or foolish, Jane +understood what I said, and in words equally sweet and foolish she gave +me her promise. Oh, mother, it was not altogether the words! It was the +little tremors and coy unfoldings and sweet agitations of love revealing +itself—it wakened in Jane's heart like a wandering rose. And I saw this +awakening of the woman, mother, and it was a wonderful sight."</p> + +<p>"John, you have had an experience that most men miss; be thankful for +it."</p> + +<p>"I am, mother. As long as I live, I will remember it."</p> + +<p>"Did you see Mrs. Harlow?"</p> + +<p>"For a short time only. She was much pleased at her daughter's choice. +She thought our marriage might disarrange some of her own plans, but +<!-- Page 108 --><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108" />she said Jane's happiness came before all other considerations."</p> + +<p>"Well, John, it is more than a few hours since you had that wonderful +tea with cakes and honey. You must have your proper eating, no matter +what comes or goes. What do you say to a slice of cold roast beef and +some apple pie?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, mother, I'm not beef hungry. I'll have the apple pie, and a +pitcher of new milk."</p> + +<p>"And then thou must go to bed and settle thyself with a good, deep +sleep."</p> + +<p>"To be sure, mother. Joy tires a man as trouble does, but a deep sleep +will rest and steady me."</p> + +<p>So John went to the deep, steadying sleep he needed; it was Mrs. Hatton +who watched the midnight hours away in anxious thought and careful +forebodings. She had not worried much about Harry's passion for Lucy +Lugur. She was sure that his Mediterranean trip would introduce him to +girls so much lovelier than Lucy that he would practically have +forgotten her when he returned. Harry had been in love with half a dozen +girls before Lucy. She let Harry slip out of her consideration.</p> + +<p>John's case was different. It was vitally true and intense. She +understood that John must marry or be miserable, and she faced the +situation with brimming eyes and a very heavy heart. She had given John +her loving sympathy, and she would not retract a word of it to him. But +to God she could open her heart and to Him she could tell even those +<!-- Page 109 --><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109" />little things she would not speak of to any human being. She could ask +God to remember that, boy and man, John had stood by her side for nearly +thirty years, and that he was leaving her for a woman who had been +unknown a year ago.</p> + +<p>She could tell God that John's enthusiastic praise of this strange woman +had been hard to bear, and she divined that at least for a time she +might have to share her home with her. She anticipated all the little +offenses she must overlook, all the small unconsidered slights she must +pass by. She knew there would be difficulties and differences in which +youth and beauty would carry the day against truth and justice; and she +sat hour after hour marshaling these trials of her love and temper and +facing them all to their logical end.</p> + +<p>Some women would have said, "Time enough to face a trial when it comes." +No, it is too late then. Trials apprehended are trials defended; and +Martha Hatton knew that she could not trust herself with unexpected +trials. In that case she believed the natural woman would behave herself +naturally, and say the words and do the deeds called forth by the +situation. So Martha in this solemn session was seeking strength to give +up, strength to bear and to forbear, strength to see her household laws +and customs violated, and not go on the aggressive for their sanctity.</p> + +<p>She had a custom that devout women in all ages have naturally followed. +She sat quiet before God <!-- Page 110 --><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110" />and spoke to Him in low, whispered words. It +was not prayer; it was rather the still confidence of one who asks help +and counsel from a Friend, able and willing to give it.</p> + +<p>"Dear God," she said, in a voice that none but God could hear, "give me +good, plain, household understanding—let me keep in mind that there is +no foolishness like falling out—help me to hold my temper well in hand +so that I may put things right as fast as they go wrong. I am jealous +about John—it <i>is</i> hard to give him up. Thou gavest him to me, Thou +knowest. Oh, let nothing that happens unmother me!"</p> + +<p>In this way she sat in the dark and silence and asked and waited for the +answer. And no doubt it came, for about two o'clock she rose up like one +that had been strengthened and went calmly to her rest.</p> + +<p>In the morning the first shock of the coming change was over, the +everyday use and wont of an orderly house restored the feeling of +stability, and Martha told herself things might turn out better than +looked likely. John was just as loving and attentive as he had always +been, and when he asked her to call on Jane Harlow as soon as she could +and give her welcome into the Hatton family, she did not impute his +attentions to any selfish motive.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it was as the Lady of Hatton Manor, rather than as John's +mother, she went to make this necessary call. She dressed with the +great<!-- Page 111 --><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111" />est care, and though she was a good walker, chose to have her +victoria with its pair of white ponies carry her to the village. Jane +met her at the gate of their villa and the few words of necessary +welcome were spoken with a kindness which there was no reason to doubt.</p> + +<p>With Mrs. Harlow Martha had a queer motherly kind of friendship, and it +was really by her advice the ladies had been led to think of a return to +Harlow House. For she saw that the elder woman was unhappy for want of +some interest in life, and she was sure that the domestic instinct, as +well as the instinct for buying and selling, was well developed in her +and only wanted exercise. Indeed, an hour's conversation on the +possibilities of Harlow House, of the money to be made on game, poultry, +eggs, milk, butter, honey, fruit, had roused such good hopes in Mrs. +Harlow's heart that she could hardly wait until the house was put in +order and the necessary servants hired.</p> + +<p>She relied on Martha like a child, and anyone who did that was sure of +her motherly kindness. On this day Martha was particularly glad to turn +the conversation on the subject. She spoke of Jane's marriage and +pointed out what a comfort it would be when she was alone to be making a +bit of money at every turn. "Why!" she cried enthusiastically. "Instead +of moping over the fire with some silly tale of impossible tragedy, you +will have your dairy and poultry to look after. Even in winter they +bring in <!-- Page 112 --><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112" />money, and there's game to send to market every week. Hares +come as fast as they go, and partridge are hardy and plentiful. Why, +there's a little fortune lying loose in Harlow! If I were you, I would +make haste to pick it up."</p> + +<p>This was a safe and encouraging subject, and Mrs. Hatton pressed it for +all it was worth. It was only Jane that saw any objections to their +immediate removal to Harlow House. She said Lord Harlow, as her nearest +relative and the head of their house, had been written to that morning, +being informed of her intended marriage, and she thought no fresh step +ought to be taken until they heard from him.</p> + +<p>But this or that, Martha Hatton spent more than two hours with the +Harlow ladies, and she left them full of hope and enthusiasm. And oh, +how good, how charming, how strengthening is a new hope in life! The two +ladies were ten or twelve degrees higher in moral atmosphere when Mrs. +Hatton left them than they had been before her call. And she went away +laughing and saying pleasant things and the last flirt of her white +kerchief as her victoria turned up the hill was like the flutter of some +glad bird's wing.</p> + +<p>In four days there was a letter of great interest and kindness from Lord +Harlow. He said that he was well acquainted with Mr. John Hatton from +many favorable sources and that the marriage arranged between him and +his niece Jane Harlow was satisfactory in all respects. Further she was +in<!-- Page 113 --><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113" />formed that Lady Harlow requested her company during the present +season in London. It would, she said, be her duty and her pleasure to +assist in getting ready her niece's wedding outfit, but she left her to +fix the day on which she would come to London.</p> + +<p>This letter was a little thunderbolt in the Harlow villa, and Jane said +she could not go away until her mother was settled at Harlow House. John +was much troubled at this early break in his love dream, but Mrs. Harlow +would not listen to any refusal of Lord and Lady Harlow's invitation. +She said Jane had never seen anything of life, and it was only right she +should do so before settling down at Hatton. Besides, her uncle and +aunt's gifts would be very necessary for her wedding outfit. In the +privacy of her own thoughts—yes, and several times to her daughter—she +sighed deeply over this late kindness of Lord and Lady Harlow. She +wished that Jane had been asked before she was engaged; nobody knew in +that case what good fortune might have come. It was such a pity!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harlow's removal was not completed until Christmas was so close at +hand that it was thought best to make it the time for their return home. +It was really John and Mrs. Hatton who managed the whole business of the +removal, and to their efforts the complete comfort—and even beauty—of +the old residence was due. But the days spent in this work were days +full of the sweet intimacies of love. John <!-- Page 114 --><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114" />could never forget one hour +of them, and it added to their charm to see and hear Martha Hatton +everywhere, her hands making beauty and comfort, her voice sounding like +a cheerful song in all the odd corners and queer places of the house.</p> + +<p>Upon the whole it was a wonderful Christmas, but when it was over the +realities of life were to face. Jane was going to London and John +wondered how he was to bear the days without her. In the spring he would +begin to build the house for himself he had long contemplated building. +The plan of it had been fully explained to Jane, and had been approved +by her, and John was resolved to break ground for the foundation as soon +as it was possible to do so. And he calculated somewhat on the diversion +he would find in building a home for the woman he so dearly loved.</p> + +<p>Then the parting came, and John with tears and misgivings sent his +darling into the unknown world of London. It was a great trial to him; +fears and doubts and sad forebodings gave him tragic hours. It was a new +kind of loneliness that he felt; nothing like it had ever come to him +before.</p> + +<p>"My food has lost all flavor," he said to his mother, "and I cannot get +any good sleep. I am very unhappy."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," she answered, "if you don't turn your suffering into +some sort of gain, you'll be a great loser. But if you turn it into +patience or good hope or good temper you will make gain out <!-- Page 115 --><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115" />of it. You +will buy it with a price. You will pay yourself down for it. It will be +yours forever. To be plain with you, John, you have been peevish all day +long. I wouldn't if I were you. Nothing makes life taste so bitter in +your mouth as a peevish temper."</p> + +<p>"Why, mother! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Just what I say, John, and it is not like you. You have no real +trouble. Jane Harlow is having what any girl would call a happy time. +There is nothing wrong in it. She does not forget you, and you must not +make troubles out of nothing, or else real troubles are sure to come. +Surely you know <i>who</i> to go to in your trouble?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! Yes! In anxiety and fear we learn how necessary it was that God +should come to us as man. 'It is our flesh that we seek and that we find +in the Godhead. It is a face like my face that receives me, a Man like +to me that I love and am loved by forever.' I have learned how necessary +the revelation of Christ was in these lonely weeks. I did not know I was +cross. I will mend that."</p> + +<p>"Do, my dear. It isn't like John Hatton to be cross. No, it isn't!"</p> + +<p>Slowly the winter passed. John went several times to London during it +and was kindly and honorably entertained by Lord Harlow during his +visits. Then he saw his Jane in environments that made him a little +anxious about the future. Surrounded by luxury, a belle and favorite in +society, <!-- Page 116 --><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116" />a constant participator in all kinds of amusement and the +recipient of much attention, how would she like to settle down to the +exact monotony of life at Hatton?</p> + +<p>It was well for John that he had none of the Hellenic spirit in him. He +was not tempted to sit down and contemplate his worries. No, the Hebrew +spirit was the nobler one, and he persistently chose it—"get thee forth +into their midst, and whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy +might." John instinctively followed this advice, so that even his +employees noticed his diligence and watchfulness about everything going +on.</p> + +<p>In the earliest days of April when spring was making the world fresh and +lovely and filling the balmy air with song, John thought of the home for +himself that he would build and he determined to see the man who was to +dig the foundation that night. He had just received a letter from Jane, +and she said she was weary of London, and longing to be with her dear +mother at Harlow House, or indeed anywhere that would allow her to see +him every day. A very little kindness went a long way with John and such +words lying near his heart made him wonderfully happy. And because he +was happy he was exceedingly busy. Even Greenwood did not trouble him +with observations; and official conversation was reduced to +monosyllables. People came in and left papers and went out without a +word; and there was a pressure on John to "do <!-- Page 117 --><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117" />whatsoever his hand found +to do with all his might."</p> + +<p>Suddenly the door was flung open with unrestricted force and noise and +John raised his head to reprove the offender. Instead of this, he rose +from his chair and with open arms took his brother to his heart. "Why, +Harry!" he cried. "Mother will be glad to see you. I was thinking of you +while I dressed myself this morning. When did you reach England?"</p> + +<p>"I got to London three days ago."</p> + +<p>"Never! I wouldn't tell mother that! She will think you ought to have +been at Hatton three days ago."</p> + +<p>"I had to look after Lucy, first thing. I found her, John, in Bradford +in a sad state."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you, Harry."</p> + +<p>"Her father had left her with a very strict aunt, and she was made to do +things she never had done—work about the house, you know—and she +looked ill and sorrowful and my heart ached for her. Her father was away +from her, and she thought I had forgotten her. The dear little woman! I +married her the next day."</p> + +<p>"Henry Hatton! What are you saying?"</p> + +<p>"I married there and then, as it were. It was my duty to do so."</p> + +<p>"It was your will. There was no duty in it."</p> + +<p>"Call it what you like, John. She is now my wife and I expect you and +mother will remember this."</p> + +<p>"You are asking too much of mother."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 118 --><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118" />You said you would stand by me in this matter."</p> + +<p>"I thought you would behave with some consideration for others. Is it +right for you to expect mother to take an entire stranger into her home, +a girl for whom she had no liking? Why should mother do this?"</p> + +<p>"Because I love the girl."</p> + +<p>"You are shamelessly selfish, and a girl who could make a mother's love +for you a pretext for entering Hatton Hall as her right is not a nice +girl."</p> + +<p>"Lucy has done nothing of the kind. She is satisfied in the hotel. Do +you want me to stay at the hotel?"</p> + +<p>"I should feel very much hurt if you did."</p> + +<p>"But I shall stay where my wife stays."</p> + +<p>"You had better go and see mother. What she does I will second."</p> + +<p>"John, can you settle the matter of the mill now? I want no more to do +with it and you know you promised to buy my share in that case."</p> + +<p>"I want to build my home. I cannot build and buy at the same time."</p> + +<p>"Why need you build? There is Hatton Hall for you, and mother will not +object to the nobly born Jane Harlow."</p> + +<p>"We will not talk of Miss Harlow. Harry, my dear, dear brother, you have +come home to turn everything upside down. Let me have a little time to +think. Go and see mother. I will talk to you <!-- Page 119 --><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119" />immediately afterwards. +Where did you leave the yacht?"</p> + +<p>"At London. I disliked Captain Cook. I felt as if I was with a tutor of +some sort all the time. He said he would take the yacht to her wharf at +Whitby and then write to you. You ought to have a letter today. I don't +think you are very glad to see me, John."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry, you have married that girl, quite regardless of how your +marriage would affect your family! You ought to have given us some time +to prepare ourselves for such a change."</p> + +<p>"Lucy was in trouble, and I could not bear to see her in trouble."</p> + +<p>"Well, go and see mother. Perhaps you can bear mother's trouble more +easily."</p> + +<p>"I hope mother will be kinder to me than you have been. John, I have no +money. Let me have a thousand pounds till we settle about the mill."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what you are asking, Harry? A thousand pounds would run +Hatton Hall for a year."</p> + +<p>"I have to live decently, I suppose."</p> + +<p>With these words he left the mill and went at once to the Hall. Mrs. +Hatton was in the garden, tying up some straying branches of +honeysuckle. At her feet were great masses of snowdrops tall and white +among moss and ivy, and the brown earthen beds around were cloth of gold +with splendid crocus flowers; but beyond these things, she saw her son +<!-- Page 120 --><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120" />as soon as he reached the gate. And she called him by his name full and +heartily and stood with open arms to receive him.</p> + +<p>Harry plunged at once into his dilemma. "Mother! Mother!" he cried, +taking both her hands in his. "Mother, John is angry with me, but you +will stand by me, I know you will. It is about Lucy, mother. I found her +in great trouble, and I took her out of it. Don't say I did wrong, +mother. Stand by me—you always have done so."</p> + +<p>"You took her out of it! Do you mean that you married her?"</p> + +<p>"How else could I help her? She is my wife now, and I will take care +that no one troubles her. May I bring her to see you, mother?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hatton stood looking at Harry. It was difficult for her to take in +and believe what she heard, but in a few moments she said,</p> + +<p>"Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"At the little hotel in the village."</p> + +<p>"You must bring her here at once. She ought never to have gone to the +hotel. Dear me! What will people say?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, mother."</p> + +<p>"Take my victoria. James is in the stable and he will drive it. Go for +your wife at once. She must come to your home."</p> + +<p>"And you will try and love her for my sake, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay! If I can't love the lass for her own <!-- Page 121 --><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121" />sake, I'll never love +her for thy sake. But if she is thy wife, she will get all the respect +due thy wife. If she can win more, she'll get more, and that is all +there is to it."</p> + +<p>With this concession Harry had to be satisfied. He brought his wife to +the Hall and Mrs. Hatton met her with punctilious courtesy. She gave her +the best guest room and sent her own maid to help her dress. The little +woman was almost frightened by the ceremonious nature of her reception. +But when John came home he called her "Lucy," and tempered by many +little acts of brotherly kindness, that extreme politeness which is +harder to bear than hard words.</p> + +<p>And as John and his mother sat alone and unhappy after Harry and his +wife had bid them good night, John attempted to comfort his mother. "You +carried yourself bravely and kindly, mother," he said, "but I see that +you suffer. What do you think of her?"</p> + +<p>"She is pretty and docile, but she isn't like a mother of Hatton men. +Look at the pictured women in the corridor upstairs. They were born to +breed and to suckle men of brain and muscles like yourself, John. The +children of little women are apt to be little in some way or other. Lucy +does not look motherly, but Harry is taken up with her. We must make the +best of the match, John, and don't let the trial of their stay here be +too long. Get them away as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 122 --><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122" />Harry says that he has decided to make his home in or near London."</p> + +<p>"Then he is going to leave the mill?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What is he thinking of?"</p> + +<p>"Music or art. He has no settled plans. He says he must settle his home +first."</p> + +<p>"Well, when Harry can give up thee and me for that girl, we need not +think much of ourselves. I feel a bit humiliated by being put below +her."</p> + +<p>"Don't look at it in that way, mother."</p> + +<p>"Nay, but I can't help it. I wonder wherever Harry got his fool notions. +He was brought up in the mill and for the mill, and I've always heard +say that as the twig is bent the tree is inclined."</p> + +<p>"That is only a half-truth, mother. You have the nature of the tree to +reckon with. You may train a willow-tree all you like but you will never +make it an oak or an ash. Here is Harry who has been trained for a +cotton-spinner turns back on us and says he will be an artist or a +singer, and what can we do about it? It is past curing or altering now."</p> + +<p>But though the late owner of Hatton Mill had left the clearest +instructions concerning its relation to his two sons, the matter was not +easily settled. He had tied both of them so clearly down to his will in +the matter that it was found impossible to alter a tittle of his +directions. Practically it amounted to a just division of whatever the +mill had <!-- Page 123 --><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123" />made after the tithe for charities had been first deducted. It +gave John a positive right to govern the mill, to decide all disputes, +and to stand in his place as master. It gave to Henry the same financial +standing as his brother, but strictly denied to either son who deserted +the mill any sum of larger amount than five thousand pounds; "to be made +in one payment, and not a shilling more." A codicil, however, three +years later, permitted one brother to buy the other out at a price to be +settled by three large cotton-spinners who had long been friends of the +Hatton family. These directions appeared to be plain enough but there +was delay after delay in bringing the matter to a finish. It was nearly +a month before Harry had his five thousand pounds in his pocketbook, and +during this time he made no progress with his mother. She thought him +selfish and indifferent about the mill and his family. In fact, Harry +was at that time a very much married man, and though John was capable of +considering the value of this affection, John's mother was not. John +looked on it as a safeguard for the future. John's mother saw it only as +a marked and offensive detail of the present. Lucy did nothing to help +the situation. In spite of the attention paid her, she knew that she was +unwelcome. "Your people do not like me, Harry," she complained; and +Harry said some unkind things concerning his people in reply.</p> + +<p>So the parting was cool and constrained, and Harry went off with his +bride and his five thousand <!-- Page 124 --><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124" />pounds, caring little at that time for any +other consideration.</p> + +<p>"He will come to himself soon, mother," said John. "It isn't worth while +to fret about him."</p> + +<p>"I never waste anything, John, least of all love and tears. I can learn +to do without, as well as other mothers."</p> + +<p>But it was a hard trial, and her tired eyes and weary manner showed it. +John was not able to make any excuse she would listen to about Harry's +marriage. Its hurried and almost clandestine character deeply offended +her; and the young wife during her visit had foolishly made a point of +exhibiting her power over her husband, while both of them seemed +possessed by that egotistical spirit which insists on their whole world +seeing how vastly superior their love is to any other love that ever had +been. Undoubtedly the young couple were offensive to everyone, and Mrs. +Hatton said they had proved to her perfect satisfaction the propriety +and even the necessity for the retirement of newly married people to +some secluded spot for their honeymoon.</p> + +<p>Soon after their departure Jane Harlow returned. She came home attended +by the rumor of her triumphs and enriched by a splendid wardrobe and +many fine pieces of jewelry. She told modestly enough the story of the +life she had been leading, and Mrs. Hatton was intensely interested in +it.</p> + +<p>"Jane Harlow is a woman of a thousand parts, and you have chosen a wife +to bring you friendship <!-- Page 125 --><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125" />and honor," she said to John. "Dear knows one +cannot weary in her company. She has an opinion on every subject."</p> + +<p>"She has been in highly cultivated society and it has improved her a +great deal, mother. Perhaps if Lucy had had the same opportunity she +would have been equally benefited."</p> + +<p>"I beg to remind you, John, of what you said about training trees—'the +nature of the tree has to be taken into account'; no amount of training +could make an oak out of a willow."</p> + +<p>"True, mother. Yet there are people who would prefer the willow to the +oak."</p> + +<p>"And you couldn't help such people, now could you? You might be sorry +for them. But there—what could you do?"</p> + +<p>And John said softly,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"What can we do o'er whom the unbeholden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hangs in a night, wherewith we dare not cope;<br /></span> +<span>What but look sunward, and with faces golden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speak to each other softly of our Hope?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII" /><!-- Page 126 --><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126" />CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p class="center">SHOCK AND SORROW</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>There's not a bonnie flower that springs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By fountain, shaw, or green,<br /></span> +<span>There's not a bonnie bird that sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But minds me of my Jean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Only a child of Nature's rarest making,<br /></span> +<span>Wistful and sweet—and with a heart for breaking.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Life is a great school and its lessons go on continually. Now and then +perhaps we have a vacation—a period in which all appears to be at +rest—but in this very placidity there are often bred the storms that +are to trouble and perhaps renew us. For some time after the departure +of Harry and his bride, John's life appeared to flow in a smooth but +busy routine. Between the mill and Harlow House, he found the days all +too short for the love and business with which they were filled. And +Mrs. Hatton missed greatly the happy and confidential conversations that +had hitherto made her life with her son so intimate and so affectionate.</p> + +<p>Early in the spring John began the building of his own home, and this +necessarily required some daily attention, especially as he had designs +in his <!-- Page 127 --><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127" />mind which were unusual to the local builders, and which seemed +to them well worthy of being quietly passed over. For the house was +characteristic of the man and the man was not of a common type.</p> + +<p>There was nothing small or mean about John's house. The hill on which it +stood was the highest ground on the Hatton Manor. It commanded a wide +vista of meadows, interspersed with peacefully flowing waters, until the +horizon on every hand was closed by ranges of lofty mountains. On this +hill the house stood broadly facing the east. It was a large, square +Georgian mansion, built of some white stone found in Yorkshire. Its +rooms were of extraordinary size and very lofty, their windows being +wide and high and numerous. Its corridors were like streets, its +stairways broad enough for four people to ascend them abreast. Light, +air, space were throughout its distinguishing qualities, and its +furnishings were not only very handsome, they had in a special manner +that honest size, solidity, and breadth which make English household +belongings so comfortable and satisfactory. The grounds were full of +handsome forest trees and wonderful grassy glades and just around the +house the soil had been enriched and planted with shrubbery and flowers.</p> + +<p>Its great proportions in every respect suited both John Hatton and the +woman for whom it was built. Both of them appeared to gain a positive +majesty of appearance in the splendid reaches of its immense rooms. +Certainly they would have dwarfed small <!-- Page 128 --><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128" />people, but John and Jane +Hatton were large enough to appropriate and become a part of their +surroundings. John felt that he had realized his long, long dream of a +modern home, and Jane knew that its spacious, handsome rooms would give +to her queenly figure and walk the space and background that was most +charming and effective.</p> + +<p>In about a year after Harry's marriage it was completely finished and +furnished; then John Hatton and Jane Harlow were married in London at +Lord Harlow's residence. Harry's invitation did not include his wife, +and John explained that it was impossible for him to interfere about the +people Lord and Lady Harlow invited to their house or did not invite. "I +wish the affair was over," he exclaimed, "for no matter who is there I +shall miss you, Harry."</p> + +<p>"And Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but I will tell you what will be far better. Suppose you and Lucy +run over to Paris and see the new paintings in the Salon—and all the +other sights?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot afford it, John."</p> + +<p>"The affording is my business. I will find the guineas, Harry. You know +that. And Lucy will not have to spend them in useless extravagant +dress."</p> + +<p>"All right, John! You are a good brother, and you know how to heal a +slight."</p> + +<p>So John's marriage took place without his <!-- Page 129 --><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129" />brother's presence, and John +missed him and had a heartache about it. Subsequently he told his mother +so, upon which the Lady of Hatton Manor answered,</p> + +<p>"Harry managed very well to do without either mother or brother at his +own wedding. You know that, John; and I was none sorry to miss him at +yours. When you have to take a person you love with a person you don't +love, it is like taking a spoonful of bitterness with a spoonful of +jelly after it. I never could tell which spoonful I hated the worst."</p> + +<p>After the marriage John and his wife came directly to their own home. +John could not leave his mill and his business, and Lord and Lady Harlow +considered his resolution a wise proceeding. Jane was also praised for +her ready agreement to her husband's business exigencies. But really the +omission of the customary wedding-journey gave Jane no disappointment. +To take possession of her splendid home, to assume the social +distinction it gave her, and to be near to the mother she idolized were +three great compensations, superseding abundantly the doubtful pleasures +of railway travel and sightseeing.</p> + +<p>Jane's mother had caused a pleasant surprise at her daughter's wedding, +for the past year's efforts at Harlow House had amply proved Mrs. +Harlow's executive abilities in its profitable management; and she was +so sure of this future result that she <!-- Page 130 --><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130" />did not hesitate to buy a rich +and fashionable wedding-garment or to bring to the light once more the +beautiful pearls she had worn at her own bridal. There were indeed few +ladies at John's wedding more effectively gowned than his +mother-in-law—<i>except his mother</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hatton's splendid health set off her splendid beauty, fine +carriage, and sumptuous gown of silver-gray brocaded satin, emphasized +by sapphires of great luster and value.</p> + +<p>"I hevn't worn them since father died, thou knowest," she had said to +John the day before the wedding, as she stood before him with the gems +in her hands, "but tomorrow he will expect me to wear them both for his +sake and thine, thou dear, dear lad!" And she looked up at her son and +down at the jewels and her eyes were dim with tears. Presently she +continued, "Jane was here this afternoon. I dare say thou art going to +the train with her tonight, and may be she will tell thee what she is +going to wear. She didn't offer to tell me, and I wouldn't ask her—not +I!"</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"I thought she happen might be a bit superstitious about talking of her +wedding fineries. You can talk the luck out of anything, you know, +John."</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay, mother!"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, you can. <i>Why-a!</i> Your father never spoke of any business +he wanted to come to a surety, and if I asked him about an offer or a +con<!-- Page 131 --><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131" />tract he would answer, 'Be quiet, Martha, dost ta want to talk it to +death?'"</p> + +<p>"I will keep mind of that, mother."</p> + +<p>"Happen it will be worth thy while to do so."</p> + +<p>"Father was a shrewd man."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, he left one son able to best him if so inclined."</p> + +<p>"You will look most handsome, mother. I shall be proud of you. There +will be none like you at the London house."</p> + +<p>"I think that is likely, John. Jane's mother will look middling well, +but I shall be a bit beyond her. She showed me her gown, and her pearls. +They were not bad, but they might hev been better—so they might!"</p> + +<p>It was thus John Hatton's marriage came off. There was a dull, chill +service in St. Margaret's, every word of which was sacred to John, a gay +wedding-breakfast, and a laughing crowd from whom the bride and +bridegroom stole away, reaching their own home late in the afternoon. +They were as quiet there as if they had gone into a wilderness. Mrs. +Hatton remained in London for two weeks, with an old school companion, +and Mrs. Harlow was hospitably entertained by Lord and Lady Harlow, who +thoroughly respected her successful efforts to turn Harlow House into +more than a respectable living.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she was a little proud of her work, and a little tiresome in +explaining her methods, but that <!-- Page 132 --><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132" />was a transient trial to be easily +looked over, seeing that its infliction was limited to a short period. +On the whole she was praised and pleased, and she told Mrs. Hatton when +they met again, that it was the first time her noble brother-in-law had +ever treated her with kindness and respect.</p> + +<p>So the days grew to months, and the months to more than four years, and +the world believed that all was prosperous with the Hattons. Perhaps in +Harry Hatton's case expectations had been a little bettered by +realities. At least in a great measure he had realized the things he had +so passionately desired when he resigned his share in the mill and gave +life up to love, music, and painting. He certainly possessed one of +those wonderful West Riding voices, whose power and sweetness leaves an +abiding echo in memory. And in London he had found such good teachers +and good opportunities that John was now constantly receiving programs +of musical entertainments in which Harry Hatton had a prominent part. +Indeed, John had gone specially to the last Leeds musical event, and had +been greatly delighted with the part assigned Harry and the way in which +he rendered it.</p> + +<p>Afterwards he described to Harry's mother the popularity of her son. +"Why, mother," he said, "the big audience were most enthusiastic when +Harry stepped forward. He looked so handsome and his smile and bearing +were so charming, that you could not wonder the people broke into cheers +<!-- Page 133 --><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133" />and bravos. I was as enthusiastic as anyone present. And he sang, yes, +he sang like an angel. Upon my word, mother, one could not expect a soul +who had such music in it to be silent."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know where he got the music. His father never sang a +note that I know of, and though I could sing a cradle song when a crying +child needed it, nobody ever offered me money to do it; and your father +has said more than often when so singing, '<i>Be quiet, Martha</i>!' So his +father and mother did not give Harry Hatton any such foolish notions and +ways."</p> + +<p>"Every good gift is from God, mother, and we ought not to belittle them, +ought we, now?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know, John. I've been brought up with cotton-spinners, +and it is little they praise, if it be not good yarns and warps and +wefts and big factories with high, high chimneys."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, cotton-spinners are mostly very fine singers. You know +that, mother."</p> + +<p>"To be sure, but they don't make a business of singing, not they, +indeed! They work while they sing. But to see a strapping young man in +evening dress or in some other queer make of clothes, step forward +before a crowd and throw about his arms and throw up his eyes and sing +like nothing that was ever heard in church or chapel is a stunningly +silly sight, John. I saw and heard a lot of such rubbishy singing and +dressing when I was in London."</p> + +<p>"Still, I think we ought to be proud of Harry."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 134 --><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134" />Such nonsense! I'm more than a bit ashamed of him. I am that! You +can't respect people who <i>amuse</i> you, like you do men who put their +hands to the world's daily work. No, you can not, John. I would have +been better suited if Harry had stuck to his painting business. He could +have done that in his own house, shut up and quiet like; but when I was +in London I saw pictures of Henry Hatton, of our Harry, mind ye, singing +in all makes and manners of fool dresses. I hope to goodness his father +does not know a Hatton man is exhibiting himself to gentle and simple in +such disreputable clothes. I have been wondering your father hasn't been +to see me about it."</p> + +<p>"To see you, mother?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure. If there's anything wrong at Hatton, he generally comes and +gives me his mind on the same."</p> + +<p>"You mean that you dream he does?"</p> + +<p>"You may as well call it 'dreaming' as anything else. The name you give +it doesn't matter, does it?"</p> + +<p>"Not much, mother. I brought home with me two of Harry's paintings. They +are fine copies of famous pictures. I gave him fifty pounds for them and +thought them cheap at that."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, if I was buying Harry's work, I would not count on its +cheapness. I'll be bound that you bought them as an excuse for giving +him money. I would buy or give away, one or the other. <!-- Page 135 --><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135" />I hate +make-believes—I do that!—of all kinds and for all reasons, good or +bad."</p> + +<p>"There was nothing like pretending in the transaction, mother. The +pictures were good, I paid their value and no more or less, because they +were only copies. Harry's technique is perfect, and his feeling about +color and atmosphere wonderful, but he cannot create a picture. He has +not the imagination. I am sorry for it."</p> + +<p>"Be sorry if you like, John. I have a poor opinion of imagination, +except in religious matters. However, Harry has chosen his own way: I +don't approve of it. I won't praise him, and I won't quarrel with him. +You can do as you like. One thing is sure—he is more than good enough +for the girl he married."</p> + +<p>"He is very fond of her and I do believe she keeps Harry straight. He +does just as she thinks best about most things."</p> + +<p>"Does he? Then he ought to be ashamed of himself to take orders from +her. Many times he sneaked round my orders and even his father's, and +then to humble a Hatton to obey the orders of a poor Welsh girl! It's a +crying shame! It angers me, John! It would anger anyone, it would. You +can't say different, John."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can, mother. I assure you that Lucy is just the wife Harry +needs. And they have two fine little lads. I wish the eldest—called +Stephen after my father—was my own son. I do that!"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 136 --><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136" />Nay, my dear. There's no need for such a wish. There are sons and +daughters for Hatton, no doubt of that. Thy little Martha is very dear +to my heart."</p> + +<p>"To mine also, mother."</p> + +<p>"Then be thankful—and patient. I'm going upstairs to get a letter I +want posted. Will you take it to the mail for me?"</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Hatton left the room and John looked wistfully after her. "It +is always so," he thought. "If I name children, she goes. What does it +mean?"</p> + +<p>He looked inquiringly into his mother's face when she returned and she +smiled cheerfully back, but it was with the face of an angry woman she +watched him to the gate, muttering words she would not have spoken had +there been anyone to hear them nearby. And John's attitude was one of +uncertain trouble. He carried himself intentionally with a lofty +bearing, but in spite of all his efforts to appear beyond care, he was +evidently in the grip of some unknown sorrow.</p> + +<p>That it was unknown was in a large degree the core of his anxiety. He +had noticed for a long time that his mother was apparently very +unsympathetic when his wife was suffering from violent attacks of +sickness which made her physician tread softly and look grave, and that +even Jane's mother, though she nursed her daughter carefully, was +reticent and exceedingly nervous. <i>What could it mean?</i></p> + +<p><!-- Page 137 --><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137" />He had just passed through an experience of this kind, and as he +thought of Jane and her suffering the hurry of anxious love made him +quicken his steps and he went rapidly home, so rapidly that he forgot +the letter with which he had been intrusted. He knew by the light in +Jane's room that she was awake and he hastened there. She was evidently +watching and listening for his coming, for as soon as the door was +partly open, she half-rose from the couch on which she was lying and +stretched out her arms to him.</p> + +<p>In an instant he was kneeling at her side. "My darling," he whispered. +"My darling! Are you better?"</p> + +<p>"I am quite out of pain, John, only a little weak. In a few days I shall +be all right." But John, looking into the white face that had once been +so radiant, only faintly admitted the promise of a few days putting all +right.</p> + +<p>"I have been lonely today dear, so lonely! My mother did not come, and +Mother Hatton has not even sent to ask whether I was alive or dead."</p> + +<p>"Yet she is very unhappy about your condition. Jane, my darling Jane! +What is it that induces these attacks? Does your medical man know?"</p> + +<p>"If so, he does not tell me. I am a little to blame this time, John. On +the afternoon I was taken sick, I went in the carriage to the village. I +ought not to have gone. I was far from feeling well, and as soon as I +reached the market-house, I met two men <!-- Page 138 --><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138" />helping a wounded girl to the +hospital. Do you remember, John?"</p> + +<p>"I remember. Her hand was caught in some machinery and torn a good deal. +I sent the men with her to the village."</p> + +<p>"While I was speaking to her, Mrs. Mark Levy drove up. She insisted on +taking what she called 'the poor victim' to the hospital in her +carriage; and before I could interfere the two men lifted the girl into +Mrs. Levy's carriage and they were off like lightning without a word to +me. I was so angry. I turned sick and faint and was obliged to come home +as quickly as possible and send for Dr. Sewell."</p> + +<p>"O Jane! Why did you care?"</p> + +<p>"I was shocked by that woman's interference."</p> + +<p>"She meant it kindly. I suppose——"</p> + +<p>"But what right had she to meddle with your hands? If the girl required +to be taken in a carriage to the hospital, there was my carriage. I +think that incident helped to make me sick."</p> + +<p>"You should have lifted the injured girl at once, Jane, and then Mrs. +Levy would have had no opportunity to take your place."</p> + +<p>"She is such an interfering woman. Her fingers are in everyone's way and +really, John, she has got the charitable affairs of Hatton town in her +hands. The girls' clubs rely on her for everything, and she gives +without any consideration, John. How much is her husband worth? Is he +very rich? She ap<!-- Page 139 --><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139" />pears to have no end of money—and John, dear, she is +always in my way. I don't know how she manages it, but she is. I wish +you would get them out of our town, dear."</p> + +<p>"I cannot, Jane. Levy is a large property-owner. He is not indigent. He +is not lazy. He is not in any way immoral. He has become a large +taxpayer, and has of late political aspirations. He annoys me +frequently, but money is now everything. And he has money—plenty of it. +Until he came, we were the richest family in Hatton. Father and I have +really built Hatton. We have spent thousands of pounds in making it a +model community, but we have received little gratitude. I think, Jane, +that men have more respect for those who <i>make</i> money, than for those +who <i>give it away</i>."</p> + +<p>"You don't like Mr. Levy, do you, John?"</p> + +<p>"He annoys me very frequently. It is not easy to like people who do +that."</p> + +<p>"His wife annoys me. Cannot we make up some plan to put them down a peg +or two?"</p> + +<p>"We can do nothing against them, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Why, John?"</p> + +<p>"Because 'God beholdeth mischief and spite to requite it.' And after +all, these Levys are only trying to win public respect and that by +perfectly honorable means. True they are pushing, but no one can push +Yorkshire men and women beyond their own opinions and their own +interests. In the meantime, they are helpful to the town."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 140 --><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140" />Mrs. Swale, of Woodleigh, told me she had heard that Mrs. Levy came +from the Lake District and is a Christian. Do you believe that, John?"</p> + +<p>"Not for a minute. Mr. Levy is a Hebrew of long and honorable descent. +His family came from Spain to England in the time of Henry the Seventh. +Such Jews never marry Christian women. I do not believe either love or +money could make them do it. I have no doubt that Mrs. Levy has a family +record as ancient and as honorable as her husband's. She is a +kind-hearted woman and really handsome. She has four beautiful sons. I +tell you, Jane, when she stands in the midst of them she is a sight +worth looking at."</p> + +<p>Jane laughed scornfully, and Jane's husband continued with decided +emotion, "Yes, indeed, when you see Mrs. Levy with her four sons you see +a woman in her noblest attribute. You see her as <i>the mother of men</i>."</p> + +<p>"What is Mr. Levy's business? Who knows?"</p> + +<p>"Everyone in Hatton knows that he is an importer of Spanish wines and +fine tobaccos."</p> + +<p>"Oh! The ladies generally thought he was a money lender."</p> + +<p>"He may be—it is not unlikely."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Swale said so."</p> + +<p>"I dare say Mrs. Swale's husband knows."</p> + +<p>"Well, John, the Levys cannot touch me. The Harlows have been in +Yorkshire before the Romans <!-- Page 141 --><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141" />came and my family is not only old, it is +noble, or John Hatton would not have married me."</p> + +<p>"John Hatton would have married you if you had been a beggar-maid. There +is no woman in the world to him, but his own sweet Jane." Then Jane took +his hands and kissed them, and there was a few moments of most eloquent +silence—a silence just touched with happy tears.</p> + +<p>John spoke first. "Jane, my darling," he said, "do you think a few +months in the south would do you good? If you could lie out in the warm +breeze and the sunshine—if you were free of all these little social +worries—if you took your mother with you—if you——"</p> + +<p>"John, my dear one, I have an invitation from Lady Harlow to spend a few +weeks with her. Surrey is much warmer than Yorkshire. I might go there."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered John, but his voice was reluctant and dissenting, and in +a few moments he said, "There is little Martha—could you take her with +you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear me! What would be the good of my going away to rest, if I drag +a child with me? You know Martha is spoiled and wilful."</p> + +<p>"Is she? I am sorry to hear that. She would, however, have her maid, and +she is now nearly three years old."</p> + +<p>"It would be useless for me to go away, unless I go alone. I suggested +Surrey because I thought you could come to see me every Saturday."</p> + +<p><!-- Page 142 --><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142" />The little compliment pleased John, and he answered, "You shall do just +as you wish, darling! I would give up everything to see you look as you +used to look."</p> + +<p>"You are always harping on that one string, John. It is only four years +since we were married. Have I become an old woman in four years?"</p> + +<p>"No, but you have become a sick woman. I want you to be well and +strong."</p> + +<p>Then she lay back on her pillows, and as she closed her eyes some quick, +hot tears were on her white face, and John kissed them away, and with a +troubled heart, uncertain and unhappy, he bid her good night.</p> + +<p>Nothing in the interview had comforted or enlightened him, but there was +that measure of the Divine spirit in John Hatton, which enabled him to +<i>rise above</i> what he could not <i>go through</i>. He had found even from his +boyhood that for the chasms of life wings had been provided and that he +could mount heaven-high by such help and bring back strength for every +hour of need. And he was comforted by the word that came to him, and he +fell asleep to the little antiphony he held with his own soul:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>O Lord how happy is the time—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>When from my weariness I climb,<br /></span> +<span>Close to thy tender breast.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><!-- Page 143 --><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143" /> +<span>For there abides a peace of Thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man did not make, and cannot mar.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Perfect I call Thy plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I trust what Thou shalt do.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And in some way and through some intelligence he was counseled as he +slept, in two words—<i>Mark Sewell</i>. And he wondered that he had not +thought of his wife's physician before. Yet there was little need to +wonder. He was always at the mill when Doctor Sewell paid his visit, and +he took simply and reliably whatever Mrs. Harlow and Jane confided to +him. But when he awoke in the misty daylight, the echo of the two words +he had heard was still clear and positive in his mind; consequently he +went as soon as possible to Dr. Sewell's office.</p> + +<p>The Doctor met him as if he was an expected client. "You are come at +last, Hatton," he said. "I have been expecting you for a long time."</p> + +<p>"Then you know what instruction I have come for?"</p> + +<p>"I should say I do."</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with my wife's health?"</p> + +<p>"I ought to send you to her for that information. She can tell you +better than I can."</p> + +<p>"Sewell, what do you mean? Speak straight."</p> + +<p>"Hatton, there are some women who love children and who will even risk +social honor for maternity. There are other women who hate mother<!-- Page 144 --><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144" />hood +and who will constantly risk suicide rather than permit it. Mrs. Hatton +belongs to the latter class."</p> + +<p>John was stupefied at these words. He could only look into the Doctor's +face and try to assimilate their meaning. For they fell upon his ears as +if each syllable was a blow and he could not gather them together.</p> + +<p>"My wife! Jane—do you mean?" and he looked helplessly at Sewell and it +was some minutes before John could continue the conversation or rather +listen to Sewell who then sat down beside him and taking his hand in his +own said,</p> + +<p>"Do not speak, Hatton. I will talk for you. I should have spoken long +ago, but I knew not whether you—you—forgive me, Hatton, but there are +such men. If I have slandered you in my thought, if I have done you this +great wrong——"</p> + +<p>"Oh Doctor, the hope and despair of my married life has been—the +longing for my sons and daughters."</p> + +<p>"Poor lad! And thee so good and kind to every little one, that comes in +thy way. It is too bad, it is that. By heaven, I am thankful to be an +old bachelor! Thou must try and understand, John, that women are never +the same, and yet that in some great matters, what creation saw them, +they are today. Their endless variety and their eternal similarity are +what charm men. In the days of the patriarchs there were women who would +not have children, and there were women also who longed and prayed <!-- Page 145 --><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145" />for +them, even as Hannah did. It is just that way today. Their reasons then +and their reasons now may be different but both are equally powerful."</p> + +<p>"I never heard tell of such women! Never!"</p> + +<p>"They were not likely to come thy road. Thou wert long in taking a wife, +and when thou did so it was unfortunate thou took one bred up in the way +she should <i>not</i> go. I know women who are slowly killing themselves by +inducing unnatural diseases through the denial and crucifixion of +Nature. Thy own wife is one of them. That she hes not managed the +business is solely because she has a superabundance of vitality and a +perfect constitution. Physically, Nature intended her for a perfect +mother, but—but she cannot go on as she is doing. I have told her +so—as plainly as I knew how. Now I tell thee. Such ways cannot go on."</p> + +<p>"They will be stopped—at once—this day—this hour."</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay. She is still very weak and nervous."</p> + +<p>"She wants to go to London."</p> + +<p>"Let her go."</p> + +<p>"But I must speak to her before she goes."</p> + +<p>"In a few days."</p> + +<p>"Sewell, I thank you. I know now what I have to meet. It is the grief +<i>not sure</i> that slays hope in a man."</p> + +<p>"To be sure. Does Mrs. Stephen Hatton know of your wife's practices?"</p> + +<p>"No. I will stake my honor on that. She may <!-- Page 146 --><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146" />suspect her, but if she was +certain she would have spoken to me."</p> + +<p>"Then it is her own mother, and most likely to be so."</p> + +<p>It was noon before John reached Hatton mill. He had received a shock +which left him far below his usual condition, and yet feeling so cruelly +hurt and injured that it was difficult to obey the physician's request +to keep his trouble to himself for a few days.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII" /><!-- Page 147 --><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147" />CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p class="center">THE GODDESS OF THE TENDER FEET</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The goddess Calamity is delicate ...her feet are tender. Her feet + are soft, for she treads not upon the ground, she makes her path + upon the hearts of men.—PINDAR.</p> + +<p> Animosities perish, the humanities are eternal. </p></div> + +<p>One morning, nearly a week after his interview with Dr. Sewell, John +found Jane in her room surrounded by fine clothing and trunks and +evidently well enough to consider what he had to say to her.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing, Jane?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, John, I am sorting out the dresses that are nice enough for +London. I think I shall be well enough to go to Aunt Harlow next week."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would come to my room. I want to speak to you."</p> + +<p>"Your room is such a bare, chilly place, John."</p> + +<p>"It is secluded and we must have no listener to what I am going to say +to you."</p> + +<p>Jane looked up quickly and anxiously, asking, "Are you in trouble, +John?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in great trouble."</p> + +<p>"About money?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 148 --><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148" />Worse than that."</p> + +<p>"Then it is that tiresome creature, Harry."</p> + +<p>"No. It is yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed; I think you had better look for someone else to quarrel +with."</p> + +<p>"I have no quarrel with anyone; I have something to say to you, and to +you, only; but there are always servants in and out of your rooms."</p> + +<p>She rose reluctantly, saying as she did so, "If I get cold, it makes no +matter, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Everything about you is of the greatest importance to me, I suppose you +know that."</p> + +<p>"It may be so or it may not be so. You have scarcely noticed me for +nearly a week. I am going to London. There, I hope, I shall receive a +little more love and attention."</p> + +<p>"But you are not going to London."</p> + +<p>"I am going to London. I have written to Lady Harlow saying I would be +with her on next Monday evening."</p> + +<p>"Write to Lady Harlow at once and tell her you will not be able to leave +home."</p> + +<p>"That is no excuse for breaking my word."</p> + +<p>"Tell her I, your husband, need you here. No other excuse is necessary."</p> + +<p>Jane laughed as if she was highly amused. "Does 'I, my husband,' expect +Lady Harlow and Jane Hatton to change their plans for his whim?"</p> + +<p>"Not for any whim of mine, Jane, would I ask you to change your plans. I +have heard something <!-- Page 149 --><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149" />which will compel me to pay more attention to +you."</p> + +<p>"Goodness knows, I am thankful for that! During my late illness, I think +you were exceedingly negligent."</p> + +<p>"Why did you make yourself so ill? Tell me that."</p> + +<p>"Such a preposterous question!" she replied, but she was startled and +frightened by it and more so by the anger in John's face and voice. In a +moment the truth flashed upon her consciousness and it roused just as +quickly an intense contradiction and a willful determination not only to +stand her ground but to justify her position.</p> + +<p>"If this is your catechism, John, I have not yet learned it."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Jane. You must tell me the truth if it takes all the day. You +had better sit down."</p> + +<p>Then she threw herself into the large easy chair he pushed towards her; +for she felt strangely weak and trembling and John's sorrowful, angry +manner terrified her.</p> + +<p>"Jane," he said, "I have heard to my great grief and shame that it is +your fault we have no more children."</p> + +<p>"I think Martha is one too many." At the moment she uttered these words +she was sorry. She did not mean them. She had only intended to annoy +John.</p> + +<p>And John cried out, "Good God, Jane. Do you <!-- Page 150 --><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150" />know what you are saying? +Suppose God should take the dear one from us this night."</p> + +<p>"I do not suppose things about God. I do not think it is right to +inquire as to what He may do."</p> + +<p>"Jane, it is useless to twist my question into another meaning. Suppose +you had not destroyed our other children before they saw the light?"</p> + +<p>"John," she cried, "how dare you say such dreadful things to me? I will +not listen to you. Open the door. You might well put the key in your +pocket—and I have been so ill. I have suffered so much—it is +dreadful"—and she fell into a fit of hysterical weeping.</p> + +<p>John waited patiently until she had sobbed herself quiet, then he +continued, "When I think of my sons or daughters, <i>written down in God's +Book</i> and blotted out by <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"I will not listen. You are mad. Your 'sons or daughters' could not be +hurt by anyone before they had life."</p> + +<p>"They always had life. Before the sea was made or the mountains were +brought forth,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>'Ere suns and moons could wax and wane,<br /></span> +<span>God thought on <i>me</i> his child,'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and on <i>you</i> and on <i>every soul</i> made for immortality by the growth that +fresh birth gives it. He loves us with an everlasting love. No false +mother can <!-- Page 151 --><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151" />destroy a child's soul, but she can destroy its flesh and so +retard and interfere with its eternal growth. This is the great sin—the +sin of blood-guiltiness—any woman may commit it."</p> + +<p>"You talk sheer nonsense, John. I do not believe anything you say."</p> + +<p>Then John went to a large Bible lying open on a table. "Listen, then," +he said, "to the Word of God"; and with intense solemnity he read aloud +to her the wonderful verses in the one-hundred-and-thirty-ninth Psalm, +between the twelfth and seventeenth, laying particular stress on the +sixteenth verse, "'Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being imperfect; +and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were +fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.' So then Jane, dear Jane, +you see from the very, very first, when as yet no member of the child +had been formed it was <i>written down in God's Book</i> as a man or a woman +yet to be. All souls so written down, are the children of the Most High. +It was not only yourself and me you were wronging, Jane, you were +sinning against the Father and lover of souls, for we are all 'the +children of the most High.'"</p> + +<p>But Jane was apparently unmoved. "I am tired," she said wearily. "I want +to go to my room."</p> + +<p>"I have other things to say to you, most important things. Will you come +here this evening after dinner?"</p> + +<p>"No, I will not. I am going to see mother."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 152 --><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152" />Call at Hatton House as you come back, and I will meet you there."</p> + +<p>"I shall not come back today. I feel ill—and no wonder."</p> + +<p>"When will you return?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I tell you I feel ill."</p> + +<p>"Then you had better not go to Harlow House."</p> + +<p>"Where else should a woman go in trouble but to her mother? When her +heart is breaking, then she knows that the nest of all nests is her +mother's breast."</p> + +<p>John wanted to tell her that God and a loving husband might and surely +would help her, but when she raised her lovely, sad eyes brimming with +tears and he saw how white and full of suffering her face was, he could +not find in his heart to dispute her words. For he suffered in seeing +her suffer far more than she could understand.</p> + +<p>At her own room door he left her and his heart was so heavy he could not +go to the mill. He could not think of gold and cotton while there was +such an abyss between him and his wife. Truly she had wronged and +wounded him in an intolerable manner, but his great love could look +beyond the wrong to her repentance and to his forgiveness.</p> + +<p>Walking restlessly about his room or lost in sorrowful broodings an hour +passed, and then he began to tell himself that he must not for the +indulgence of even his great grief desert his lawful work. If things +went wrong at the mill, because of his ab<!-- Page 153 --><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153" />sence, and gain was lost for +his delay, he would be wronging many more than John Hatton. Come what +might to him personally, he was bound by his father's, as well as his +own, promise to be "diligent in business, serving the Lord." That was +the main article of Hatton's contract with the God they served—the +poor, the sick, the little children whom no one loved, he could not +wrong them because he was in trouble with his wife.</p> + +<p>Such thoughts came over him like a flood and he instantly rose up to +answer them. In half an hour he was at his desk, and there he lost the +bitterness of his grief in his daily work. <i>Work</i>, the panacea for all +sorrow, the oldest gospel preached to men! And because his soul was fit +for the sunshine it followed him, and the men who only met him among the +looms went for the rest of the day with their heads up and a smile on +their faces, so great is the strengthening quality in the mere presence +of a man of God, going about his daily business in the spirit of God.</p> + +<p>He found no wife to meet him at the end of the day. Jane had gone to +Harlow House and taken her maid and a trunk with her. He made no remark. +What wise thing could he do but quietly bear an evil that was past cure +and put a good face on it? He did not know whether or not Jane had +observed the same reticence, but he quickly reflected that no good could +come from servants discussing what they knew nothing about.</p> + +<p><!-- Page 154 --><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154" />However, when Jane did not return or send him any message, the +following day his anxiety was so great that he called on Dr. Sewell in +the evening and asked if he could tell him of his wife's condition.</p> + +<p>"I was sent for this morning to Harlow House," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Is she ill—worse?"</p> + +<p>"No. She is fretting. She ought to fret. I gave her some soothing +medicine. I am not sure I did right."</p> + +<p>"O Sewell, what shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"Go to Madame Hatton. She is a good, wise woman. She is not in love with +her daughter-in-law, but she is as just as women ever are. She will give +you far better counsel than a mere man can offer you."</p> + +<p>So late as it was, John rode up to Hatton Hall. It had begun to rain but +he heeded not any physical discomfort. Still he had a pleasant feeling +when he saw the blaze of Hatton hearthfire brightening the dark shadows +of the dripping trees. And he suddenly sent his boyish "hello" before +him, so it was Mrs. Hatton herself who opened the big hall door, who +stood in the glow of the hall lamp to welcome him, and who between +laughing and scolding sent him to his old room to change his wet +clothing.</p> + +<p>He came back to her with a smile and a dry coat, saying, "Dear mother, +you keep all the same up<!-- Page 155 --><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155" />stairs. There isn't pin nor paper moved since I +left my room."</p> + +<p>"Of course I keep all the same. I would feel very lonely if I hadn't thy +room and Harry's to look into. They are not always empty. Sometimes I +feel as if you might be there, and Oh but I am happy, when I do so! I +just say a 'good morning' or a 'good night' and shut the door. It is a +queer thing, John."</p> + +<p>"What is queer, mother?"</p> + +<p>"That feeling of 'presence.' But whatever brings thee here at this time +of night? and it raining, too, as if there was an ark to float!"</p> + +<p>"Well, mother, there is in a way. I am in trouble."</p> + +<p>"I was fearing it."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I heard tell that Jane was at Harlow. What is she doing there, my +dear?"</p> + +<p>"Dr. Sewell told me something about Jane."</p> + +<p>"Oh! He told you at last, did he! He ought to have told you long ago."</p> + +<p>"Has he known it a long time?"</p> + +<p>"He has—if he knows anything."</p> + +<p>"And you—mother?"</p> + +<p>"I was not sure as long as he kept quiet, and hummed and ha'ed about it. +But I said enough to Jane on two occasions to let her know I suspected +treachery both to her own life and soul and to thee."</p> + +<p>"And to my unborn children, mother."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 156 --><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156" />To be sure. It is a sin and a shame, both ways. It is that! The last +time she was here, she told me as a bit of news, that Mary Fairfax had +died that morning of cancer, and I said, 'Not she. She killed herself.' +Then Jane said, 'You are mistaken, mother, she died of cancer.' I +replied a bit hotly, 'She gave herself cancer. I have no doubt of that, +and so she died as she deserved to die.' And when Jane said, 'No one +could give herself cancer,' I told her plain and square that she did it +by refusing the children God sent her to bear and to bring up for Him, +taking as a result the pangs of cancer. She knew very well what I +meant."</p> + +<p>"What did she say?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word. She was too angry to speak wisely and wise enough not to +speak at all."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I said much more of the same kind. I told her that no one ever abused +Nature and got off scot-free. <i>'Why-a!'</i> I said, 'it is thus and so in +the simplest matters. If you or I eat too much we have a sick headache +or dyspepsia. If you dance or ride too much your heart suffers, and you +know what happened to Abram Bowles with drinking too much. It is much +worse,' I went on, 'if a tie is broken it is death to one or the other +or both, especially if it is done again and again. Nature maltreated +will send in her bill. That is sure as life and death, and the longer it +is delayed, the heavier the bill.' I went on and told her that Mary +Fairfax had been <!-- Page 157 --><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157" />married seventeen years and had never borne but one +child. She had long credit, I said, but Nature sent in her bill at last, +and Mary had it to settle. Now, John, I did my duty, didn't I?"</p> + +<p>"You did, mother. What did Jane say?"</p> + +<p>"She said women had a hard lot to endure. She said they were born slaves +and died slaves and a good deal more of the same kind of talk. I told +her in reply that women were sent into life <i>to give life</i>, to be, as +thou said, <i>mothers of men</i>, and she laughed, a queer kind of laugh +though. Then I added, 'You may like the reason or not, Jane. You may +accept or defy it, but I tell you plainly, motherhood was and is and +always will be the chief reason and end of womanhood.'"</p> + +<p>"Well, mother?"</p> + +<p>"She was unpleasant and sarcastic and said this and that for pure +aggravation about the selfishness of men. So our cup of tea was a bit +bitter, and as a last fling she said my muffins were soggy and she would +send me her mother's receipt. And I have been making muffins for thirty +years, John!"</p> + +<p>"I am astonished at Jane. She is usually so careful not to hurt or +offend."</p> + +<p>"Well, she forgets once in a while. I had the best of the argument, for +I had only to remind her that it was I who taught her mother how to make +muffins and who gave her my receipt for the same. Then she said, +'Really,' and, 'It is late, I must go!' And go she did and I have not +seen her since."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 158 --><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158" />I wish I knew what to do, mother."</p> + +<p>"Go to thy bed now and try to sleep. This thing is beyond thy ordering +or mending. Leave it to those who are wiser than thou art. It will be +put right at the right time by them. And don't meddle with it rashly. +Every step thou takes is like stirring in muddy water—every step makes +it muddier."</p> + +<p>"But I must go to Harlow and see Jane if she does not come home."</p> + +<p>"Thou must not go a step on that road. If thou does, thou may go on +stepping it time without end. She left thee of her own free will. Let +her come back in the same way. She is wrong. If thou wert wrong, I would +tell thee so. Yes, I would be the first to bid thee go to Harlow and say +thou wanted to be forgiven and loved again."</p> + +<p>"I believe that, mother."</p> + +<p>"By the Word of Christ, I would!"</p> + +<p>"I shall be utterly unhappy if I do not know that she is well."</p> + +<p>"Ask Sewell. If she is sick he will know and he will tell thee the +truth. Go now and sleep. Thy pillow may give thee comfort and wisdom."</p> + +<p>"Your advice is always right, mother. I will take it."</p> + +<p>"Thou art a good man, John, and all that comes to thee shall be good in +the fullness of its time and necessity. Kiss me, thou dear lad! I am +proud to be thy mother. It is honor enough for Martha Hatton!"</p> + +<p><!-- Page 159 --><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159" />That night John slept sorrowfully and he had the awakening from such a +sleep—the slow, yet sudden realization of his trouble finding him out. +It entered his consciousness with the force of a knockdown blow; he +could hardly stand up against it. Usually he sang or whistled as he +dressed himself, and this was so much a habit of his nature that it +passed without notice in his household. Once, indeed, his father had +fretfully alluded to it, saying, "Singing out of time is always singing +out of tune," and Mrs. Hatton had promptly answered,</p> + +<p>"Keep thyself to thyself, Stephen. Singing beats grumbling all to +pieces. Give me the man who <i>can</i> sing at six o'clock in the morning. He +is worth trusting and loving, I'll warrant that. I wish thou would sing +thyself. Happen it might sweeten thee a bit." And Stephen Hatton had +kept himself to himself, about John's early singing thereafter.</p> + +<p>This morning there was no song in John's heart and no song on his lips. +He dressed silently and rapidly as if he was in a hurry to do something +and yet he did not know what to do. His mother's positive assertion, +that the best way out of the difficulty was to let it solve itself, did +not satisfy him. He wanted to see his wife. He knew he must say some +plain, hard words to her; but she loved him, and she would surely listen +and understand how hard it was for him to say them.</p> + +<p>He went early to the mill. He hoped there might be a letter there for +him. When he found none <!-- Page 160 --><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160" />among his mail, he hurried back to his home. +"Jane would send her letter there," he thought. But there was no letter +there. Then his heart sank within him, but he took no further step at +that hour. Business from hundreds of looms called him. Hundreds of +workers were busy among them. Greenwood was watching for him. Clerks +were waiting for his directions and the great House of Labor shouted +from all its myriad windows.</p> + +<p>With a pitiful and involuntary "God help me!" he buckled himself to his +mail. It was larger than ordinary, but he went with exact and patient +care over it. He said to himself, "Troubles love to flock together and I +expect I shall find a worrying letter from Harry this morning"; but +there was no letter at all from Harry and he felt relieved. The only +personal note that came to him was a request that he would not fail to +be present at the meeting of the Gentlemen's Club that evening, as there +was important business to transact.</p> + +<p>He sat with this message in his hand, considering. He had for some time +felt uneasy about his continuance in the Club, for its social +regulations were strict and limited. Composed mostly of the landed +gentry in the neighborhood, it had very slowly and reluctantly opened +its doors to a few of the most wealthy manufacturers, and Harry's +appearance as a public and professional singer negatived his right to +its exclusive membership. In case Harry was asked to resign, John would +certainly <!-- Page 161 --><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161" />withdraw with his brother. Yet the mere thought of such a +social humiliation troubled him.</p> + +<p>When the mail was attended to be rose quickly, shook himself, as if he +would shake off the trouble that oppressed him, and went through the +mill with Greenwood. This duty he performed with such minute attention +that the overseer privately wondered whatever was the matter with +"Master John," but soon settled the question, by a decision that "he hed +been worried by his wife a bit, and it hed put him all out of gear, and +no wonder." For Greenwood had had his own experiences of this kind and +had suffered many things in consequence of them. So he was sorry for +John as he told himself that "whether married men were rich or poor, +things were pretty equal for them."</p> + +<p>Just as the two men parted, Jonathan said, in a kind of afterthought +way, "There's a full meeting of the Gentlemen's Club tonight, sir. I +suppose you know."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, but how is it <i>you</i> know?"</p> + +<p>"You may well ask that, sir. I am truly nobbut one o' John Hatton's +overseers, but I hev a son who has married into a landed family, and he +told me that some of the old quality were going to propose his +father-in-law for membership tonight. I promised my Ben I would ask your +vote in Master Akers' favor."</p> + +<p>"Akers has bought a deal of land lately, I hear."</p> + +<p>"Most of the old Akers' Manor back, and there <!-- Page 162 --><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162" />are those who think he +ought to be recognized. I hope you will give him a ball of the right +color, sir."</p> + +<p>"Greenwood, I am not well acquainted with Israel Akers. I see him at the +market dinner occasionally, but——"</p> + +<p>"Think of it, sir. It is mebbe right to believe in a man until you find +out he isn't worthy of trust."</p> + +<p>"That is quite contrary to your usual advice, Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"<i>Privately</i>, sir, I am a very trusting man. That is my nature—but in +business it is different—trusting doesn't work in business, sir. You +know that, sir."</p> + +<p>John nodded an assent, and said, "Look after loom forty, Greenwood. It +was idle. Find out the reason. As to Akers, I shall do the kind and just +thing, you may rest on that. Is he a pleasant man personally?"</p> + +<p>"I dare say he is pleasant enough at a dinner-table, and I'll allow that +he is varry unpleasant at a piece table in the Town Hall. But webs of +stuff and pieces of cloth naturally lock up a man's best self. He +wouldn't hev got back to be Akers of Akerside if things wern't that way +ordered."</p> + +<p>This Club news troubled John. He did not believe that Akers cared a +penny piece for a membership, and pooh-pooh it as he would, this +trifling affair would not let him alone. It gnawed under the great +sorrow of Jane's absence, like a rat gnawing under his bed or chair.</p> + +<p><!-- Page 163 --><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163" />But come what will, time and the hour run through the hardest day; the +looms suddenly stopped, the mill was locked, the crowd of workers +scattered silently and wearily, and John rode home with a sick sense of +sorrow at his heart. He had no hope that Jane would be there. He knew +the dear, proud woman too well to expect from her such an impossible +submission. Tears sprang to his eyes as he thought of her, and yet there +was set before him an inexorable duty which he dared not ignore, for the +things of Eternity rested on it.</p> + +<p>He left his horse at the stable and walked slowly round to the front of +the house. As he reached the door it was swiftly opened, and in smiles +and radiant raiment Jane stood waiting to receive him.</p> + +<p>"John! John, dear!" she said softly, and he took her in his arms and +whispered her name over and over on her lips.</p> + +<p>"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," she said, "and it is the dinner +you like best of all. Do not loiter, John."</p> + +<p>He shook his head happily and took the broad low steps as a boy +might—two or three at a time. Everything now seemed possible to him. +"She is in an angel's temper," he thought. "She has divined between the +wrong and the right. She will throw the wrong over forever."</p> + +<p>And Jane watched him up the stairs with womanly pleasure. She said to +herself, "How handsome he is! How good he is! There are none like him." +<!-- Page 164 --><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164" />Then her face clouded, and she went into the parlor and sat down. She +knew there was a trying conversation before her, but, "John cannot +resist the argument of my beauty," she thought, "It is sure to prevail." +In a few moments she continued her reflections. "I may be weak enough to +give a promise for the future, but I will never, never, admit I was +wrong in the past. Make your stand there, Jane Hatton, for if he ever +thinks you did wrong knowingly, you will lose all your influence over +him."</p> + +<p>During dinner and while the butler was in the room the conversation was +kept upon general subjects, and John in this interval spoke of Akers' +wish to join the Gentlemen's Club.</p> + +<p>"I am not astonished," answered Jane. "Mrs. Will Clough and her daughter +arrived in my Club a year ago. They are very pushing and what they call +'advanced.' They do not believe that the earth is the Lord's nor yet +that it belongs to man. They think it is woman's own heritage. And they +want the name of the Club changed. It has always been the Society Club. +Mrs. William Clough thinks a society club is shockingly behind the +times; and she proposed changing it to the Progressive Club. She said we +were all, she hoped, progressive women."</p> + +<p>"Well, Jane, my dear, this is interesting. What next?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Israel Akers said she had been told that 'very few of the +old-fashioned women were left in <!-- Page 165 --><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165" />Hatton, that even the women in the +mills were progressing and getting nearer and nearer to the modern +ideal'; and she added in a plaintive voice, 'I'm a good bit past +seventy, and I hope some old-fashioned women will live as long as I do, +that we may be company for each other.' Mrs. Clough told her, 'she would +soon learn to love the new woman,' and she said plain out, 'Nay not I! I +can't understand her, and I doan't know what she means.' Then Mrs. +Brierly spoke of the 'old woman' as a downtrodden 'creature' not to be +put in comparison with the splendid 'new woman' who was beginning to +arrive. I'm sure, John, it puzzles me."</p> + +<p>"I can only say, Jane, that the 'old woman' has filled her position for +millenniums with honor and affection, almost with adoration. I would not +like to say what will be the result of her taking to men's ways and +men's work."</p> + +<p>"You know, John, you cannot judge one kind of woman from the other kind. +They are so entirely different. Women have been kept so ignorant. Now +they place culture and knowledge before everything."</p> + +<p>"Surely not before love, Jane?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed! Some put knowledge and progress—always progress—before +everything else."</p> + +<p>"My dear Jane, think of this—all we call 'progress' ends with death. +What is that progress worth which is bounded by the grave? If progress +in men and women is not united with faith in God, and <!-- Page 166 --><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166" />hope in His +eternal life and love, I would not lift my hand or speak one word to +help either man or woman to such blank misery."</p> + +<p>"Do not put yourself out of the way, John. There will be no change in +the women of today that will affect you. But no doubt they will +eventually halve—and better halve—the world's work and honors with +men. Do you not think so, John?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, I know not; women perhaps may cease to be women; but I am +positive that men will continue to be men."</p> + +<p>"I mean that women will do men's work as well as men do it."</p> + +<p>"Nature is an obstinate dame. She offers serious opposition to that +result."</p> + +<p>"Well, I was only telling you how far progressive ideas had grown in +Hatton town. Women propose to share with men the honors of statecraft +and the wealth of trading and manufacturing."</p> + +<p>"Jane, dear, I don't like to hear you talking such nonsense. The mere +fact that women <i>can not fight</i> affects all the unhappy equality they +aim at; and if it were possible to alter that fact, we should be +equalizing <i>down</i> and not up." Then he looked at his watch and said he +must be at the Club very soon.</p> + +<p>"Will you remain in the parlor until I return, Jane?" he asked. "I will +come home as quickly as possible."</p> + +<p>"No, John, I find it is better for me to go to <!-- Page 167 --><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167" />sleep early. Indeed, as +you are leaving me, I will go to my room now. Good night, dear!"</p> + +<p>He said good night but his voice was cold, and his heart anxious and +dissatisfied. And after Jane had left the room he sat down again, +irresolute and miserable. "Why should I go to the Club?" he asked +himself. "Why should I care about its small ways and regulations? I have +something far more important to think of. I will not go out tonight."</p> + +<p>He sat still thinking for half an hour, then he looked again at his +watch and found that it was yet possible to be at the Club in time. So +with a great sigh he obeyed that urging of duty, which even in society +matters he could not neglect and be at rest.</p> + +<p>There was no light in Jane's room when he returned home and he spent the +night miserably. Waking he felt as if walking through the valley of the +shadows of loss and intolerable wrong. Phantoms created by his own +sorrow and fear pressed him hard and dreams from incalculable depths +troubled and terrified his soul. In sleep it was no better. He was then +the prisoner of darkness, fettered with the bonds of a long night and +exiled for a space from the eternal Providence.</p> + +<p>At length, however, the sun rose and John awoke and brought the terror +to an end by the calling on One Name and by casting himself on the care +and mercy of that One, who is "a very present help in time of trouble." +That was all John needed. He <!-- Page 168 --><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168" />did not expect to escape trouble. All he +asked was that God would be to him "a very present help" in it.</p> + +<p>Slowly and thoughtfully he dressed, wondering the while from what depths +of awful and forgotten experiences such dreams came. He was yet +awestruck and his spirit quailed when he thought of the eternity +<i>behind</i> him. Meanwhile his trouble with Jane had partly receded to the +background of thought and feeling. He did not expect to see her at his +breakfast table. That was now a long-time-ago pleasure and he thought +that by dinner-time he would be more able to cope with the +circumstances.</p> + +<p>But when he reached the hall the wide door stood open, the morning +sunshine flooded the broad white marble steps which led to the entrance +and Jane was slowly ascending them. She had a little basket of fruit in +her hand, she was most fittingly gowned, and she looked exquisitely +lovely. As soon as John saw her, he ran down the steps to meet her, and +she put her hand in his and he kissed it. Then they went to the +breakfast-table together.</p> + +<p>The truce was too sweet to be broken and John took the comfort offered +with gratitude. Jane was in her most charming mood, she waited on him as +lord and lover of the home, found him the delicacies he liked, and gave +with every one that primordial touch of loving and oneness which is the +very heaven of marriage. She answered his words of <!-- Page 169 --><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169" />affection with +radiant smiles and anon began to talk of the Club balloting. "Was it +really an important meeting, John?" she asked. And to her great surprise +John answered, "It would have been hard to make it more important, +Jane."</p> + +<p>"About old Akers! What nonsense!"</p> + +<p>"Akers gave us no hesitation. He was elected without a dissenting vote. +Another subject was, however, opened which is of the most vital +importance to cotton-spinners."</p> + +<p>"Whatever is to do, John?"</p> + +<p>"America is likely to go to war with herself—the cotton-spinning States +of the North, against the cotton-growing States of the South."</p> + +<p>"What folly!"</p> + +<p>"In a business point, yes, but there is something grander than business +in it—an idea that is universally in the soul of man—the idea of +freedom."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have read about that quarrel, but men won't fight if it +interferes with their business, with their money-making and spinning."</p> + +<p>"You are wrong, Jane. Men of the Anglo-Saxon race and breeding will +fight more stubbornly for an idea than for conquest, injury, or even for +some favorite leader. Most nations fight for some personality; the +English race and its congeners fight for a principle or an idea. My +dear, remember that America fought England for eight years only for her +right of representation."</p> + +<p>"How can a war in America hurt us?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><!-- Page 170 --><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170" /> +<a href="images/pg168.jpg"><img src="images/pg168-t.jpg" width="400" alt=""He ran down the steps to meet her, and she put her hand +in his."" title="" /></a> +<b>"He ran down the steps to meet her, and she put her hand +in his."</b> +</div> + +<p>"<!-- Page 171 --><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171" />By cutting off our cotton supply—unless England helps the Southern +States."</p> + +<p>"But she will do that."</p> + +<p>"No, she will not."</p> + +<p>"What then?"</p> + +<p>"If the war lasts long, we shall have to shut our factories."</p> + +<p>"That is not a pleasant thought, John. Let us put it aside this lovely +morning."</p> + +<p>Yet she kept reverting to the subject, and as all men love to be +inquired of and to give information, John was easily beguiled, and the +breakfast hour passed without a word that in any way touched the +sorrowful anxiety in his heart. But at length they rose and John said,</p> + +<p>"Jane, my dear, come into the garden. We will go to the summer-house. I +want to speak to you, dear. You know——"</p> + +<p>"John, I cannot stay with you this morning. There will be a committee of +the ladies of the Home Mission here at eleven o'clock. I have some +preparations for them to make and if I get put out of my way in the +meantime I shall be unable to meet them."</p> + +<p>"Is not our mutual happiness of more importance than this meeting?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is. But you know, John, many things in life compel us +continually to put very inferior subjects before either our personal or +our mutual happiness. A conversation such as you wish <!-- Page 172 --><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172" />cannot be +hurried. I am not yet sure what decision I shall come to."</p> + +<p>"Decision! Why, Jane, there is only one decision possible."</p> + +<p>"You are taking advantage of me, John. I will not talk more with you +this morning."</p> + +<p>"Then good morning."</p> + +<p>He spoke curtly and went away with the words. Love and anger strove in +his heart, but before he reached his horse, he ran rapidly back. He +found Jane still standing in the empty breakfast-room; her hands were +listlessly dropped and she was lost in an unhappy reverie.</p> + +<p>"Jane," he cried, "forgive me. You gave me a breakfast in Paradise this +morning. I shall never forget it. Good-bye, love." He would have kissed +her, but she turned her head aside and did not answer him a word. Yet +she was longing for his kiss and his words were music in her heart. But +that is the way with women; they wound themselves six times out of the +half-dozen wrongs of which they complain.</p> + +<p>The next moment she was sorry, Oh, so sorry, that she had sent the man +she loved to an exhausting day of thought and work with an aching pain +in his heart and his mental powers dulled. She had taken all joy and +hope out of his life and left him to fight his way through the hard, +noisy, cruel hours with anxiety and fear his only companions.</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry! I am so sorry!" she whispered. "<!-- Page 173 --><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173" />What was the use of +making him happy for fifty-nine minutes, and then undoing it all in the +sixtieth? I wish—I wish——" and she had a swift sense of wrong and +shame in uttering her wish, and so let it die unspoken on her closed +lips.</p> + +<p>At the park entrance John stood still a minute; his desire was to put +Bendigo to his utmost speed and quickly find out the lonely world he +knew of beyond Hatton and Harlow. There he could mingle his prayer with +the fresh winds of heaven and the cries of beasts and birds seeking +their food from God. His flesh had been well satisfied, but Oh how +hungry was his soul! It longed for a renewed sense of God's love and it +longed for some word of assurance from Jane. Then there flashed across +his memory the rumor of war and the clouds in the far west gathering +volume and darkness every day. No, he could not run away; he must find +in the fulfilling of his duty whatever consolation duty could give him, +and he turned doggedly to the mill and his mail.</p> + +<p>Once more as he lifted his mail, he had that fear of a letter from Harry +which had haunted him more or less for some months. He shuffled the +letters at once, searching for the delicate, disconnected writing so +familiar to him and hardly knew whether its absence was not as +disquieting as its presence would have been.</p> + +<p>The mail being attended to, he sent for Greenwood and spoke to him about +the likelihood of war and its consequences. Jonathan proved to be quite +<!-- Page 174 --><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174" />well informed on this subject. He said he had been on the point of +speaking about buying all the cotton they could lay hands on, but +thought Mr. Hatton was perhaps considering the question and not ready to +move yet.</p> + +<p>"Do you think they will come to fighting, Greenwood?" Mr. Hatton asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, if they'll only keep to cotton and such like, they'll never +fire a gun, not they. But if they keep up this slavery threep, they'll +fight till one side has won and the other side is clean whipped forever. +Why not? That's our way, and most of them are chips of the old oak +block. A hundred years or more ago we had the same question to settle +and we settled it with money. It left us all nearly bankrupt, but it's +better to lose guineas than good men, and the blackamoors were well +satisfied, no doubt."</p> + +<p>"How do our men and women feel, Greenwood?"</p> + +<p>"They are all for the black men, sir. They hevn't counted the cost to +themselves yet. I'll put it up to them if that is your wish, sir."</p> + +<p>"You are nearer to them than I am, Jonathan."</p> + +<p>"I am one o' them, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then say the word in season when you can."</p> + +<p>"The only word now, sir, is that Frenchy bit o' radicalism they call +liberty. I told Lucius Yorke what I thought of him shouting it out in +England."</p> + +<p>"Is Yorke here?"</p> + +<p>"He was ranting away on Hatton green last <!-- Page 175 --><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175" />night, and his catchword and +watchword was liberty, liberty, and again liberty!' He advised them to +get a blue banner for their Club, and dedicate it to liberty. Then I +stopped him."</p> + +<p>"What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"I told him to be quiet or I would make him. I told him we got beyond +that word in King John's reign. I asked if he hed niver heard of the +grand old English word <i>freedom</i>, and I said there was as much +difference between freedom and liberty, as there was between right and +wrong—and then I proved it to them."</p> + +<p>"What I want to know, Greenwood, is this. Will our people be willing to +shut Hatton factory for the sake of—<i>freedom?"</i></p> + +<p>"Yes, sir—every man o' them, I can't say about the women. No man can. +Bad or good, they generally want things to go on as they are. If all's +well for them and their children, they doan't care a snap for public +rights or wrongs, except mebbe in their own parish."</p> + +<p>"Well, Jonathan, I am going to prepare, as far as I can, for the worst. +If Yorke goes too far, give him a set down and advise all our workers to +try and save a little before the times come when there will be nothing +to save."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. That's sensible, and one here and there may happen listen to +me."</p> + +<p>Then John began to consider his own affairs, for his married life had +been an expensive one and <!-- Page 176 --><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176" />Harry also a considerable drain on his +everyday resources. He was in the midst of this uncomfortable reckoning, +when there was a strong decisive knock at the door. He said, "Come in," +just as decisively and a tall, dark man entered—a man who did not +belong to cities and narrow doorways, but whom Nature intended for the +hills and her wide unplanted places. He was handsomely dressed and his +long, lean, dark face had a singular attraction, so much so, that it +made everything else of small importance. It was a face containing the +sum of human life and sorrow, its love, and despair, and victory; the +face of a man that had been and always would be a match for Fate.</p> + +<p>John knew him at once, either by remembrance or some divination of his +personality, and he rose to meet him saying, "I think you are Ralph +Lugur. I am glad to see you. Sit down, sir."</p> + +<p>"I wish that I had come on a more pleasant errand, John Hatton. I am in +trouble about my daughter and her husband."</p> + +<p>"What is wrong there?" and John asked the question a little coldly.</p> + +<p>"You must go to London, and see what is wrong. Harry is gambling. Lucy +makes no complaints, but I have eyes and ears. I need no words."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure of what you are saying, Lugur?"</p> + +<p>"I went and took him out of a gambling-house three days ago."</p> + +<p>"Thank you! I will attend to the matter."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 177 --><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177" />You have no time to lose. If I told you your brother was in a burning +house, what haste you would make to save him! He is in still greater +danger. The first train you can get is the best train to take."</p> + +<p>"O Harry! Harry!" cried John, as he rose and began to lock his desk and +his safe.</p> + +<p>"Harry loves and will obey you. Make haste to help him before he begins +to love the sin that is now his great temptation."</p> + +<p>"Do you know much of Harry?"</p> + +<p>"I do and I love him. I have kept watch over him for some months. He is +worth loving and worth saving. Go at once to him."</p> + +<p>"Have you any opinion about the best means to be used in the future?"</p> + +<p>"He must leave London and come to Hatton where he can be under your +constant care. Will you accept this charge? I do not mind telling you +that it is your duty. These looms and spindles any clever spinner can +direct right, but it takes a soul to save a soul. You know that."</p> + +<p>"I will be in London tonight, Mr. Lugur. You are a friend worth having. +I thank you."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye! I leave for Cardiff at once. I leave Harry with God and +you—and I would not be hard with Harry."</p> + +<p>"I shall not. I love Harry."</p> + +<p>"You cannot help loving him. He is doing wrong, but you cannot stop +loving him, and you <!-- Page 178 --><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178" />know it was <i>while as yet we were sinners</i>, God +loved and saved us. Good-bye, sir!"</p> + +<p>The door closed and John turned the key and sat down for a few minutes +to consider his position. This sorrow on the top of his disagreement +with Jane and his anxiety about the threatened war in America called +forth all his latent strength. He told himself that he must now put +personal feelings aside and give his attention first of all to Harry's +case, it being evidently the most urgent of the duties before him. Jane +if left for a few days would no doubt be more reasonable. Greenwood +could be safely left to look after Hatton mill and to buy for it all the +cotton he could lay his hands on. He had not the time to visit his +mother, but he wrote her a few words of explanation and as he knew +Jane's parlors were full of women, he sent her the following note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>MY DEARLY LOVED WIFE,</p> + +<p> Instant and important business takes me at a moment's notice to + London. I have no time to come and see you, and solace my heart + with a parting glance of your beauty, to hear your whispered + good-bye, or taste the living sweetness of your kiss, but you will + be constantly present with me. Waking, I shall be loving and + thinking of you; sleeping I shall be dreaming of you. Dearest of + all sweet, fair women, do not forget me. Let me throb with your + heart and live in your constant memory. I will write you every day, + and you will make all my work easy and all my hours happy if you + send me a few kind words to the Charing Cross <!-- Page 179 --><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179" />Hotel. I do not + think I shall be more than three or four days absent, but however + short or long the time may be, I am beyond all words, </p></div> + +<p class="right"> +Your devoted husband, <br /> +JOHN HATTON.<br /> +</p> + +<p>This letter written, John hurried to the railway station, but in spite +of express trains, it was dark when he reached London, and long after +seven o'clock when he reached his brother's house. He noticed at once +that the parlors were unlit and that the whole building had a dark, +unprosperous, unhappy appearance. A servant woman admitted him, and +almost simultaneously Lucy came running downstairs to meet him, for +during the years that had passed since her marriage to Harry Hatton, +Lucy had become a real sister to John and he had for her a most sincere +affection.</p> + +<p>They went into a parlor in which there had been a fire and stood talking +for a few moments. But the fire was nearly out, and the girl had only +left a candle on the table, and Lucy said, "I was sitting upstairs, +John, beside the children. Harry told me it would be late when he +returned home, so I went to the nursery. You see children are such good +company. Will you go with me to the nursery? It is the girl's night out, +but if you prefer to——"</p> + +<p>"Let us go to the nursery, Lucy, and send the girl out. I have come +specially to have a long <!-- Page 180 --><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180" />talk with you about Harry and her absence will +be a good thing."</p> + +<p>Then he took her hand and they went together to a large room upstairs. +There was a bright fire burning on this hearth and a large fur rug +before it. A pretty bassinet, in which a lovely girl-baby was sleeping, +was on one side of the hearth and Lucy's low nursing-chair on the other +side, and a little round table set ready for tea in the center. A +snow-white bed in a distant corner held the two boys, Stephen and Ralph, +who were fast asleep. John stooped first to the baby, and kissed it, and +Lucy said, "I have called her Agnes. It was my mother's name when she +was on earth. Do you think they call her Agnes in heaven, John?"</p> + +<p><i>"He hath called thee by thy name</i>, is one of the tokens given us of +God's fatherhood, Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Well, John, a father must care what his children are called—if he +cares for the children."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we may be sure of that." As he spoke, he was standing by the +sleeping boys. He loved both, but he loved Stephen, the elder, with an +extraordinary affection. And as he looked at the sleeping child, the boy +opened his eyes. Then a beautiful smile illumined his face, a delightful +cry of wonder and joy parted his lips, and he held out his arms to John. +Without a moment's hesitation, John lifted him.</p> + +<p>"Dear little Stephen!" he said. "I wish you were a man!"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 181 --><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181" />Then I would always stay with you, Uncle."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes! Now you must go to sleep and tomorrow I will take you to the +Hippodrome."</p> + +<p>"And Ralph, too?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, Ralph goes, too." Then he tenderly laid Stephen back in bed +and watched Lucy from the fireside. She talked softly to him, as she +went about the room, attending to those details of forethought of which +mothers have the secret. He watched her putting everything in place with +silent pleasure. He noted her deft, clever ways, the exquisite neatness +of her dress, her small feet so trigly shod, her lovely face bending +over the most trivial duty with a smile of sweet contentment; and he +could not help thinking hopefully of Harry. Indeed her atmosphere was so +afar from whatever was evil or sorrowful that John wondered how he was +to begin a conversation which must be a disturbance.</p> + +<p>Presently the room was in perfect order, and the children asleep; then +she touched a bell, but no one answered it. After waiting a few minutes, +she said, "John, the girl has evidently gone out. I must go down for my +supper tray. In five minutes I will be back."</p> + +<p>"I will go with you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you! When Harry is not home, I like to eat my last meal beside +the sleeping children. Then I can take a book and read leisurely, so the +hours pass pleasantly away."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 182 --><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182" />Is Harry generally late?"</p> + +<p>"He has to be late. Very often his song is the last on the program. Here +is the tray. It is all ready—except your cup and plate. You will take a +cup of tea with me, John?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I am going to look for Harry soon and I may keep him all +night. Do you care? Are you afraid?"</p> + +<p>"Harry is safe with you. I am glad you are going to keep him all night, +I am not at all afraid," and as she arranged the tray and its contents +on the table by the hearth, John heard the sweetest strain of melody +thrill the little space between them. He looked at her inquiringly, and +she sang softly,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i19">"I dwell<br /></span> +<span>Too near to God, for doubt or fear,<br /></span> +<span>And share the eternal calm."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Where is Harry tonight?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"He was to sing at the <i>Odeon</i> in the oratorio of 'Samson.' I used to go +and hear him but I cannot leave the children now."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lucy, I have come to London specially to talk with you and +Harry. I have been made miserable about Harry."</p> + +<p>"Who told you anything wrong of Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Your father. He is distressed at the road Harry is taking. He says +Harry is beginning to gamble."</p> + +<p>"Is my father sure of what he says?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 183 --><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183" />Lucy, I am Harry's elder brother. He is dear as life to me. I am your +true friend; be trustful of me. You may speak to me as to your own +heart. I have come to help you."</p> + +<p>Then she let all the minor notes of doubt and uncertainty go and +answered, "Harry needs you, John, though I hardly know how. He is in +great temptations—he lost every shilling of the last money you sent. I +do not know how he lost it. We are living now on money I saved when +Harry made so much more, and my father gave me fifty pounds when he was +here, but he advised me not to tell Harry I had it. I was to save it for +days Harry had none—for the children. O John, all this troubles me!"</p> + +<p>And John's face flamed up, for his family pride was keenly touched. How +could Henry Hatton humble his family and his own honor by letting the +poor schoolmaster feed his wife and children? And he threw aside then +some considerations he had intended to make in Lucy's favor, for he saw +that she already shared his anxiety, and so would probably be his best +helper in any plan for Harry's salvation, from the insidious temptation +by which he was assailed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX" /><!-- Page 184 --><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184" />CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p class="center">JOHN INTERFERES IN HARRY'S AFFAIRS</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Gamblers are reckless men, always living between ebb and flow.</p> + +<p> The germ of every sin, is the reflection, whether it be possible. </p></div> + +<p>After John had recovered from the shock which the knowledge of Lugur's +interference in the financial affairs of his brother had given him, he +drew closer to his sister and took her hand and she said anxiously, +"John, what can I do to help you in getting Harry into the right way? I +know and feel that all is at present just as it should <i>not</i> be. I will +do whatever you advise." She was not weeping, but her face was white and +resolute and her eyes shone with the hope that had entered her heart.</p> + +<p>"As I traveled to London, Lucy, I thought of many ways and means, but +none of them stood the test of their probable ultimate results; and as I +entered my hotel I let them slip from me as useless. Then I saw a +gentleman writing his name in the registry book, and I knew it was +Matthew Ramsby. As soon as I saw him the plan for Harry's safety <!-- Page 185 --><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185" />came +to me in a flash of light and conviction. So I went and spoke to him and +we had dinner together. And I asked him if he was ever coming to Yoden +to live, and he said, 'No, it is too far from my hunt and from the races +I like best.' Then I offered to rent the place, and he was delighted. I +made very favorable terms, and Harry must go there with you and your +dear children. Are you willing?"</p> + +<p>"O John! It would be like a home in Paradise. And Harry would be safe if +he was under your influence."</p> + +<p>"You know, Lucy, what Jane's mother has done with Harlow House. Yoden +can be made far prettier and far more profitable. You may raise any +amount of poultry and on the wold there is a fine run for ducks and +geese. I will see that you have cows and a good riding-horse for Harry +and a little carriage of some kind for yourself and the children."</p> + +<p>"I shall soon have all these pleasant things at my finger ends. O John!"</p> + +<p>"But you must have a good farmer to look after the cattle and horses, +the meadowland and the grain-land and also the garden and orchard must +be attended to. Oh, I can see how busy and happy you will all be! And, +Lucy, you must use all your influence to get Harry out of London."</p> + +<p>"Harry will go gladly, but how can he be employed? He will soon be weary +of doing nothing."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 186 --><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186" />I have thought of that. What is your advice on this subject, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"He is tired of painting, and he has let his musical business fall away +a great deal lately. He does not keep in practice and in touch with the +men of his profession. He has been talking to me about writing a novel. +I am sure he has all the material he wants. Do not smile, John. It might +be a good thing even if it was a failure. It would keep him at home."</p> + +<p>"So it would, Lucy. And Harry always liked a farm. He loves the land. He +used to trouble mother meddling in the management of Hatton until he got +plainly told to mind his own business."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, John, we will let him manage Yoden land, and encourage him +to write a book, and he need not give up his music. He has always been +prominent in the Leeds musical festivals and Mr. Sullivan insists on +Harry's solo wherever he leads."</p> + +<p>"You are right, Lucy. In Hatton Harry used to direct all our musical +entertainments and he liked to do so. Men and women will be delighted to +have him back."</p> + +<p>"And he was the idol of the athletic club. I have heard him talk about +that very often. O John, I can see Harry's salvation. I have been very +anxious, but I knew it would come. I will work joyfully with you in +every way to help it forward."</p> + +<p>"You have been having a hard time I fear, Lucy."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 187 --><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187" />Outwardly it was sometimes hard, but there was always that wonderful +inner path to happiness—you know it, John."</p> + +<p>"And you never lost your confidence in God?"</p> + +<p>"If I had, I should have come to you. Did I ever do so? No, I waited +until God sent you to me. When I first went to Him about this anxiety, +He made me a promise. God keeps his promises."</p> + +<p>"Now I am going to look for Harry."</p> + +<p>"Do you know where he is?"</p> + +<p>"I know where the house he frequents is."</p> + +<p>"Suppose they will not let you see him?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to Scotland Yard first."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"For a constable to go with me."</p> + +<p>"You will be kind to Harry?"</p> + +<p>"As you are kind to little Agnes. I may have to strip my words for him +and make them very plain, but when that is done I will comfort and help +him. Will you sleep and rest and be sure all is well with Harry?"</p> + +<p>"As soon as my girl returns, I will do as you tell me. Tomorrow I—"</p> + +<p>"Let us leave tomorrow. It will have its own help and blessing, but +neither is due until tomorrow. We have not used up all today's blessing +yet. Good-bye, little sister! Sleeping or waking, dream of the happiness +coming to you and your children."</p> + +<p>It was only after two hours of delays and denials that John was able to +locate his brother. Lugur had <!-- Page 188 --><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188" />given him the exact location of the +house, but the man at the door constantly denied Harry's presence. It +was a small, dull, inconspicuous residence, but John felt acutely its +sinister character, many houses having this strange power of revealing +the inner life that permeates them. The man obtained at Scotland Yard +was well acquainted with the premises, but at first appeared to be +either ignorant or indifferent and only answered John's questions in +monosyllables until John said,</p> + +<p>"If you can take me to my brother, I will give you a pound."</p> + +<p>Then there was a change. The word "pound" went straight to his nervous +center, and he became intelligent and helpful.</p> + +<p>"When the door is opened again," he said, "walk inside. There is a long +passage going backward, and a room at the end of that passage. The kid +you want will be in that room."</p> + +<p>"You will go with me?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? They all know me."</p> + +<p>"Tell them my name is John Hatton."</p> + +<p>"I don't need to say a word. I have ways of putting up my hand which +they know, and obey. Ring the bell. I'll give the doorman the word to +pass you in. Walk forward then and you'll find your young man, as I told +you, in the room at the end of the passage. I'll bet on it. I shall be +close behind you, but do your own talking."</p> + +<p>John followed the directions given and soon found <!-- Page 189 --><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189" />himself in a room +handsomely but scantily furnished. There were some large easy chairs, a +wide comfortable sofa, and tables covered with green baize. A fire +blazed fitfully in a bright steel grate, but there were no pictures, no +ornaments of any kind, no books or musical instruments. The gas burned +dimly and the fire was dull and smoky, for there was a heavy fog outside +which no light could fully penetrate. The company were nearly all +middle-aged and respectable-looking. Their hands were full of cards, and +they were playing with them like men in a ghostly dream. They never +lifted their eyes. They threw down cards on the table in silence, they +gathered them up with a muttered word and went on again. They seemed to +John like the wild phantasmagoria of some visionary hell. Their silent, +mechanical movements, their red eyelids, their broad white faces, +utterly devoid of intellect or expression, terrified him. He could not +avoid the tense, shocked accent with which he called his brother's name.</p> + +<p>Harry looked up as if he had heard a voice in his sleep. A strained +unlovely light was on his face. His luck had turned. He was going to +win. He could not speak. His whole soul was bent upon the next throw and +with a cry of satisfaction he lifted the little roll of bills the +croupier pushed towards him.</p> + +<p>Then John laid his hand firmly on Harry's shoulder. "<i>Give that money to +me</i>," he said and in a <!-- Page 190 --><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190" />bewildered manner Harry mechanically obeyed the +command. Then John, holding it between his finger and thumb, walked +straight to the hearth and threw the whole roll into the fire. For a +moment there was a dead silence; then two of the youngest men rose to +their feet. John went back to the table. Cards from every hand were +scattered there, and looking steadily at the men round it, John asked +with intense feeling,</p> + +<p>"GENTLEMEN, <i>what will it profit you, if you gain the whole world and +lose your own souls; for what shall a man give in exchange for his +soul?</i>"</p> + +<p>A dead silence followed these questions, but as John left the room with +his brother, he heard an angry querulous voice exclaim,</p> + +<p>"Most outrageous! Most unusual! O croupier! croupier!"</p> + +<p>Then he was at the door. He paid the promised pound, and as his cab was +waiting, he motioned to Harry to enter it. All the way to Charing Cross, +John preserved an indignant silence and Harry copied his attitude, +though the almost incessant beating of his doubled hands together showed +the intense passion which agitated him.</p> + +<p>Half an hour's drive brought them to the privacy of their hotel rooms +and as quickly as they entered them, John turned on his brother like a +lion brought to bay.</p> + +<p>"How dared you," he said in a low, hard voice, "how dared you let me +find you in such a place?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 191 --><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191" />I was with gentlemen playing a quiet game. You had no right to disturb +me."</p> + +<p>"You were playing with thieves and blackguards. There was not a +gentleman in the room—no, not one."</p> + +<p>"John, take care what you say."</p> + +<p>"A man is no better than the company he keeps. Go with rascals and you +will be counted one of them. Yes, and so you ought to be. I am ashamed +of you!"</p> + +<p>"I did not ask you to come into my company. I did not want you. It was +most interfering of you. Yes, John, I call it impudently interfering. I +gave way to you this time to prevent a police scene, but I will never do +it again! Never!"</p> + +<p>"You will never go into such a den of iniquity again. Never! Mind that! +The dead and the living both will block your way. We Hattons have been +honest men in all our generations. Sons of the soil, taking our living +from the land on which we lived in some way or other—never before from +dirty cards in dirty hands and shuffled about in roguery, treachery, and +robbery. I feel defiled by breathing the same air with such a crowd of +card-sharpers and scoundrels."</p> + +<p>"I say they were good honest gentlemen. Sir Thomas Leland was there, +and——"</p> + +<p>"I don't care if they were all princes. They were a bad lot, and theft +and cards and brandy were written large on every sickly, wicked, white +face of <!-- Page 192 --><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192" />them. O Harry, how dared you disgrace your family by keeping +such company?"</p> + +<p>"No one but a Methodist preacher is respectable in your eyes, John. +Everyone in Hatton knew the Naylors, yet you gave them the same bad +names."</p> + +<p>"And they deserved all and more than they got. They gambled with horses +instead of cards. They ran nobler animals than themselves to death for +money—and money for which neither labor nor its equivalent is given is +dishonest money and the man who puts it in his pocket is a thief and +puts hell in his pocket with it."</p> + +<p>"John, if I were you I would use more gentlemanly language."</p> + +<p>"O Harry! Harry! My dear, dear brother! I am speaking now not only for +myself but for mother and Lucy and your lovely children. Who or what is +driving you down this road of destruction? I have left home at a hard +time to help you. Come to me, Harry! Come and sit down beside me as you +always have done. Tell me what is wrong, my brother!"</p> + +<p>Harry was walking angrily about the room, but at these words his eyes +filled with tears. He stood still and looked at John and when John +stretched out his arms, he could not resist the invitation. The next +moment his head was on John's breast and John's arm was across Harry's +shoulders and John was saying such words as the wounded heart loves <!-- Page 193 --><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193" />to +hear. Then Harry told all his trouble and all his temptation and John +freely forgave him. With little persuasion, indeed almost voluntarily, +he gave John a sacred promise never to touch a card again. And then +there were some moments of that satisfying silence which occurs when a +great danger has been averted or a great wrong been put right.</p> + +<p>But Harry looked white and wretched. He had been driven, as it were, out +of the road of destruction, but he felt like a man in a pathless desert +who saw no road of any kind. The fear of a lost child was in his heart.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Harry?" asked John, for he saw that his brother was faint +and exhausted.</p> + +<p>"Well, John, I have eaten nothing since morning—and my heart sinks. I +have been doing wrong. I am sorry. I ought to have come to you."</p> + +<p>"To be sure. Now you shall have food, and then I have something to tell +you that will make you happy." So while Harry ate, John told him of the +renting of Yoden and laid before him all that it promised. And as John +talked the young man's countenance grew radiant and he clasped his +brother's hand and entered with almost boyish enthusiasm into every +detail of the Yoden plan. He was particularly delighted at the prospect +of turning the fine old house into an unique and beautiful modern home. +He laughed joyously as he saw in imagination the blending of the old +carved oak furniture with his own pretty maple and rosewood. His +artis<!-- Page 194 --><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194" />tic sense saw at once how the high dark chimney-pieces would glow +and color with his bric-a-brac, and how his historical paintings would +make the halls and stairways alive with old romance; and his copies of +Turner and other landscapes would adorn the sitting-and sleeping-rooms.</p> + +<p>John entered fully into his delight and added, "Why, Ramsby told me that +there were some fine old carpets yet on the floors and Genoese velvet +window-curtains lined with rose-colored satin which were not yet past +use."</p> + +<p>"Oh, delightful!" cried Harry. "We will blend Lucy's white lace ones +with them. John, I am coming into the dream of my life."</p> + +<p>"I know it, Harry. The farm is small but it will be enough. You will +soon have it like a garden. Harry, you were born to live on the land and +by the land, and when you get to Yoden your feverish dream of cities and +their fame and fortune will pass, even from your memory. Lucy and you +are going to be so busy and happy, happier than you ever were before!"</p> + +<p>It was however several days before the change could be properly entered +upon. There were points of law to settle and the packing and removal to +arrange for, and though John was anxious and unhappy he could not leave +Harry and Lucy until they thoroughly understood what was to be done. But +how they enjoyed the old place in anticipation! John smiled to see Harry +from morning to night in <!-- Page 195 --><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195" />deshabille as workmanlike as possible, with a +foot rule or hammer constantly in his hand.</p> + +<p>Yes, the London house was all in confusion, but Oh, what a happy +confusion! Lucy was so busy, she hardly knew what to do first, but her +comfortable good-temper suffused the homeliest duties of life with the +sacred glow of unselfish love, and John, watching her sunny +cheerfulness, said to himself,</p> + +<p>"Surely God smiled upon her soul before it came to this earth."</p> + +<p>In a short time Lucy had got right under the situation. She knew exactly +what ought to be done and did it, being quite satisfied that Harry +should spend his time in measuring accurately and packing with extremest +care his pictures and curios and all the small things so large and +important to himself. And it was not to Harry but to Lucy that John gave +all important instructions, for he soon perceived that it was Harry's +way to rush into the middle of things but never to overtake himself.</p> + +<p>At length after ten days of unwearying superintendence, John felt that +Lucy and Harry could be left to manage their own affairs. Now, we like +the people we help and bless, and John during his care for his brother's +family had become much attached to every member of it, for even little +Agnes could now hold out her arms to him and lisp his name. So his last +duty in London was to visit Harry's house and bid them all a short +farewell. He found Harry measuring with his foot rule a box for one of +his <!-- Page 196 --><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196" />finest paintings. It had to be precisely of the size Harry had +decided on and he was as bent on this result as if it was a matter of +great importance.</p> + +<p>"You see, John," he said, "it is a very hard thing to make the box fit +the picture. It is really a difficult thing to do."</p> + +<p>John smiled and then asked, "Why should you do it, Harry? It would be so +easy <i>not</i> to do it, or to have a man who makes a business of the work +do it for you." And Harry shook his head and began the measurement of +box and picture over again.</p> + +<p>"The little chappies are asleep, John, I wouldn't disturb them. Lucy is +in the nursery. You had better tell her anything that ought to be done. +I shall be sure to forget with these measurements to carry in my head."</p> + +<p>"Put them on paper, Harry."</p> + +<p>"The paper might get lost."</p> + +<p>And John smiled and answered, "So it might."</p> + +<p>So John went to the nursery and first of all to the boys' bed. Very +quietly they slipped their little hands into his and told him in +whispers, "Mamma is singing Agnes to sleep, and we must not make any +noise." So very quiet good-bye kisses full of sweet promises were given +and John turned towards Lucy. She sat in her low nursing-chair slowly +rocking to-and-fro the baby in her arms. Her face was bent and smiling +above it and she was singing sweet and singing low a strain from a +pretty lullaby,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><!-- Page 197 --><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197" /> +<span>"O rock the sweet carnation red,<br /></span> +<span>And rock the silver lining,<br /></span> +<span>And rock my baby softly, too,<br /></span> +<span>With skein of silk entwining.<br /></span> +<span>Come, O Sleep, from Chio's Isle!<br /></span> +<span>And take my little one awhile!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She had lost all her anxious expression. She was rosy and smiling, and +looked as if she liked the nursery rhyme as well as Agnes did and that +Agnes liked it was shown by the little starts with which she roused +herself if she felt the song slipping away from her.</p> + +<p>"Let me kiss the little one," said John, "and then I must bid you +good-bye. We shall soon meet again, Lucy, and I am glad to leave you +looking so much better."</p> + +<p>Lucy not only looked much better, she was exceedingly beautiful. For her +nature reached down to the perennial, and she had kept a child's +capacity to be happy in small, everyday pleasures. It was always such an +easy thing to please her and so difficult for little frets to annoy her. +Harry's inconsequent, thoughtless ways would have worried and tried some +women to the uttermost, for he was frequently less thoughtful and less +helpful than he should have been. But Lucy was slow to notice or to +believe any wrong of her husband and even if it was made evident to her +she was ready to forgive it, ready to throw over his little tempers, his +hasty rudenesses, <!-- Page 198 --><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198" />and his never-absent selfishness, the cloak of her +merciful manifest love.</p> + +<p>"What a loving little woman she is!" thought John, but really what +affected him most was her constant cheerfulness. No fear could make her +doubt and she welcomed the first gleam of hope with smiles that filled +the house with the sunshine of her sure and fortunate expectations. How +did she do it? Then there flashed across John's mind the words of the +prophet Isaiah, "Thou meetest him <i>that rejoiceth</i>, and worketh +righteousness." God does not go to meet the complaining and the doubting +and the inefficient. He goes to meet the cheerful, the courageous and +the good worker; that is, God helps those who help themselves. And God's +help is not a peradventure; it is potential and mighty to save; "for our +Redeemer is strong. He shall thoroughly plead our cause," in every +emergency of Life.</p> + +<p>Very early next morning John turned a happy face homeward. The hero of +today has generally the ball of skepticism attached to his foot, but +between John Hatton and the God he loved there was not one shadow of +doubt. John knew and was sure that everything, no matter how evil it +looked, would work together for good.</p> + +<p>It was a day of misty radiance until the sun rose high and paved the +clouds with fire. Then the earth was glad. The birds were singing as if +they never would grow old, and, Oh, the miles and miles of <!-- Page 199 --><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199" />green, green +meadows, far, far greener than the youngest leaves on the trees! There +were no secrets and no nests in the trees yet, but John knew they were +coming. He could have told what kind of trees his favorite birds would +choose and how they would build their nests among the branches.</p> + +<p>Towards noon he caught the electric atmosphere pouring down the northern +mountains. He saw the old pines clambering up their bulwarks, and the +streams glancing and dancing down their rocky sides and over the brown +plowed fields below great flocks of crows flying heavily. Then he knew +that he was coming nigh to Hatton-in-Elmete and at last he saw the great +elm-trees that still distinguished his native locality. Then his heart +beat with a warmer, quicker tide. They blended inextricably with his +thoughts of mother and wife, child and home, and he felt strongly that +mystical communion between Man and Nature given to those</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Whose ears have heard<br /></span> +<span>The Ancient Word,<br /></span> +<span>Who walked among the silent trees.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Not that Nature in any form or any measure had supplanted his thoughts +of Jane. She had been the dominant note in every reflection during all +the journey. Mountain and stream, birds and trees and shifting clouds +had only served as the beautiful background against which he set her in +unfading beauty <!-- Page 200 --><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200" />and tenderness. For he was sure that she loved him and +he believed that Love would yet redeem the past.</p> + +<p>During his absence she had written him the most affectionate and +charming letters and when the train reached Hatton-in-Elmete, she was +waiting to receive him. He had a very pardonable pride in her appearance +and the attention she attracted pleased him. In his heart he was far +prouder of being Jane's husband than of being master of Hatton. She had +driven down to the train in her victoria, and he took his seat proudly +at her side and let his heart fully enjoy the happy ride home in the +sunshine of her love.</p> + +<p>A delightful lunch followed and John was glad that the presence of +servants prevented the discussion of any subject having power to disturb +this heavenly interlude. He talked of the approaching war, but as yet +there was no tone of fear in his speculations about its effects. He told +her of his visits to her uncle, and of the evenings they had spent +together at Lord Harlow's club; or he spoke in a casual way of Harry's +coming to Yoden and of little external matters connected with the +change.</p> + +<p>But as soon as they were alone Jane showed her disapproval of this +movement. "Whatever is bringing your brother back to the North?" she +asked. "I thought he objected both to the people and the climate."</p> + +<p>"I advised him to take Ramsby's offer for Yoden. <!-- Page 201 --><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201" />The children needed +the country and Harry was not as I like to see him. I think they will be +very happy at Yoden. Harry always liked living on the land. He was made +to live on it."</p> + +<p>"I thought he was made to fiddle and sing," said Jane with a little +scornful laugh.</p> + +<p>"He does both to perfection, but a man's likes and dislikes change, as +the years go by."</p> + +<p>"Yes, plenty of women find that out."</p> + +<p>Her tone and manner was doubtful and unpleasant, the atmosphere of the +room was chilled, and John said in a tentative manner, "I will now ride +to Hatton Hall. Mother is expecting me, I know. Come with me, Jane, and +I will order the victoria. It is a lovely afternoon for a drive."</p> + +<p>"I would rather you went alone, John."</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"It will spare me telling you some things I do not care to speak about."</p> + +<p>"What is wrong at Hatton Hall?"</p> + +<p>"Only Mrs. John Hatton."</p> + +<p>Then John was much troubled. The light went out of his eyes and the +smile faded from his face and he stood up as he answered,</p> + +<p>"You have misunderstood something that mother has said."</p> + +<p>"Why do you talk of things impossible, John?" Jane asked. "Mrs. Stephen +Hatton speaks too plainly to be misunderstood. Indeed her words enter +the ears like darts."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 202 --><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202" />Yes, she strips them to the naked truth. If it be a fault, it is one +easy to excuse."</p> + +<p>"I do not find it so."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you will not go with me, for I shall have to give a good +deal of this evening to Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"I expected that."</p> + +<p>"Go with me this afternoon, <i>do</i>, my dear! We can ride on to Harlow +also."</p> + +<p>"I spent all yesterday with my mother."</p> + +<p>"Then, good-bye! I will be home in an hour."</p> + +<p>John found it very pleasant to ride through the village and up Hatton +Hill again. He thought the very trees bent their branches to greet him +and that the linnets and thrushes sang together about his return. Then +he smiled at his foolish thought, yet instantly wondered if it might not +be true, and thus fantastically reasoning, he came to the big gates of +the Hall, and saw his mother watching for his arrival.</p> + +<p>He took her hands and kissed her tenderly. "O mother! Mother!" he cried. +"How glad I am to see you!"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, my dear lad. But if I had not got your note this morning, I +would have known by the sound of your horse's feet he was bringing John +home, for your riding was like that of Jehu, the son of Nimshi. But +there! Come thy ways in, and tell me what has happened thee, here and +there."</p> + +<p>They talked first of the coming war, and John <!-- Page 203 --><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203" />advised his mother to +prepare for it. "It will be a war between two rich and stubborn +factions," he said. "It is likely enough to last for years. I may have +to shut Hatton mill."</p> + +<p>"Shut it while you have a bit of money behind it, John. I heard Arkroyd +had told his hands he would lock his gates at the end of the month."</p> + +<p>"I shall keep Hatton mill going, mother, as long as I have money enough +to buy a bale of cotton at any price."</p> + +<p>"I know you will. But there! What is the good of talking about +<i>maybe's</i>? At every turn and corner of life, there is sure to stand a +<i>maybe</i>. I wait until we meet and I generally find them more friendly +than otherwise."</p> + +<p>"I wanted Jane to come with me this afternoon, and she would not do so."</p> + +<p>"She is right. I don't think I expect her to come. She didn't like what +I said to her the last time she favored me with a visit."</p> + +<p>"What did you say to her, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I will not tell thee. I hev told her to her face and I will not be a +backbiter. Not I! Ask thy wife what I said to her and why I said it and +the example I set before her. She can tell thee."</p> + +<p>"Whatever is the matter with the women of these days, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I cannot tell. If they had a thimbleful of sense, they would +know that the denial of the family tie is sure to weaken the marriage +tie. One thing <!-- Page 204 --><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204" />I know is that society has put motherhood out of +fashion. It considers the nursery a place of punishment instead of a +place of pleasure. Young Mrs. Wrathall was here yesterday all in a +twitter of pleasure, because her husband is letting her take lessons in +music and drawing."</p> + +<p>"Why, mother, she must be thirty years old. What did you say to her?"</p> + +<p>"I reminded her that she had four little children and the world could +get along without water-color sketches and amateur music, but that it +could not possibly get along without wives and mothers."</p> + +<p>"You might have also told her, mother, that if the Progressive Club +would read history, they might find out that those times in any nation +when wives were ornaments and not mothers were always periods of +national decadence and moral failures."</p> + +<p>"Well, John, you won't get women to search history for results that +wouldn't please them; and to expect a certain kind of frivolous, selfish +woman to look beyond her own pleasure is to expect the great miracle +that will never come. You can't expect it."</p> + +<p>"But Jane is neither frivolous nor selfish."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you can say, mother?"</p> + +<p>"All. Every word. Between you and her I will not stand. I have given her +my mind. It is all I have to give her at present. I want to hear +something about Harry. Whatever is he coming to Yoden for? Yoden will +take a goodish bit of money <!-- Page 205 --><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205" />to run it and if he hasn't a capable wife, +he had better move out as soon as he moves in."</p> + +<p>Then John told her the whole truth about Harry's position—his weariness +of his profession, his indifference to business, and his temptation to +gamble.</p> + +<p>"The poor lad! The poor lad!" she cried. "He began all wrong. He has +just been seeking his right place all these years."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother, we cannot get over the stile until we come to it. I think +Harry has crossed it now. And there could not be a better wife and +mother than Lucy Hatton. You will help and advise her, mother? I am sure +you will."</p> + +<p>"I will do what I can, John. She ought to have called the little girl +after me. I can scarce frame myself to love her under Agnes. However, it +is English enough to stick in my memory and maybe it may find the way to +my heart. As to Harry, he is my boy, and I will stand by him everywhere +and in every way I can. He is sweet and true-hearted, and clever on all +sides—the dangerous ten talents, John! We ought to pity and help him, +for their general heritage is</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The ears to hear,<br /></span> +<span>The eyes to see,<br /></span> +<span>And the hands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That let all go."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X" /><!-- Page 206 --><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206" />CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p class="center">AT HER GATES</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>We shape ourselves the joy or tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of which the coming life is made;<br /></span> +<span>And fill our future atmosphere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sunshine or with shade.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was just at the edge of the dark when John left his mother. He had +perhaps been strengthened by her counsel, but he had not been comforted. +In Hatton market-place he saw a large gathering of men and women and +heard Greenwood in a passionate tone talking to them. Very soon a voice, +almost equally powerful, started what appeared to be a hymn, and John +rode closer to the crowd and listened.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The Day of the Lord is at hand, at hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His storms roll up the sky;<br /></span> +<span>The nations sleep starving on heaps of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dreamers toss and sigh.<br /></span> +<span>The night is darkest before the morn,<br /></span> +<span>When the pain is sorest the child is born,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the Day of the Lord is at hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Famine, and Plague, and War,<br /></span> +<span><!-- Page 207 --><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207" />Idleness, Bigotry, Cant and Misrule,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gather, and fall in the snare.<br /></span> +<span>Hireling and Mammonite, Bigot and Knave,<br /></span> +<span>Crawl to the battlefield, sneak to your grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the Day of the Lord at hand."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>John did not hear Greenwood's voice among the singers, but at the close +of the second verse it rose above all others. "Lads and lasses of the +chapel singing-pew," he cried, "we will better that kind of stuff. Sing +up to the tune of Olivet," and to this majestic melody he started in a +clarion-like voice Toplady's splendid hymn,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Lo! He comes with clouds descending,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once for favored sinners slain,<br /></span> +<span>Thousand, thousand saints attending,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swell the triumph of his train.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hallelujah!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God appears on earth to reign."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The words were as familiar as their mother tongue, and Greenwood's +authoritative voice in chapel, mill, and trade meetings, was quite as +intimate and potential. They answered his request almost as +automatically as the looms answered the signal for their movement or +stoppage; for music quickly fires a Yorkshire heart and a hymn led by +Jonathan Greenwood was a temptation no man or woman present could +resist. Very soon he gave them the word "<i>Home</i>," and they scattered in +every <!-- Page 208 --><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208" />direction, singing the last verse. Then Greenwood's voice rose +higher and higher, jubilant, triumphant in its closing lines,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Yea, amen! Let all adore Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High on thy eternal throne;<br /></span> +<span>Saviour, take the power and glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Claim the kingdom for thine own.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Jah Jehovah!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Everlasting God come down."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Greenwood's joyful enthusiasm was more than John could encounter at that +hour. He did not stop to speak with him, but rode swiftly home. He saw +and felt the brooding trouble and knew the question of more wage and +shorter hours, though now a smoldering one, might at any hour become a +burning one, only there was the coming war. If the men went on strike, +he could then reasonably lock his factory gates. No, he could not. The +inner John Hatton would not permit the outer man to do such a thing. His +looms must work while he had a pound of cotton to feed them.</p> + +<p>This resolution, warm and strong in his heart, cheered him, and he +hastened home. Then he wondered how it would be with him there, and a +feeling of unhappiness conquered for a moment. But John's mental bravery +was the salt to all his other virtues, and mental bravery does not quail +before an uncertainty.</p> + +<p><!-- Page 209 --><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209" />He hoped that Jane would, as was her usual custom, meet him at the +door, that she would hear his step and answer the call of it. But she +did not. Then he remembered that the night had turned chilly and that it +was near to dinner-time. She was probably in her dressing-room, but this +uncertainty was not cheerful. Yet he sang as he prepared himself for +dinner. He did not know why he sang for the song was not in his +heart—he only felt it to be an act of relief and encouragement.</p> + +<p>When he went to the dining-room Jane was there. She roused herself with +a sleepy languor and stretched out her arms to him with welcoming +smiles. For a moment he stood motionless and silent. She had dressed +herself wonderfully in a long, graceful robe of white broadcloth, rich +and soft and shining as the white satin which lay in folds about the +bosom and sleeves and encircled her waist in a broad belt. Her hair, +freed of puffs and braids, showed all its beauty in glossy smoothness +and light coils, and in its meshes was one large red rose, the fellow of +which was partly hidden among the laces at her bosom. Half-asleep she +went to meet him, and his first feeling was a kind of awe at the sight +of her. He had not dreamed she was so beautiful. Without a word he took +her hands and hiding his emotion in some commonplace remark, drew her to +his side.</p> + +<p>"You are lovelier than on your bridal morning, most sweet Jane," he +whispered. "What have you been doing to yourself?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 210 --><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210" />Well, John," she laughed, "Mrs. Tracy sent me word she was going to +call between four and five to give me a few points about the girls' +sewing-class, and I thought I would at the same time give her a few +points about dressing herself. You know she is usually a fright."</p> + +<p>"I thought—perhaps—you had dressed yourself to please me."</p> + +<p>"You are quite right, John. Your pleasure is always the first motive for +anything I do or wear."</p> + +<p>The dinner hour passed to such pleasant platitudes as John's description +of the manner in which Greenwood broke up the radical meeting in the +market-place; but in both hearts and below all the sweet intercourse +there lay a sense of tragedy that nothing could propitiate or avert.</p> + +<p>The subject, however, was not named till they were quite alone and the +very house in its intense stillness appeared to be waiting and listening +for the words to be spoken. John was about to speak them, but Jane rose +suddenly to her feet and looking steadily at him said,</p> + +<p>"John, what did your mother say about me this afternoon? I expect you to +tell me every word."</p> + +<p>"She would not talk about you in any way. She said she had given you her +whole mind straight to your face and would do no backbiting. That is, as +you know, mother's way."</p> + +<p>"Well, John, I would rather have the backbiting. I like to be treated +decently to my face. People are <!-- Page 211 --><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211" />welcome to say whatever they like when +I am not present to be annoyed by their evil suspicions."</p> + +<p>"She told me to ask you what was said and I trust you will tell me."</p> + +<p>"I will. You remember that I had a whole society of women in the parlors +and I could only give you a short farewell; but I was much grieved to +send you away with such a brooding sorrow in your heart. The next day I +was putting the house in order and writing to you and I did not go out. +But on the morning of the third day I determined to visit my mother and +to call at Hatton Hall as I returned home.</p> + +<p>"I did not have a pleasant visit at Harlow. Since mother has begun to +save money, she has lost all interest in any other subject. I told her +how affairs were between us, and though she had hitherto been rabidly in +favor of no children she appeared that morning indifferent to everything +but the loss of a brood of young chickens which some animal had eaten or +carried off. On this subject she was passionately in earnest; she knew +to a farthing the amount of her loss, and when I persisted in telling +her how you and I had parted, she only reiterated in a more angry manner +her former directions and assurances on this subject.</p> + +<p>"After a very spare dinner she was more attentive to my trouble. She +said it had become a serious question in nearly all married lives—"</p> + +<p>"I deny that, Jane. The large majority of <!-- Page 212 --><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212" />women, I am sure, when they +marry do not hold themselves outraged and degraded by the consequences, +nor do they consider natural functions less honorable than social ones. +Money can release a woman from work, but it cannot release her from any +service of love."</p> + +<p>"Men forget very easily the physical sufferings of wives. I love our +little Martha as well as, perhaps better than, you do, but I remember +clearly that for nearly a whole year I endured the solitude, sickness, +and acute suffering of maternity. And whatever else you do, you will +<i>never</i> persuade me to like having children. And pray what kind of +children will women bear when they don't want them?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Jane, your question would stagger me, if I did not know that +Nature often skips a generation, and produces some older and finer +type."</p> + +<p>"Highly civilized men don't want children. Lady Harlow told me so, +John."</p> + +<p>"Well then, Jane, highly civilized men are in no danger. They need not +fear what women can do to them. They will only find women pleasant to +meet and easy to leave. I saw many, many women in the London parks and +shopping district so perverted as to be on friendly terms with dogs, and +in their homes, with cats and cockatoos, and who had no affection for +children—women who could try to understand the screams of a parrot, the +barking of a dog, but who would not tolerate the lovely patois of the +nursery. Jane, the salvation of society de<!-- Page 213 --><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213" />pends on good mothers, and if +women decline to be mothers at all, it is a shameful and dangerous +situation."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Why should I, for instance, undertake the reformation of +society? I wish rather to educate and reform myself."</p> + +<p>"All right! No education is too wide or too high for a mother. She has +to educate heroes, saints, and good workers. There would have been no +Gracchi, if there had been no Cornelia; no Samuel, if Hannah had not +trained him. The profession of motherhood is woman's great natural +office; no others can be named with it. The family must be put before +everything else as a principle."</p> + +<p>"John," she said coaxingly, "you are so far behind the times. The idea +of 'home' is growing antiquated, and the institution of the family is +passing out of date, my dear."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, Jane. Mother and home are the soul of the world; they +will never pass. I read the other day that Horace Walpole thanked God +that he came into the world when there were still such terms as +'afternoon' and 'evening.' I hope I may say I came when the ideas of +'home' and children' were still the moving principles of human society; +and I swear that I will do nothing to sink them below the verge. God +forbid!"</p> + +<p>"John, I am not concerned about principles. My care is not for anything +but what concerns ourselves and our home. I tell you plainly I do not +desire <!-- Page 214 --><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214" />children. I will not have any more. I will do all I can to make +you honorable and happy. I will order and see to your house, servants, +and expenditures. I will love and cherish and bring up properly our dear +child. I will make you socially respected. I will read or write, or play +or sing to your desire. I will above all other things love and obey you. +Is not this sufficient, John?"</p> + +<p>"No, I want children. They were an understood consequence of our +marriage. I feel ashamed among my fellows——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose you would like to imitate Squire Atherton and take two +pews in church for your sons and daughters and walk up the aisle every +Sunday before them. It is comical to watch them. And poor Mrs. Atherton! +Once she was the beauty of the West Riding! Now she is a faded, draggled +skeleton, carelessly and unfashionably dressed, following meekly the +long procession of her giggling girls and sulky boys. Upon my word, +John, it is enough to cure any girl of the marriage fever to see Squire +Atherton and his friend Ashby and Roper of Roper's Mills and Coates of +Coates Mills and the like. And if it was an understood thing in our +marriage that I should suffer and perhaps die in order that a new lot of +cotton-spinners be born, why was it not so stated in the bond?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Jane, the trial to which you propose to subject me, I cannot +discuss tonight. You have said all I can bear at present. It has been a +long, long, <!-- Page 215 --><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215" />hard day. God help me! Good night!" Then he bowed his head +and slowly left the room.</p> + +<p>Jane was astonished, but his white face, the sad, yonderly look in his +eyes, and the way in which he bit his lower lip went like a knife to her +heart.</p> + +<p>She sat still, speechless, motionless. She had not expected either his +prompt denial of her position or its powerful effect on him physically. +Never before had she seen John show any symptoms of illness, and his +sudden collapse of bodily endurance, his evident suffering and +deliberate walk frightened her. She feared he might have a fit and fall +downstairs. Colonel Booth had found his death in that way when he heard +of his son's accident on the railway. "All Yorkshiremen," she mused, +"are so full-blooded and hot-blooded, everything that does not please +them goes either to their brains or their hearts—and John <i>has</i> a +heart." Yes, she acknowledged John had a heart, and then wondered again +what made him so anxious to have children.</p> + +<p>But with all her efforts to make a commonplace event of her husband's +great sorrow, she did not succeed in stifling the outcry in her own +heart. She whispered to it to "Be still!" She promised to make up for +it, even to undo it, sometime; but the Accuser would not let her rest, +and when exhaustion ended in sleep, chastised her with distracting, +miserable dreams.</p> + +<p>John walked slowly upstairs, but he had no thought of falling. He knew +that something had <!-- Page 216 --><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216" />happened to the Inner Man, and he wanted to steady +and control him. It was not Jane's opinions; it was not public opinion, +however widespread it might be. It was the blood of generations of good +men and good women that roused in him a passionate protest against the +destruction of their race. His private sense of injustice and disloyalty +came later. Then the iron entered his soul and it was on this very bread +of bitterness he had now to feed it; for on this bread only could he +grow to the full stature of a man of God. His heart was bruised and +torn, but his soul was unshaken, and the hidden power and strength of +life revealed themselves.</p> + +<p>First he threw all anger behind him. He thought of his wife with +tenderness and pity only. He made himself recall her charm and her love. +He decided that it would be better not to argue the fatal subject with +her again. "No man can convince a woman," he thought. "She must be led +to convince herself. I will trust her to God. He will send some teacher +who cannot fail." Then he thought of the days of pleasantness they had +passed together, and his heart felt as if it must break, while from +behind his closed eyelids great tears rolled down his face.</p> + +<p>This incident, though so natural, shocked him. He arrested such evident +grief at once and very soon he stood up to pray. So prayed the gray +fathers of the world, Terah and Abram, Lot and Jacob; and John stood at +the open window with his <!-- Page 217 --><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217" />troubled face lifted to the starlit sky. His +soul was seeking earnestly that depth in our nature where the divine and +human are one, for when the brain is stupefied by the inevitable and we +know not what to abandon and what to defend, that is the sanctuary where +we shall find help for every hour of need.</p> + +<p>What words, wonderful and secret, were there spoken it is not well to +inquire. They were for John's wounded heart alone, and though he came +from that communion weeping, it was</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">—as a child that cries,<br /></span> +<span>But crying, knows his Father near.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Nothing was different but he sat down hushed and strengthened, and in +his heart and on his lips the most triumphant words a man or woman can +utter, <i>"Thy Will be done!"</i> Then there was a great peace. He had cast +all his sorrow upon God and <i>left it with God</i>. He did not bring it back +with him as we are so ready to do. It was not that he comprehended any +more clearly why this sorrow and trial had come to darken his happy +home, but Oh, <i>what matters comprehension when there is faith!</i> John did +not make inquiries; he knew by experience that there are spiritual +conditions as real as physical facts. The shadows were all gone. Nothing +was different,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i15">—yet this much he knew,<br /></span> +<span>His soul stirred in its chrysalis of clay,<br /></span> +<span><!-- Page 218 --><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218" />A strange peace filled him like a cup; he grew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Better, wiser and gladder, on that day:<br /></span> +<span>This dusty, worn-out world seemed made anew,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Because God's Way, had now become his way.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then he fell into that sleep which God gives to his beloved, and when he +awoke it was the dayshine. The light streamed in through the eastern +windows, there was a robin singing on his window sill, and there was no +trouble in his heart but what he could face.</p> + +<p>His business was now urging him to be diligent, and his business—being +that of so many others, he durst not neglect it. Jane he did not see. +Her maid said she had been ill all night and had fallen asleep at the +dawning, and John left her a written message and went earlier to the +mill than usual. But Greenwood was there, busily examining bales of +cotton and singing and scolding alternately as he worked. John joined +him and they had a hard morning's work together, throughout which only +one subject occupied both minds—the mill and cotton to feed its looms.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon Greenwood took up the more human phase of the question. +He told John that six of their unmarried men had gone to America. "They +think mebbe they'll be a bit better off there, sir. I don't think they +will."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit."</p> + +<p>"And while you were away Jeremiah Stokes left <!-- Page 219 --><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219" />his loom forever. It +didn't put him out any. It was a stormy night for the flitting—thunder +and lightning and wind and rain—but he went smiling and whispering,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"There is a land of pure delight!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"The woman, poor soul, had a harder journey."</p> + +<p>"Who was she?"</p> + +<p>"Susanna Dobson. You remember the little woman that came from Leeds?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Loom forty. I hope she has not left a large family."</p> + +<p>"Nay, if there had been a big family, she would varry likely hev been at +her loom today"—then there were a few softly spoken words, and John +walked forward, but he could not forget how singularly the empty loom +had appealed to him on that last morning he had walked through the mill +with Greenwood. There are strange coincidences and links in events of +which we know nothing at all—occult, untraceable altogether, material, +yet having distinct influences not over matter but over some one mind or +heart.</p> + +<p>A little before closing time Greenwood said, "Julius Yorke will be +spreading himself all over Hatton tonight. A word or two from thee, sir, +might settle him a bit."</p> + +<p>"I think you settled him very well last night."</p> + +<p>"It suited me to do so. I like to threep a man <!-- Page 220 --><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220" />that is my equal in his +head piece. Yorke is nobbut a hunchbacked dwarf and he talks a lot of +nonsense, but he <i>feels</i> all he says. He's just a bit of crooked +humanity on fire and talking at white heat."</p> + +<p>"What was he talking about?"</p> + +<p>"Rights and wrongs, of course. There was a good deal of truth in what he +said, but he used words I didn't like; they came out of some +blackguard's dictionary, so I told him to be quiet, and when he wouldn't +be quiet, we sung him down with a verse out o' John Wesley's hymn-book."</p> + +<p>"All right! You are a match for Yorke, Greenwood. I will leave him to +you. I am very weary. The last two days have been hard ones."</p> + +<p>There was a tone of pathos in John's words and voice and Greenwood +realized it. He touched his cap, and turned away. "Married men hev their +own tribulations," he muttered. "I hev had a heartache mysen all day +long about the way Polly went on this morning. And her with such a good +husband as I am!"</p> + +<p>Greenwood went home to such discouraging reflections, and John's were +just as discomforting. For he had left his wife on the previous night, +in a distressed unsettled condition, and he felt that there was now +something in Jane's, and his own, past which must not be referred to, +and indeed he had promised himself never to name it.</p> + +<p>But a past that is buried alive is a difficult ghost to lay, and he +feared Jane would not be satisfied <!-- Page 221 --><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221" />until she had opened the dismal +grave of their dead happiness again—and perhaps again and again. He set +his lips straight and firm during this reflection, and said something of +which only the last four words were audible, "Thy grace is sufficient."</p> + +<p>However, there was no trace of a disposition to resume a painful +argument in Jane's words or attitude. She looked pale from headache and +wakefulness, but was dressed with her usual care, and was even more than +usually solicitous about his comfort and satisfaction. Still John +noticed the false note of make-believe through all her attentions and he +was hardly sorry when she ended a conversation about Harry's affairs by +a sudden and unexpected reversion to her own. "John," she said, with +marked interest, "I was telling you last night about my visit to Hatton +Hall while you were in London. You interrupted and then left me. Have +you any objections to my finishing the story now? I shall not go to +Hatton Hall again and as mother declines to tell her own fault, it is +only fair to me that you know the whole truth. I don't want you to think +worse of me than is necessary."</p> + +<p>"Tell me whatever you wish, Jane, then we will forget the subject."</p> + +<p>"As if that were possible! O John, as if it were possible to forget one +hour of our life together!"</p> + +<p>"You are right. It is not possible—no, indeed!"</p> + +<p>"Well, John, when I left Harlow House that afternoon, I went straight to +Hatton Hall. It was <!-- Page 222 --><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222" />growing late, but I expected to have a cup of tea +there and perhaps, if asked, stay all night and have a good wise talk +over the things that troubled me. When I arrived at the Hall your mother +had just returned from the village. She was sitting by the newly-made +fire with her cloak and bonnet on but they were both unfastened and her +furs and gloves had been removed. She looked troubled, and even angry, +and when I spoke to her, barely answered me. I sat down and began to +tell her I had been at Harlow all day. She did not inquire after +mother's health and took no interest in any remark I made."</p> + +<p>"That was very unlike my mother."</p> + +<p>"It was, John. Finally I said, 'I see that you are troubled about +something, mother,' and she answered sharply, 'Yes, I'm troubled and +plenty of reason for trouble.' I asked if I could help in any way."</p> + +<p>John sat upright at this question and said, "What reply did mother +make?"</p> + +<p>"She said, 'Not you! The trouble is past all help now. I might have +prevented it a few days ago, but I did not know the miserable lass was +again on the road of sin and danger. Nobody knew. Nobody stopped her. +And, O merciful God, in three days danger turned out to be death! I have +just come back from her funeral.' 'Whose funeral?' I asked. 'Susanna +Dobson's funeral,' mother said. 'Did you never hear John speak of her?' +I told <!-- Page 223 --><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223" />her you never spoke to me of your hands; I knew nothing about +them. 'Well then,' mother continued, 'I'll tell you something about +Susanna. Happen it may do you good. She came here with her husband and +baby all of three years ago, and they have worked in Hatton factory ever +since. She was very clever and got big wages. The day before John went +to London she was ill and had to leave her loom. The next day Gammer +Denby came to tell me she was very ill and must have a good doctor. I +sent one and in the afternoon went to see her. By this time her husband +had been called from the mill, and while I was sitting at the dying +woman's side, he came in.'"</p> + +<p>"Stop, Jane. My dear love, what is the use of bringing that dying bed to +our fireside? Mother should not have repeated such a scene."</p> + +<p>"She did, however. I was leaving the room when she said, 'Listen a +moment, Jane. The man entered angrily, and leaning on the footboard of +the bed cried out, "So you've been at your old tricks once more, +Susanna! This is the third time. You are a bad woman. I will never live +with you again. I am going away forever, and I'll take little Willy with +me. If you aren't fit to be a mother, you aren't fit to be a wife!" She +cried out pitifully, but he lifted the child in his arms and went out +with him.'</p> + +<p>"At these words, John, I rang the bell and ordered my horse. Mother paid +no attention to that, but continued, 'The woman raved all night, and +died <!-- Page 224 --><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224" />early the next morning.' I said with a good deal of anger, that +her husband's brutality had killed her and that the grave was the only +place for a poor woman who was married to such a monster. And then I +heard the trampling of horses' feet and I came away without another +word. But my heart was hot and I was sick and trembling and I rode so +recklessly that it was a wonder I ever reached home."</p> + +<p>"My dear Jane, I think—"</p> + +<p>"Nay, John, I do not want you to express any opinion on the subject. I +should not respect you if you said your mother could do wrong, and I do +not wish to hear you say she did right. I only want you to understand +why I refuse to go to Hatton Hall any more."</p> + +<p>"Do not say that, Jane. I am sure mother was conscious of no feeling but +a desire to do good."</p> + +<p>"I do not like her way of doing good. I will not voluntarily go to +receive it. Would you do so, John?"</p> + +<p>"She is my mother. A few words could not drive us apart. She may come to +you, you may go to her. As to that, nothing is certain."</p> + +<p>"Except that your words are most uncertain and uncomforting, John."</p> + +<p>Then John rose and went to her side and whispered those little words, +those simple words, those apparently meaningless, disconnected words +which children and women love and understand so well. <!-- Page 225 --><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225" />And she wept a +little and then smiled, and the wretched story was buried in love and +pity—and perhaps the poor soul knew it!</p> + +<p>"You see, Jane, my dear one, the Unknown fulfills what we never dare to +expect, so we will leave the door wide open for Faith and Hope." And as +John said these words, he had a sudden clear remembrance of the empty +loom and the fair little woman he had so often seen at work there. Then +a prayer leaped from his heart to the Everlasting Mercy, a prayer we too +seldom use, "Father, forgive, they know not what they do."</p> + +<p>For a moment or two they sat hand in hand and were silent. Then Jane, +who was visibly suffering, from headache, went to her room, and John +took a pencil and began to make figures and notes in his pocketbook. His +face and manner was quiet and thoughtful. He had consented to his trial +outwardly; inwardly he knew it to be overcome. And to suffer, to be +wronged and unhappy, yet not to cease being loving and pleasant, implies +a very powerful, Christ-like disposition.</p> + +<p>He knew well very hard days were before his people, and he was now +endeavoring by every means in his power to provide alleviations for the +great tragedy he saw approaching. All other things seemed less urgent, +and a letter from Harry full of small worries about pictures and +bric-a-brac was almost an irritation. But he answered it in brotherly +fashion and laid the responsibility so kindly <!-- Page 226 --><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226" />on Harry himself that the +careless young fellow was proudly encouraged and uplifted.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the small cloud in the far west was casting deeper +shadows of forthcoming events, but in the lovely springtime they were +not very alarming. Also in Hatton town the people relied on the Master +of Hatton. They told themselves he was doing all that could be done to +ward off evil and they trusted in him. And no one foresaw as yet how +long the struggle would last. So Harry Hatton's return to the home +county and neighborhood was full of interest. He was their favorite and +their friend, and he had been long enough away to blot out any memory of +his faults; and indeed a fault connected with horses calls forth from +Yorkshiremen ready excuse and forgiveness. As to the mill, few of its +workers blamed him for hating it. They hated it also and would have +preferred some other out-door employment. So Harry's return was far more +interesting than the supply of cotton, and then England might do this +and that and perhaps France might interfere. That wide, slippery word +"perhaps" led them into many delusive suppositions.</p> + +<p>Very nearly three weeks after John left him in London, Harry announced +his purpose of being in Yoden the following afternoon. He said his +furniture and trunks had arrived there three days previously, having +gone to Yoden by railway. In the afternoon John went up the hill to tell +his mother and found her thoroughly aware of all Harry's plans.</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 227 --><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227" />I went to Yoden, John, a week ago," she said, "to hire men to meet the +furniture and take it to the house. Well, I can tell you I was a bit +amazed to find there had been a lot of workmen there for more than two +weeks—paperers, painters, decorators and upholsterers. I thought you +had sent them to Yoden."</p> + +<p>"Not I! Not one of them. Did you think I could be so wicked? I want +every penny I can touch for cotton."</p> + +<p>"Wicked or not, the men were there. They were not men of this side of +England either. I asked who sent them to Yoden, and one of them told me +they came from Sandfords', Bond Street, London. I dare say Harry sent +them."</p> + +<p>"Then I fear Harry must pay for it. It is a bad time for him to be +extravagant."</p> + +<p>"Well then, if Harry can't pay, I can. Don't thee be cross with the poor +lad. He hesn't found life very pleasant so far and now that a bit of +pleasure comes into it, he's right to make the most of it."</p> + +<p>"All shall be as you wish, mother. Will you meet them tomorrow +afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, I know better. Lucy will be worn out, dusty and hungry, and she'll +thank nobody for bothering her, until she is rested. I'll go early next +morning. Lucy knows there is a time to call and a time to bide at home."</p> + +<p>John took dinner with his mother, and as they <!-- Page 228 --><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228" />were eating it, Mrs. +Hatton said, "I suppose Jane is at Thirsk Hall tonight."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered John. "I refused the invitation. I could not think of +feasting and dancing with the cry of War and Famine at my door."</p> + +<p>"You are saying too much, John. Neither war nor famine can touch you."</p> + +<p>"If it touches those who work for me and with me, it touches me. I must +think of them as well as myself."</p> + +<p>"How is little Martha? I never see her now."</p> + +<p>"Jane keeps her at her own side. She has many fine new ideas about the +bringing up of children."</p> + +<p>"Did she take Martha to Thirsk with her?"</p> + +<p>"Not likely. I hope not."</p> + +<p>"<i>Hum-m!!</i>"</p> + +<p>Towards dusk John rode slowly down the hill. Somehow he had missed the +usual tonic of his mother's company, and Harry's unexpected expenses +troubled him, for it is the petty details of life rather than its great +sorrows which fret and irritate the soul. Indeed, to face simple daily +duties and trials bravely and cheerfully is the most heroic struggle and +the greatest victory the soul can win. That it is generally unwitnessed +and unapplauded, that it seldom gains either honor or gratitude, that it +is frequently despised and blamed, is not to be regarded. It is the fine +tooling or graving on the soul capable of bearing it, of that supreme +grace we call character; that grace that makes all the difference +between <!-- Page 229 --><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229" />one human being and another that there is between a block of +granite and a reach of shifting sand. Every person we meet, has more or +less of this quality, and not to be influenced by it is to belong to +those hard blocks of humanity whom Carlyle calls formulas and phantoms.</p> + +<p>Well, this little incident of Harry's unexpected extravagance was a line +of character-tooling on John's soul. He felt the first keen touches, was +suddenly angry, then passive, and as he rode down the hill, satisfied. +Some way or other he felt sure the expense would not interfere with the +things so vitally important to him. As he rode through the village he +noticed that the Spinners' Hall was lit up and that there was a mixed +sound of song and laughter and loud talking within and as Jane was at +Thirsk he alighted at the door of the hall and went in.</p> + +<p>On the platform there was one of his own spinners, a lad of seventeen +years old. The audience were mostly young men and women, and they were +dressed for dancing. A mirthful spirit pervaded the room and the usual +order was wanting. The lad speaking appeared to be an object of +criticism and amusement rather than of respect but he went on talking in +a schoolboy fashion of "the rights of the people." He was in a West +Riding evening-suit, he had a flower in his coat, and a pair of white +gloves in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Rich people all hev their rights," he said, "but <!-- Page 230 --><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230" />a poor lad like me +can't spend his hard-earned wage without heving to pay this and that +sixpenny claim—"</p> + +<p>"For board and lodging, Sam," cried a pretty girl impatient for the +talking to cease, and the dance to begin.</p> + +<p>"Silence!" a voice called authoritatively and the lecturer stopped and +looked round. Then a big dark man pushed his way through the tittering +crowd of girls and reaching the platform, stretched out his hand and +grasping one of its supports, leaped lightly to it. The feat was not an +easy one and it was boldly and gracefully done; a hearty cheer greeted +its success. Even John joined in it and then he looked at the man and +though there was a slight change in appearance, knew him. It was Ralph +Lugur, and as soon as he was generally recognized, order and silence +reigned. He turned first to the speaker.</p> + +<p>"Samuel, my boy," he said, "keep quiet until you learn how to talk. Your +place is at a bobbin frame, it isn't on a platform. What do you know +about a rich man's rights?" and a pretty girl looked saucily at the +blushing lad and laughed.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, friends," continued Lugur, "how much right a rich man +has in his wealth. He has practically very little. The Poor Laws, the +Sunday Laws, the School Laws, the Income Tax, and twenty other taxes +that he must pay completely prevent him from doing as he likes with his +own money. Rich <!-- Page 231 --><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231" />men are only the stewards of the poor man. They have to +provide him with bread, homes, roads, ships, railways, parks, music, +schools, doctors, hospitals, and a large variety of other comforts and +amusements. And, my dear friends, this is not tyranny. Oh no! It is +civilization. And if all these obligations did not control him, there +are two powerful and significant people whom he <i>has</i> to obey whether he +likes to or not. I mean a lady you don't know much about, called Mrs. +Grundy; and a gentleman whom you know as much of as you want to know, +called Policeman A. Don't you fall into the mistake of taking sides +against your country. No! Don't do that but,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Let the laws of your own land,<br /></span> +<span>Good or bad, between you stand."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then he slipped off the platform, and the band began to tune up. And the +boy who had been sent off the platform to his bobbin frame went up to +the pretty girl who had laughed at his oratorical efforts and asked her +to dance. She made a mocking curtsey, and refused his request, and John +who knew both of them said, "Don't be so saucy, Polly. Samuel will do +better next time." But Polly with a little laugh turned away singing,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"He wears a penny flower in his coat, lah-de-dah!<br /></span> +<span>And a penny paper collar round his throat, lah-de-dah!<br /></span> +<span><!-- Page 232 --><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232" />In his mouth a penny pick,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">In his hand a penny stick,<br /></span> +<span>And a penny in his pocket, lah-de-dah-heigh!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>John and Lugur walked through the village together, and then John +discovered that the remodeling of Yoden was Lugur's gift to the young +people who were really to begin life over again in its comfortable +handsome shelter.</p> + +<p>"My father, Colonel Thomas Lugur, died two years ago," said Lugur, "and +as it is now certain that my elder brother was killed in a late Afghan +engagement, I came into the Lugur estate naturally. It is not considered +a very rich one, but it is quite large enough for all the demands I +shall make on it."</p> + +<p>Some words of congratulation followed, and then they talked of Harry. +"He has a good heart," said Lugur, "and when I learned you were moving +in such a sensible way for his salvation, I wanted to help. The +improvements I have made at Yoden were not carelessly chosen. Harry +loves beautiful surroundings. They may mean little to you or to me, but +to him they are almost necessary. He is easily persuaded, but you cannot +reason with him. As a general thing you cannot reason with youth. You +may as well try to beat a cloud with a stick. Youth moves in the sublime +region of its own aspirations."</p> + +<p>John laughed softly as he answered, "That is the <!-- Page 233 --><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233" />difficult point with +Harry. He cannot find a reality that fills his ideals."</p> + +<p>"Well then, Hatton, that is a sign of a rich and varied nature. We must +bear with patience and good nature Harry's gushing, little +condescensions, for he really thinks the majority of his elders to be +grossly ignorant, perverse, and cynical. Yet he really loves us in spite +of our faults, so I think we must be lenient with his faults."</p> + +<p>Lugur's ideas exactly fitted John's and as the men parted Lugur said, "I +foresee that we shall be friends. Call on me, if in the bad days coming +I can help you."</p> + +<p>"I will do so gladly, Lugur"—and then a silent clasp of their hands +said all that was necessary.</p> + +<p>At the entrance to John's grounds Lugur turned to the railway station +and John walked slowly onward through the wooded park till he came to +the main entrance of the house. There were few lights in the front rooms +and when the door was opened to him he was painfully conscious of a +great silence. He had expected the want of company and light, for Jane +had told him she would not return until the following day; but even if +we expect unpleasant conditions, the realized expectation does not +console us for them. But his dinner was immediately served and he ate it +with leisurely enjoyment, letting his thoughts drift calmly with his +physical rest and refreshment.</p> + +<p>After dinner he was quickly absorbed in a variety <!-- Page 234 --><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234" />of calculations and, +lost in this arbitrary occupation, forgot all else until the clock +chimed ten. Then with a sigh he folded away a note of results and +ordered the closing of the house. A new light was immediately on his +face, and he went upstairs like a man who has a purpose. This purpose +took him to little Martha's sleeping-room. He opened the door gently. +There was only a rush light burning, but its faint beams showed him the +soft white bed on which his darling lay sleeping. Noiselessly he stepped +to her side and for a few moments stood in silent prayer, looking at the +lovely sleeper. No one saw him, no one heard him, and he left the little +sanctuary unnoticed by any human eye.</p> + +<p>Then he went to his own room, turned the key in his chamber door, and +walked straight to the Bible lying open on its stand; and as he read, a +glory seemed to shine over its pages and his face reflected the comfort +and joy he found there. And afterwards as he stood before the Book with +lifted eyes and clasped hands, he was a visible incarnation of that +beautiful manliness which is the outcome and result of nearly two +thousand years of Christian thought and feeling.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<a href="images/pg232.jpg"><img src="images/pg232.jpg" width="400" alt=""Noiselessly he stepped to her side and ... stood in +silent prayer."" title="" /></a> +<b>"Noiselessly he stepped to her side and ... stood in +silent prayer."</b> +</div> + +<p>He had not permitted himself to think of his wife. His calculations had +demanded his whole mind and intellect and he had purposely occupied +himself with subjects that would not permit wandering thought. For he +was aware that he had once been jealous of Lord Thirsk and he knew that +it was <!-- Page 235 --><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235" /><!-- Page 236 --><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236" />not pleasant for him to think of Jane brightening with her +beauty Lord Thirsk's mansion while he sat lonely in his own silent home.</p> + +<p>But he soon put all such reveries vigorously, even a little angrily, +under the positive stamp of his foot as he began to take his own share +in the circumstance. "I could have gone with Jane—I did not want to +go—I don't like Thirsk—I do not want his hospitality. How could I +feast and dance when I know some of my men must be out of work and out +of bread in a few weeks—Jane does not feel as I do—Mother does not +either—I cannot expect it—but I know!—I know!—I took my own wish and +way, and I have no right to complain—I must be just and fair—just and +fair to all—to all;" and with this decision, he slept well, courting +sleep consciously, because he knew that the times were too full of +anxiety to lose the rest so needful in unhappy and doubtful brooding.</p> + +<p>In the morning a thing quite unlooked-for occurred. When John went into +the breakfast-room Jane was there to receive him. "O John!" she cried, +"I am delighted that I caught you napping. I left Thirsk at seven +o'clock. Are you not glad to see me?"</p> + +<p>"Glad!" He could not find words to express his gladness, but his silent +kisses spoke for him and his beaming eyes and the warm clasp of his +strong hand. And his coffee was not coffee, it was some heavenly nectar, +and his bread was more than the <!-- Page 237 --><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237" />staff of life, it was the bread of +love. She brought her chair close to his side, she said <i>that</i> was the +place of honor. She fed his heart with soft, beaming glances, and she +amused him with laughable descriptions of her partners. "After you, +John," she said with a pretty seriousness, "after you, John, all other +men look so small!" And what man wholly devoted to his wife, would not +have been intoxicated with the rapture of a love so near and yet so far +from understanding him?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI" /><!-- Page 238 --><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238" />CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p class="center">JANE RECEIVES A LESSON</p> + +<p>"There are times in life when circumstances decide for us; it is then +the part of wisdom to accept and make the best of what they offer."</p> + + +<p>Of course Harry would have felt it intolerable to come home just like +his neighbors. So he returned to the Hatton district as if he had +condescended to accept some pressing invitation to do so. It was, +however, almost the last exhibition of his overweening youthful egotism. +His mother's best carriage was at the station for Mrs. Henry Hatton and +family; his mother's gigs and wagons there for his servants and baggage. +Two or three of the village societies to which he had belonged or did +yet belong crowded the railway platform. They cheered him when he +alighted, and sent him homeward to the music of,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>There may be fairer lands beyond the sea,<br /></span> +<span>But it's Home! It's Home in the North Country!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Harry's mother was delighted. This public approbation justified her own +rather extravagant wel<!-- Page 239 --><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239" />come, and when John's face showed a shadow of +disapproval, she was not pleased.</p> + +<p>"It is too much especially at this time, mother. It is more than Harry +can or will live up to. Trust me, mother, for I know the men. This noisy +welcome was not so much a mark of their friendship and admiration as it +was a bid for Harry's help and patronage, and when Harry gets weary of +giving and doing or becomes unable to give or do, they will feel wronged +and offended and perhaps express their dissatisfaction just as +pointedly."</p> + +<p>"He is thy own brother, and I wouldn't be jealous of his popularity if I +was thee."</p> + +<p>"Jealous! Mother! How can you accuse me of such a feeling?" He could say +no more for he was deeply pained at the charge.</p> + +<p>"Well, John, I was wrong to say 'jealous.' I said it because it was the +ugliest word I could think of at the moment."</p> + +<p>"If you thought I was jealous, you were right to tell me so."</p> + +<p>"Nay, my lad, I didn't think so—not for a moment—so I was wrong. Well, +then, we all say the wrong word sometimes."</p> + +<p>"To be sure we do."</p> + +<p>"Just out of pure ugliness."</p> + +<p>"Or misunderstanding?"</p> + +<p>"Not in Martha Hatton's case. She understands well enough. Sometimes she +is sorry, as she is now. Generally speaking, she is satisfied with +herself. <!-- Page 240 --><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240" />Why did you not go to Yoden with your brother? Were you afraid +of vexing Jane?"</p> + +<p>"I thought as you did, that they would prefer going home alone. The +children were tired and hungry. Lucy had a headache, and after sending +off their baggage and servants, I gave them a promise to see them +tomorrow. I think, too, that Mr. Lugur was sure to be at Yoden."</p> + +<p>This air of returning home victorious over some undeserved misfortune +and of taking possession of a home to which he had some ancient right, +was the tone given to Harry's settlement at Yoden, and for a long time +he felt compelled to honor it, even after it had become stale and +tedious. For it pleased his mother, and she did many unconsidered things +to encourage it. For instance, she gave a formal dinner at Hatton Hall +to which she invited all the county families and wealthy manufacturers +within her knowledge. A dinner at Hatton Hall was a rare social ceremony +and had not been observed since the death of the late Master of Hatton. +But Stephen Hatton had been a member of Parliament, and chairman of many +clubs and associations, and it belonged to his public position to give +dinners to his supporters.</p> + +<p>However, Hatton dinners and receptions had always been popular when in +vogue, and the countryside was well satisfied in their apparent renewal; +and as there were two weeks given to prepare for the occasion, it was +fairly possible that everyone <!-- Page 241 --><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241" />invited would answer the call personally. +For several reasons John seriously objected to the entertainment, but +seeing that opposition would be both offensive and useless, he accepted +what he could not decline.</p> + +<p>Then he began to look for ways in which good might come from such an +occasion. It would certainly give him an opportunity of trying to unite +the cotton-spinners in Hatton district and of systematizing the best +manner of helping the already large body of men out of work. In Hatton +Hall he found that it gave his mother a delightful rejuvenation. She +became the busiest and happiest of women amid her preparations, and it +brought his wife and Lucy together in a sensible way after he had given +up all hope of doing so. For when Lucy received her invitation she began +at once to consider what she must wear at such an important social +function. Harry had but a confused idea, Mrs. Stephen Hatton's favorite +fashions were considerably behind the period, and Mr. Lugur's advice was +after the strictest Methodist rules.</p> + +<p>So Lucy waived all rites and ceremonies and called on Mrs. John Hatton +for advice. Jane was alone when the visit was made, and the heaviness +and boredom of mid-afternoon was upon her. Mrs. Harry's card was a +relief. It would please John very much, she reflected, and so looking in +her mirror and finding her dress correct and becoming, she had Lucy +brought to her private sitting-room. She <!-- Page 242 --><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242" />met her sister-in-law with a +kindness that astonished herself, and nothing occurred during the visit +to make her regret her courtesy.</p> + +<p>Lucy's sweet nature and her utter want of self-consideration won its +way, as it always did; and Jane was astonished at her youthful freshness +and her great beauty. They shook hands and smiled pleasantly, and then +Lucy apologized for her initiative call and Jane waxed ashamed of her +cold, aloof attitude. She felt that she had lost something irrevocably +by her neglect of domestic duties so obvious and so generally observed. +"I did not think you were really settled yet," she explained, "and it +was so kind of you to call first."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it is rather a selfish call, Mrs. Hatton."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you must not call me Mrs. Hatton. There are three of us, you know; +though it is likely that our mother-in-law assumes the title, and you +are Mrs. Harry and I am Mrs. John. It would be quite in sympathy with +her way, and her manner of thinking. So call me Jane, and I will call +you Lucy. John always speaks of you as Lucy."</p> + +<p>"John gave me a sister's place from the first. John does not know how to +be unkind. I came, Jane, to ask you how I must dress for the Hatton +dinner. I could make nothing of Harry's advice."</p> + +<p>"What did he suggest?"</p> + +<p>"Anything from cloth of gold to book muslin."</p> + +<p>"And the color?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 243 --><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243" />A combination impossible. Harry's idea of color in pictures is +wonderfully good; in dress it would be for me almost ridiculous. I think +Harry likes all colors and he did not know which to select. He advises +me also, that I must wear a low-cut bodice and very short sleeves. I +have never done this, and I do not think that I should either feel right +or do right to follow such advice."</p> + +<p>"There would not be anything wrong in such a dress, but you would not be +graceful in any kind of garment you do not wear <i>habitually</i>."</p> + +<p>Then Jane showed her sister-in-law all her finest costumes, told her +what modistes made them, and at what social functions they were worn. +When this exhibition was over, the afternoon was advanced. They drank a +cup of tea together and Jane thought Mrs. Harry the most attractive and +affectionate woman she had ever met. She begged her to send for Harry +and to stay for dinner, and Lucy was delighted at the invitation but +said she could not leave her children because Agnes was not yet weaned +and "she will need me and cry for me." Then with an enchanting smile she +added, "And you know, I should want her. A mother cannot leave a nursing +babe, can she?"</p> + +<p>These words were the only minor notes in the interview; they were the +only words Jane did not tell her husband. Otherwise, she made a charming +report of the visit. "She is a darling!" was her comment, and, "No +wonder that Harry adores her. <!-- Page 244 --><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244" />John, she makes you feel that goodness is +beautiful, and she looks so young and lovely and yet she has three +children! It is amazing!"</p> + +<p>John longed to intimate that the three children might be the secret of +Lucy's youth and beauty, but he refrained himself even from good words. +And which of us cannot recall certain interviews in life when we +refrained from good words and did wisely; and other times when we said +good words and did foolishly? So all John said was,</p> + +<p>"Did you tell her how to dress, Jane?"</p> + +<p>"No. I let her look at my prettiest frocks, and she took note of what +she thought possible. I gave her an introduction to my dressmaker who is +clever enough to make anything Lucy is likely to desire. What is there +about Lucy that makes her so enchanting? While she was in my room, I +felt as if there were violets in it."</p> + +<p>"It is the perfume of a sweet, loving life, Jane. She brought the love +of God into the world with her. Her soul was never at enmity with Him. +She would look incredulously at you, if you told her so. I wish you +would return her call—very soon, Jane."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I certainly shall! I have fallen in love with Lucy, besides people +would talk ill-naturedly about me, if I did not."</p> + +<p>"Would you care for that?"</p> + +<p>"Surely. You do not think, John, that I call on the Taylors and Dobsons +and such people because I like them. I am trying to make friends and +votes <!-- Page 245 --><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245" />for you, when you decide to take your father's place in the +House."</p> + +<p>"Then, my dear, you are sacrificing yourself uselessly. I don't know a +Yorkshire man who would vote for any candidate for any office because he +liked him personally. I would not do so. My father never did such a +thing, and Harry, though so thoughtless and emotional, would be equally +stubborn."</p> + +<p>"But why? Such nonsense, John!"</p> + +<p>"No. You do not vote for yourself only; your interest is bound up with +the interests of many others. You may be voting for a generation yet +unborn. A vote is a sacred obligation."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have told me this. I can now drop several names from my +visiting list."</p> + +<p>"If you think that is the right way—"</p> + +<p>"What do you think is the right way?"</p> + +<p>"The kind way is the right way and also the wise way."</p> + +<p>"O John, what uncomfortable things you can think of!"</p> + +<p>Until the great dinner at Hatton Hall was over, it formed the staple of +conversation in the neighborhood. Everyone wondered who would be there +and who would be left out. About the dinner itself there was no doubt, +for there is little variety in such entertainments. The meat and the +drink offerings are similar, and the company are bound by fashion and +commonplaces. In the days of John's <!-- Page 246 --><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246" />father men drank heavily of red +wines and it was the recognized way for ladies to leave them awhile to +discuss their port and politics. John Hatton's hospitality was of a more +modern type, although it still preserved a kind of antique stateliness. +And this night it had a very certain air of a somewhat anxious +amusement. The manufacturers silently wondered as to the condition of +each other's mills, and the landed gentry had in their minds a fear of +the ability of the land to meet the demands that were likely to be made +upon it.</p> + +<p>It was a happy turn of feeling that followed an impetuous, unanimous +call for song, and Harry rose in their midst and made the room ring to,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Ye mariners of England,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That guard our native seas,<br /></span> +<span>Whose flag has braved a thousand years,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The battle and the breeze.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Britannia needs no bulwarks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No towers along the steep,<br /></span> +<span>Her march is on the mountain waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her home is on the deep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The meteor flag of England!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall yet terrific burn,<br /></span> +<span>Till Danger's troubled night depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the Star of Peace return."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The last line spoke for every heart, and the honest, proud, joyous burst +of loyalty and admiration made <!-- Page 247 --><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247" />men and women something more than men +and women for a few glorified moments. Then the satisfied lull that +followed was thrilled anew by that most delicious charmful music ever +written, "O sweetest melody!" This was the event of the evening. It drew +Harry close to every heart. It made his mother the proudest woman in +Yorkshire. It caused John to smile at his brother and to clasp his hand +as he passed him. It charmed Jane and Lucy and they glanced at each +other with wondering pleasure and delight.</p> + +<p>After the songs some of the elder guests sat down to a game of whist, +the younger ones danced Money Musk, Squire Beverly and Mrs. Stephen +Hatton leading, while Harry played the old country dance with a snap and +movement that made hearts bound and feet forget that age or rheumatism +were in existence.</p> + +<p>At eleven o'clock the party dispersed and the great dinner was over. +Harry had justified it. His mother felt sure of that. He had sung his +way into every heart, and if John was so indifferent about political +honors and office, she could think of no one better to fill Stephen +Hatton's place than his son Harry. Her dreams were all for Harry because +John formed his own plans and usually stood firmly by them, while Harry +was easily persuaded and not averse to see things as others saw them.</p> + +<p>The next day Harry wrote a very full account of the dinner and the +company who attended it, describ<!-- Page 248 --><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248" />ing each individual, their social rank +or station, their physical and mental peculiarities, their dress and +even their ornaments or jewelry. This account was read to all the +family, then dated, sealed and carefully placed among the records and +heirlooms of Hatton Hall. The receptacle containing these precious +relics was a very large, heavily carved oak chest, standing in the +Master's room. This chest was iron-bound, triple-locked, and required +four strong men to lift it, and the family traditions asserted it had +stood in its present place for three hundred and forty years. It was the +palladium of Hatton Hall and was regarded with great honor and +affection.</p> + +<p>After this event there were no more attempts at festivity. The clouds +gathered quickly and a silent gloom settled over all the cotton-spinning +and weaving districts of England. But I shall only touch this subject as +it refers to the lives and characters of my story. Its facts and +incidents are graven on thousands of lives and chronicled in numerous +authentic histories. It is valuable here as showing how closely mankind +is now related and that the cup of sorrow we have to drink may be +mingled for us at the ends of the earth by people whose very names are +strange on our lips. Then</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>..."Impute it not a crime<br /></span> +<span>To me or my swift passage, that I slide<br /></span> +<span>O'er years."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><!-- Page 249 --><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249" />Very sorrowful years in which the strong grew stronger, and the weak +perished, unless carried in the Everlasting Arms. Three of them had +passed in want and suffering, constantly growing more acute. Mill after +mill closed, and the dark, quiet buildings stood among the starving +people like monuments of despair. No one indeed can imagine the pathos +of these black deserted factories, that had once blazed with sunlight +and gaslight and filled the town with the stir of their clattering looms +and the traffic of their big lorries and wagons and the call and song of +human voices. In their blank, noiseless gloom, they too seemed to +suffer.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1" /><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1" /><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> I need hardly remind my readers that I refer to the war of +1861 between the Northern and Southern States. At this time it was in +its third year, and the Southern States were closely blockaded and no +cotton allowed to leave them. Consequently the cotton-spinning counties +of Yorkshire and Lancashire were soon destitute of the necessary staple, +and to be "out of cotton" meant to more than a million cotton-spinning +families absolute starvation—for a cotton-spinner's hands are fit for +no other labor, and are spoiled by other work. This starvation was borne +with incredible faith and patience, because the success of the +blockading States meant freedom for the slaves of the cotton-growing +States.</p></div></div> + +<p>A large proportion of mill-owners had gone to the continent. They could +live economically there and keep their boys and girls at inexpensive +schools and colleges. They were not blamed much, even by their +employees. "Rathmell is starting wife and childer, bag and baggage for +Geneva today," said one of them to another, and the answer was, "Happen +we would do the same thing if we could. He <!-- Page 250 --><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250" />hes a big family. He'll hev +to spare at both ends to make his bit o' brass do for all. He never hed +any more than he needed."</p> + +<p>This was an average criticism and not perhaps an unfair one. Men, +however, did not as a rule talk much on the subject; they just quietly +disappeared. Everyone knew it to be a most unexpected and unmerited +calamity. They had done nothing to deserve it, they could do nothing to +prevent it. Some felt that they were in the hands of Destiny; the large +majority were patient and silent because they believed firmly that it +was the Lord's doing and so was wonderful in their eyes. Some even said +warmly it was time slavery was put down, and that millions could not be +set free without somebody paying for it, and to be sure England's skirts +were not clean, and she would hev to pay her share, no doubt of it. Upon +the whole these poor, brave, blockaded men and women showed themselves +at this time to be the stoutest and most self-reliant population in the +world; and in their bare, denuded homes there were acted every day more +living, loving, heroic stories than fiction or poetry ever dreamed of. +So far the sufferers of Hatton had kept their troubles to themselves and +had borne all their privations with that nobility which belongs to human +beings in whom the elements are finely mixed.</p> + +<p>John had suffered with them. His servants, men and women, had gradually +been dismissed, until only a man and woman remained. Jane had at first +de<!-- Page 251 --><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251" />murred and reminded John that servants must live, as well as +spinners.</p> + +<p>"True," answered John, "but servants can do many things beside the one +thing they are hired to do. A spinner's hands can do nothing but spin. +They are unfit for any other labor and are spoiled for spinning if they +try it. Servants live in other people's houses. Nearly all of Hatton's +spinners own, or partly own, their homes. In its seclusion they can bear +with patience whatever they have to bear."</p> + +<p>Throughout the past three years of trouble John had been the Greatheart +of his people, and they loved and trusted him. They knew that he had +mortgaged or sold all his estate in order to buy cotton and keep them at +work. They knew that all other factories in the neighborhood had long +been closed and that for the last four months Hatton had been running +only half-time, and alas! John knew that his cotton was nearly gone and +that peace appeared to be as far off as ever.</p> + +<p>"You see, sir," said Greenwood, in a half-admiring and half-apologizing +way, "both North and South are mostly of good English breed and they +don't know when they are whipped."</p> + +<p>One afternoon Mrs. Stephen Hatton called at the mill to see John. It was +such a strange thing for her to do that he was almost frightened when he +heard of it. Strengthening his heart for anything, he went to his +private room to meet her, and <!-- Page 252 --><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252" />his anxiety was so evident that she said +immediately in her cheerful comforting way,</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay, my lad, there is nothing extra for thee to worry about. I +only want thee to look after something in a hurry—it must be in a +hurry, or I would not have come for thee."</p> + +<p>"I know, mother. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"They have brought thirty-four little children from Metwold here, and +they are in a state of starvation. I want thee to see about getting +mattresses and blankets into the spinners' lecture room. I have looked +after food for them."</p> + +<p>"Have you anything to spare for this purpose, mother?"</p> + +<p>"No, I hev not, John. The town hes plenty. They will do whatever thou +tells them to do."</p> + +<p>"Very well, mother. I will go at once."</p> + +<p>"I hev been in the village all day. I hev seen that every poor nursing +woman hes hed some soup and tea and that these thirty-four little ones +were well and properly fed. Now I am going home to save every drop of +milk I can spare for them."</p> + +<p>"Is it fair for Metwold to send her starving children here?"</p> + +<p>"If thou could see them, John, thou would never ask that question. Some +of them are under three years old. They are only skin and bone, they are +as white as if they were dead—helpless, enfeebled, crippled, and, John, +three of them are stone blind from starvation!"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 253 --><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253" />O my God!" cried John, in an acute passion of pity and entreaty.</p> + +<p>"Every sign of severe and speechless misery is on their small, shrunken +faces and that dreadful, searching look that shows the desperate hunger +of a little child. John, I cried over every one of them. Where was the +pitiful Christ? Why did He not comfort them?"</p> + +<p>"Mother! Mother! Tell me no more. I can not bear it. Who brought them +here?"</p> + +<p>"The town officer. They were laid on straw in big wagons. It was a hard +journey."</p> + +<p>"Where are their mothers?"</p> + +<p>"Dead or dying."</p> + +<p>"I will see they have beds and blankets. Do you want money, mother, for +this service?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"But you must."</p> + +<p>"I never give money. I give myself, my health, my time, my labor. +Money—no!"</p> + +<p>"Why not money?"</p> + +<p>"Because money answers all ends, and I don't know what end is coming; +but I do know that it will be a very uncommon end that money can't +answer. Thou must have spent nearly all of it thou had."</p> + +<p>"It will come back to me."</p> + +<p>"If the war stops soon, happen some of it will come back. If it does not +stop soon, thou art standing to lose every shilling of it. So thou sees +I must <!-- Page 254 --><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254" />save my shillings in case my children need them. How is Jane?"</p> + +<p>"Very well. She is the greatest help and comfort to me. I do not know +how I could have borne and done without her."</p> + +<p>"Mebbe thy mother might hev helped thee."</p> + +<p>And John answered with a beaming smile, "My mother never failed me."</p> + +<p>"What is Jane doing?"</p> + +<p>"Did you not hear that Mrs. Levy and Jane started a sewing-club for the +girl mill-hands? Very few of this class of workers can sew, and they are +being taught how to make all kinds of garments for themselves and +others. They meet in a large room over Mr. Levy's barn. He has had it +well warmed and he gives them one good meal every day."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I never thought Jane would notice that woman."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Levy? She says she has the sweetest, kindest nature, and the +wisest little ways of meeting emergencies. And I can tell you, mother, +that her husband has given his full share of help both in money and work +during all these last three bitter years. He will be a greater honor to +the Gentlemen's Club than any of the gentlemen who have run away to rest +in Italy and left Hatton to starve or survive as she could. Have you +seen Harry lately? How is he managing?"</p> + +<p>"Harry does not manage at all, but <i>he is very manageable</i>, the best +quality a man can possess. <!-- Page 255 --><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255" />Lucy manages Harry and everything else at +Yoden to perfection. She expects another baby with the spring, but she +is well and cheerful and busy as a bee."</p> + +<p>"Does Yoden farm do anything worth while?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure it does. Lugur helps Harry about the farm and Harry likes +work in the open, but Harry's voice is worth many farms. It has improved +lately, and next week he goes to Manchester to sing in oratorio. He will +bring a hundred pounds or more back with him."</p> + +<p>"Then at last he is satisfied and happy."</p> + +<p>"Happy as the day is long. He is wasteful though, in money matters, and +too ready to give the men he knows a sovereign if they are in trouble. +And it is just wasting yourself to talk to him about wasting money. I +told him yesterday that I had heard Ben Shuttleworth had been showing a +sovereign Mr. Harry gave him and that he ought not to waste his money, +and he said some nonsense about saved money being lost money, and that +spending money or giving it away was the only way to save it. Harry +takes no trouble and Medway, the new preacher, says, Henry Hatton lifts +up your heart, if he only smiles at you."</p> + +<p>"So he does, mother—God bless him!"</p> + +<p>"Well, John, I can't stop and talk with thee all day, it isn't likely; +but thou art such a one to tempt talk. I must be off to do something. +Good-bye, dear lad, and if thy trouble gets hard on thee and <!-- Page 256 --><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256" />thou wants +a word of human love, thy mother always has it ready and waiting for +you—so she has!"</p> + +<p>John watched his mother out of sight; then he locked his desk and went +about her commission. She had trusted him to find beds for thirty-four +children, and it never entered his mind that any desire of hers could +possibly be neglected. Fortunately, circumstances had gone before him +and prepared for his necessity. The mattresses were easily found and +carried to the prepared room, and the children had been nourished on +warm milk and bread, had been rolled in blankets and had gone to sleep +ere John arrived at his own home. He was half-an-hour behind time, and +Jane did not like that lost half-hour, so he expected her usual little +plaintive reproach, "You are late tonight, John." But she met him +silently, slipped her hand into his and looked into his face with eyes +tender with love and dim with sorrow.</p> + +<p>"Did you see those little children from Metwold, John?"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear. Mother told me about them."</p> + +<p>"Your mother is a good woman, John. I saw her today bathing babies that +looked as if they had never been washed since they were born. Oh, how +they smiled lying in the warm water! And how tenderly she rubbed them +and fed them and rocked them to sleep in her arms. John, your mother +would mother any miserable neglected child. She made <!-- Page 257 --><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257" />me cry. My anger +melted away this afternoon as I watched her. I forgave her everything."</p> + +<p>"O my darling! My darling Jane!"</p> + +<p>"I wanted to kiss her, and tell her so."</p> + +<p>After this confession it seemed easier for John to tell his wife that he +must close the mill in the morning. They were sitting together on the +hearth. Dinner was over and the room was very still. John was smoking a +cigar whose odor Jane liked, and her head leaned against his shoulder, +and now and then they said a low, loving word, and now and then he +kissed her.</p> + +<p>"John," she said finally, "I had a letter from Aunt Harlow today. She is +in trouble."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for it."</p> + +<p>"Her only child has been killed in a skirmish with the Afghans—killed +in a lonely pass of the mountains and buried there. It happened a little +while since and his comrades had forgotten where his grave was. The man +who slew him, pointed it out. He had been buried in his uniform, and my +uncle received his ring and purse and a scarf-pin he bought for a +parting present the day he sailed for India."</p> + +<p>"I do not recollect. I never saw him, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! He went with his regiment to Simla seventeen years ago. Then he +married a Begum or Indian princess or something unusual. She was very +rich but also very dark, and Uncle would not forgive him for it. After +the marriage his name was never mentioned in Harlow House, but he was +not for<!-- Page 258 --><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258" />gotten and his mother never ceased to love him. When they heard +of his death, Uncle sent the proper people to make investigations +because of the succession, you know."</p> + +<p>"I suppose now the nephew, Edwin Harlow, will be heir to the title and +estate?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and Uncle and Aunt so heartily dislike him. Uncle has spent so +many, many years in economizing and restoring the fortune of the House +of Harlow, and now it will all go to—Edwin Harlow. I am sorry to +trouble you with this bad news, when you have so much anxiety of your +own."</p> + +<p>"Listen, dearest—I must—shut—the mill—tomorrow—some time."</p> + +<p>"O John!"</p> + +<p>"There is no more cotton to be got—and if there was, I have not the +money to buy it. Would you like to go to London and see your uncle and +aunt? A change might do you good."</p> + +<p>"Do you think I would leave you alone in your sorrow? No, no, John! The +only place for me is here at your side. I should be miserable anywhere +else."</p> + +<p>John was much moved at this proof of her affection, but he did not say +so. He clasped her hand a little tighter, drew her closer to his side, +and kissed her, but the subject dropped between them into a silence +filled with emotion. John could not think of anything but the trial of +the coming day. Jane was pondering two circumstances that seemed to have +<!-- Page 259 --><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259" />changed her point of view. Do as she would, she could not regard things +as she had done. Of a stubborn race and family, she had hitherto +regarded her word as inviolable, her resolves, if once declared, as +beyond recall. She quite understood Lord and Lady Harlow's long +resentment against their son, and she knew instinctively that her +uncle's extreme self-denial for the purpose of improving the Harlow +estate was to say to his heir, "See how I have loved you, in spite of my +silence."</p> + +<p>Now Jane had declared her mind positively to John on certain questions +between them, and it never occurred to her that retraction was possible. +Or if it did occur, she considered it a weakness to be instantly +conquered. Neither Jane Harlow nor Jane Hatton could say and then unsay. +And she was proud of this racial and family characteristic, and +frequently recalled it in the motto of her house—<i>"I say! I do!"</i></p> + +<p>It is evident then that some strong antagonistic feeling would be +necessary to break down this barrier raised by a false definition of +honor and yet the circumstances that initially assailed it were of +ordinary character. The first happened a few weeks previously. Jane had +gone out early to do some household shopping and was standing just +within the open door of the shop where she had made her purchases. +Suddenly she heard John's clear, joyous laugh mingling with the clatter +of horses' feet. The sound was coming near and nearer and in a mo<!-- Page 260 --><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260" />ment +or two John passed on his favorite riding-horse and with him was his +nephew Stephen Hatton on a pretty pony suitable to his size. John was +happy, Stephen was happy, and <i>she! She</i> had absolutely no share in +their pleasure. They were not thinking of her. She was outside their +present life.</p> + +<p>An intense jealousy of the boy took possession of her. She went home in +a passion of envy and suspicion. She was a good rider, but John in these +late years had never found time to give her a gallop, and indeed had +persuaded her to sell her pretty riding-horse and outfit. Yet Stephen +had a pony and she was sure John must have bought it. Stephen must have +been at the mill early. <i>Why?</i> Then she recalled John's look of love and +pride in the boy, his watchful care over him, his laughter and apparent +cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>She brooded over these things for some hours, then gave her thought +speech and in slow, icy tones said with intense feeling, "Of course, he +regards Stephen as the future master of Hatton Hall and Hatton factory. +He is always bringing Stephen and my Martha together. He intends them to +marry. They shall not. Martha is mine—she is Harlow"—then after a long +pause, "They are cousins. I shall have religious scruples."</p> + +<p>She did not name this incident to John and it was some days before John +said, "Stephen is going to be a fine horseman. His grandfather bought +him <!-- Page 261 --><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261" />a pony, a beautiful spirited animal, and Steve was at once upon his +back. Yorkshire boys take to horses, as ducks to the water. Mother says +I leaped into the saddle before I was five years old."</p> + +<p>Jane smiled faintly at this last remark and John said no more on the +subject. He understood it to be the better way. But it had been ever +since a restless, unhappy thought below all other thoughts in Jane's +mind, and finally she had swift personal whispers and slow boring +suppositions which, if she had put them into words, would have sounded +very like, "Lucy may be disappointed yet! John might have a son of his +own. Many things happen as the clock goes round."</p> + +<p>She was in one of these jealous moods on the morning after John had told +her he must close the mill. Then Mrs. Levy called, and asked if she +would drive with her to Brent's Farm. "We have received a large number +of young children from Metwold," she said, "and I want to secure milk +for them."</p> + +<p>"Brent's Farm!" replied Jane. "I never heard of the place."</p> + +<p>"O my dear Mrs. Hatton, it is only a small farm on the Ripon road. The +farmer is a poor man but he has five or six cows and he sells their milk +in Hatton. I want to secure it all."</p> + +<p>"Is that fair to the rest of his customers?" asked Jane, with an air of +righteous consistency.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," was the answer. "I never asked <!-- Page 262 --><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262" />myself. I think it is +fair to get it for babies who cannot bargain for their milk—the people +they take it from can speak for themselves."</p> + +<p>They found Brent's Farm to be a rough, roomy stone cottage on the +roadside. There was some pasture land at the back of the house and some +cows feeding on it. A stone barn was not far off, and the woman who +answered their call said, "If you be wanting Sam Brent, you'll find him +in the barn, threshing out some wheat."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Levy went to interview the milk dealer; Jane was cold and went into +the cottage to warm herself. "It is well I'm at ironing today," said +Mrs. Brent, "for so I hev a good fire. Come your ways in, ma'am, and sit +on the hearth. Let me make you a cup o' tea."</p> + +<p>"My friend will be here in a few minutes," Jane answered. "She only +wants to make a bargain with Mr. Brent for all his milk."</p> + +<p>"Then she won't be back in a few minutes; Sam Brent does no business in +a hurry. It's against his principles. You bed better hev a cup o' hot +tea."</p> + +<p>It seemed easier to Jane to agree than to dispute, and as the kettle was +simmering on the hob it was ready in five minutes. "You see," continued +Mrs. Brent, "I hev a big family, and washing and ironing does come a bit +hard on me now, but a cup o' tea livens me up, it does that!"</p> + +<p>"How many children have you, Mrs. Brent?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 263 --><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263" />I hev been married seventeen years, and I hev ten lads and lasses—all +of them fair and good and world-like. God bless them!"</p> + +<p>"Ten! Ten! How do you manage?"</p> + +<p>"Varry well indeed. Sam Brent is a forelooking man. They hev a good +father, and I try to keep step with him. We are varry proud of our +childer. The eldest is a boy and helps his father with the cows main +well. The second is a girl and stands by her mother—the rest are at +school, or just babies. It <i>is</i> hard times, it is that, but God blesses +our crust and our cup, and we don't want. We be all well and healthy, +too."</p> + +<p>"I wonder you are not broken down with bearing so many children."</p> + +<p>"Nay, not I! Every fresh baby gives me fresh youth and health—if I do +it justice. Don't you find it so, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"How many hev you hed?"</p> + +<p>"One. A little girl."</p> + +<p>"Eh, but that's a shame! What does your good man say?"</p> + +<p>"He would like more."</p> + +<p>"I should think he <i>would</i> like more. And it is only fair and square he +should <i>hev</i> more! Poor fellow!"</p> + +<p>"I do not think so."</p> + +<p>"Whatever is the matter with thee?"</p> + +<p>"I think it is a shame and a great wrong for a <!-- Page 264 --><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264" />woman to spend her life +in bearing and rearing children."</p> + +<p>"To bear and to rear children for His glory is exactly and perfectly +what God sent her into the world to do. It is her work in the days which +the Lord her God gives her. Men He told to work. Women He told to hev +children and plenty o' them."</p> + +<p>"There are more women working in the factories than men now."</p> + +<p>"They hev no business there. They are worse for it every way. They ought +to be in some kind of a home, making happiness and bringing up boys and +girls. Look at the whimpering, puny, sick babies factory women +bear—God, how I pity them!"</p> + +<p>"Tell me the truth, Mrs. Brent. Were you really glad to have ten +children?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, I was glad. Every one of them was varry welcome. I used to +say to mysen, 'God must think Susy Brent a good mother, or He wouldn't +keep on sending her children to bring up for Him.' It is my work in this +life, missis, to bring up the children God sends me, and <i>I like my +work</i>!" With the last four words, she turned a beaming face to Jane and +sent them home with an emphatic thump of her iron on the little shirt +she was smoothing.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII" /><!-- Page 265 --><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265" />CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p class="center">PROFIT AND LOSS</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The trifles of our daily life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The common things scarce worth recall,<br /></span> +<span>Whereof no visible trace remains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These are the main springs after all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O why to those who need them not,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should Love's best gifts be given!<br /></span> +<span>How much is wasted, wrecked, forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On this side of heaven?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The thing that John feared, had happened to him, no miracle had +prevented it, and that day he must shut the great gates of Hatton +factory. He could hardly realize the fact. He kept wondering if his +father knew it, but if so, he told himself he would doubtless know the +why and the wherefore and the end of it. He would know, also, that his +son John had done all a man could do to prevent it. This was now a great +consolation and he had also a confident persuasion that the enforced +lock-out would only last for a short time.</p> + +<p>"Things have got to their worst, Greenwood," he said, "and when the tide +is quite out, it turns instantly for the onward flow."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 266 --><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266" />To be sure it does, sir," was the answer. "Your honored father, sir, +used to say, 'If changes don't come, make them come. Things aren't +getting on without them.'"</p> + +<p>"How long can we run, Greenwood?"</p> + +<p>"Happen about four hours, sir."</p> + +<p>"When the looms give up, send men and women to the lunchroom."</p> + +<p>"All right, sir."</p> + +<p>Was it all right? If so, had he not been fighting a useless battle and +got worsted? But he could not talk with his soul that morning. He could +not even think. He sat passive and was dumb because it was evidently +God's doing. Perhaps he had been too proud of his long struggle, and it +was good spiritual correction for him to go down into the valley of +humiliation. Short ejaculatory prayers fell almost unconsciously from +his lips, mainly for the poor men and women he must lock out to poverty +and suffering.</p> + +<p>Finally his being became all hearing. Life appeared to stand still a +moment as loom after loom stopped. A sudden total silence followed. It +was broken by a long piercing wail as if some woman had been hurt, and +in a few minutes Greenwood looked into his office and said, "They be all +waiting for you, sir." The man spoke calmly, even cheerfully, and John +roused himself and with an assumed air of hopefulness went to speak to +his workers.</p> + +<p><!-- Page 267 --><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267" />They were standing together and on every face there was a quiet +steadfastness that was very impressive. John went close to them so that +he seemed to mingle with them. "Men and women," he said, "I have done my +best."</p> + +<p>"Thou hes, and we all know it."</p> + +<p>It was Timothy Briggs, the manager of the engine room, who spoke, a man +of many years and many experiences. "Thou hes done all a man could do," +he added, "and we are more than a bit proud of thee."</p> + +<p>"I do not think we shall be long idle," continued John, "and when we +open the gates again, there will be spinning and weaving work that will +keep the looms busy day and night. And the looms will be in fine order +to begin work at an hour's notice. When the first bell rings, I shall be +at my desk; let me see how quickly you will all be at your looms again."</p> + +<p>"How long, master, will it be till we hear the sound of the bell again?"</p> + +<p>"Say till midsummer. I do not think it will be longer. No, I do not. Let +us bear the trial as cheerfully as we can. I am not going a mile from +Hatton, and if any man or woman has a trouble I can lighten, let them +come to me. And our God is not a far-off God. He is a very present help +in time of need." With these words John lifted his hat a moment, and as +he turned away, Greenwood led the little company out, singing +confidently,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><!-- Page 268 --><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268" /> +<span>"We thank Him for all that is past,<br /></span> +<span>We trust Him for all that's to come."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>John did not go home for some hours. He went over his books and brought +all transactions up to date, and accompanied by Greenwood made a careful +inspection of every loom, noted what repairs or alterations were +necessary, and hired a sufficient number of boys to oil and dust the +looms regularly to keep the mill clean and all the metal work bright and +shining. So it was well on in the afternoon when he turned homeward. +Jane met him at the park gates, and they talked the subject over under +the green trees with the scent of the sweetbriar everywhere and the +April sunshine over every growing thing. She was a great help and +comfort. He felt her encouraging smiles and words to be like wine and +music, and when they sat down to dinner together, they were a wonder to +their household. They did not speak of the closed mill and they did not +look like people who expected a hard and sorrowful time.</p> + +<p>"They hev a bit o' money laid by for theirsens," said the selfish who +judged others out of their own hearts; but the majority answered +quickly, "Not they! Not a farthing! Hatton hes spent his last shilling +to keep Hatton mill going, and how he is going to open it when peace +comes caps everyone who can add this and that together."</p> + +<p>The first week of idleness was not the worst. <!-- Page 269 --><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269" />John and Greenwood found +plenty to do among the idle looms, but after all repairs and alterations +had been completed, then John felt the stress of hours that had no +regular daily task. For the first time in his life his household saw him +irritable. He spoke impatiently and did not know it until the words were +beyond recall. Jane had at such times a new feeling about her husband. +She began to wonder how she could bear it if he were always "so short +and dictatorial." She concluded that it must be his mill way. "But I am +not going to have it brought into my house," she thought. "Poor John! He +must be suffering to be so still and yet so cross."</p> + +<p>One day she went to Harlow House to see her mother and she spoke to her +about John's crossness. Then she found that John had Mrs. Harlow's +thorough sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Think of the thousands of pounds he has lost, Jane. For my part I +wonder he has a temper of any kind left; and all those families on his +hands, as it were. I am sure it is no wonder he is cross at times. Your +father would not have been to live with at all."</p> + +<p>"I hope you have not lost much, mother."</p> + +<p>"O Jane, how could I help losing? Well then, I have been glad I could +give. When hungry children <i>look</i> at you, they do not need to speak. My +God, Jane! You must have seen that look—if it was in Martha's eyes——"</p> + +<p>Jane caught her breath with a cry, "O mother! <!-- Page 270 --><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270" />Mother! Do not say such +words! I should die!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Many mothers did die. It was like a knife in their heart. When did +you see John's mother?"</p> + +<p>"The day the children came from Metwold."</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to her?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why not? She has been kind to me."</p> + +<p>"You have given her milk for the children, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"All I could spare. I do not grudge a drop of it."</p> + +<p>Then Jane laid her arm across her mother's shoulders and looked lovingly +at her. "I am so glad," she said. "You may value money highly, mother, +but you can cast it away for higher things."</p> + +<p>"I hope I should never hesitate about that, Jane. A baby's life is worth +all the money I have"—and Jane sighed and went home with a new thought +in her heart.</p> + +<p>She found John and his little daughter in the garden planting bulbs and +setting out hardy geraniums. She joined them, and then she saw the old, +steadfast light on her husband's face and the old sure smile around his +mouth. She put her hand in his hand and looked at him with a question in +her loving eyes. He smiled and nodded slightly and drew her hand through +his arm.</p> + +<p>"Let us go into the house," he said. "The evenings are yet chilly"—and +they walked together si<!-- Page 271 --><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271" />lently and were happy without thought or +intention of being happy. A little later as they sat alone, Jane said, +"You look so much better than you have done lately, John. Have you had +any good news?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear one—the best of news."</p> + +<p>"Who brought it?"</p> + +<p>"One who never yet deceived me."</p> + +<p>"You know it to be true?"</p> + +<p>"Beyond a doubt. My darling, I have been thinking of the sad time you +have had here."</p> + +<p>"I hope I have done some good, John."</p> + +<p>"You have done a great deal of good. The trouble is nearly over, it will +be quite over in a few weeks. Now you could go to London and see your +aunt. A change will do you good."</p> + +<p>"Cannot you and Martha go with me? You have nothing to do yet."</p> + +<p>"I shall have plenty to do in a short time. I must be preparing for it."</p> + +<p>"Then I must be content with Martha. It will be good for the child to +have a change."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I could not part with both you and Martha!"</p> + +<p>"Nor could I part with both you and Martha. Besides, who is to watch +over the child? She would be too much alone. I should be miserable in +London without her."</p> + +<p>"I thought while you were in London, I would have the house thoroughly +cleaned and renovated. I would open it up to every wind of heaven and +let <!-- Page 272 --><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272" />them blow away all sad, anxious thoughts lurking in the corners and +curtains."</p> + +<p>"O John, I would like that so much! It would be a great comfort to me. +But you can see that Martha would be running about cold and warm, wet +and dry, and her old nurse went to Shipley when she left here."</p> + +<p>"I have considered these things, Jane, and decided that I would take +Martha up to Hatton Hall, and we would stay with mother while you were +away. It would be a great pleasure to mother, and do us all good."</p> + +<p>"But, John, London would be no pleasure to me without Martha."</p> + +<p>"I feel much the same, Jane. Martha is the joy of life to me. You must +leave me my little daughter. You know her grandmother will take every +care of her."</p> + +<p>"I can take care of her myself. She has been my companion and comforter +all through these past four years of sorrow. I cannot part with her, not +for a day."</p> + +<p>This controversy regarding the child was continued with unremitting +force of feeling on both sides for some time, but John finally gave way +to Jane's insistence, and the early days of April were spent in +preparations for the journey to London and the redecoration of the home. +Then one exquisite spring morning they went away in sunshine and smiles, +and John returned alone to his lonely and <!-- Page 273 --><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273" />disorderly house. The very +furniture looked forlorn and unhappy. It was piled up and covered with +unsightly white cloths. John hastily closed the doors of the rooms that +had always been so lovely in their order and beautiful associations. He +could not frame himself to work of any kind, his heart was full of +regrets and forebodings. "I will go to my mother," he thought. "Until I +hear they are safe in Lord Harlow's house, I can do nothing at all."</p> + +<p>So he went up to Hatton Hall and found his mother setting her +dinner-table. "Eh, but I am glad to see thee, John!" she cried joyfully. +"Come thy ways in, dear lad. There's a nice roast turning over a +Yorkshire pudding; thou art just in a fit time. What brought thee up the +hill this morning?"</p> + +<p>"I came to see your face and hear your voice, mother."</p> + +<p>"Well now! I am glad and proud to hear that. How is Martha and her +mother?"</p> + +<p>"They are on their way to London."</p> + +<p>"However could thou afford it?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes we spend money we cannot afford."</p> + +<p>"To be sure we do—and are always sorry for it. Thou should have brought +Martha up here and sent her mother to London by herself."</p> + +<p>"Jane would not go without her."</p> + +<p>"I'm astonished at thee! I am astonished at thee, John Hatton!"</p> + +<p>"I did not want her to go. I said all I could to prevent it."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 274 --><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274" />That was not enough. Thou should not have permitted her to go."</p> + +<p>"Jane thought the change would do her good."</p> + +<p>"Late hours, late dinners, lights, and noise, and crowded streets, and +air that hes been breathed by hundreds and thousands before it reaches +the poor child, and——"</p> + +<p>"Nay, mother, that's enough. Count up no more dangers. I am miserable as +it is. How goes all with you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, John, it goes and goes, and I hardly know where it goes or how it +goes, and the mischief of it all is this—some are getting so used to +the Government feeding and clothing them that they'll think it a +hardship when they hev to feed and clothe themselves."</p> + +<p>"Not they, or else they are not men of this countryside. How is Harry? I +heard a queer story about him and others yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Queer it might be, but it was queer in a good way if it is set against +Harry. What did you hear?"</p> + +<p>"That Harry had trained a quartette of singers and that they had given +two concerts in Harrow-gate and three in Scarborough and Halifax, and +come back with nearly five hundred pounds for the starving mill-hands in +Hatton District."</p> + +<p>"That is so—and I'm thankful to say it! People were glad to give. Many +were not satisfied with buying tickets; they added a few pounds or +shillings <!-- Page 275 --><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275" />as they could spare them. Lord Thirsk went with the company +as finance manager. People like a lord at the head of anything, and +Thirsk is Yorkshire, well known and trusted."</p> + +<p>"No more known and trusted than is Hatton. I think Harry might have +asked me. It is a pity they did not think of this plan earlier."</p> + +<p>"There may be time enough for the plan to wear itself out yet."</p> + +<p>"No. We shall have peace and cotton in three months."</p> + +<p>"However can thou say a thing like that?"</p> + +<p>"Because I know it."</p> + +<p>Then she looked steadily at him. He smiled confidently back, and no +further doubt troubled her. "I believe thee, John," she said, "and I +shall act accordingly."</p> + +<p>"You may safely do so, mother. How is Lucy?" "Quite well, and the new +baby is the finest little fellow I ever saw. Harry says they are going +to call him John. Harry is very fond of thee."</p> + +<p>"To be sure he is and I am fond of him. I wonder how they manage for +cash? Do you think they need it? Have they asked you for any?"</p> + +<p>"Not a farthing. Lucy makes the income meet the outgo. The farm feeds +the family and Harry earns more than a little out of the music and song +God put into him."</p> + +<p>"A deal depends on a man's wife, mother."</p> + +<p>"Everything depends on her. A man must ask <!-- Page 276 --><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276" />his wife whether he is to do +well with his life or make a failure of it. What wilt thou do with +thyself while Jane is in London?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to stay with you mostly, mother. There will be painters and +paperers and cleaners in my home and a lot of dirt and confusion."</p> + +<p>"Where is thy economy now, John?"</p> + +<p>"When God turns again and blesses Hatton, He will come with both hands +full. The mill is in beautiful order, ready for work at any moment. I +will make clean and fair my dwelling; then a blessing may light on both +places."</p> + +<p>It was in this spirit he worked and as the days lengthened his hopes and +prospects strengthened and there was soon so much to do that he could +not afford the time for uncalled anxiety. He was quickly set at rest +about his wife and daughter. Jane wrote that they had received a most +affectionate welcome and that Martha had conquered her uncle and aunt's +household.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Uncle is not happy, if Martha is out of sight [she wrote] and Aunt + is always planning some new pleasure for her. And, John, Uncle is + never tired of praising your pluck and humanity. He says he wishes + the Almighty had given him such an opportunity; he thinks he would + have done just as you have done. It was a little strange that Uncle + met a great Manchester banker the other day, and while they were + talking of the trouble, now so nearly over, this man said, + "Gentlemen, a great many of us have done well, but there is a + cotton-spinner in the Yorkshire wolds that has ex<!-- Page 277 --><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277" />celled us + all—one John Hatton. He mortgaged and sold all he had and kept his + looms going till the war was practically over. His people have not + been idle two months. What do you think of that?"</p> + +<p> Some man answered, he did not think it was extraordinary, for John + Hatton of Hatton-Elmete was of the finest blood in England. He + could not help doing the grand thing if it was there to be done. + And then another man took it up and said your blood and family had + nothing to do with your conduct. Many poor spinners would have done + as you did, if they had been your equals in money. Then the first + speaker answered, "We can do without any of your 'equality' talk, + Sam Thorpe. What the cream is, the cheese is. Chut! Where's your + equality now?" Uncle told me much more but that is enough of praise + for you, at once. Martha and I are very happy, and if all the news + we hear is true, I expect you to be living by the factory bell when + we get home. Dear, good John, we love you and think of you and talk + of you all the day long.</p> +</div> +<p class="right"> JANE. </p> + +<p>Jane's letters came constantly and they gave to this period of getting +ready for work again a sense of great elation. If a man only passed John +on the hill or in the corridors of the mill during these days, he caught +spirit and energy and hope from his up-head and happy face and firm +step. At the beginning of May the poor women had commenced with woeful +hearts to clean their denuded houses, and make them as homelike as they +could; and before May was half over, peace was won and there <!-- Page 278 --><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278" />were +hundreds of cotton ships upon the Atlantic.</p> + +<p>John's finished goods were all now in Manchester warehouses, and +Greenwood was watching the arrival of cotton and its prices in +Liverpool. John had very little money—none in fact that he could use +for cotton, but he confidently expected it, though ignorant of any +certain cause for expectation.</p> + +<p>As he was eating dinner with his mother one day, she said, "Whatever +have you sent Greenwood to Liverpool for?"</p> + +<p>"To buy any cotton he can."</p> + +<p>"But you have no money."</p> + +<p>"Simpson and Hager paid me at once for the calicoes I sent them. I shall +be getting money every day now."</p> + +<p>"Enough?"</p> + +<p>"I shall have enough—some way or other—no fear."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what, John. I can lend you twenty thousand pounds. I'll +be glad to do it."</p> + +<p>"O mother! Mother! That will be very salvation to me. How good you are! +How good you are!" and there was a tone in John's voice that was perhaps +entirely fresh and new. It went straight to his mother's heart, and she +continued, "I'll give you a check in the morning, John. You are varry, +varry welcome, my dear lad."</p> + +<p>"How can you spare me so much?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I've been saving a bit here and there and now and then for thirty +years, and with interest <!-- Page 279 --><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279" />coming and coming, a little soon counts up. +Why, John, I must have been saving for this very strait all these years. +Now, the silent money will talk and the idle money roll here and there, +making more. That is what money is cut round for—I expect."</p> + +<p>"Mother, this is one of the happiest hours in my life. I was carrying a +big burden of anxiety."</p> + +<p>"Thou need not have carried it an hour; thou might hev known that God +and thy mother would be sufficient."</p> + +<p>The next morning John went down the hill with a check for twenty +thousand pounds in his pocket and a prayer of rest in his heart and a +bubbling song on his lips. And all my readers must have noticed that +good fortune as well as misfortune has a way of coming in company. There +is a tendency in both to pour if they rain, and that day John had +another large remittance from a Manchester house and the second mail +brought him a letter which was as great a surprise as his mother's loan. +It was from Lord Harlow and read as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>JOHN HATTON, MY GOOD FRIEND,</p> + +<p> I must write you about three things that call for recognition from + me. The first is that I am forever your debtor for the fresh + delightful company of your little daughter. I have become a new man + in her company. She has lifted a great burden from my heart and + taught me many things. In my case it has been out of the mouths of + babes I have heard wisdom. My second reason for gratitude to you is + the <!-- Page 280 --><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280" />noble and humane manner in which you have taken the loss and + privations this war entailed. The name of Hatton has been thrice + honored by your bearing of it and I count my niece the most + fortunate of women to be your wife. She and Martha have in a large + measure helped to console me for the loss of my dear son. The third + call for recognition is, that I owe you some tangible proof of my + gratitude. Now I have a little money lying idle or nearly so, and + if you can spend it in buying cotton, I do not know of any better + use it can be put to. I am sending in this a check on Coutts' Bank + for ten thousand pounds. If it will help you a little, you will do + me a great favor by setting poor men and women to work with it. I + heard dear little Martha reading her Bible lesson to her mother + this morning. It was about the man who folded his talent in a + napkin and did nothing with it. Take my offer, John, and help me to + put my money to use, so that the Master may receive His own with + usury, when he calls for it. </p></div> + +<p class="right"> +Yours in heart and soul, <br /> +HARLOW.<br /> +</p> + +<p>John answered this letter in person. He ran down to London by a night +train and spent a day with Jane and Martha and his uncle and aunt. It +was such a happy day that it would hardly have been possible to have +duplicated it, and John was wise to carry it back to Hatton untouched by +thought or word, by look or act which could in any way shadow its +perfection. He had longed to take his wife and child back to Hatton with +him, but Lady Trelawney was to give a children's May garden-<!-- Page 281 --><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281" />party on +the eighteenth of May and Martha had been chosen queen of the May, and +when her father saw her in the dress prepared for the occasion and +witnessed her enthusiasm about the ceremony and the crowning of herself +queen, he put down all his personal desires and gave a ready consent to +her stay in London until the pageant was over. Then Jane dressed her in +the lace and satin of her coronation robe, with its spangled train of +tulle, put on her bright brown hair the little crown of shining gilt and +mock jewels, put in her hand the childish scepter and brought her into +the drawing-room and bade all make obeisance to her. And the child +played her part with such a sweet and noble seriousness that everyone +present wondered at her dignity and grace, and John's eyes were full as +his heart and the words were yet unknown to human tongues that could +express his deep love and emotion. Perhaps Lord Harlow made the best and +truest of commentaries when he said,</p> + +<p>"My dear friends, let us be thankful that we have yet hearts so +childlike as to be capable of enjoying this simple pleasure; for we are +told that unless we become as little children, we are not fit for the +kingdom of heaven."</p> + +<p>The next day soon after noon John was in his factory, but the image of +his child still lived in his eyes. His vision was everywhere obstructed +by looms and belts and swirling bands, but in front of them there was a +silvery light and in its soft <!-- Page 282 --><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282" />glow he saw—he saw clearly—the image of +the lovely May Queen in her glimmering dress of shining white with the +little gilt crown on her long brown hair. Nor could he dismiss this +phantom until he went up to Hatton Hall and described her fairy Majesty +to his mother.</p> + +<p>"And when are they coming home, John?" asked Mrs. Hatton. "Jane's house +is as fine as if it was new and Martha's governess is wearying for her. +Martha ought to be at her lessons now. Her holiday is over by all +rights."</p> + +<p>"The festival will be on the twenty-eighth, and they will come on the +thirtieth if the weather be fine."</p> + +<p>"What has the weather to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Jane does not like to travel in wet weather. It drabbles her +skirts and depresses her spirits—always."</p> + +<p>"Dear me! It is a pity she can't order the weather she prefers. I was +taught when a year or two younger than Martha six lines that my mother +bid me remember as long as I lived. I have not forgot to mind them yet."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you teach them to me?"</p> + +<p>"You never feared rain—quite the other way."</p> + +<p>"Tell them to me now, mother. It is your duty, you know," and John +laughed and bent forward and took in his large brown hand the plump, +small, white one she put out to meet his.</p> + +<p>"Well then, listen John, and see thou mind them:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><!-- Page 283 --><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283" /> +<span>"The rain has spoiled the farmer's day,<br /></span> +<span>Shall weather put my work away?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thereby are two days lost.<br /></span> +<span>Nature shall mind her own affairs,<br /></span> +<span>I will attend my proper cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In rain or sun or frost."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And the days went busily forward and John though he counted off day by +day was happy. Every loom he had was busy overtime. His manufactured +goods, woven in such stress and sorrow, were selling well, his cotton +sheds were filling rapidly. Men and women were beginning to sing at +their work again, for as one result of the day John spent with Harlow, +his lordship had opened a plain, good, and very cheap furniture store, +where the workers in cotton factories could renew on easy installments +the furniture they had sold for a mouthful of bread. It was known only +as "The Hatton Furniture Store" and John Hatton, while denying any share +in its business, stood as guarantee for its honesty, and no one was +afraid to open an account there. It really seemed as if Hatton village +had never before been so busy, so hopeful, and so full of life. The +factory bell had never sounded so cheerful. The various societies and +civic brotherhood meetings never had been so crowded and so cordial. Old +quarrels and grudges had died out and had been forgotten forever while +men and women broke their last crust of bread together or perhaps +clemmed themselves to <!-- Page 284 --><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284" />help feed the children of the very man that had +wronged them. Consequent on these pleasant surroundings, Hatton Chapel +was crowded, the singing-pew held the finest voices in the countryside, +and there was such a renewal of religious interest that Greenwood chose +the most jubilant hymn tunes he could find in all Methodist Psalmody.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly in spite of all these pleasant happenings strange +misgivings began to mix with John's days and cross and darken his hours +of rest. Every morning he got his London letter, always full of love and +satisfactions, yet uncalled-for and very unlikely apprehensions came +into his thoughts and had power to shake his soul as they passed. He was +angry at himself. He called himself ungrateful to God who had so +wonderfully helped him. He prayed earnestly for a thankful, joyful +spirit, and he assumed the virtue of cheerfulness though he was far from +feeling it. But he said nothing of this delusive temper to his mother. +He was in reality ashamed of his depression, for he knew</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Love that is true must hush itself,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor pain by its useless cry;<br /></span> +<span>For the young don't care, and the old must bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Time goes by—goes by.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>One morning John said to his mother, "Today Martha is queen of the May. +Tomorrow they will pack, and do their last shopping and on Friday +after<!-- Page 285 --><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285" />noon they promise to be home. The maids and men will be all in +their places by tonight, and I think Jane will be pleased with the +changes I have made."</p> + +<p>"She ought to be, but ought often stands for nothing. It cost thee a +goodish bit when thou hedn't much to count on."</p> + +<p>"Not so much, mother—some paint and paper and yards of creton."</p> + +<p>"And new white curtains 'upstairs and downstairs and in my lady's +chamber.' Add to that men's and women's wage; and add to that, the love +that could neither be bought nor sold."</p> + +<p>"She is worth it all many times over."</p> + +<p>"Happen she may be. Her aunt has had a heartbreaking lesson. She may say +a few words to unsay words that she never should have spoken."</p> + +<p>"I shall be thinking of Martha all day. I hope she will keep her +confidence."</p> + +<p>"What art thou talking about? Martha will do herself no injustice. It +isn't likely. What is the matter with thee, John? Thou art as +down-hearted as if all had gone wrong instead of right. O thou of little +faith!"</p> + +<p>"I know and I am sorry and ashamed, mother."</p> + +<p>The next morning John had a charming letter from Jane. Martha had done +wonderfully. She had played her part to perfection and there were only +exclamations of delight at the airy, fairy cleverness of her conceptions +of mimic royalty. Jane said the illustrated papers had all taken +Martha's pic<!-- Page 286 --><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286" />ture, and in fact the May Day Dream had been an +unqualified, delightful success. "And the praise is all given to Martha, +John. I shall have her likeness taken today as she appeared surrounded +by her ladies. We shall surely see you at home on Friday."</p> + +<p>John was so immensely proud of this news, that he went up the hill +earlier than usual in order to give it to his mother. And her attitude +disappointed him. She was singularly indifferent, he thought, and +answered his excited narrative by a fervent wish that they "were safely +back at Hatton." He wondered a little but let the circumstance pass. +"She has been worried about some household misdoing," he thought, and he +tried during their dinner together to lead her back to her usual homely, +frank cheerfulness. He only very partially succeeded, so he lit a cigar +and lay down on the sofa to smoke it. And as his mother knit she lifted +her eyes occasionally and they were full of anxious pity. She knew not +<i>why</i>, and yet in her soul there was a dark, swelling sorrow which would +not for any adjuration of Scripture nor any imploration of prayer, be +stilled.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what it is," she whispered. "I wonder if Jane——" then there +was a violent knocking at the front door, and she started to her feet, +uttering as she did so the word, "<i>Now!</i>" She knew instinctively, +whatever the trouble was, it was standing at her threshold, and she took +a candle in her hand and went to meet it face to face. It was a stranger +on <!-- Page 287 --><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287" />a big horse with a telegram. He offered it to Mrs. Hatton, but John +had quickly followed his mother and he took it from her and read its +appalling message:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Come quickly! Martha is very, very ill! </p></div> + +<p>A dark, heavy cloud took possession of both hearts, but John said only, +"Come with me, mother." "No," she answered, "this is Jane's opportunity. +I must not interfere with it. I shall be with you, dear John, though you +may not see. My kiss and blessing to the little one. God help her! +Hurry, John! I will have your horse at the door in ten minutes."</p> + +<p>In that long, dark, hurrying ride to London, he suddenly remembered that +for two days he had been haunted by a waylaying thought of some verses +he had read and cut out of a daily paper, and with the remembrance, back +they came to his mind, setting themselves to a phantom melody he could +hardly refrain himself from softly singing,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Many waters go softly dreaming<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On to the sea,<br /></span> +<span>But the river of Death floweth softest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By tower and tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"No rush of the mournful waters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breaks on the ear,<br /></span> +<span>To tell us when Life is strongest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Death flows near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"<!-- Page 288 --><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288" />But through throbbing hearts of cities<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the heat of the day,<br /></span> +<span>The cool, dark River passeth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On its silent way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"This is the River that follows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherever we go,<br /></span> +<span>No sand so dry and thirsty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But these strange waters flow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Many waters go softly dreaming<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On to the sea,<br /></span> +<span>But the river of Death flows softest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Thee and me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"And the Lord's voice on the waters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lingereth sweet,<br /></span> +<span>He that is washed needest only<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To wash his feet."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII" /><!-- Page 289 --><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289" />CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p class="center">THE LOVE THAT NEVER FAILS</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Go in peace, soul beautiful and blest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Yet high above the limits of our seeing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And folded far within the inmost heart,<br /></span> +<span>And deep below the deeps of conscious being,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy splendor shineth! There O God! Thou art.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>When John reached London it was in the gray misty dawning. The streets +were nearly deserted, and an air of melancholy hung over the long rows +of low dwellings. At Harlow House he saw at once that every window was +shrouded, and he turned heartsick with the fear that he was too late. A +porter, whose eyes were red with weeping, admitted him, and there was an +intolerable smell of drugs, the odor of which he recollected all the +days of his future life.</p> + +<p>"She is still alive, sir—but very ill."</p> + +<p>John could not answer, but his look was so urgent and so miserable the +man divined the hurry of heart and spirit that he was possessed by and +without another word led him to the room where the child lay dying. The +struggle was nearly over and <!-- Page 290 --><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290" />John was spared the awful hours of slow +strangulation which had already done their work. She was not insensible. +She held tight the hand of her mother, kneeling by her side, and gazed +at John with eyes wearing a new, deep look as if a veil had been rent +and she with open face saw things sweet and wonderful. Her pale, mute +mouth smiled faintly and she tried to stretch out her arms to him. There +she lay, a smitten child, fallen after a bewildering struggle with a +merciless foe. John with a breaking heart lifted her in his arms and +carried her gently to-and-fro. The change and motion relieved her a +little and what words of comfort and love he said in that last communion +only God knows. But though he held her close in his strong arms, she +found a way to pass from him to God. Quivering all over like a wounded +bird, she gave John her last smile, and was not, for God took her. The +bud had opened to set free the rose—the breathing miracle into silence +passed. Weeping passionately, his tears washed her face. He was in an +agony of piteous feeling in which there was quite unconsciously a strain +of resentment.</p> + +<p>"She is gone!" he cried, and the two physicians present bowed their +heads. Then Jane rose and took the body from the distracted father's +arms. She was white and worn out with suffering and watching, but she +would allow no one to make the child's last toilet but herself. For this +ceremony she needed no lace or satin, no gilt or mock jewelry. <!-- Page 291 --><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291" />She +washed the little form free of all earth's stain, combed loose the +bright brown hair, matted with the sweat of suffering, and dressed her +for the last—the last time, in one of the pretty white linen nightgowns +she had made for her darling but a few weeks previously.</p> + +<p>Oh, who dare inquire what passed in Jane's soul during that hour? The +God who wrote the child's name in His book before she was born, He only +knew. Of all that suffered in Martha's loss, Jane suffered incredibly +more than any other. She fell prostrate on the floor at the feet of the +Merciful Father when this duty was done—prostrate and speechless. +Prayer was beyond her power. She was dumb. God had done it and she +deserved it. She heard nothing John said to her. All that long, long day +she sat by her dead child, until in the darkening twilight some men came +into the room on tiptoe. They had a small white coffin in their care, +and placed it on a table near the bed. Then Jane stood up and if an +unhappy soul had risen from the grave, it could not have shocked them +more. She stood erect and looked at them. Her tall form, in its crushed +white gown, her deathly white face, her black eyes gleaming with the +lurid light of despair, her pale quivering lips, her air of hopeless +grief, shocked even these men, used to the daily sight of real or +pretended mourners. With a motion of her hand she prevented them coming +closer to the dead child, and then by an imperative utterance of the +<!-- Page 292 --><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292" />word, "<i>Go</i>," sent them from the room. With her own hand she laid +Martha in her last bed and disposed its one garment about the rigid +little limbs. She neither spoke nor wept for Ah! in her sad soul she +knew that never day or night or man or God could bring her child back to +her. And she remembered that once she had said in an evil moment that +this dear, dead child was "one too many." Would God ever forgive her?</p> + +<p>By a late train that night they left for Hatton Hall, reaching the +village about the time for the mill to open. No bell summoned its hands +to cheerful work. They were standing at various points, and when the +small white coffin went up the hill, they silently followed, softly +singing. At the great gates the weeping grandmother received them.</p> + +<p>For one day the living and the dead dwelt together in hushed and +sorrowful mourning, nor did a word of comfort come to any soul. The +weight of that grief which hung like lead upon the rooms, the stairs, +the galleries where her step had lately been so light, was also on every +heart; and although we ought to be diviner for our dead, the strength of +this condition was not as yet realized. John had shut himself in his +room, and the grandmother went about her household duties silently +weeping and trying to put down the angry thoughts which would arise +whenever she remembered how stubbornly her daughter-in-law had refused +to leave Martha with her, and make her trip to London alone. She knew +<!-- Page 293 --><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293" />it was "well with the child," but Oh the bitter strength of regrets +that strain and sicken,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Yearning for love that the veil of Death endears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Jane sat silent, tearless, almost motionless beside her dead daughter. +Now and then John came and tried to comfort the wretched woman, but in +her deepest grief, there was a tender motherly strain which he had not +thought of and knew not how to answer. "Her little feet! Her little +feet, John! I never let them wander alone or stray even in Hatton +streets without a helper and guide. O John, what hand will lead them +upward and back to God? Those little feet!"</p> + +<p>"Her angel would be with her and she would know the way through the +constellations. Together they would pass swift as thought from earth to +heaven. Martha loved God. They who love God will find their way back to +Him, dear Jane."</p> + +<p>The next day there was no factory bell. Nearly the whole village was +massed in Hatton churchyard, and towards sunset the crowd made a little +lane for the small white coffin to the open grave waiting for it. None +of the women of the family were present. They had made their parting in +the familiar room that seemed, even at that distracting hour, full of +Martha's dear presence. But Jane, sitting afterwards at its open window, +heard the soft singing of those who went to the grave mouth with the +child, <!-- Page 294 --><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294" />and when a little later John and Harry returned together, she +knew that <i>all had been</i>.</p> + +<p>She did not go to meet them, but John came to her. "Let me help you, +dear one," he said tenderly. "One is here who will give you comfort."</p> + +<p>"None can comfort me. Who is here?"</p> + +<p>"The new curate. He said words at the graveside I shall never forget. He +filled them with such glory that I could not help taking comfort."</p> + +<p>"O John, what did he say?"</p> + +<p>"After the service was over, and the people dispersing, he stood talking +to Harry and myself, and then he walked up the hill with us. I asked him +for your sake."</p> + +<p>"I will come down in half an hour, John."</p> + +<p>"Then I will come and help you."</p> + +<p>And in half an hour this craver after some hope and comfort went down, +and then John renewed the conversation which was on the apparent cruelty +of children being born to live a short time and then leave Earth by the +inscrutable gate of Death.</p> + +<p>"It seems to be so needless, so useless," said Jane.</p> + +<p>"Not so," the curate answered. "Let me repeat two verses of an ancient +Syrian hymn, written A.D. 90, and you will learn what the earliest +Fathers of the Church thought of the death of little children.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The Just One saw that iniquity increased on earth,<br /></span> +<span>And that sin had dominion over all men,<br /></span> +<span><!-- Page 295 --><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295" />And He sent His Messengers, and removed<br /></span> +<span>A multitude of fair little ones,<br /></span> +<span>And called them to the pavilion of happiness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Like lilies taken from the wilderness,<br /></span> +<span>Children are planted in Paradise;<br /></span> +<span>And like pearls in diadems,<br /></span> +<span>Children are inserted in the Kingdom;<br /></span> +<span>And without ceasing, shall hymn forth his praise."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Will you give me a copy of those verses?" asked Jane with great +emotion.</p> + +<p>"I will. You see a little clearer now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And the glory and the safety for the child? Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"I think I do."</p> + +<p>"Then give thanks and not tears because the King desired your child, for +this message came forth from Him in whom we live and move and have our +being: 'Come up hither, and dwell in the House of the Lord forever. The +days of thy life have been sufficient. The bands of suffering are +loosed. Thy Redeemer hath brought thee a release.' So she went forth +unto her Maker. She attained unto the beginning of Peace. She departed +to the habitations of just men made perfect, to the communion of saints, +to the life everlasting."</p> + +<p>In such conversation the evening passed and all present were somewhat +comforted, yet it was only alleviation; for comfort to be lasting, must +be in a <!-- Page 296 --><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296" />great measure self-evolved, must spring from our own +convictions, our own assurance and sense of absolute love and justice.</p> + +<p>However, every sorrow has its horizon and none are illimitable. The +factory bell rang clearly the next morning, and the powerful call of +duty made John answer it. God had given, and God had taken his only +child, but the children of hundreds of families looked to the factory +for their daily bread. Yea, and he did not forget the contract with God +and his father which bound him to the poor and needy and which any +neglect of business might imperil. He lifted his work willingly and +cheerfully, for work is the oldest gospel God gave to man. It is good +tidings that never fail. It is the surest earthly balm for every grief +and whatever John Hatton was in his home life and in his secret hours, +he was diligent in business, serving God with a fervent, cheerful +spirit. In the mill he never named his loss but once, and that was on +the morning of his return to business. Greenwood then made some remark +about the dead child, and John answered,</p> + +<p>"I am very lonely, Greenwood. This world seems empty without her. Why +was she taken away from it?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she was wanted in some other world, sir."</p> + +<p>John lifted a startled face to the speaker, and the man added with an +air of happy triumph, as he walked away,</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 297 --><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297" />A far better world, sir."</p> + +<p>For a moment John rested his head on his hand, then he lifted his face +and with level brows fronted the grief he must learn to bear.</p> + +<p>Jane's sorrow was a far more severe and constant one. Martha had been +part of all her employments. She could do nothing and go nowhere, but +the act and the place were steeped in memories of the child. All her +work, all her way, all her thoughts, began and ended with Martha. She +fell into a dangerous condition of self-immolation. She complained that +no one cared for her, that her suffering was uniquely great, and that +she alone was the only soul who remembered the dead and loved them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stephen came from her retreat in Hatton Hall one day in order to +combat this illusion.</p> + +<p>"Three mothers living in Hatton village hev buried children this week, +Jane," she said. "Two of them went back to the mill this morning."</p> + +<p>"I think it was very wicked of them."</p> + +<p>"They <i>hed</i> to go back. They had living children to work for. When the +living cling to you, then you must put the dead aside for the living. +God cares for the dead and they hev all they want in His care. If you +feel that you must fret youself useless to either living or dead, try +the living. They'll mostly give you every reason for fretting."</p> + +<p>"John has quite forgotten poor little Martha."</p> + +<p>"He's done nothing of that sort, but I think thou <!-- Page 298 --><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298" />hes forgotten John, +poor fellow! I'm sorry for John, I am that!"</p> + +<p>"You have no cause to say such things, mother, and I will not listen to +them. John has become wrapped up in that dreadful mill, and when he +comes home at night, he will not talk of Martha."</p> + +<p>"I am glad he won't and thou ought to be glad too. How can any man work +his brains all day in noise and worry and confusion and then come home +and fret his heart out all night about a child that is in Heavenly +keeping and a wife that doesn't know what is good either for herself or +anybody else. Listen to me! I am going to give thee a grain of solid +truthful sense. The best man in the world will cease giving sympathy +when he sees that it does no good and that he must give it over and over +every day. I wonder John gave it as long as he did! I do that. If I was +thee, I would try to forget myself a bit. I would let the sunshine into +these beautiful rooms. If thou doesn't, the moths will eat up thy fine +carpets and cushions, and thou will become one of those chronic, +disagreeable invalids that nobody on earth—and I wouldn't wonder if +nobody in heaven either—cares a button for."</p> + +<p>Jane defended herself with an equal sincerity, and a good many truths +were made clear to her that had only hitherto been like a restless +movement of her consciousness. In fact the Lady of Hatton Hall left her +daughter-in-law penetrated with a new sense of <!-- Page 299 --><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299" />her position. Nor was +this sense at all lightened or brightened by her parting remarks.</p> + +<p>"I am thy true friend, Jane, that is something better than thy +mother-in-law. I want to see thee and John happy, and I assure thee it +will be easy now to take one step thou must never take if thou wants +another happy hour. John is Yorkshire, flesh and bone, heart and soul, +and thou ought to know that Yorkshiremen take no back steps. If John's +love wanes, though it be ever so little, it has waned for thee to the +end of thy life. Thou can never win it back. <i>Never!</i> So, I advise thee +to mind thy ways, and thy words."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, mother. I know you speak to me out of a sincere heart."</p> + +<p>"To be sure I do. And out of a kind heart also. <i>Why-a!</i> When John said +to me, 'Mother, I love Jane Harlow,' I answered, 'Thou art right to love +her. She is a fit and proper wife for thee,' and I made up my mind to +love thee, too—faults included."</p> + +<p>"Then love me now, mother. John minds your lightest word. Tell him to be +patient with me."</p> + +<p>"I will—but thou must do thy best to even things. Thou must be more +interested in John. Martha is with God. If she hed lived, thou would +varry soon be sending her off to some unlovelike, polite +boarding-school, and a few years later thou would make a grand feast, +and deck her in satin and lace and jewels and give her as a sacrifice to +some man thou <!-- Page 300 --><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300" />knew little about—just as the old pagans used to dress +up the young heifers with flowers and ribbons before they offered them +in blood and flame to Jupiter or the like of him. Martha was God's child +and He took her, and I must say, thou gave her up to Him in a varry +grudging way."</p> + +<p>"Mother, I am going to do better. Forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Nay, my dear lass, seek thou God's forgiveness and all the rest will +come easy. It is against Him, and Him only, thou hast sinned; but He is +long-suffering, plenteous in mercy, and ready to forgive." And then +these two women, who had scarcely spoken for years, kissed each other +and were true friends ever after. So good are the faithful words of +those who dare to speak the truth in love and wisdom.</p> + +<p>As it generally happens, however, things were all unfavorable to Jane's +resolve. John had been impeded all day by inefficient or careless +services; even Greenwood had misunderstood an order and made an +impossible appointment which had only been canceled with offense and +inconvenience. The whole day indeed had worked itself away to cross +purpose, and John came home weary with the aching brows that annoyance +and worry touch with a peculiar depressing neuralgia. It need not be +described; there are very few who are not familiar with its exhausting, +melancholy dejection.</p> + +<p>John did his best to meet his wife's more cheerful mood, but the +strongest men are often very poor bearers of physical pain. Jane would +have suffered—<!-- Page 301 --><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301" />and did often suffer—the same distress with far less +complaint. Women, too, soon learn to alleviate such a cruel sensation, +but John had a strong natural repugnance for drugs and liniments, and it +was only when he was weary of Jane's entreaties that he submitted to a +merciful medication which ended in a restorative sleep.</p> + +<p>This incident did not discourage Jane in her new resolve. She told +herself at once that the first steps on a good or wise road were sure to +be both difficult and painful; and in the morning John's cheerful, +grateful words and his brave sunny face repaid her fully for the +oblivion to which she had consigned her own trials and the subjection +she had enforced upon her own personality.</p> + +<p>This was the new battle-ground on which she now stood, and at first John +hardly comprehended the hard, self-denying conflict she was waging. One +day he was peculiarly struck with an act of self-denial which also +involved for Jane a slight humiliation, that he could not but wonder at +her submission. He looked at her in astonishment and he did not know +whether he admired her self-control and generosity or not. The +circumstance puzzled and troubled him. That afternoon he had to go to +Yoden to see his brother, and he came home by way of Hatton Hall.</p> + +<p>As he anticipated, he found his mother pleasantly enjoying her cup of +afternoon tea, and she rose with a cry of love to welcome him.</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 302 --><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302" />I was thinking of thee, John, and then I heard thy footsteps. I hev +the best pot of tea in Yorkshire at my right hand; I'm sure thou wilt +hev a cup."</p> + +<p>"To be sure I will. It is one of the things I came for, and I want to +talk to you half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Say all that is in thy heart, and there's nothing helps talk, like a +cup of good tea. Whatever does thou want to talk to me about?"</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you about Jane."</p> + +<p>"Well then, be careful what thou says. No man's mother is a fair +counselor about his wife. They will both say more than they ought to +say, especially if she isn't present to explain; and when they don't +fully understand, how can they advise?"</p> + +<p>"You could not be unjust to anyone, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Well, then?"</p> + +<p>"She is so much better than she has ever been since the child went +away."</p> + +<p>"She is doing her best. Thou must help her with all thy heart and soul."</p> + +<p>"All her love for me seems to have come back."</p> + +<p>"It never left thee for a moment."</p> + +<p>"But for weeks and months she has not seemed to care for anything but +her memory of Martha."</p> + +<p>"That is the way men's big unsuspecting feet go blundering and crushing +through a woman's heart. In the first place, she was overwhelmed with +grief at Martha's sudden death and at her own apparent instrumentality +in it."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 303 --><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303" />I loved Martha as well, perhaps better, than Jane."</p> + +<p>"Not thou! Thou never felt one thrill of a mother's love. Jane would +have died twice over to save her child. Thou said with all the +bitterness of death in thy soul, 'God's will be done.'"</p> + +<p>"We will let that pass. Why has her grief been so long-continued?"</p> + +<p>"Thou <i>hed</i> to put thine aside. A thousand voices called on thee for +daily bread. Thou did not dare to indulge thy private sorrow at the risk +of neglecting the work God had given thee to do. Jane had nothing to +interest her. Her house was so well arranged it hardly needed oversight. +The charities that had occupied her heart and her hands were ended and +closed. In every room in your house, in every avenue of your garden and +park Martha had left her image. Many hours every day you were in a total +change of scene and saw a constant variety of men and women. Jane told +me that she saw Martha in every room. She saw and heard her running up +and down stairs. She saw her at her side, she saw her sleeping and +dreaming. Poor mother! Poor sorrowful Jane! It would be hard to be kind +enough and patient enough with her."</p> + +<p>"Do you think she will always be in this sad condition?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever can thou mean? God has appointed Time to console all loss and +all grief. Martha will go further and further away as the days wear on +<!-- Page 304 --><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304" />and Jane will forget—we all do—we all <i>hev</i> to forget."</p> + +<p>"Some die of grief."</p> + +<p>"Not they. They may induce some disease, to which they are disposed by +inordinate and sinful sorrow—and die of that—no one dies of grief, or +grief would be our most common cause of death. I think Jane will come +out of the Valley of the Shadow a finer and better woman—she was always +of a very superior kind."</p> + +<p>"Mother, you allude to something that troubles me. I have seen Jane bear +and do things lately that a year ago she would have indignantly refused +to tolerate. Is not this a decadence in her superior nature?"</p> + +<p>"Thou art speaking too fine for my understanding. If thou means by +'decadence' that Jane is growing worse instead of better, then thou art +far wrong—and if it were that way, I would not wonder if some of the +blame—maybe the main part of it—isn't thy fault. Men don't understand +women. How can they?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if the Bible is correct, women were made after men. They were the +Almighty's improvement on his first effort. There's very few men that I +know—or have ever known—that have yet learned to model themselves +after the improvement. It's easier for them to manifest the old Adam, +and so they go on living and dying and living and dying and <!-- Page 305 --><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305" />remain only +men and never learn to understand a woman."</p> + +<p>John laughed and asked, "Have you ever known an improved man, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Now and then, John, I have come across one. There was your father, for +instance, he knew a woman's heart as well as he knew a loom or a sample +of cotton, and there's your brother Harry who is just as willing and +helpful as his wife Lucy, and I shall not be far wrong, if I say the +best improvement I have seen on the original Adam is a man called John +Hatton. He is nearly good enough for any woman."</p> + +<p>Again John laughed as he answered, "Well, dear mother, this is as far as +we need to go. Tell me in plain Yorkshire what you mean by it."</p> + +<p>"I mean, John, that in your heart you are hardly judging Jane fairly. I +notice in you, as well as in the general run of husbands, that if they +hev to suffer at all, they tell themselves that it is their wife's +fault, and they manage to believe it. It's queer but then it's a man's +way."</p> + +<p>"You think I should be kinder to Jane?"</p> + +<p>"Thou art kind enough in a way. A mother might nurse her baby as often +as it needed nursing, but if she never petted it and kissed it, never +gave it smiles and little hugs and simple foolish baby talk, it would be +a badly nursed and a very much robbed child. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"You think I ought to give Jane more petting?"</p> + +<p><!-- Page 306 --><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306" />Mrs. Hatton smiled and nodded. "She calls it <i>sympathy</i>, John, but that +is what she means. Hev a little patience, my dear lad. Listen! There is +a grand wife and a grand mother in Jane Hatton. If you do not develop +them, I, your mother, will say, 'somehow it is John's fault.'"</p> + +<p>Now life will always be to a large extent what we make it. Jane was +trying with all her power to make her life lovable and fair, and the +beginning of all good is action, for in this warfare they who would win +must struggle. Hitherto, since Martha's death, she had found in nascent, +indolent self-pity the choicest of luxuries. Now she had abandoned this +position and with courage and resolve was devoting herself to her +husband and her house. Unfortunately, there were circumstances in John's +special business cares that gave an appearance of Duncan Grey's wooing +to all her efforts—when the lassie grew kind, Duncan grew cool. It was +truly only an appearance, but Jane was not familiar with changes in +Love's atmosphere. John's steadfast character had given her always fair +weather.</p> + +<p>In reality the long strain of business cares and domestic sorrow had +begun to tell even upon John's perfect health and nervous system. Facing +absolute ruin in the war years and surrounded by pitiable famine and +death, he had kept his cheerful temper, his smiling face, his resolute, +confident spirit. Now, he was singularly prosperous. The mill was busy +nearly night and day, all his plans and hopes had <!-- Page 307 --><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307" />been perfected; yet +he was often either silent or irritable. Jane seldom saw him smile and +never heard him sing and she feared that he often shirked her company.</p> + +<p>One hot morning at the end of August she had a shock. He had taken his +breakfast before she came down and he had left her no note of greeting +or explanation. She ran to a window that overlooked the main avenue and +she could see him walking slowly towards the principal entrance. Her +first instinct was to follow him—to send the house man to delay him—to +bring him back by some or any means. Once she could and would have done +so, but she did not feel it wise or possible then. What had happened? +She went slowly back to her breakfast, but there was a little ball in +her throat—she could not swallow—the grief and fear in her heart was +surging upward and choking her.</p> + +<p>All that her mother-in-law had said came back to her memory. Had John +taken that one step away? Would he never take it back to her? She was +overwhelmed with a climbing sorrow that would not down. Yet she asked +with assumed indifference,</p> + +<p>"Was the Master well this morning?"</p> + +<p>"It's likely, ma'am. He wasn't complaining. That isn't Master's way."</p> + +<p>Then she thought of her own complaining, and was silent.</p> + +<p>After breakfast she went through the house and <!-- Page 308 --><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308" />found every room +impossible. She flooded them with fresh air and sunshine, but she could +not empty them of phantoms and memories and with a little half-uttered +cry she put on her hat and went out. Surely in the oak wood she would +find the complete solitude she must have. She passed rapidly through the +band of ash-trees that shielded the house on the north and was directly +in the soft, deep shadow of umbrageous oaks a century old. They +whispered among themselves at her coming, they fanned her with a little +cool wind from the encircling mountains, and she threw herself +gratefully down upon the soft, warm turf at their feet.</p> + +<p>Then all the sorrow of the past months overwhelmed her. She wept as if +her heart would break and there was a great silence all around which the +tinkle of a little brook over its pebbly bed only seemed to intensify. +Presently she had no more tears left and she dried her eyes and sat +upright and was suddenly aware of a great interior light, pitiless and +clear beyond all dayshine. And in it she saw herself with a vision more +than mortal. It was an intolerable vision, but during it there was +formed in her soul the faculty of prayer.</p> + +<p>Out of the depths of her shame and sorrow she called upon God and He +heard her. She told Him all her selfishness and sin and urged by some +strong spiritual necessity, begged God's forgiveness and help with the +conquering prayers that He himself gave her. "Cast me not from Thy +Presence," she <!-- Page 309 --><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309" />cried. "Take not Thy holy spirit from me," and then +there flashed across her trembling soul the horror and blackness of +darkness in which souls "cast from God's presence" must dwell forever. +Prostrate in utter helplessness, she cast herself upon the Eternal +Father's mercy. If He would forgive her selfish rebellion against the +removal of Martha, if He would give her back the joy of the first years +of her espousal to her husband, if He would only forgive her, she could +do without all the rest—and then in a moment, in the twinkling of an +eye, she knew she was forgiven. An inexpressible glory filled her soul, +washed clean of sin. Love beyond words, peace and joy beyond expression, +surrounded her. She stood up and lifted her face and hands to heaven and +cried out like one in a swoon of triumph,</p> + +<p>"Thou hast called me by my name! I am Thine!"</p> + +<p>All doubt, all fear, all sorrow, all pain was gone. She knew as by +flashlight, her whole duty to her husband and her relatives and friends. +She was willing with all her heart to perform it. She went to the little +stream and bathed her face and she thought it said as it ran onward, +<i>"Happy woman! Happy woman!"</i> The trees looked larger and greener, and +seemed to stand in a golden glow. The shepherd's rose and the stately +foxgloves were more full of color and scent. She heard the fine inner +tones of the birds' songs that Heaven only hears; <!-- Page 310 --><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310" />and all nature was +glorified and rejoiced with her. She had a new heart and the old cares +and sorrows had gone away forever.</p> + +<p>Such conversions are among the deepest, real facts in the history of the +soul of man. They have occurred in all ages, in all countries, and in +all conditions of life, for we know that they are the very truth, as we +have seen them translated into action. There is no use attempting to +explain by any human reason facts of such majesty and mystery, for how +can natural reason explain what is supernatural?</p> + +<p>In a rapture of joy Jane walked swiftly home. She was not conscious of +her movements, the solid earth might have been a road of some buoyant +atmosphere. All the world looked grandly different, and she herself was +as one born again. Her servants looked at her in amazement and talked +about "the change in Missis," while the work of the household dropped +from their hands until old Adam Boothby, the gardener, came in for his +dinner.</p> + +<p>"She passed me," he said, "as I was gathering berries. She came from the +oak wood, and O blind women that you be, couldn't you see she hed been +with God? The clear shining of His face was over her. She's in a new +world this afternoon, and the angels in heaven are rejoicing over her, +and I'm sure every man in Hatton will rejoice with her husband; he's hed +a middling bad time with her lately or I'm varry much mistaken."</p> + +<p>Then these men and women, who had been pri<!-- Page 311 --><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311" />vately unstinting in their +blame of Missis and her selfish way, held their peace. She had been with +God. About that communion they did not dare to comment.</p> + +<p>As it neared five o'clock, Jane's maid came into the kitchen with +another note of surprise. "Missis hes dressed hersen in white from head +to foot," she cried. "She told me to put away her black things out of +sight. I doan't know what to think of such ways. It isn't half a year +yet since the child died."</p> + +<p>"I'd think no wrong if I was thee, Lydia Swale. Thou hesn't any warrant +for thinking wrong but what thou gives thysen, and thou be neither judge +nor jury," said an old woman, making Devonshire cream.</p> + +<p>"In white from top to toe," Lydia continued, "even her belt was of white +satin ribbon, and she put a white rose in her hair, too. It caps me. +It's a queer dooment."</p> + +<p>"Brush the black frocks over thy arm and then go and smarten thysen up a +bit. It will be dinner-time before thou hes thy work done."</p> + +<p>"Happen it may. I'm not caring and Missis isn't caring, either. She'll +never wear these frocks again—she might as well give them to me."</p> + +<p>In the meantime Jane was looking at herself in the long cheval mirror. +The rapture in her heart was still reflected on her face, and the white +clothing transfigured her. "John must see that the great <!-- Page 312 --><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312" />miracle of +life has happened to me, that I have really been born again. Oh, how +happy he will be!"</p> + +<p>With this radiant thought she stepped lightly down to the long avenue by +which John always came home. About midway, there was a seat under a +large oak-tree and she saw John sitting on it. He was reading a letter +when Jane appeared, but when he understood that it really was Jane, he +was lost in amazement and the letter fell to the ground.</p> + +<p>"John! John!" she cried in a soft, triumphant voice. "O John, do you +know what has happened to me?"</p> + +<p>"A miracle, my darling! But how?" And he drew her to his side and kissed +her. "You are like yourself—you are as lovely as you were in the hour I +first saw you."</p> + +<p>"John, I went to the oak-wood early this morning. I carried with me all +my sins and troubles, and as I thought of them my heart was nearly +broken and I wept till I could weep no longer. Then a passionate longing +to pray urged me to tell God everything, and He heard me and pitied and +forgave me. He called me by name and comforted me, and I was so happy! I +knew not whether I was in this world or in Paradise; every green thing +was lovelier, every blue thing was bluer, there was a golden glory in my +heart and over all the earth, and I knew not that I had walked home till +I was there. John, dear John! You understand?"</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 313 --><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313" />My darling! You make me as happy as yourself."</p> + +<p>"Happy! John, I shall always make you happy now. I shall never grieve or +sadden or disappoint you again. Never once again! O my love! O my dear +good husband! Love me as only you can love me. Forgive me, John, as God +has forgiven me! Make me happy in your love as God has made life +glorious to me with His love!"</p> + +<p>And for some moments John could not speak. He kissed her rapturously and +drew her closer and closer to his side, and he sought her eyes with that +promise in his own which she knew instinctively would surround and +encompass and adore her with unfailing and undying affection as long as +life should last.</p> + +<p>In a communion nigh unto heaven they spent the evening together. John +had left his letter lying on the ground where he met his white-robed +wife. He forgot it, though it was of importance, until he saw it on the +ground in the morning. He forgot everything but the miracle that had +changed all his water into wine. It seemed as if his house could not +contain the joy that had come to it. He threw off all his sadness, as he +would have cast away a garment that did not fit him, by a kind of +physical movement; and the years in which he had known disappointment +and loss of love dropped away from him. For Jane had buried in tenderest +words and hopes all the cruel words which had so bitterly wounded <!-- Page 314 --><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314" />and +bereaved and impoverished his life. Jane had promised and God was her +surety. He had put into her memory a wondrous secret word. She had heard +His voice, and it could never again leave her heart;</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>And who could murmur or misdoubt,<br /></span> +<span>When God's great sunshine finds them out?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SEQUENCES" id="SEQUENCES" /><!-- Page 315 --><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315" />SEQUENCES</h2> + + +<p>There are few episodes in life which break off finally. Life is now so +variable, travel so easy, there are no continuing cities and no lasting +interests, and we ask ourselves involuntarily, "What will the sequence +be?" When I left Yorkshire, I was too young and too ignorant of the +ever-changing film of daily existence to think or to care much about +sequences; and the Hattons were a family of the soil; they appeared to +be as much a part of it as the mountains and elms, the blue bells and +the heather. I never expected to see them again and the absence of this +expectation made me neither sorry nor glad.</p> + +<p>One day, however, a quarter of a century after the apparent close of my +story, I was in St. Andrews, the sacred, solemn-looking old city that is +the essence of all the antiquity of Scotland. But it was neither its +academic air nor its ecclesiastical forlornness, its famous links nor +venerable ruins of cloister and cathedral that attracted me at that +time. It was the promise of a sermon by Dean Stanley which detained me +on my southward journey. I had heard Dean Stanley once, and naturally I +could not but wish to hear him again.</p> + +<p>He was to preach in the beautiful little chapel of <!-- Page 316 --><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316" />St. Salvator's +College and I went with the crowd that followed the University faculty +there. One of the incidents of this walk was seeing an old woman in a +large white-linen cap, carrying an umbrella, innocently join the gowned +and hooded procession of the University faculty. I was told afterwards +that Stanley was greatly delighted at her intrusion. He wore a black +silk gown and bands, the Oxford D.D. hood, a broad scarf of what looked +like crêpe, and the order of the Bath, and his text was, "Ye have need +of patience." The singing was extraordinarily beautiful, beginning with +that grand canticle, "Lord of All Power and Might," as he entered the +pulpit. His beautiful beaming face and the singular way in which he +looked up with closed eyes was very attractive and must be well +remembered. But I did not notice it with the interest I might have done, +if other faces had not awakened in my memory a still keener interest. +For in a pew among those reserved for the professors and officials of +the city, I saw one in which there was certainly seated John Hatton and +his wife. There were some young men with them, who had a remarkable +resemblance to the couple, and I immediately began to speculate on the +probabilities which could have brought a Yorkshire spinner to the +ecclesiastical capital of Scotland.</p> + +<p>After the service was over I found them at the Royal Hotel. Then I began +to learn the sequence. The landlord of the Royal introduced it by +inform<!-- Page 317 --><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317" />ing me that Mr. and Mrs. John Hatton were <i>not</i> there, but that +Sir John Hatton and Lady Hatton <i>were</i> staying at the Royal. They were +delighted to see me again and for three days I was almost constantly in +Lady Hatton's company. During these days I learned in an easy +conversational way all that had followed "the peace that God made." No +trouble was in its sequence—only that blessing which maketh rich and +addeth no sorrow therewith.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Lady Hatton answered to my question concerning the youths I had +seen in the church with them, "they were my boys. I have four sons. The +eldest, called John, is attending to his father's business while my +husband takes a little holiday. Stephen is studying law, and George is +preparing for the Navy; my youngest boy, Elbert, is still at Rugby."</p> + +<p>"And your daughters?" I asked.</p> + +<p>She smiled divinely. "Oh!" she replied. "They are such darlings! Alice +is married and Jane is married and Clara is staying with her +grandmother. She is only sixteen. She is very beautiful and Mrs. Hatton +will hardly let her leave the Hall."</p> + +<p>"Then Mrs. Hatton is still alive?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, very much so. She will <i>live</i> to her last moment, and +likely 'pass out of it,' as our people say, busy with heart and head and +hands."</p> + +<p>"And what of Mrs. Harry?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Ah, she left us some years ago! Just faded away. For nearly two years +she knew she was <!-- Page 318 --><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318" />dying, and was preparing her household for her loss, +yet joining as best she could in all the careless mirth of her children. +But she talked to me of what was approaching and said she often +whispered to herself, 'Another hour gone.' Dear Lucy, we all loved her. +Her children are doing well, the boys are all in Sir John's employ."</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Harry? Does he still sing?"</p> + +<p>"Not much since Lucy's death. But he looks after the land, and paints +and reads a great deal, and we are all very fond of Harry. His mother +must see him every day, and Sir John is nearly as foolish. Harry was +born to be loved and everyone loves him. He has gone lately to the +Church of England, but Sir John, though a member of Parliament, stands +loyally by the Methodist church."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"I go with Sir John in everything. I try to walk in his steps, and so +keep middling straight. Sir John lives four square, careless of outward +shows. It is years and years since I followed my own way. Sir John's +ways are wiser and better. He is always ready for the duty of the hour +and never restless as to what will come after it. Is not that a good +rule?"</p> + +<p>"Are you on your way home now?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! We are going as far as the Shetlands. John had a happy holiday +there before we were married. He is taking Stephen and George to see the +lonely isles."</p> + +<p>"<!-- Page 319 --><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319" />You have had a very happy life, Lady Hatton?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. "The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places."</p> + +<p>"And you have beautiful children."</p> + +<p>"Thank God! His blessing and peace came to me from the cradle. One day I +found my Bible open at II Esdras, second chapter, and my eyes fell on +the fifteenth verse: 'Mother, embrace thy children and bring them up +with gladness.' I knew a poor woman who had ten children, and instead of +complaining, she was proud and happy because she said God must have +thought her a rare good mother to trust her with ten of His sons and +daughters."</p> + +<p>"I have not seen much of Sir John."</p> + +<p>"He is on the yacht with the boys most of the time. They are visiting +every day some one or other of the little storied towns of Fife. +Sometimes it is black night when they get back to St. Andrews. But they +have always had a good time even if it turned stormy. John finds, or +makes, good come from every event. Greenwood—you remember Greenwood?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!"</p> + +<p>"He used to say Sir John Hatton is the full measure of a man. He was +very proud of Sir John's title, and never omitted, if it was possible to +get it in, the M.P. after it. Greenwood died a year ago as he was +sitting in his chair and picking out the hymns <!-- Page 320 --><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320" />to be sung at his +funeral. They were all of a joyful character."</p> + +<p>So we talked, and of course only the best in everyone came up for +discussion, but then in fine healthy natures the best <i>does</i> generally +come to the top—and this was undoubtedly one reason that conversation +on any subject always drifted in some way or other to John Hatton. His +faith in God, his love for his fellowmen, his noble charity, his +inflexible justice, his domestic virtues, his confidence in himself, and +his ready-handed use of all the means at his command—yea, even his +beautiful manliness, what were they but the outcome of one thousand +years of Christian faith transmitted through a royally religious +ancestry?</p> + +<p>When a good man is prosperous in all his ways they say in the North "God +smiled on him before he was born," and John Hatton gave to this blessing +a date beyond limitation, for a little illuminated roll hanging above +the desk in his private room bore the following golden-lettered +inscription:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>...God smiled as He has always smiled,<br /></span> +<span>Ere suns and moons could wax and wane,<br /></span> +<span>God thought on me His child.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="center">THE END</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Measure of a Man +by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEASURE OF A MAN *** + +***** This file should be named 16453-h.htm or 16453-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/4/5/16453/ + +Produced by Polly Stratton, Charles Aldarondo and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Measure of a Man + +Author: Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr + +Illustrator: Frank T. Merrill + +Release Date: August 6, 2005 [EBook #16453] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEASURE OF A MAN *** + + + + +Produced by Polly Stratton, Charles Aldarondo and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: "Holding Bendigo's bridle, he had walked with her to the +Harlow residence." Page 43.] + + + + +THE MEASURE +OF A MAN + +BY + +AMELIA E. BARR + +AUTHOR OF "THE BOW OF ORANGE RIBBON," +"PLAYING WITH FIRE," "THE WINNING OF LUCIA," ETC. + +ILLUSTRATED BY +FRANK T. MERRILL + +D. APPLETON AND COMPANY +NEW YORK AND LONDON + +1915 + + + + +WITH SINCERE ESTEEM +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK +TO + +MRS. ARTHUR ROBERTS + +OF +EVANSTON, ILLINOIS + + + + +PREFACE + + +My Friends: + +I had a purpose in writing this novel. It was to honor and magnify the +sweetness and dignity of the condition of Motherhood, and of those +womanly virtues and graces, which make the Home the cornerstone of the +Nation. For it is not with modern Americans, as it was with the old +Greek and Roman world. They put the family below the State, and the +citizen absorbed the man. On the contrary, we know, that just as the +Family principle is strong the heart of the Nation is sound. "Give me +one domestic grace," said a famous leader of men, "and I will turn it +into a hundred public virtues." + +A Home, however splendidly appointed, is ill furnished without the sound +of children's voices; and the patter of children's feet. It may be +strictly orderly, but it is silent and forlorn; and has an air of +solitude. Solitude is a great affliction, and Domestic Solitude is one +of its hardest forms. No number of balls and dinner parties, no visits +from friends, can make up for the absence of sons and daughters round +the family table and the family hearth. + +Yet there certainly is a restless feminine minority, who declare, both +by precept and example, Family Life to be a servitude. Alas! They have +not given themselves opportunity to discover that self-sacrifice is the +meat and drink of all true affection. + +But women have learned within the last two decades to listen to every +side of an argument. Their Club life, with its variety of "views," has +led them to decide that every phase of a question ought to be +attentively considered. So I do not doubt that my story will receive +justice, and I hope approval, from all the women--and men--that read it. + +Affectionately to all, +AMELIA E. BARR. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. THE GREAT SEA WATERS 1 + +II. THE PEOPLE OF THE STORY 18 + +III. LOVE VENTURES IN 39 + +IV. BROTHERS 56 + +V. THE HEARTH FIRE 78 + +VI. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 99 + +VII. SHOCK AND SORROW 125 + +VIII. THE GODDESS OF THE TENDER FEET 146 + +IX. JOHN INTERFERES IN HARRY'S AFFAIRS 182 + +X. AT HER GATES 204 + +XI. JANE RECEIVES A LESSON 235 + +XII. PROFIT AND LOSS 262 + +XIII. THE LOVE THAT NEVER FAILS 286 + +SEQUENCES 312 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"Holding Bendigo's bridle, he had walked with her to the Harlow +residence"..._Frontispiece_ + +"He knew her for his own ... as she stood with her father at the gate of +their little garden"...72 + +"He ran down the steps to meet her, and she put her hand in his"...168 + +"Noiselessly he stepped to her side and ...stood in silent prayer"...232 + + + + +THE MEASURE OF A MAN + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE GREAT SEA WATERS + + + Gray sky, brown waters, as a bird that flies + My heart flits forth to these; + Back to the winter rose of Northern skies, + Back to the Northern seas. + + * * * * * + + The sea is His, and He made it. + +I saw a man of God coming over the narrow zigzag path that led across a +Shetland peat moss. Swiftly and surely he stepped. Bottomless bogs of +black peat-water were on each side of him, but he had neither fear nor +hesitation. He walked like one who knew his way was ordered, and when +the moss was passed, he pursued his journey over the rocky moor with the +same untiring speed. Now and then he sang a few lines, and now and then +he lifted his cap, and stood still to listen to the larks. For the larks +sing at midnight in the Shetland summer, and to the music of their +heaven-soaring songs he set one sweet name, and in the magical radiance +over land and sea had that momentary vision of a beloved face which the +second-sight of Memory sometimes grants to a pure, unselfish love. Then +with a joyful song nestling in his heart, he went rapidly forward. And +the night was as the day, for the moon was full and the rosy spears of +the Aurora were charging the zenith from every point of the horizon. + +Very early he came to a little town. It was asleep and there was no +sound of life in it; but a large yacht was lying at the silent pier with +steam visible, and he went directly to her. During the full tide she had +drifted a few feet from land, but he took the open space like a longer +step, walked straight to the wheel, and softly whistled. + +Then the Captain came quickly up the companion-way, and there was light +and liking on his face, as he said, + +"Welcome, sir! I was expecting thee." + +"To be sure. I sent you word I should be here before sunrising. Are you +ready to sail?" + +"Quite ready, sir." + +"Then cast off at once," and immediately there was movement all through +the boat--the sound of setting sail, the lifting of the anchor, the rush +of steam, and the hoarse melancholy voices of the sailors. Then the man +laid his hand on the wheel, and with wind and tide in her favor, the +yacht was soon racing down the great North Sea. + +"It is Yoden's time at the wheel, sir," said the Captain. "If so be he +is wanted." + +"He is not wanted yet. I am going to take her as far as the Hoy--if it +suits you, Captain." + +"Take your will, sir. I am always well suited with it." + +Now John Hatton was a cotton-spinner, but he knew the ways of a boat, +and the winds and tides that would serve her, and the road southward she +must take; and at his will she went, as if she was a solan flying for +the rocks. When they first started, the sea-birds were dozing on their +perches, waiting for the dawn, and their unwonted silence lent a +stronger sense of loneliness to the gray, misty waters. But as they +approached the pillars of Hoy, the wind rose and the waves swelled +refulgent in the crimsoning east. + +Then the man at the wheel was seen in all his great beauty--a man of +lofty stature perfectly formed and full of power and grace in every +movement. His head had an antique massiveness and was crowned with +bright brown hair thrown backward. His forehead was wide and +contemplative, his eyes large and gray and thickly fringed, lustrous but +_not_ piercing. His loving and vehement soul was not always at their +windows, but when there, it drew or commanded all who met its gaze. His +nose was long and straight, showing great refinement, and his chin +unblunted by animal passions. A wonderful face, because the soul and the +mind always found their way at once and in full force to it, as well as +to the gestures, the speech, and every action of the body. And this was +the quality which gave to the whole man that air of distinction with +which Nature autographs her noblest work. + +When they reached the Hoy he left the wheel and stood in wonder and awe +gazing at the sea around him. For some time it had been cloudy and +unquiet, but among these great basaltic pillars and into their black +measureless caves it flung itself with the rush and roar of a ten-knot +tide gone mad. Yet the thundering bellow of its waves was not able to +drown the aerial clamor of the millions of sea-birds that made these +lonely pillars and cliffs their home. Eagles screamed from their +summits. Great masses of marrots and guillemots rocked on the foam. +Kittiwakes of every kind in incalculable numbers and black and +brown-backed gulls by the thousands filled the air as thickly as +snowflakes in a winter's storm; while from shelves and pinnacles of the +cliffs, incredible numbers of gannots were diving with prodigious force +and straight as an arrow, after their prey--all plunging, rising, +screaming and shrieking, like some maddened human mob, the more terrible +because of the ear-piercing metallic ring of their unceasing clamor. + +After a long silence John Hatton turned to his Captain and said, + +"Is it always like this, Captain?" + +"It is often much livelier, sir. I have seen swarms of sea-birds miles +long, darkening the air with their wings. Our Great Father has many sea +children, sir. Next summer--God willing!--we might sail to the Faroe +Islands, and you would be among His whales, and His whale men." + +"Then you have been to the Faroes?" + +"More than once or twice. I used to take them on my road to Iceland. It +is a wayless way there, but I know it. And the people are a happy, +comfortable, pious lot; they are that! Most of them whale-hunters and +whale-eaters." + +"Eaters?" + +"To be sure, sir. When it is fresh, a roast of whale isn't half bad. I +once tried it myself." + +"Once?" + +"Well, then, I didn't want it twice. You know, I'm beef-bred. That makes +a difference, sir. I like to go to lonely islands, and as a general +thing I favor the kind of people that live on them." + +"What is the difference between these lonely islanders and Yorkshire men +like you and me?" + +"There is a good bit of difference, in more ways than one, sir. For +instance, they aren't fashionable. The women mostly dress the same, and +there are no stylish shapes in the men's 'oils' and guernseys. Then, +they call no man 'master.' God is their employer, and from His hand they +take their daily bread. And they don't set themselves up against Him, +and grumble about their small wages and their long hours. And if the +weather is bad, and they are kept off a sea that no boat could live in, +they don't grumble like Yorkshire men do, when warehouses are +overstocked and trade nowhere, and employers hev to make shorter hours +and less pay." + +"What then?" + +"The men smoke a few more pipes, and the women spin a few more hanks of +wool. And in the long evenings there's a good bit of violin-playing and +reciting, but there's no murmuring against their Great Master. And +there's no drinking, or dance halls. And when the storm is over, the men +untie their boats with a shout and the women gladly clean up the stour +of the idle time." + +"Did you ever see a Yorkshire strike?" + +"To be sure I hev; I had my say at the Hatton strike, I hed that! You +were at college then, and your father was managing it, so we could not +take the yacht out as expected, and I run down to Hatton to hev a talk +with Stephen Hatton. There was a big strike meeting that afternoon, and +I went and listened to the men stating 'their grievances.' They talked a +lot of nonsense, and I told them so. 'Get all you can rightly,' I said, +'but don't expect Stephen Hatton or any other cotton lord to run +factories for fun. They won't do it, and you wouldn't do it yersens!'" + +"Did they talk sensibly?" + +"They talked foolishness and believed it, too. It was fair capping to +listen to them. There was some women present, slatterns all, and I told +them to go home and red up their houses and comb up their hair, and try +to look like decent cotton-spinners' wives. And when this advice was +cheered, the women began to get excited, and I thought I would be safer +in Hatton Hall. Women are queer creatures." + +"Were you ever married, Captain?" + +"Not to any woman. My ship is my wife. She's father and mother and +brother and sister to me. I have no kin, and when I see how much trouble +kin can give you, I don't feel lonely. The ship I sail--whatever her +name--is to me 'My Lady,' and I guard and guide and cherish her all the +days of her life with me." + +"Why do you say 'her life,' Captain?" + +"Because ships are like women--contrary and unreasonable. Like women +they must be made to answer the rudder, or they go on the rocks. There +are, of course, men-of-war, and they get men's names, and we give them +fire and steel to protect themselves, but when your yacht with sails +set, goes curtsying over the waves like a duchess, you know she's +feminine, and you wouldn't call her after your father or yourself, but +your sweetheart's name would be just suitable, I'm sure." + +John smiled pleasantly, and his silence encouraged the Captain to +continue. "Why, sir, the very insurance offices speak of a ship as +_she_, and what's more they talk naturally of the 'life and death of a +ship,' and I can tell you, sir, if you had ever seen a ship fight for +her life and go down to her death, you would say they were right. Mr. +Hatton, there is no sadder sight than a ship giving up the fight, +because further fight is useless. Once I was present at the death of a +ship. I pray God that I may never see the like again. Her captain and +her men had left her alone, and from the boats standing abaft, they +silently watched her sinking. Sir, many a man dies in his bed with all +his kin around, and does not carry as much love with him as she did. +_Why-a_! The thought of that hour brings a pain to my heart yet--and it +is thirty years ago." + +"You are a true sailor, Captain." + +"To be sure I am. As the Fife men say, 'I was born with the sea in my +mouth.' I thank God for it! Often I have met Him on the great deep, for +'His path is on the waters.' I don't believe I would have found Him as +easy and as often, in a cotton-spinning factory--no, I don't!" + +"A good man like you, Captain, ought to have a wife and a home." + +"I'm not sure of that, Mr. Hatton. On my ship at sea I am lord and +master, and my word is law as long as I stop at sea. If any man does not +like my word and way, he can leave my ship at the first land we touch, +and I see that he does so. But it is different with a wife. She is in +your house to stay, whether you like it or not. All you have is hers if +you stick to the marriage vow. Yes, sir, she even takes your name for +her own, and if she does not behave well with it, you have to take the +blame and the shame, whether you deserve it or not. It is a one-sided +bargain, sir." + +"Not always as bad as that, Captain." + +"Why, sir, your honored father, who lorded it over every man he met and +contradicted everything he didn't like, said, 'Yes, my dear,' to +whatever Mrs. Hatton desired or declared. I hed to do the same thing in +my way, and Mrs. Hatton on board this yacht was really her captain. I'm +not saying but what she was a satisfactory substitute, for she hed the +sense to always ask my advice." + +"Then she acted under orders, Captain." + +"To be sure. But I am Captain Lance Cook, of Whitby, a master navigator, +a fourth in direct line from Captain James Cook, who sailed three times +round the world, when that was a most uncommon thing to do. And every +time he went, he made England a present of a few islands. Captain James +Cook made his name famous among Englishmen of the sea, and I hevn't come +across the woman yet I considered worthy to share it." + +"You may meet her soon now, Captain. There is a 'new woman' very much +the fashion these days. Perhaps you have not seen her yet." + +"I have seen her, sir. I have seen all I want to see of her. She appears +to hev got the idea into her head that she ought to hev been a man, and +some of them have got so far in that direction that you are forced to +say that in their dress and looks there isn't much difference. However, +I hev heard very knowing men declare they always found the old woman in +all her glory under the new one, and I wouldn't wonder if that was the +case. What do you think, Mr. Hatton?" + +"It may be, Captain, that it is the 'new man' that is wanted, and not +the 'new woman.' I think most men are satisfied with the old woman. I am +sure I am," and his eyes filled with light, and he silently blessed the +fair woman who came into his memory ere he added, "but then, I have not +a great ancestor's name to consider. The Hattons never gave anything in +the way of land to England." + +"They hev done a deal for Yorkshire, sir." + +"That was their duty, and their pleasure and profit. Yorkshire men are +kinsmen everywhere. If I met one in Singapore, or Timbuctoo, I would say +'_Yorkshire_?' and hold out my hand to him." + +"Well, sir, I've seen Yorkshire men I wouldn't offer my hand to; I hev +that, and sorry I am to say it! I never was in Singapore harbor, and I +must acknowledge I never saw or heard tell of Timbuctoo harbor." + +John laughed pleasantly. "Timbuctoo is in Central Africa. It was just an +illustration." + +"Illustration! You might have illustrated with a true harbor, sir--for +instance, New York." + +"You are right. I ought to have done so." + +"Well, sir, it's hard to illustrate and stick to truth. There is the +boatswain's whistle! I must go and see what's up. Pentland Firth is +ever restless and nobody minds that, but she gets into sudden passions +which need close watching, and I wouldn't wonder if there was not now +signs of a Pentland tantrum." + +The Captain's supposition was correct. In a few minutes the ship was +enveloped in a livid creeping mist, and he heard the Captain shout, +"_All hands stand by to reef!_" Reef they did, but Pentland's temper was +rapidly rising, and in a few minutes there was an impetuous shout for +the storm jib, "_Quick_," and down came a blast from the north, and with +a rip and a roar the yacht leaped her full length. If her canvas had +been spread, she would have gone to the bottom; but under bare masts she +came quickly and beautifully to her bearings, shook herself like a gull, +and sped southward. + +All night they were beating about in a fierce wind and heavy sea; and +Hatton, lying awake, listened to the mysterious hungering voice of the +waves, till he was strangely sad and lonely. And there was no Captain to +talk with, though he could hear his hoarse, strong voice above the roar +of wind and waters. For the sea was rising like the gable of a house, +but the yacht was in no trouble; she had held her own in far worse seas. +In the morning the sky was of snaky tints of yellow and gray, but the +wind had settled and the waves were flatting; but John saw bits of +trailing wreckage floating about their black depths, making the Firth +look savagely haggard. + +On the second evening the Captain came to eat his dinner with John. +"The storm is over, Mr. Hatton," he said. "The sea has been out of her +wits, like an angry woman; but," he added with a smile, "we got the +better of her, and the wind has gone down. There is not breeze enough +now to make the yacht lie over." + +"I could hear your voice, strong and cheerful, above all the uproar, +Captain, so I had no fear." + +"We had plenty of sea room, sir, a good boat, and--" + +"A good captain." + +"Yes, sir, you may say that. The Pentland roared and raged a bit, but +the sea has her Master. She hears a voice we cannot hear. It says only +three words, Mr. Hatton, three words we cannot hear, but a great calm +follows them." + +"And the three words are--?" + +"_Peace! Be still_!" + +Then John Hatton looked with a quick understanding into his Captain's +face, and answered with a confident smile, + + "O Saxon Sailor thou hast had with thee, + The Sailor of the Lake of Galilee." + +"I hope, and I believe so, sir. I have been in big storms, and _felt_ +it." + +"I got a glimpse of you in a flash of lightning that I shall never +forget, Captain Cook. You were standing by the wheel, tightening your +hat on your head; your feet were firm on the rolling deck, and you were +searching the thickest of the storm with a cheerful, confident face. Do +you like a storm?" + +"Well, sir, smooth sea-sailing is no great pleasure. I would rather see +clouds of spray driving past swelling sails, than feel my way through a +nasty fog. Give me a sea as high as a masthead, compact as a wall, and +charging with the level swiftness of a horse regiment, and I would +rather take a ship through it, than make her cut her way through a +thick, black fog, as if she was a knife. In a storm you see what you are +doing, and where you are going, but you hev to steal and creep and sneak +through a fog, and never know what trap or hole may be ahead of you. I +know the sea in all her ways and moods, sir. Some of them are rather +trying. But my home and my business is on her, and in her worst temper +she suits me better than any four-walled room, where I would feel like a +stormy petrel shut up in a cage. The sea and I are kin. I often feel as +if I had tides in my blood that flow and ebb with her tides." + +"I would not gainsay you, Captain. Every man's blood runs as he feels. +You were a different man and a grander man when you were guiding the +yacht through the storm than you are sitting here beside me eating and +drinking. My blood begins to flow quick when I go into big rooms filled +with a thousand power looms. Their noise and clatter is in my ears a +song of praise, and very often the men and women who work at them are +singing grandly to this accompaniment. Sometimes I join in their song, +as I walk among them, for the Great Master hears as well as sees, and +though these looms are almost alive in their marvelous skill, it may be +that He is pleased to hear the little human note mingling with the +voices of the clattering, humming, burring looms." + +"To be sure He is. The song of labor is His, and I hev no doubt it is +quite as sweet in His ear as the song of praise. Your song is among the +looms, and mine is among the winds and waves, but they are both the +same, sir. It is all right. I'm sure I'm satisfied." + +"How you do love the sea, Captain!" + +"To be sure, I was born on it and, please God, I hope my death may be +from it and my grave in it, nearby some coast where the fisher-folk live +happily around me." + +There was a few moments' silence, then John Hatton asked, "Are we likely +to have fine weather now?" + +"Yes, sir, middling fine, until we pass Peterhead. At Aberdeen and +southward it may be still finer, and you might have a grand sail along +the east coast of Scotland and take a look at some of its famous towns." + +This pleasant prospect was amply verified. It was soon blue seas and +white sea-birds and sunny skies, with a nice little whole-sail breeze in +the right direction. But John was not lured by any of the storied towns +of the east coast. "What time I can now spare I will give to Edinburgh," +he said, in answer to the Captain's suggestion concerning St. Andrews, +Aberdeen, Anstruther and Largo. "I am straight for Edinburgh now. I feel +as if my holiday was over. I heard the clack of the looms this morning. +They need me, I dare say. I suppose we can be in Leith harbor by +Saturday night, Captain?" + +"It may be Sunday, sir, if this wind holds. It is an east-windy +west-windy coast, and between here and Edinburgh the wind doesn't know +its own mind an hour at a time." + +"Well, then, say Sunday. I will stay a few days in Edinburgh, and then +it must be Whitby and home." + +It was Sunday afternoon when the yacht was snug in Leith harbor, and the +streets of Edinburgh were full of congregations returning home from the +different churches. He went to an hotel on Prince Street and ordered a +good dinner spread in his sitting-room. It was a large outlooking +apartment, showing him in the glorious sunset the Old Town piled as by a +dreamer, story over story, and at the top of this dream-like hill, the +gray ancient castle with bugles and the roll of drums sounding behind +its ramparts. Bridges leaped across a valley edged with gardens +connecting the Old Town with the New Town. Wherever his eyes fell, all +was romance and memories of romance, a magically + + Towered, templed Metropolitan, + Waited upon by hills, + River, and wide-spread ocean; tinged + By April light, or draped and fringed + As April vapor wills. + Hanging like some vast Cyclops' dream + High in the shifting weather gleam. + +After dinner he sat at the open window, thinking of many things, until +he finally fell asleep to dream of that illuminated vault in the castle, +in which glitters mysteriously the crown and scepter of the ancient +kings and queens of Scotland. + +Into the glamour of this vision there came suddenly a dream of his +mother, and his home, and he awakened from it with an intense conviction +that his mother needed his presence, and that he must make all haste to +reach his home. In half an hour he had paid his bill and taken a +carriage for Leith harbor, and the yacht was speeding down the Firth ere +the wan, misty daylight brightened the colorless sea. The stillness of +sea and sky was magical and they were a little delayed by the calm, but +in due time the wind sprang up suddenly and the yacht danced into Whitby +harbor. + +Then John parted from Captain Cook, saying as he did so, "Good-bye, +Captain. We have had a happy holiday together. Get the yacht in order +and revictualed, for in two weeks my brother Henry may join you. I +believe he is for the south." + +"Good-bye, sir. It has been a good time for me. You have been my teacher +more than my master, and you are a rich man and I am a poor one." + +"A man's a man for all that, Captain." + +"Well, sir, not always. Many are not men in spite of _all that_. God be +with you, sir." + +"And with you, Captain." Then they clasped hands and turned away, each +man where Duty called him. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE PEOPLE OF THE STORY + + + Slowly, steadily, to and fro, + Swings our life in its weary way; + Now at its ebb, and now at its flow, + And the evening and morning make up the day. + + Sorrow and happiness, peace and strife, + Fear and rejoicing its moments know; + Yet from the discords of such a life, + The clearest music of heaven may flow. + +Duty led John Hatton to take the quickest road to Hatton-in-Elmete, a +small manufacturing town in a lovely district in Yorkshire. In Saxon +times it was covered with immense elm forests from which it was +originally called Elmete, but nearly a century ago the great family of +Hatton (being much reduced by the passage of the Reform Bill and their +private misfortunes) commenced cotton-spinning here, and their mills, +constantly increasing in size and importance, gave to the Saxon Elmete +the name of Hatton-in-Elmete. + +The little village had become a town of some importance, but nearly +every household in it was connected in some way or other with the +cotton mills, either as cotton masters or cotton operatives. There were +necessarily a few professional men and shopkeepers, but there was street +after street full of cotton mills, and the ancient manor of the lords of +Hatton had become thoroughly a manufacturing locality. + +But Hatton-in-Elmete was in a beautiful locality, lying on a ridge of +hills rising precipitously from the river, and these hills surrounded +the town as with walls and appeared to block up the way into the world +beyond. The principal street lay along their base, and John Hatton rode +up it at the close of the long summer day, when the mills were shut and +the operatives gathered in groups about its places of interest. Every +woman smiled at him, every man touched his cap, but a stranger would +have noticed that not one man bared his head. Yorkshire men do not offer +that courtesy to any man, for its neglect (originally the expression of +strong individuality and self-respect) had become a habit as natural and +spontaneous as their manner or their speech. + +About a mile beyond the town, on the summit of a hill, stood Hatton +Hall, and John felt a hurrying sense of home as soon as he caught a +glimpse of its early sixteenth-century towers and chimneys. The road to +it was all uphill, but it was flagged with immense blocks of stone and +shaded by great elm-trees; at the summit a high, old-fashioned iron gate +admitted him into a delightful garden. And in this sweet place there +stood one of the most ancient and picturesque homes of England. + +It is here to be noticed that in the early centuries of the English +nation the homes of the nobles distinctly represented local feeling and +physical conditions. In the North they generally stood on hillsides +apart where the winds rattled the boughs of the surrounding pines or +elms and the murmur of a river could be heard from below. The hill and +the trees, the wind and the river, were their usual background, with the +garden and park and the great plantations of trees belting the estate +around; the house itself standing on the highest land within the circle. + +Such was the location and adjuncts of the ancient home of the Hattons, +and John Hatton looked up at the old face of it with a conscious love +and pride. The house was built of dark millstone grit in large blocks, +many of them now green and mossy. The roof was of sandstone in thin +slabs, and in its angles grass had taken root. In front there was a +tower and tall gables, with balls and pinnacles. The principal entrance +was a doorway with a Tudor arch, and a large porch resting on stone +pillars. Within this porch there were seats and a table, pots of +flowers, and a silver Jacobean bell. And all round the house were gables +and doorways and windows, showing carvings and inscriptions wherever the +ivy had not hid them. + +The door stood wide open and in the porch his mother was sitting. She +had a piece of old English lace in her hand, which she was carefully +darning. Suddenly she heard John's footsteps and she lifted her head and +listened intently. Then with a radiant face she stood upright just as +John came from behind the laurel hedge into the golden rays of the +setting sun, and her face was transfigured as she called in a strong, +joyful voice, + +"O John! John! I've been longing for you days and days. Come inside, my +dear lad. Come in! I'll be bound you are hungry. What will you take? +Have a cup of tea, now, John; it will be four hours before suppertime, +you know." + +"Very well, mother. I haven't had my tea today, and I am a bit hungry." + +"Poor lad! You shall have your tea and a mouthful in a few minutes." + +"I'll go to my room, mother, and wash my face and hands. I am not fit +company for a dame so sweet as you are," and he lifted his right hand +courteously as he passed her. + +In less than half an hour there was tea and milk, cold meat and fruit +before John, and his mother watched him eating with a beaming +satisfaction. And when John looked into her happy face he wondered at +his dream in Edinburgh, and said gratefully to himself, + +"All is right with mother. Thank God for that!" + +She did not talk while John was eating, but as he sat smoking in the +porch afterwards, she said, + +"I want to ask you where you have been all these weeks, John, but Harry +isn't here, and you won't want to tell your story twice over, will you, +now?" + +"I would rather not, mother." + +"Your father wouldn't have done it, whether he liked to or not. I don't +expect you are any different to father. I didn't look for you, John, +till next week." + +"But you needed me and wanted me?" + +"Whatever makes you say that?" + +"I dreamed that you wanted me, and I came home to see." + +"Was it last Sunday night?" + +"Yes." + +"About eleven o'clock?" + +"I did not notice the time." + +"Well, for sure, I was in trouble Sunday. All day long I was in trouble, +and I am in a lot of trouble yet. I wanted you badly, John, and I did +call you, but not aloud. It was just to myself. I wished you were here." + +"Then yourself called to myself, and here I am. Whatever troubles you, +mother, troubles me." + +"To be sure, I know that, John. Well, then, it is your brother Harry." + +A look of anxiety came into John's face and he asked in an anxious +voice, "What is the matter with Harry? Is he well?" + +"Quite well." + +"Then what has he been doing?" + +"Nay, it's something he wants to do." + +"He wants to get married, I suppose?" + +"Nay, I haven't heard of any foolishness of that make. I'll tell you +what he wants to do--he wants to rent his share in the mill to Naylor's +sons." + +Then John leaped to his feet and said angrily, "Never! Never! It cannot +be true, mother! I cannot believe it! Who told you?" + +"Your overseer, Jonathan Greenwood, and Harry asked Greenwood to stand +by him in the matter, but Jonathan wouldn't have anything to do with +such business, and he advised me to send for you. He says the lad is +needing looking after--in more ways than one." + +"Where is Harry?" + +"He went to Manchester last Saturday." + +"What for, mother?" + +"I don't know for certain. He said on business. You had better talk with +Jonathan. I didn't like the way he spoke of Harry. He ought to remember +his young master is a bit above him." + +"That is the last thing Jonathan would remember, but he is a +good-hearted, straight-standing man." + +"Very, if you can believe in his words and ways. He came here Saturday +to insinuate all kinds of 'shouldn't-be's' against Harry, and then on +Sunday he was dropping his 'Amens' about the chapel so generously I +felt perfectly sure they were worth nothing." + +"Well, mother, you may trust me to look after all that is wrong. Let not +your heart be troubled. I will talk with Jonathan in the morning." + +"Nay, I'll warrant he will be here tonight. He will have heard thou art +home, and he will be sure he is wanted before anybody else." + +"If he comes tonight, tell him I cannot see him until half-past nine in +the morning." + +"That is right--but what for?" + +"Because I am much troubled and a little angry. I wish to get myself in +harness before I see anyone." + +"Well, you know, John, that Harry never liked the mill, but while father +lived he did not dare to say so. Poor lad! He hated mill life." + +"He ought at least to remember what his grandfather and father thought +of Hatton Mill. Why, mother, on his twenty-first birthday, father +solemnly told him the story of the mill and how it was the seal and +witness between our God and our family--yet he would bring strangers +into our work! I'll have no partner in it--not the best man in England! +Yet Harry would share it with the Naylors, a horse-racing, betting, +irreligious crowd, who have made their money in byways all their +generations. Power of God! Only to think of it! Only to think of it! +Harry ought to be ashamed of himself--he ought that." + +"Now, John, my dear lad, I will not hear Harry blamed when he is not +here to speak for himself--no, I will not! Wait till he is, and it will +be fair enough then to say what you want to. I am Harry's mother, and I +will see he gets fair play. I will that. It is my bounden duty to do so, +and I'll do it." + +"You are right, mother, we must all have fair judgment, and I will see +that the brother I love so dearly gets it." + +"God love thee, John." + +"And, mother, keep a brave and cheerful heart. I will do all that is +possible to satisfy Harry." + +"I can leave him safely with God and his brother. And tomorrow I can now +look after the apricot-preserving. Barker told me the fruit was all +ready today, but I could not frame myself to see it properly done, but +tomorrow it will be different." Then because she wanted to reward John +for his patience, and knowing well what subject was close to his heart, +she remarked in a casual manner, + +"Mrs. Harlow was here yesterday, and she said her apricots were safely +put away." + +"Was Miss Harlow with her?" + +"No. There was a tennis game at Lady Thirsk's. I suppose she was there." + +"Have you seen her lately?" + +"She took tea with me last Wednesday. What a beauty she is! Such color +in her cheeks! It was like the apricots when the sun was on them. Such +shining black hair so wonderfully braided and coiled! Such sparkling, +flashing black eyes! Such a tall, splendid figure! Such a rosy mouth! It +seemed as if it was made for smiles and kisses." + +"And she walks like a queen, mother!" + +"She does that." + +"And she is so bright and independent!" + +"Well, John, she is. There's no denying it." + +"She is finely educated and also related to the best Yorkshire families. +Could I marry any better woman, mother?" + +"Well, John, as a rule men don't approve of poor wives, but Miss Jane +Harlow is a fortune in herself." + +"Two months ago I heard that Lord Thirsk was very much in love with her. +I saw him with her very often. I was very unhappy, but I could not +interfere, you know, could I?" + +"So you went off to sea, and left mother and Harry and your business to +anybody's care. It wasn't like you, John." + +"No, it was not. I wanted you, mother, a dozen times a day, and I was +half-afraid to come back to you, lest I should find Miss Jane married or +at least engaged." + +"She is neither one nor the other, or I am much mistaken. Whatever are +you afraid of? Jane Harlow is only a woman beautiful and up to date, she +is not a 'goddess excellently fair' like the woman you are always +singing about, not she! I'm sure I often wonder where she got her +beauty and high spirit. Her father was just a proud hanger-on to his +rich relations; he lived and died fighting his wants and his debts. Her +mother is very near as badly off--a poor, wuttering, little creature, +always fearing and trembling for the day she never saw." + +"Perhaps this poverty and dependence may make her marry Lord Thirsk. He +is rich enough to get the girl he wants." + +"His money would not buy Jane, if she did not like him; and she doesn't +like him." + +"How do you know that, mother?" + +"I asked her. While we were drinking our tea, I asked her if she were +going to make herself Lady Thirsk. She made fun of him. She mocked the +very idea. She said he had no chin worth speaking of and no back to his +head and so not a grain of _forthput_ in him of any kind. 'Why, he can't +play a game of tennis,' she said, 'and when he loses it he nearly cries, +and what do you think, Mrs. Hatton, of a lover like that?' Those were +her words, John." + +"And you believe she was in earnest?" + +"Yes, I do. Jane is too proud and too brave a girl to lie--unless----" + +"Unless what, mother?" + +"It was to her interest." + +"Tell me all she said. Her words are life or death to me." + +"They are nothing of the kind. Be ashamed of yourself, John Hatton." + +"You are right, mother. My life and death are by the will of God, but I +can say that my happiness or wretchedness is in Jane Harlow's power." + +"Your happiness is in your own power. Her 'no' might be a disappointment +in hours you weren't busy among your looms and cotton bales, or talking +of discounts and the money market, but its echo would grow fainter every +hour of your life, and then you would meet the other girl, whose 'yes' +would put the 'no' forever out of your memory." + +"Well, mother, you have given me hope, and I have been comforted by you +'as one whom his mother comforteth.' If the dear girl is not to be won +by Thirsk's title and money, I will see what love can do." + +"I'll tell you, John, what love can do"--and she went to a handsome set +of hanging book shelves containing the favorite volumes of Dissent +belonging to John's great-grandfather, Burnet, Taylor, Doddridge, +Wesley, Milton, Watts, quaint biographies, and books of travel. From +them she took a well-used copy of Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying," and +opening it as one familiar with every page, said, + +"Listen, John, learn what Love can do. + + "Love solves where learning perplexes. Love attracts the best in + every one, for it gives the best, Love redeemeth, Love lifts up, + Love enlightens, Love hath everlasting remembrance, Love advances + the Soul, Love is a ransom, and the tears thereof are a prayer. + Love is life. So much Love, so much Life. Oh, little Soul, if rich + in Love, thou art mighty." + +"My dear mother, thank you. You are best of all mothers. God bless you." + +"Your father, John, was a man of few words, as you know. He copied that +passage out of this very book, and he wrote after it, 'Martha Booth, I +love you. If you can love me, I will be at the chapel door after +tonight's service, then put your hand in mine, and I will hope to give +you hand and heart and home as long as I live.' And for years he kept +his word, John--he did that!" + +"Father always kept his word. If he but once said a thing, no power on +earth could make him unsay it. He was a handsome, well-built man." + +"Well, then, what are you thinking of?" + +"I was thinking that Lord Thirsk is, by the majority of women, +considered handsome." + +"What kind of women have that idea?" + +"Why, mother, I don't exactly know. If I go into my tailor's, I am told +about his elegant figure, if into my shoemaker's, I hear of his small +feet, if to Baylor's glove counter, some girl fitting my number seven +will smilingly inform me that Lord Thirsk wears number four. And if you +see him walking or driving, he always has some pretty woman at his +side." + +"What by all that? His feet are fit for nothing but dancing. He could +not take thy long swinging steps for a twenty-mile walk; he couldn't +take them for a dozen yards. His hands may be small enough, and white +enough, and ringed enough for a lady, but he can't make a penny's worth +with them. I've heard it said that if he goes to stay all night with a +friend he has to take his valet with him--can't dress himself, I +suppose." + +"He is always dressed with the utmost nicety and in the tip-top of the +fashion." + +"I'll warrant him. Jane told me he wore a lace cravat at the Priestly +ball, and I have no doubt that his pocket handkerchief was edged with +lace. And yet she said, 'No woman there laughed at him.'" + +"At any rate he has fine eyes and hair and a pleasant face." + +"I wouldn't bother myself to deny it. If anyone fancies curly hair and +big brown eyes and white cheeks and no chin to speak of and no feet fit +to walk with and no hands to work with, it isn't Martha Hatton and it +isn't Jane Harlow, I can take my affidavit on that," and the confident +smile which accompanied these words was better than any sworn oath to +John Hatton. + +"You see, John," she continued, "I talked the man up and down with Jane, +from his number four gloves to his number four shoes, and I know what +she said--what she said in her own way, mind you. For Jane's way is to +pretend to like what she does not like, just to let people feel the road +to her real opinions." + +"I do not quite understand you, mother." + +"I don't know whether I quite understand myself, and it isn't my way to +explain my words--people usually know what I mean--but I will do it for +once, as John Hatton is wanting it. For instance, I was talking to Jane +about her lovers--I did not put you among them--and she said, 'Mrs. +Hatton, there are no lovers in these days. The men that are men are no +longer knights-errant. They don't fight in the tournament lists for +their lady-love, nor even sing serenades under her window in the +moonlight. We must look for them,' she said, 'in Manchester warehouses, +or Yorkshire spinning-mills. The knights-errant are all on the stock +exchange, and the poets write for _Punch_.' And I could not help +laughing, and she laughed too, and her laugh was so infectious I could +not get clear of it, and so poured my next cup of tea on the tea board." + +"I wish I had been present." + +"So do I, John. Perhaps then you would have understood the +contradictious girl, as well as I did. You see, she wanted me to know +that she preferred the Manchester warehouse men, and the Yorkshire +spinners, and the share-tumblers of the stock exchange to knights and +poets and that make of men. Now, some women would have said the words +straightforward, but not Jane. She prefers to state her likings and +dislikings in riddles and leave you to find out their meaning." + +"That is an uncomfortable, uncertain way." + +"To be sure it is, but if you want to marry Jane Harlow, you had better +take it into account. I never said she was perfect." + +"If ever she is my wife, I shall teach her very gently to speak +straightforward words." + +"Then you have your work set, John. Whether you can do it or not, is a +different thing. I don't want you to marry Jane Harlow, but as you have +set your heart on her, I have resolved to make the most of her strong +points and the least of her weak ones. You had better do the same." + +There was silence for a few moments, then John asked, "Was that all, +mother?" + +"We had more to say, but it was of a personal nature--I don't think it +concerns you at present." + +"Nay, but it does, mother. Everything connected with Jane concerns me." + +Mrs. Hatton appeared reluctant to speak, but John's anxiety was so +evident, she answered, "Well, then, it was about my children." + +"What about them?" + +"She said she had heard her mother speak of my 'large family' and yet +she had never seen any of them but Henry and yourself. She wondered if +her mother had been mistaken. And I said, 'Nay, your mother told the +truth, thank God!' + +"'You see,' she continued, 'I was at school until a year ago, and our +families were not at all intimate.' I said, 'Not at all. Your father was +a proud man, Miss Harlow, and he would not notice a cotton-spinner on +terms of social equality. And Stephen Hatton thought himself as good as +the best man near him. So he was. And no worse for the mill. It kept up +the Hall, so it did.' She said I was right, and would I tell her about +my children." + +"I hope you did, mother. I do hope you did." + +"Why not? I am proud of them all, living or dead--here or _there_. So I +said, 'Well, Miss Harlow, John is not my firstborn. There was a lovely +little girl, who went back to God before she was quite a year old. +People said I ought to think it a great honor to give my first child to +God, but it was a great grief to me. Soon after her death John was born, +and after John came Clara Ann. She married before she was eighteen, a +captain of artillery in the army, and she has ever since been with him +in India, Africa, or elsewhere. Then I had Stephen, who is now a +well-known Manchester warehouse man and seldom gets away from his +business. Then Paul was given to me. He is a good boy, and a fine +sailor. His ship is the _Ajax_, a first-class line of battleship. I see +him now and then and get a letter from every port he touches. Then came +Harry, who served an apprenticeship with his father, but never liked the +mill; and at last, the sweetest gift of all God's gifts, twin daughters, +called Dora and Edith. They lived with us nearly eight years, and died +just before their father. They were born in the same hour and died +within five minutes of each other. The Lord gave them, and the Lord took +them away, and blessed be the name of the Lord!' This is about what I +said, John." + +The conversation was interrupted here, by the entrance of a parlor-maid. +She said, "Sir, Jonathan Greenwood is here to ask if you can see him +this evening." + +"Tell him I cannot. I will see him at the mill about half-past nine in +the morning." + +The girl went away, but returned immediately. "Jonathan says, sir, that +will do. He wants to go to a meeting tonight, sir." Then Mrs. Hatton +looked at her son, and exclaimed, "How very kind of your overseer to +make your time do! Is that his usual way?" + +"About it. He is a very independent fellow, and he knows no other way of +talking. But father found it worth his while to put up with his free +speech. Jonathan has a knowledge of manufactures and markets which +enables him to protect our interests, and entitles him to speak his mind +in his own way." + +"I'm glad the same rule does not go in my kitchen. I have a first-class +cook, but if she asked me for a holiday and I gave her two days and she +said nothing but, 'That will do,' I would tell her to her face I was +giving her something out of my comfort and my pocket, and not something +that would only 'do' in the place of what she wanted. I would show her +my side of the question. I would that." + +"For what reason?" + +"I would be doing my duty." + +"Well, mother, you could not match her and the bits of radicalism she +would give you. Keep the peace, mother; you have not her weapons in your +armory." + +"I am just talking to relieve myself, John. I know better than to fratch +with anyone--at least I think I do." + +"Just before I went away, mother, Jonathan came to me and said, 'Sir, I +hev confidence in human nature, generally speaking, but there's tricks +and there's turns, and if I was you I would run no risks with them +Manchester Sulbys'. Then he put the Sulby case before me, and if I had +not taken his advice, I would have lost three hundred pounds. It is +Jonathan's way to love God and suspect his neighbor." + +"He will find it hard to do the two things at the same time, John." + +"I do not understand how John works the problem, mother, but he does it +at least to his own satisfaction. He has told us often in the men's +weekly meeting that he is 'safe religiously, and that all his eternal +interests are settled,' but I notice that he trusts no man until he has +proved him honest." + +"I don't believe in such Christians, John, and I hope there are not very +many of the same make." + +"Indeed, mother, this union of a religious profession with a sharp +worldly spirit is the common character among our spinners. Jonathan has +four sons, and he has brought every one of them up in the same way." + +"One of the four got married last week--married a girl who will have a +factory and four hundred looms for her fortune--old Aker's +granddaughter, you know." + +"Yes, I know. Jonathan told me about it. He looked on the girl as a good +investment for _his_ family, and discussed her prospects just as he +would have discussed discounts or the money market." + +Then John went to look after the condition of the cattle and horses on +the home farm. He found all in good order, told the farmer he had done +well, and made him happy with a few words of praise and appreciation. +But he said little to Mrs. Hatton on the subject, for his thoughts were +all close to the woman he loved. As they sat at supper he continually +wondered about her--where she was, what she was doing, what company she +was with, and even how she was dressed. + +Mrs. Hatton did not always answer these queries satisfactorily. In fact, +she was a little weary of "dear Jane," and had already praised her +beyond her own judgment. So she was not always as sympathetic to this +second appeal for information as she might have been. + +"I'll warrant, John," she answered a little judicially, "that Jane is +at some of the quality houses tonight; and she'll be singing or dancing +or playing bridge with one or other of that pale, rakish lot I see when +I drive through the town." + +"Mother!" + +"Yes, John, a bad, idle, lounging lot, that don't do a day's work to pay +for their living." + +"They are likely gentlemen, mother, who have no work to do." + +"Gentlemen! No, indeed! I will give them the first four letters of the +word--no more. They are not gentlemen, but they may be _gents_. We don't +expect much from _gents_, and how the women of today stand them beats +me." + +John laughed a little, but he said he was weary and would go to his +room. And as he stood at Mrs. Hatton's side, telling her that he was +glad to be with her again, she found herself in the mood that enabled +her to say, + +"John, my dear lad, you will soon marry, either Jane or some other +woman. You must do it, you know, for you must have sons and daughters, +that you may inherit the promise of God's blessing which is for you and +_your children_. Then your family must have a home, but not in Hatton +Hall--not just yet. There cannot be two mistresses in one house, can +there?" + +"No, but by my father's will and his oft-repeated desire, this house is +your home, mother, as long as you live. I am going to build my own house +on the hill, facing the east, in front of the Ash plantation." + +"You are wise. Our chimneys will smoke all the better for being a little +apart." + +"And you, my mother, are lady and mistress of Hatton Hall as long as you +live. I will suffer no one to infringe on your rights." Then he stooped +his handsome head to her lifted face and kissed it with great +tenderness; and she turned away with tears in her eyes, but a happy +smile on her lips. And John was glad that this question had been raised +and settled, so quickly, and so lovingly. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +LOVE VENTURES IN + + + Man's life is all a mist, and in the dark + Our fortunes meet us. + +John had been thinking about building his own home for some time and he +resolved to begin it at once. Yet this ancient Hatton Hall, with its +large, low rooms, its latticed windows and beautifully carved and +polished oak panelings, was very dear to him. Every room was full of +stories of Cavaliers and Puritans. The early followers of George Fox had +there found secret shelter and hospitality. John Wesley had preached in +its great dining-room, and Charles Wesley filled all its spaces and +corridors with the lyrical cry of his wonderful hymns. There were +harmless ghosts in its silent chambers, or walking in the pale moonlight +up the stairs or about the flower garden. No one was afraid of them; +they only gave a tender and romantic character to the surroundings. If +Mrs. Hatton felt them in a room, she curtsied and softly withdrew, and +John, on more than one occasion, had asked, "Why depart, dear ghosts? +There is room enough for us all in the old house." + +But for all this, and all that, it did not answer the spirit of John's +nature and daily life. He was essentially a man of his century. He loved +large proportions and abundance of light and fresh air, and he dreamed +of a home of palatial dimensions with white Ionic pillars and wide +balconies and large rooms made sunny by windows tall enough for men of +his stature to use as doors if they so desired. It was to be white as +snow, with the Ash plantation behind it and gardens all around and the +river washing their outskirts and telling him as he sat in the +evenings--with Jane at his side--where it had come from and what it had +seen and heard during the day. + +He went to sleep in this visionary house and did not awaken until the +sun was high up and hurrying men and women to work. So he rose quickly, +for he counted himself among this working-class, felt his +responsibilities, and began to reckon with the difficulties he had to +meet and the appointments he could not decline. He had promised to see +his overseer at half-past nine, and he knew Jonathan would have a few +disagreeable words ready, if he broke his promise--words it was better +to avoid than to notice or discount. + +At half-past eight he was ready to ride to the mill. His gig was +waiting, but he chose his saddle horse, because the creature so lovingly +neighed and neighed to the sound of his approaching footsteps, evidently +rejoicing to see him, and pawing the ground with his impatience to feel +him in the saddle. John could not resist the invitation. He sent the +uncaring gig away, laid his arm across Bendigo's neck, and his cheek +against Bendigo's cheek. Then he whispered a few words in his ear and +leaped into the saddle as only a Yorkshireman or a gypsy can leap, and +Bendigo, thrilling with delight, carried his master swiftly away from +the gig and its driver, neighing with triumph as he passed them. + +When about halfway to the mill he met Miss Harlow returning home from +her early morning walk. She was dressed with extreme simplicity in a +short frock of pink corduroy, and a sailor hat of coarse Dunstable +straw, with a pink ribbon round it. Long, soft, white leather gauntlets +covered her hands, and she carried in them a little basket of straw, +full of bluebells and ferns. John saw her approaching and he noticed the +lift of her head and the lift of her foot and said to himself, "Proud! +Proud!" but in his heart he thought no harm of her stately, graceful +carriage. To him she was a most beautiful girl, fresh and fair and, + + --graceful as the mountain doe, + That sniffs the forest air, + Bringing the smell of the heather bell, + In the tresses of her hair. + +They met, they clasped hands, they looked into each other's eyes, and +something sweet and subtle passed between them. "I am so glad, so glad +to see you," said John, and Miss Harlow said the same words, and then +added, "Where have you been? I have missed you so much." + +"And, Oh, how happy I am to hear that you have missed me! I have been +away to the North--on the road to Iceland. May I call on you this +evening, and tell you about my journey?" + +"Yes, indeed! If you will pleasure me so far, I will send an excuse to +Lady Thirsk, and stay at home to listen to you." + +"That would be a miraculous favor. May I come early?" + +"We dine early. Come and take your dinner with us. Mother will be glad +to see you and to hear your adventures, and mother's pleasure is my +greatest happiness." + +"Then I will come." + +As he spoke, he took out his watch and looked at it. "I have an +engagement in ten minutes," he said. "Will you excuse me now?" + +"I will. I wish I had an engagement. Poor women! They have bare lives. I +would like to go to business. I would like to make money. There are days +in which I feel that I could run a thousand spindles or manage a +department store very well and very happily." + +"Why do you talk of things impossible? Good-bye!" + +"Until seven o'clock?" + +"Until seven." + +He had dismounted to speak to her and, holding Bendigo's bridle, had +walked with her to the Harlow residence. He now said, "Good-bye," and +the light of a true, passionate lover was on his face, as he leaped into +the saddle. She watched him out of sight and then went into her home, +and with an inscrutable smile, began to arrange the ferns and bluebells +in a vase of cream-colored wedgewood. + +In the meantime John had reached the Hatton mill, and after his long +absence he looked up at it with conscious pride. It was built of brick; +it was ten stories high; every story was full of windows, every story +airy as a bird-cage. Certainly it was not a thing of architectural +beauty, but it was a grandly organized machine where brains and hands, +iron and steel worked together for a common end. As John entered its big +iron gates, he saw bales of cotton going into the mill by one door, and +he knew the other door at which they would come out in the form of woven +calico. In rapid thought he followed them to the upper floors, and then +traveled down with them to the great weaving-rooms in the order their +processes advanced them. He knew that on the highest floor a devil would +tear the fiber asunder, that it would then go to the scutcher, and have +the dust and dirt blown away, then that carding machines would lay all +the fibers parallel, that drawing machines would group them into slender +ribbons, and a roving machine twist them into a soft cord, and then +that a mule or a throstle would spin the roving into yarn, and the yarn +would go to the weaving-rooms, where a thousand wonderful machines would +turn them into miles and miles of calico; the machines doing all the +hard work, while women and girls adjusted and supplied them with the +material. + +It was to the great weaving-room John went first. As soon as he stood in +the open door he was seen and in a moment, as if by magic, the looms +were silenced, and the women and girls were on their feet, looking at +him with eager, pleasant faces. John lifted his hat and said good +morning and a shout of welcome greeted him. Then at some signal the +looms resumed their noisy work and the women lifted the chorus from some +opera which they had been singing at John's entrance, and "t' master's +visit" was over. + +He went next to his office, and Jonathan brought his daybook and +described, in particular detail, the commercial occurrences which had +made the mills' history during his absence. Not all of them were +satisfactory, and John passed nothing by as trivial. Where interferences +had been made with his usual known methods, he rebuked and revoked them; +and in one case where Jonathan had disobeyed his order he insisted on an +apology to the person injured by the transaction. + +"I told Clough," he said, "that he should have what credit would put him +straight. You, Jonathan, have been discounting and cutting him down on +yarns. You had no authority to do this. I don't like it. It cannot be." + +"Well, sir, I was looking out for you. Clough will never straight +himself. Yarns are yarns, and yarns are up in the market; we can use all +we hev ourselves. Clough hes opinions not worth a shilling's credit. +They are all wrong, sir." + +"His opinions may be wrong, his life is right." + +"Why, sir, he's nothing but a Radical or a Socialist." + +"Jonathan, I don't bring politics into business." + +"You're right, sir. When I see any of our customers bothering with +politics, I begin to watch for their names in t' bankruptcy list. Your +honorable father, sir, could talk with both Tories and Radicals and fall +out with neither. Then he would pick up his order-book, and forget what +side he'd taken or whether he hed been on any side or not." + +"Write to Clough and tell him you were sorry not to fill his last order. +Say that we have now plenty of yarns and will be glad to let him have +whatever he wants." + +"Very well, sir. If he fails--" + +"It may be your fault, Jonathan. The yarns given him when needed, might +have helped him. Tomorrow they may be too late." + +"I don't look at things in that way, sir." + +"Jonathan, how do you look at the Naylors' proposal?" + +"As downright impudence. They hev the money to buy most things they +want, but they hevn't the money among them all to buy a share in your +grand old name and your well-known honorable business. I told Mr. Henry +that." + +"However did the Naylors get at Mr. Henry?" + +"Through horses, sir. Mr. Henry loves horses, and he hes an idea that he +knows all about them. I heard Fred Naylor had sold him two racers. He +didn't sell them for nothing--you may be sure of that." + +"Do you know what Mr. Henry paid for them, Jonathan?" + +"Not I, sir. But I do know Fred Naylor; he never did a honest day's +work. He is nothing but a betting book in breeches. He bets on +everything, from his wife to the weather. I often heard your father say +that betting is the argument of a fool--and Jonathan Greenwood is of the +same opinion." + +"Have you any particular dislike to the Naylors?" + +"I dislike to see Mr. Henry evening himself with such a bad lot; every +one of them is as worthless as a canceled postage stamp." + +"They are rich, I hear." + +"To be sure they are. I think no better of them for that. All they hev +has come over the devil's back. I hev taken the measure of them three +lads, and I know them to be three poor creatures. Mr. Henry Hatton +ought not to be counted with such a crowd." + +"You are right, Jonathan. In this case, I am obliged to you for your +interference. I think this is all we need to discuss at this time." + +"Nay, but it isn't. I'm sorry to say, there is that little lass o' +Lugur's. You must interfere there, and you can't do it too soon." + +"Lugur? Who is Lugur? I never heard of the man. He is not in the Hatton +factory, that I know." + +"He isn't in anybody's factory. He is head teacher in the Methodist +school here." + +"Well, what of that?" + +"He has a daughter, a little lass about eighteen years old." + +"And she is pretty, I suppose?" + +"There's none to equal her in this part of England. She's as sweet as a +flower." + +"And her father is----" + +"Hard as Pharaoh. She's the light o' his eyes, and the breath o' his +nostrils. So she ought to be. Her mother died when she was two years +old, and Ralph Lugur hes been mother and father both to her. He took her +with him wherever he went except into the pulpit." + +"The pulpit? What do you mean?" + +"He was a Methodist preacher, but he left the pulpit and went into the +schoolroom. The Conference was glad he did so, for he was little in the +way of preaching but he's a great scholar, and I should say he hesn't +his equal as a teacher in all England. He has the boys and girls of +Hatton at a word. Sir, you'll allow that I am no coward, but I wouldn't +touch the hem of Lucy Lugur's skirt, if it wasn't in respect and honor, +for a goodish bit o' brass. No, I wouldn't!" + +"What would you fear?" + +"_Why-a!_ I don't think he'd stop at anything decent. It is only ten +days since he halted Lord Thirsk in t' High Street of Hatton, and then +told him flat if he sent any more notes and flowers to Miss Lugur, +'Miss,' mind you, he would thrash him to within an inch of his life." + +"What did Lord Thirsk say?" + +"Why, the little man was frightened at first--and no wonder, for Lugur +is big as Saul and as strong as Samson--but he kept his head and told +Lugur he would 'take no orders from him.' Furthermore, he said he would +show his 'admiration of Miss Lugur's beauty, whenever he felt disposed +to do so.' It was the noon hour and a crowd was in the street, and they +gathered round--for our lads smell a fight--and they cheered the little +lord for his plucky words, and he rode away while they were cheering and +left Lugur standing so black and surly that no one cared to pass an +opinion he could hear. Indeed, my eldest daughter kept her little lad +from school that afternoon. She said someone was bound to suffer for +Lugur's setdown and it wasn't going to be her John Henry." + +"He seems to be an ill-tempered man--this Lugur, and we don't want such +men in Hatton." + +"Well, sir, we breed our own tempers in Hatton, and we can frame to put +up with them--_but strangers_!" and Jonathan appeared to have no words +to express his suspicion of strangers. + +"If Lugur is quarrelsome he must leave Hatton. I will not give him house +room." + +"You hev a good deal of influence, sir, but you can't move Lugur. No, +you can't. Lugur hes been appointed by the Methodist Church, and there +is the Conference behind the church, sir. I hev no doubt but what we +shall hev to put up with the sulky beggar whether we want it or like it +or not." + +"It would be a queer thing, Jonathan Greenwood, if John Hatton did not +have influence enough to put a troubler of Hatton town out of it. The +Methodist Church is too sensible to oppose what is good for a +community." + +"Sir, you are reckoning your bill without your host. The church would +likely stand by you, but all the women would stand by Lugur. And what is +queerer still, all his scholars would fight anyone who said a word +against him. He hes a way, sir, a way of his own with children, and I +hev wondered often what is the secret of it." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I'll give you an example, sir. You know Silas Bolton hes a very bad +lad, but the other day he went to Lugur and confessed he had stripped +old Padget's apple-tree. Well, Lugur listened to him and talked to him +and then lifted his leather strap and gave him a dozen good licks. The +lad never whimpered, and t' master shook hands with him when the bit o' +business was over and said, 'You are a brave boy, Will Bolton. I don't +think you'll do a mean, cowardly act like that again, and if such is +your determination, you can learn me double lessons for tomorrow; then +all will be square between you and me'--and Bolton's bad boy did it." + +"That was right enough." + +"I hevn't quite finished, sir. In two days he went with the boy to tell +old Padget he was sorry, and the man forgave him without one hard word; +but I hev heard since, that t' master paid for the apples out of his own +pocket, and I would not wonder if he did. What do you think of the man +now?" + +"I think a man like that is very much of a man. I shall make it my +business to know him. But what has my brother to do with either Mister +or Miss Lugur?" + +"Mr. Henry hes been doing just what Lord Thirsk did; he has been sending +Lucy Lugur flowers and for anything I know, letters. At any rate I saw +them together in Mr. Henry's phaeton on the Lancashire road at ten +o'clock in the morning. I was going to Shillingworth's factory, and I +stayed there an hour, and as I came back to Hatton, Mr. Henry was just +leaving her at Lugur's house door." + +"Where do they live?" + +"In Byle's cottage at the top of the Brow." + +"That was quite out of your way, Jonathan." + +"I know it was. I took that road on purpose. I guessed the little woman +was out with Mr. Henry, because she knew between ten and eleven o'clock +her father was safe in t' schoolroom. Well, I saw Mr. Henry leave her at +her own door, and though I doan't believe one-half that I hear, I can +trust my own eyes even if I hevn't my spectacles on. And I doan't bother +my head about other men's daughters and sweethearts, but Mr. Henry is a +bit different. I loved and served his father. I love and serve his +brother, and t' young man himself is very easy to love." + +John was silent, and Jonathan continued, "I knew I was interfering, +but--" + +"You were doing your duty. I would thank you for it, but a man that +serves Duty gets his wages in the service--and is satisfied." + +Jonathan only nodded his head in assent, but there was the pleasant +light of accepted favor on his face and he really felt much relieved +when John added, "I will have a talk with my brother when he comes home +about the Naylors and Miss Lugur. You can dismiss the subject from your +mind. I'm sure you have plenty to worry you with the mill and its +workers." + +"I hev, sir, that I hev, and all the more because Lucius Yorke hes been +here while you were away and he left a promise with the lads and +lassies to come again and give you a bit of his mind when you bed +finished your laking and larking and could at least frame yourself to +watch the men and women working for you. Yorke is a sly one--you ought +to watch him." + +John smiled, dropped his eyes, and began to turn his paper-knife about. +"Well, Jonathan," he answered, "when Yorke comes, tell him John Hatton +will be pleased to know his mind. I do not think, Jonathan, that he +knows it himself, for I have noticed that he has turned his back on his +own words several times since he gave me his mind a year ago." + +"Well, sir, a man's mind can grow, just as his body grows." + +"I know that--but it can grow in a wrong direction as easily as in a +right one. Now I must attend to my secretary; he sent me word that there +was a large mail waiting." + +"I'll warrant it. Mr. Henry hesn't been near the mill since Friday +morning," and with these words the overseer lifted his books and records +and left the room. + +John sat very still with bent head; he shut his eyes and turned them on +his heart, but it was not long before his thoughtful face was brightened +by a smile as he whispered to himself, "I must hear what Harry has to +say before I judge him. Jonathan has strong prejudices, and Harry must +have what he considers 'reasonable cause' for what he wishes." + +He waited anxiously all morning, going frequently to his brother's +office, but it was mid-afternoon when he heard Harry's quick light step +on the corridor. His heart beat to the sound, he quickly opened his +door, and as he did so, Harry cried, + +"John! I am so glad you are here!" + +Then John drew the bright handsome lad to his side, and they entered his +office together, and as soon as they were alone, John bent to his +brother, drew him closer, and kissed him. + +"I have been restless and longing to see you, Harry. Where have you +been, dear lad?" + +It was noticeable that John's tone and attitude was that of a father, +more than a brother, for John was ten years older than Harry and through +all his boyhood, his youth, and even his manhood he had fought for and +watched over and loved him with a fatherly, as well as a brotherly, +love. After their father's death, John, as eldest son, took the place +and assumed the authority of their father and was by right of birth head +of the household and master of the mill. + +Hitherto John's authority had been so kind and so thoughtful that Harry +had never dreamed of opposing it, yet the brothers were both conscious +this afternoon that the old attitude towards each other had suffered a +change. Harry showed it first in his dress, which was extravagant and +very unlike the respectable tweed or broadcloth common to the +manufacturers of the locality. Harry's garb was that of a finished +horseman. It was mostly of leather of various colors and grades, from +the highly dressed Spanish leather of his long, black boots to the soft, +white, leather gauntlets, which nearly covered his arms. He had a +leather jockey cap on his head, and a leather whip in his hand, and he +gave John a long, loving look, which seemed to ask for his admiration +and deprecate, if not dispute, his expected dislike. + +For John's looks traveled down the handsome figure, whose hand he still +clasped, with evident dismay and dissatisfaction, and Harry retaliated +by striking his booted leg with his riding-whip. For an instant they +stood thus looking at each other, both of them quite aware of the +remarkable contrast they made. Harry's tall, slight form, black hair, +and large brown eyes were a vivid antithesis to John's blond blue-eyed +strength and comeliness. To her youngest son, Mrs. Hatton, who was a +daughter of the Norman house of D'Artoe, had transmitted her quick +temperament, her dark beauty, and her elastic grace of movement. + +Harry's beauty had a certain local fame; when people spoke of him it was +not of Henry Hatton they spoke, they called him "t' young master," or +more likely, "that handsome lad o' Hattons." He was more popular and +better loved than John, because his temper and his position permitted +him a greater familiarity with the hands. They came to John for any +solid favor or any necessary information, they came to Harry for help in +their ball or cricket games or in any musical entertainment they wished +to give. And Harry on such occasions was their fellow playmate, and took +and gave with a pleasant familiarity that was never imposed on. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BROTHERS + + +The pleasant habit of existence, the sweet fable of Life and Love. + + * * * * * +They sin who tell us Love can die, +With Life all other passions fly, + Love is indestructible. + + * * * * * + + A mother is a mother still, the holiest thing alive. + +This afternoon the brothers looked at each other with great love, but +there was in it a sense of wariness; and Harry was inclined to bluff +what he knew his brother would regard with inconvenient seriousness. + +"Will you sit, Harry? Or are you going at once to mother? She is a bit +anxious about you." + +"I will sit with you half an hour, John. I want to talk with you. I am +very unhappy." + +"Nay, nay! You don't look unhappy, I'm sure; and you have no need to +feel so." + +"Indeed, I have. If a man hates his lifework, he is very likely to hate +his life. You know, John, that I have always hated mills. The sight of +their long chimneys and of the human beings groveling at the bottom of +them for their daily bread gives me a heartache. And the smell of them! +O John, the smell of a mill sickens me!" + +"What do you mean, Harry Hatton?" + +"I mean the smell of the vaporous rooms, and the boiling soapsuds, and +the oil and cotton and the moisture from the hot flesh of a thousand men +and women makes the best mill in England a sweating-house of this age of +corruption." + +"Harry, who did you hear speak of cotton mills in that foolish way? Some +ranter at a street corner, I suppose. Hatton mill brings you in good, +honest money. I think little of feelings that slander honest work and +honest earnings." + +"John, my dear brother, you must listen to me. I want to get out of this +business, and Eli Naylor and Thomas Henry Naylor will rent my share of +the mill." + +"Will they? No! Not for all the gold in England! What are you asking me, +Harry Hatton? Do you think I will shame the good name of Hatton by +associating it with scoundrels and blacklegs? Your father kicked +Hezekiah Naylor out of this mill twenty years ago. Do you think I will +take in his sons, and let them share our father's good name, and the +profits of the wonderful business he built up? I say _no_! A downright, +upright _no_! Why, Harry, you must be off your head to think of such a +thing as possible. It is enough to make father come back from the +grave." + +"You are talking nonsense, John. If father is in heaven, he wouldn't +come back here about an old mill full of weariness and hatred and +wretched lives; and if he isn't in heaven, he wouldn't be let come back. +I am not afraid of father now." + +"If you must sell or rent your share, I will make shift to buy or lease +it. Then what do you mean to do?" + +"Mr. Fred Naylor is going to coach me for horse-racing. You know I love +horses, and Naylor says they will make me more money than I can count." + +"Don't you tell me anything the Naylors say. I won't listen to it. +Horse-racing is gambling. You don't come from gamblers. You will be a +fool among them and every kind of odds will be against you." + +"And I shall make money fast and pleasantly." + +"Supposing you do make money fast, you will spend it still faster. That +is the truth." + +"Horse-racing is a manly amusement. No one can deny that, John." + +"But, Harry, you did not come into this world to _amuse_ yourself. You +came to do the work God Almighty laid out for you to do. It wasn't +horse-racing." + +"I know what I am talking about, John." + +"Not you. You are cheating and deceiving yourself, and any sin is easy, +after that sin." + +"I have told you already what I thought of mill work." + +"You have not thought right of it. We have nearly eight hundred +workers; half of them are yours. It is your duty to see that these men +and women have work and wage in Hatton mill." + +"I will not do it, John." + +"You are not going to horse-racing. I want you to understand that, once +and for all. Have no more to do with any of the Naylors. Drop them +forever." + +"I can not, John. I will not." + +"Rule your speech, Henry Hatton. John Hatton is not saying today what he +will unsay tomorrow. You are not going to horse-racing and +horse-trading. Most men who do so go to the dogs next. People would +wonder far and wide. You must choose a respectable life. I know that the +love of horses runs through every Yorkshireman's heart. I love them +myself. I love them too well to bet on them. My horse is my +fellow-creature, and my friend. Would you bet on your friend, and run +him blind for a hundred or two?" + +"Naylor has made thousands of pounds." + +"I don't care if he has made millions. All money made without labor or +without equivalent is got over the devil's back to be squandered in some +devil's pastime. Harry, bettors infer dupes. When you have to pay a +jockey a small fortune to do his duty, he may be an honest man--but +there are inferences. Can't you think of something better to do?" + +"I wanted to be an artist and father would not let me. I wanted to have +my voice trained and father laughed at me. I wanted to join the army and +father was angry and asked me if I did not want to be a pugilist. He +would not hear of anything but the mill. John, I won't go to the mill +again. I won't be a cotton-spinner, and I'll be glad if you will buy me +out at any price." + +"I won't do that--not yet. I'll tell you what I will do. I will rent +your share of the mill for a year if you will take Captain Cook and the +yacht and go to the Mediterranean, and from the yacht visit the old +cities and see all the fine picture galleries, and listen to the music +of Paris and Milan or even Vienna. You must stay away a year. I want you +to realize above all things that to live to _amuse_ yourself is the +hardest work the devil can set you to do." + +"I promised Fred Naylor I would rent him my share." + +"How dared you make such a promise? Did you think that I, standing as I +do, for my father, Stephen Hatton, would ever lower the Hatton name to +Hatton and Naylor? I am ashamed of you, Harry! I am that!" + +"John, I am so unhappy in the mill. You don't understand--" + +"Your duty is in the mill. If a man does his duty, he cannot be unhappy. +No, he can not." + +"I have been doing my duty five years, and hating every hour of it. And +I promised the Naylor boys--" + +"What?" + +"That I would sell or rent my share in this mill to them." + +"It is impossible for you to keep that promise. You cannot sell a +shilling's worth belonging to the mill property without mine and +mother's permission. Neither of us will give it. Your plan won't work, +Harry. Mother and I will stand by Hatton mill as firm as an anvil beaten +upon. Both of us will do anything we can to make you reasonably happy, +but you must never dare to name selling or renting your right to anyone +but your brother. The mill is ours! No stranger shall own a bobbin in +it! One or both of us will run it until we follow our father, and +then--" + +"Then what?" + +"Our sons will take our place if so it pleases God. Harry, dear, dear +lad, go and take a long holiday among the things you love, and after it +we will come to a kind and sensible conclusion about your future. While +you are away, I will do your work for you and you shall have your full +share of whatever money is made. Stay a year if you wish, but try and +find yourself before you come home." + +"I would like to do as you say, John, but a year is a long time to be +away from the girl you love. I should want her every hour and should be +utterly miserable without her." + +John was silent and troubled. Harry looked entreatingly at him, and it +was hard to resist the pleading in the young man's eyes. Finally John +asked a little coldly, + +"Do you want to get married?" + +"Not just yet--if I can get mother to go with me." + +"To the Mediterranean?" + +"Certainly." + +"Who is the girl?" + +"Miss Lugur, the schoolmaster's daughter." + +"Mother would not go. You could not expect it. I also should be much +against her spending a year away from home. Oh, you know it is out of +the question!" + +"I think mother will go. I shall ask her." + +"I wonder how you can find it in your heart to ask such a thing of her!" + +"Lucy Lugur, poor little girl, has no mother." + +"You cannot expect Mrs. Stephen Hatton to mother her." + +"Yes, I do. Mother has often told me she would do anything in the world +for me. I am going to ask her to go with me, then I can take Lucy." + +"Harry, you must not put her love in such a hard strait. Do be +reasonable." + +"I cannot be reasonable about Lucy Lugur. I love her, John; she is the +most beautiful woman in the world." + +"All right, I do not contradict you; but is that any reason for +sacrificing mother's comfort to her beauty?" + +"Mother likes to give up to me. If I ask her to go, she will go. I do +not forget, John, what you have promised; no indeed, and I am sure +mother will be quite as kind. I will now go and ask her." + +When he arrived at the Hall gate, he had a sudden sense of the injustice +of his intention, but the thought of Lucy Lugur put it down; and he +heralded his arrival by a long, sweet whistle, whose music penetrated +the distance and informed Mrs. Hatton of her son's approach. She was +drinking her afternoon cup of tea to angry thoughts of him, telling +herself that he ought to have been home on the previous day, that at +least he ought to have sent her a few lines when delayed. So troubled +was she by these reflections and others rising from them that she had +forgotten to put sugar in her tea, and was eating wheat bread when her +favorite thin slices of rye loaf were at her hand. The prodigious +inquietude of motherhood had her in its grip, and she had just begun to +tell herself that poor Harry might be sick in an hotel with no one to +look after him when her reverie of love and fear was dispelled in a +moment by the cheerful sound of Harry's whistle. + +The next moment she was on the porch to welcome him. If his delay was +wrong, she had quite forgotten the wrong; there was nothing in her heart +but mother love, running over and expressing itself in her beaming eyes, +her smiling face, her outstretched hands, and her joyful words. She +kissed him fondly and between laughing and crying led him into the house +and straight to her little tea-table. + +"There is room enough for you, my dear, dear lad! Where have you been +this ever so long?" she asked. "I was looking for you last Saturday +night--and John is home again, thank God, and----" + +"I know John is home, mother. I was at the mill. My horse met me at +Oxbar Station, and as I was riding, I called at the mill to look at my +mail, and so finding John there, I stopped and had a chat with him." + +"I am glad of that. What did he say to thee? He was feeling very bad, I +know, about the Naylor boys. I wonder what makes thee even thyself with +that low set. Thy father will be angry, if he knows, and Greenwood +thinks he is sure to know if Naylors are meddling in his family or his +affairs. Greenwood speaks very badly of the whole crowd--living and +dead." + +"Well, mother, you know none of the Naylors are Methodists; that sets +them down with Greenwood. The Naylors are all right. Fred Naylor has +been very kind to me." + +"Did you speak to John about them?" + +"Greenwood had already spoken and John was angry and got into a passion +at a simple business proposal they made." + +"John was right, he was that. I was in a passion myself, when I heard +of their proposal--downright impudence, I call it." + +"Nay, mother. They offered good money for what they asked. There was no +impudence in that. It was just business." + +"Naylors have no good money, not they. The kind they do have would +blacken and burn Hatton's hands to touch. Thy father ran the whole kith +and kit of the Naylors out of Hatton village the very year of thy birth. +He wouldn't have them in his village if he was alive and while I am lady +of Hatton Manor they are not coming back here. I will see to that." + +"There is a new generation of Naylors now, and----" + +"They are as bad and very likely worse than all before them. Families +that don't grow better grow worse. Greenwood says they are worse; but +I'm not standing on what he says. Thy father despised them, that is a +fact I can rely on and work from." + +"Father is dead, and he----" + +"Not he! He is living, and more alive than he ever was. He comes to me +often." + +"When you are asleep, I suppose." + +"You suppose right. But, Harry, can you tell me what passes in that +state of sleep when I or you or any other sleeper is shut up from every +human eye; when all the doors of the body are closed, and all the +windows darkened? Speak, my lad, of what you know something about, but +dreaming is a mystery to far wiser men than you are, or are likely to +be--unless Wisdom should visit you while you are dreaming." + +"Well, mother, I am going away for a year, and during that time I shall +forget the Naylors and they will forget me." + +"Whatever are you talking about, Harry Hatton? I will not hear of you +going on such a journey--no matter where to, so now you know." + +"It is John's advice." + +"It is very poor advice. For steady living in, there is no place like +Yorkshire." + +"I was telling John today what I have often told you, how I hated the +mill, how sick it made me, and that I must sell my interest in it in +order to do something else. Then John made me a proposal, and if you +think well of it I will do as John advises. But let us go to the porch, +it is so hot here. It feels like the dog days." + +"No wonder, with the toggery you have on your back. Whatever in the +world led you to make such a guy of yourself? I hope you didn't come +through the village." + +"I did. I had my horse brought to Oxbar Station, for that very purpose." + +"Well, I never! Do you think you look handsome in those things?" + +"I do." + +"You never made a bigger mistake. I can tell you that. But I want to +know what John is up to--sending you away for a whole year--such +nonsense!" + +Then Harry made John's proposal as attractive as he could, and Mrs. +Hatton listened with a face devoid of all expression, until he said: "I +want you with me, mother. I shall have no pleasure without you." + +"There is something else you want, Harry. What is it?" + +"Well, mother, there is a beautiful girl whom I love with all my heart +and soul. I want to take her with me, but I can not--unless you also +go." + +Mrs. Hatton's face flushed, and she dropped her eyes, knowing that they +were full of anger. "Who is this girl?" she asked coldly. + +"Lucy Lugur, the schoolmaster's daughter." + +"Could you not take her own mother?" + +"Lucy has no mother. Her father has been father and mother both to her +since she was two years old. He loves her beyond everything." + +"I can believe that. I know a little of Ralph Lugur. He has been to see +me twice about the children of the village." + +"He has them all at his beck and call. And Lucy, mother, she is so fair +and sweet! If you could only see her!" + +"I have seen her." + +"Oh, mother dear, don't speak unkindly of her!" + +"Nay; why should I? She is, as you say, very pretty; and I'll warrant +she is as good as she is pretty. I could trust Lugur to bring her up +properly--but she is not a mate for you." + +"I will have no other mate." + +"Miss Lugur may be all your fancy paints her, but why should your mother +be asked to leave her home, her duties, and pleasures for a year? To +subject herself to bad weather and sickness and loneliness and fatigue +of all kinds in order that she may throw the mantle of her social +respectability over an equivocal situation. I do not blame the girl, but +I feel more keenly and bitterly than I can tell you the humiliation and +discomfort you would gladly put upon me in order to give yourself the +satisfaction of Miss Lugur's company. Harry, you are the most selfish +creature I ever met. John has promised to give up your rightful +assistance in the mill, to really do your work for a year, your income +is to be paid in full, though you won't earn a farthing of it; you +expect the use of the yacht for yourself and a girl out of my knowledge +and beneath my social status. Oh, Harry! Harry! It is too much to ask of +any mother." + +"I never thought of it in this way. Forgive me, mother." + +"And who is to take care of John if I go with you? Who is to care for +the old home and all the treasures gathered in it? Who will look after +the farm and the horses and cattle and poultry, the fruit-trees and +lawns and flowers as I do? Do you think that all these cares are +pleasures to me? No, my dear lad, but they are my duty. I wouldn't have +thy father find out that I neglected even a brooding hen. No, I +wouldn't. And the yacht was thy father's great pleasuring. I only went +with him to double that pleasure. I don't like the sea, though I never +let him know it. Oh, my dear! But there! You haven't learned yet that +self-sacrifice is love, and no love without it." + +"Mother, I am ashamed of my selfishness. I never realized before how +many things you have to care for." + +"From cocklight to the dim, Harry, there is always something needing my +care. Must house and farm and John and all our dumb fellow creatures go +to the mischief for pretty Lucy Lugur? My dear, I'm saying these things +to you, because nobody else has a right to say them; but oh, Harry, it +breaks my heart to say them!" + +"Mother, forgive me. I did not think of anything but the fact that you +have always stood by me through thick and thin." + +"In all things right, I will stand by you. In whatever is wrong I will +be against you. You have fallen into the net of bad company, and you +can't mend that trouble--you can only run away from it. Take John's +advice, and get out of the reach of that Naylor influence." + +"I never saw anything wrong with Frank Naylor. He did not drink, he +never touched a card, and he was always respectful to the women we met." + +"Harry, you would not dare to repeat to me all that Frank Naylor _said_ +to you. Oh, my dear, there it is! When you can shut your _ears_, as +easily as your _eyes_, you can afford to be less particular about the +company you keep--not until." + +At this moment John entered, and the conversation became general and +impersonal. But the influence of uncertain and unlooked-for anxiety was +over all, and Harry was eager to escape it. He said the young men would +be expecting him at their association hall, as he had promised to +explain to them the mysteries of golf, which he wished them to favor +above cricket. + +He had, indeed, a promised obligation on this subject, but the exact +time was as yet within his own decision. Yet he was ready to fulfill it +that evening, rather than listen to the conversation about himself and +his future, which he knew would ensue whether he was present or not. And +the promise John had given him of a year's holiday was so satisfactory +that he longed to be alone and at liberty to follow it out and fit it +into his life. + +He felt that John had been generous to him, but he also felt that the +proposed manner of rest and recreation was in one respect altogether +unsatisfactory--he was to be sent away from Lucy Lugur. He was sure that +was John's real and ultimate motive, whatever other motive was virtually +put in its place. Mother and brother would agree on that point and he +thought of this agreement with a discontent that rapidly became anger. +Then he determined to marry Lucy, and so have a right to her company on +land or sea, at home or abroad. + +For he argued only from his own passionate desire. Lucy had never said +she loved him, yet he felt sure she did so. He loved her the moment they +met, and he had no doubt Lucy had been affected in the same manner as +himself. He knew her for his own, lost out of his soul-life long ago and +suddenly found one afternoon as she stood with her father at the gate of +their little garden. She had roses in her hands, or rather they were +lying across her white arms, and her exquisite face rose above them, +thrilling his heart with a strange but powerful sense of a right in her +that was wholly satisfying and indisputable. + +"I will suffer no one to part me from Lucy," he mused. "She is mine. She +belongs to me, and to no other man in this world. I will not leave her. +I might lose her; if I go away, she must go with me. She loves me! I +know it! I feel it! When she sat at my side as we were driving together +she _was me_. Her personality melted into mine, and Lucy Lugur and Harry +Hatton were one. If I felt this, Lucy felt it. I will tell her, and she +will believe me, for I am sure she shared that wonderful transfusion of +the 'thee into me' which is beyond all explanation, and never felt but +with the one soul that is our soul." + +Thus as he walked down to the village he thrilled himself with the +pictures of his own imaginings; for a passionate bewildering love, that +had all the unbearable realism of a dream, held him in its unconquerable +grip. There may be men who can force themselves to be reasonable in such +a condition, but Henry Hatton was not among them; and when he +unexpectedly met Lucy's father in the village, he quite forgot that the +man knew nothing at all of his affection for his daughter and his +intention to marry her. + +"Mr. Lugur," he cried almost joyfully, "I was looking for you, hoping to +meet you, and here you are! I am so glad!" + +Lugur looked up curiously. People did not usually address him with such +pronounced pleasure, and with Henry Hatton he had not been familiar, or +even friendly. "Good evening, Mr. Hatton," he answered, and he touched +the cap set so straight and positive on his big, dark head with slight +courtesy. "Have you any affair with me, sir?" he asked. + +"I have." + +"It is my busy night. I was going home, but----" + +"Allow me to walk with you, Mr. Lugur." + +"Very well. Talking will not hinder. I am at your service, sir." + +[Illustration: "He knew her for his own ... as she stood with her father +at the gate of their little garden."] + +Then Henry Hatton made his heart speak words which no one could have +doubted. He was a natural orator, and he was moved by an impetuous +longing, that feared nothing but its own defeat. He told Lugur all that +he had told himself, and the warmth and eagerness of his pleading +touched the man deeply, though he did not interrupt him until he said, +"I am going for a year's travel, and I want to marry Lucy, and take her +with me." + +Then he asked, "Have you spoken to my daughter on the subject of +marriage?" + +"I want your permission in order to gain hers." + +"Does she know that you love her?" + +"I have not told her so. I ask that you take me now to your home that I +may speak to her this hour." + +Lugur made no further remark, until they reached the schoolmaster's +house. Then he said, "There is a light, as you may see, in the +right-hand room; Lucy is there. Tell her I gave you permission to call +on her. Leave the door of the room open; I shall be in the room opposite +to it. You may remain an hour if you wish to do so. Leave at once if +your visit troubles Lucy." Then with a cold smile he added, "I am her +only cicerone, you see. She has no mother. You will remember _that_, Mr. +Hatton." As he spoke, he was looking for his latch-key and using it. +There was a lamp in the hall, and he silently indicated the door of the +room in which Lucy was sitting. At the same moment he opened a door +opposite and struck a light. Seeing Hatton waiting, he continued, "You +have already introduced yourself--go in--the door is open." + +He stood still a moment and listened to the faint flutter of Lucy's +movement, and the joyous note in her voice as she welcomed her lover. +With a sigh, he then turned to a table piled with papers and slates and +apparently gave himself up to the duty they entailed. + +In the meantime Harry had seated himself by the side of Lucy, and was +telling her in the delicious, stumbling patois of love all that was in +his heart. She was bewilderingly beautiful; all his thoughts of her had +been far below this intimate observation. Not that he analyzed or +tabulated her charms--that would have been like pulling a rose to +pieces. He only knew that her every glance and word and movement +revealed a new personal grace. He only felt that her dress so daintily +plain and neat and her simplicity and natural candor were the visible +signs of a clear and limpid nature such as gods and men must love. + +It was easy for Harry to tell her his love and his wishes. She +understood him at once, and with sweet shy glances answered those two or +three questions which are so generally whispered to a woman's heart and +which hold the secret of her life and happiness. In this wonderful +explanation the hour given was all too short, and Harry was just +beginning to plead for an immediate marriage so that they might see the +world together when Lugur entered the room and said it was the hour at +which they usually closed the-- + +Harry did not let him finish his request. "Sir," he cried +enthusiastically, "Lucy loves me. She loves me as I love her. I was +just asking her to marry me at once." + +"That is an impossible request, Mr. Hatton. Under no circumstances, none +whatever, would I permit Lucy to marry for at the least a year. Many +things must be determined first. For instance, I must have a +conversation with your mother and with Mr. John Hatton, your elder +brother." + +"You can see them tomorrow, sir--early in the morning--if you would be +so kind to Lucy and myself, we should be very grateful--what time can +you see them tomorrow?" + +"You go too fast, sir. I cannot see either of them tomorrow, nor yet for +many tomorrows." + +"Oh, sir, Lucy loves me and I love her, and----" + +"Love must learn to wait--to be patient and to be satisfied with hopes. +I am weary, and we will bid you good night." + +There was something so definite and positive in this good night that +Harry felt it to be irresistible, and with an air of disappointment made +his departure. At the outer door Lugur said, "I do not lack sympathy +with you, Mr. Hatton, in your desire to hurry your marriage forward, but +you must understand that there will be necessary delays. If you cannot +bear the strain of waiting and of patiently looking forward, you are +mistaken in the quality of your love and you had better give it up at +once." + +"No, sir. Right or wrong, it is my love, and Lucy is the only woman who +will ever bring joy or sorrow to me." + +Lugur did not answer, but his tall, dark figure standing with his hand +on the half-shut door impressed Harry painfully with the hopelessness of +further argument. He bowed silently, but as he passed through the little +gate the sound of the hastily closed door followed him up the hill to +Hatton Hall. Lugur went into the parlor to look for his daughter; she +had gone to her room. Some feeling of maidenly reserve had led her to +take this step. She never asked herself why or wherefore; she only felt +that it would be good for her to be alone, and the need had been so +urgent that she forgot her father's usual good-night kiss and blessing. +Lugur did not call her, but he felt the omission keenly. It was the +first change; he knew that it prefigured many greater ones, and he was +for the hour stunned by the suddenness of the sorrow he had to face. But +Lugur had a stout heart, a heart made strong and sure by many sufferings +and by one love. + +He sat motionless for an hour or more; his life was concentered in +thought, and thought does not always require physical movement. Indeed, +intense thought on any question is, as a rule, still and steady as a +rock. And Lugur was thinking of the one subject which was the prime +mover of his earthly life--thinking of his daughter and trying to +foresee the fate he had practically chosen for her, wondering if in +this matter he had been right or wrong. He had told himself that Lucy +must marry someone, and that Henry Hatton was the best of all her +suitors. Thirsk he hardly took into consideration; but there was young +Bradley and Squire Ashby and the Wesleyan minister, and his own +assistant in the school. He had seen that these men loved her, each in +his own way, but he liked none of them. Weighed in his balance, they +were all wanting. + +Neither was Henry Hatton without fault; but the Hatton family was good +to its root, as far as he knew or could hear tell, and at least he had +been frankly honest both with his daughter and himself. He found +strength and comfort in this reflection, and finally through it reached +the higher attitude, which made him rise to his feet, clasp his hands, +and lift his face with whispered prayer to the Father and Lover of +souls. Leaving Lucy in His care, his heart was at rest, and he lay down +in peace and slept. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE HEARTH FIRE + + + He who has drunk of Love's sharp strong wine, + Will drink thereof till death. + Love comes in silence and alone + To meet the elected One. + + * * * * * + +It was a chill, misty evening in the last days of September, and John +Hatton was sitting by the fire in the great central hall. He was +thinking of many things, but through all of them the idea of his brother +Harry swept like an obliterating cloud. He was amazed at the hot +impetuous love which had taken possession of the boy--for he still +thought of him as a boy--and wondering how best to direct and control a +passion that had grown like a force of Nature, which it really was. Now +great and fervid emotions are supposed to be the true realization of +life, but they do not, as a rule, soften the nature they invade; very +frequently they render it cruel and indifferent to whomever or whatever +appears to stand in the way of its desires. John realized this fact in +Harry's case. He was going from home for a year, and yet he had never +before been so careless and unconcerned about his home. + +It was not a pleasant train of thought, and he was pleased when it was +interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Hatton. "Why, John, my dear," she +said, "I was wondering if you had come home yet. Have you seen Harry?" + +"Not since breakfast." + +"He is with that girl, I suppose; or, if Lugur is at home, he is +watching the house she lives in." + +"He is very much in love. We must make the best of it. I thought he was +in love with Polly Crowther--but it seems not. There is a little +difference between the two girls." + +"There is a big difference between them, and it is all in favor of Polly +Crowther." + +"As far as we can judge at present it is, but--whatever have you in your +basket, mother? It smells like Paradise." + +"I have herbs, John. I have been crushing down my heartache with +work--there's nothing beats work if you're in trouble. I cleaned out my +still room today, and I was carrying there the last pickings of lavender +and rosemary, sage and marjoram, basil and mint. I can tell you, John, +there's a deal of help in some way or other through sweet, pungent +smells. They brightened me up a bit today, they did that!" + +"To be sure they did, mother. They rise naturally to Heaven, and if we +are willing, they carry our thoughts with them." + +"I don't know about that, John. My thoughts were not heavenly at all +today, and I hope they stayed where they belonged. Take the tongs, John, +and lift a lump of coal to the fire. I joy to see the blaze. I wouldn't +like Hatton hearthstone to have the ill luck that has just come to Yates +Manor House. You know, John, the fire in their hall has been burning for +nearly two hundred years, never, never allowed to go out. The young +squire always fed it as soon as the old squire went away. It was dead +and cold this morning. Yates is past comforting. He says it bodes all +kinds of misfortunes to them." + +"How long ago is it since Hatton Hall fire was lit?" + +"Well, John, our fire isn't out of counting, like some of the old hearth +fires in Yorkshire. But Hatton fire will never go out, John. It was lit +by a man that will not die, nor his name perish forever. _Why-a!_ John +Wesley kindled the fire on Hatton hearthstone." + +"Say what you can about it, mother. My father has told me the story many +a time, but I can never hear it too often." + +"My dear lad, it was in the days of thy great-grandfather. One afternoon +John Wesley came to Hatton and was met with honor and welcome. And word +was sent far and near, to squire and farmer, hedger and ditcher. And at +eight o'clock the good, great man stood up in Hatton's big barn in their +midst. And he talked heavenly to them of Christ and of the love of God +that was not willing that _any_ should perish, but that _all_ should +come to repentance. Eh, my dear, he talked till men and women were +weeping for joy and hope, and the big barn felt as if it was on fire. +And that night John Wesley sat a long while with the Master of Hatton, +and it was past midnight when they went to bed. But very early in the +morning--before cocklight it was--your great-grandfather came downstairs +to see that Wesley had a cup of tea before his early start onward. And +he found the good man had already lit a fire and infused the tea, and +then and there it was made the law of Hatton household that the fire +John Wesley kindled there must never go out, but be a sign and covenant +of good to the House of Hatton as long as there was a man in Hatton to +carry it on." As she was talking Mrs. Hatton had put her basket of herbs +on a little table, and with glowing cheeks she now bent her head and +inhaled their refreshing odors. John was silent for a few moments, and +profoundly touched by the old homely story; then he said, + +"My dear mother, it may be a son of Harry's that will be so favored. Had +we not better accept his marriage as pleasantly as we can? Lucy Lugur is +a beautiful girl, and that big fervent Welshman who is her father has +doubtless made her the image of all that God and man love in a woman." + +"Maybe Lugur has done his best with her, but women see a long sight +further into women than men do. I'll hev to seek and to find good +reasons for Harry marrying so far below himself before I'll hev this or +that to say or do with such an ill-sorted marriage. Now, John, get ready +for thy dinner; none of us are going to do any waiting for a lad that +thinks he can live on love." + +John rose, smiling, and as he did so said, "Was that the way Methodism +began, mother?" + +"To be sure, it was. It began in the lanes and streets and in the barns +and kitchens of old manor houses like Hatton Hall. Your +great-grandfather used to say it was like a loud cry at midnight +startling the sleepy world." + +"It was the most picturesque domestic event of last century, as well as +a religious----" + +"Picturesque! I never thought of Methodism in that way, John; but I'll +tell thee, it took the very heart of Yorkshire and set it to song and +prayer--and cotton-spinning. It stopped a deal of gambling and racing +and dog-and cock-fighting, and chapels and mills grew together all over +the length and breadth of Yorkshire. They did that, and all that! I've +heard my father say so many a time. Make haste now, my lad, dinner will +spoil if tha keeps it waiting. Methodism is like enough to stand +forever." + +In this conversation Mrs. Hatton had dropped easily and naturally into +the Yorkshire speech, as all Yorkshire people do when heart-touched. For +Yorkshire is neither a dialect nor a patois; it is the pure English of +a thousand years ago, the English Chaucer spoke, and which Yorkshire has +preserved in all its purity--especially about the Craven district. Mrs. +Hatton had gone through finishing schools of the latest fashion and she +made no trips in her usual social conversation, unless deeply moved, but +if a little Yorkshire was a fault, it was a very general one, and there +was no interesting conversation without such lapses into English pure +and undefiled and often startlingly picturesque and to the point. + +When John had left her she took her herbs to the still room, laid them +in their places, and removed the large white linen apron which covered +her from head to feet. Then she stood beautifully gowned in black satin +with fine thread-lace cuffs turned back nearly to the elbows and a large +collar of the same lace fastened at the throat with a brooch of gold and +diamonds. Her black hair was fashionably dressed and finished with a +small cap of lace and pink ribbon, and her feet shod in black satin +sandals--a splendid woman of fifty-three years old, showing every grace +at its finest with as yet no sign of decay in any of them. + +John gave her his arm proudly, but he noticed that her face clouded +before she was seated. She would not ask as to Harry's whereabouts, but +she missed his presence, and anger grew in her heart. "He is with that +girl," she thought, and she was sick with anxiety and inquietude. The +roast sirloin was done to the last perfect minute, and the Yorkshire +pudding deliciously brown and light; the table was set without a flaw or +a "forget," and the fire and light just as they should be. There was no +obvious outlet for her annoyance, and it took away her appetite and made +her silent. + +John tried various interesting public topics--topics she had been eager +about; but every allusion to them at this hour was scornfully received. +Then he made a social effort. "I met Miss Phyllis Broadbent today, +mother," he said. + +"Where did you meet her?" + +"She was walking past the mill." + +"Waiting for you--and I'll warrant it." + +"I would not say that much, mother. She was out collecting for the new +cooking-school. She said she wanted to see you very much." + +"And pray what for is she wanting to see me? I am not related to her. I +owe her nothing. I'm not going to give her anything and I don't want to +see her." + +"I suppose she wants your help in this new charity she has on hand. She +was very polite, and sent you all kinds of good wishes. There is no harm +in good wishes, is there?" + +"I'm not so sure of that. If Miss Phyllis gives her good wishes, there's +no harm in them, but--but I don't want to buy them at any price. I'll +tell you what it is, John--" + +But she never told him at that hour, for as she spoke Harry Hatton +opened the door and looked in. "I am wet--dripping wet, mother," he +said. "The mizzling rain turned to a downpour when I was halfway up the +hill, but I will be ready for dinner in twenty minutes." + +"And I am not going to keep beef and pudding on the table twenty minutes +for you, Harry." + +"That's right, mother. I don't deserve it. Send it to the kitchen. I'll +have some partridge and pastry when I come down." + +He was gone before his mother's answer could leave her lips; but there +was a light in her eyes and a tone in her voice that made her a +different woman as she said, "We will not talk of Miss Lugur tonight, +John. There is plenty else to talk about. She is non-essential, and I +believe in the man who said, 'Skip the non-essentials.'" + +This proposal was carried out with all John's wisdom and kindness. He +kept the conversation on the mill or on subjects relating to Harry's +proposed journey until there was a sudden silence which for a moment or +two no one appeared able to break. It was Mrs. Hatton who did so, and +with a woman's instinct she plunged at once into a subject too sacred to +dispute. + +"My dear Harry," she said, in her clear vibrant voice, "my dear lad, +John and I have just been talking of Wesley and how he came to light our +hearthstone. You see, poor Squire Yates' fire went out last night." + +"Never! Surely never, mother!" + +"It did, my dear. Yates has no son, he is old and forgetful, and his +nephew, who is only a Ramsby, was at Thornton market race, and nobody +thought of the fire, and so out it went. They do say the squire is dying +today. Well, then, Hatton Hall has two sons to guard her hearth, and I +want to tell you, Harry, how our fire was saved not thirty years ago. +Your grandfather was then growing poor and poorer every year, and with a +heavy heart he was think, think, thinking of some plan to save the dear +old home. + +"One morning your father was walking round the Woodleigh meadows, for he +thought if we sold them, and the Woodleigh house, we might put off +further trouble for a while and give Good Fortune time to turn round and +find a way to help us. And as he was walking and thinking Ezra Topham +met him. Now, then, Ezra and your father were chief friends, even from +their boyhood, and their fathers before them good friends, and indeed, +as you know the Yorkshire way in friendship, it might go back of that +and that again. And Ezra said these very words, + +"'Stephen, I'm going to America. My heart and hands were never made for +trading and cotton-spinning. I hev been raised on the land. I hev lived +on the land and eaten and drunk what the land gave me. All my +forefathers did the same, and the noise and smell of these new-fangled +factories takes the heart out of me. I hev a bit of brass left, and +while I hev it I am going to buy me a farm where good land is sold by +the acre and not by feet and inches. Now, then, I'll sell thee my mill, +and its fifty looms, and heppen it may do cheerfully for thee what it +will not do anyway for me. Will tha buy it?'" + +"Poor chap!" interrupted Harry. "I know just how he felt. I am sorry for +him." + +"You needn't be anything of that sort, Harry. He is a big landowner now +and a senator and a millionaire. So save thy pity for someone that needs +it. As I was saying, he offered to sell his mill to thy father and thy +father snapped at the offer, and it was settled there and then as they +stood in Woodleigh meadows." + +"What did father pay for it?" asked Harry. + +"Nay, my dear, I cannot tell thee. Thy father never told his women folk +what he made or what he spent. It wasn't likely. But it was a fair +bargain, no doubt, for when they had settled it, Ezra said, 'Good-bye, +Stephen! I shall not see thee again in this world!' and he pulled out +his watch and father took out his and they changed watches for the +memory of each other. Then they clasped hands and said farewell. But +they wrote to each other at every New Year, and when thy father died +Ezra's watch was sent back to him. Then Ezra knew his friend had no +longer any need to count time. He had gone into Eternity." + +"It was a good custom, mother," said John. "It is a pity such customs +are dying out." + +"They have to die, John," answered Mrs. Hatton, "for there's no +friendships like that now. People have newspapers and books dirt cheap +and clubs just as cheap, and all kinds of balls to amuse them--they +never feel the need of a friend. Just look at our John. He has lots of +acquaintances, but he does not want to change watches with any man--does +he, now?" + +The young men laughed, and Harry said if they had let friends go they +had not given up sweethearts. Then Mrs. Hatton felt they were on +dangerous ground, and she continued her story at once. + +"Thy father and I had been nearly three years married then, and John was +a baby ten months old. I had not troubled myself much about debt or +poverty or danger for the old Hall. I was happy enough with my little +son, and somehow I felt sure that Stephen Hatton would overget all his +worries and anxieties. + +"Now listen to me! I woke up that night and I judged by the high moon +that it was about midnight. Then I nursed my baby and tucked him snugly +in his cradle. Thy father had not come to his bed but that was no care +to me; he often sat reading or figuring half the night through. It was +Stephen Hatton's way--but suddenly I heard a voice--the voice of a man +praying. That is a sound, my dears, you can never mistake. When the soul +speaks to its God and its Father, it has a different voice to the one a +man uses with his fellowmen, when he talks to them about warps and yarns +and shillings. + +"There was a soft, restful murmur of running water from the little beck +by the rose garden, but far above it rose the voice of a man in strong +urgent prayer. It came from the summer-house among the rose-trees, and +as I listened, I knew it was your father's voice. Then I was frightened. +Perhaps God would not like me to listen to what was only meant for His +ear. I came away from the open window and sat down and waited. + +"In a short time your father came to me. I could see that he had been +praying. I could feel the spirit above the flesh. A great awe was over +him and he was strangely loving and gentle. 'Martha,' he said, 'I am +glad you are awake. I want to tell you something--something wonderful!' +And I sat down by him, and he clasped my hand and said, + +"'I was tired out with figuring and counting, and near midnight I went +out to cool and soothe my brain with the night air. And I suddenly +thought of Jacob on his mysterious journey, meeting the angels of God as +he slept in the wilderness, and wrestling with one for a blessing. And +with the thought the spirit of prayer came to me, and I knelt down in +the summer-house and prayed as I never prayed before in my life. + +"'I told God all my perplexities and anxieties. I asked Him to +straighten them out. I told God that I had bought Ezra's mill, and I +asked Him to be my counselor and helper. I told Him I knew nothing about +buying cotton or spinning cotton. I told Him it was the loss of +everything if I failed. I promised Him to do my best, and I asked Him to +help me to succeed; and, Martha, I solemnly vowed, if He would be with +me and do for me, that His poor and His sick and His little children +should have their share in every pound I made. And I swear to you, +Martha, that I will keep my word, and if I may speak for my sons and my +sons' sons, they also shall never fail in rendering unto God the thing I +have promised. Remind me of it. Say to me, "Stephen, the Lord God is thy +partner. Don't thee defraud Him of one farthing."' And, my dears, when I +promised he kissed me, and my cheeks were wet, and his cheeks were wet, +but we were both of us very sure and happy. + +"Well, my dear lads, after that your father walked straight forward to +his place among the biggest cotton-spinners in England. People all said, +Stephen Hatton was a very philanthropic man. He was something better. He +was a just and honest man who never lied, who never defrauded the poor +because they were poor, and who kept his contract with the Lord his God +to the last farthing. I hope to see his sons and his sons' sons keep the +covenant their father made for them. I do that. It would break my heart +if they did not!" + +Then John rose to his feet, precisely as he would have done if his +father had entered the room, and he answered, "Mother, I joined hands +with father six years ago on this subject. I will carry out all he +promised if it takes my last penny. We thought then that Harry was too +young to assume such--" + +"I am not too young now, mother, and I wish to join John in every +obligation my father made for himself and us. After this John must tithe +my share just as he tithes his own." + +Then while her heart was overflowing with a religious love and joy in +her sons, Mrs. Hatton rose and bid them good night. "I will go to my +room," she said. "I'll warrant I shall find the very company I want +there." + +"Stay with us, mother," said Harry. "I want to talk to you," and he was +so persistent that it fretted her, and she asked with a touch of +impatience, + +"Harry Hatton, have you yet to learn that when a woman wants to be by +herself she is expecting better company than you can give her?" + +For a few moments the young men were silent. Mrs. Hatton took so much +vitality out of the room with her that the level of the atmosphere was +sensibly disturbed, and had to be readjusted before it was comfortably +useful. John sat still during this period. His sight was inward and +consequently his eyes were dropped. Harry was restless, his sight was +outward and his eyes far-seeking. He was the first to speak. + +"John," he said, in a tone holding both anger and grief, "John, you +behaved unkindly to me this evening. You either persuaded mother to talk +as she did, or you fell in with her intention and helped her." + +"You might speak plainer, Harry." + +"I will. Both mother and you, either by accident or agreement, prevented +me naming Lucy. Lucy was the only subject I wanted to talk about, and +you prevented me." + +"If I did, it was the wisest and kindest thing I could do." + +"For yourselves--but how about me?" + +"I was thinking of you only." + +"Then you must think of Lucy with me." + +"It is not yet a question of _must_. If it comes to that, both mother +and I will do all the situation calls for. In the interval, we do not +wish to discuss circumstances we may never be compelled to face." + +"Then you are counting on my being drowned at sea, or on Lucy dying or +else marrying someone while I am away." + +John was silent so long that Harry began to enlarge on his last +proposition. "Of course," he continued, "I may be drowned, and if Lucy +was false to me a watery grave of any kind would be welcome; but----" + +"Harry," said John, and he leaned forward and put his hand on his +brother's knee, "Harry, my dear lad, listen to me. I am going to tell +you something I have never told even mother. You have met Lady Penryn, +I suppose?" + +"I have seen her three or four times in the hunting field. She rides +horses no one else would mount. She does everything at the danger point. +Lord Thirsk said she had been disappointed in love and wanted to kill +herself." + +"Did you think her handsome?" + +"Oh, dear, no! Far from it! She is blowsy and fat, has far too much +color, and carries too much flesh in spite of the rough way she uses +herself." + +"Harry, eight years ago I was as madly in love with Lady Penryn as you +are now with Lucy Lugur. All that you are suffering I have suffered. +Eight years ago we parted with tears and embraces and the most solemn +promises of faithful love. In four months she was married to Lord +Penryn." + +"Oh, John, what did you do?" + +"I forgot her." + +"How could you?" + +"As soon as I knew she was another man's wife, I did not dare to think +of her, and finding how much _thought_ had to do with this sin, I filled +my thoughts with complex and fatiguing business; in a word, I refused to +think of her in any way. + +"Six years afterwards I met her at a garden party; she was with a crowd +of men and women. She had lost all her power over me. My pulses beat at +their ordinary calm pace and my heart was unmoved." + +"And how did she bear the ordeal?" + +"She said, 'Good afternoon, Mr. Hatton. I think we may have met +before.' A few days ago, we passed each other on the highway between +Hatton and Overton. I lifted my hat, and she pretended not to see me." + +"Oh, John, how could the woman treat you so!" + +"She acted wisely. I thank her for her discretion. Now, Harry, give +yourself and Lucy time to draw back, if either of you find out you have +been mistaken. There are many engagements in life that can be broken and +no great harm done; but a marriage engagement, if once fulfilled, opens +to you the gates of all Futurity, and if there are children it is +irrevocable by any law. No divorce undoes it. You may likely unroll a +long line of posterity who will live when you are forgotten, but whose +actions, for good or evil, will be traced back to you." + +"Well, then, John, if I am to go away and give myself an opportunity to +draw back, I want to go immediately. Lucy's father takes her to an aunt +in Bradford tomorrow. I think when people grow old, they find a perfect +joy in separating lovers." + +"It is not only your love affairs that want pause and consideration, +Harry. You appear to hate your business as much as you ought to love and +honor it, and I am in hopes that a few weeks or months of nothing to do +will make you glad to come back to the mill. If not--" + +"What then will you do for me, John?" + +"I will buy your share of the mill." + +"Thank you, John. I know you are good to me, but you cannot tell how +certain I am about Lucy; yes, and the mill, too." + +"Well, my dear lad, I believe you tonight; but what I want you to +believe is that tomorrow some new light may shine and you may see your +thoughts on these two subjects in a different way. Just keep your mind +open to whatever you may see or hear that can instruct your intentions. +That is all I ask. If you are willing to be instructed, the Instructor +will come, not perhaps, but certainly." + +Four days after this conversation life in Hatton had broken apart, and +Harry was speeding down the Bay of Biscay and singing the fine old sea +song called after it, to the rhythm and music of its billowy surge. The +motion of the boat, the wind in the sails, the "chanties" of the sailors +as they went about their work, and the evident content and happiness +around him made Harry laugh and sing and toss away his cap and let the +fresh salt wind blow on his hot brain in which he fancied the clack and +clamor of the looms still lingered. He thought that a life at sea, +resting or sailing as the mood took him, would be a perfect life if only +Lucy were with him. + +Sitting at dinner he very pointedly made the absence of women the great +want in this otherwise perfect existence. The captain earnestly and +strongly denied it. "There is nowhere in the world," he said, "where a +woman is less wanted than on a ship. They interfere with happiness and +comfort in every way. If we had a woman on board tonight, she would be +deathly seasick or insanely frightened. A ship with a woman's name is +just as much as any captain can manage. You would be astonished at the +difference a name can make in a ship. When this yacht belonged to +Colonel Brotherton, she was called the _Dolphin_, and God and angels +know she tried to behave like one, diving and plunging and careering as +if she had fins instead of sails. I was captain of her then and I know +it. Well, your father bought her, and your mother threw a bottle of fine +old port over her bow, and called her the _Martha Hatton_, and she has +been a different ship ever since--ladylike and respectable, no more +butting of the waves, as if she was a ram; she lifts herself on and over +them and goes curtseying into harbor like a duchess." + +As they talked the wind rose, and the play of its solemn music in the +rigging of the yacht and in the deep bass of the billows was, as Harry +said, "like a chant of High Mass. I heard one for the sailors leaving +Hull last Christmas night," he said, "and I shall never forget it." + +"But you are a Methodist, sir?" + +"Oh, that does not hinder! A good Methodist can pray wherever there is +honest prayer going on. John was with me, and I knew by John's face he +was praying. I was but a lad, but I said 'Our Father,' for I knew that +Christ's words could not be wrong wherever they were said." + +"Well, sir, I hope you will recover your health soon and be able to +return to your business." + +"My health, Captain, is firstrate! I have not come to sea for my health. +Surely to goodness, John did not tell you that story?" + +"No, he did not, and I saw that you were well enough as soon as you came +on board." + +"Well, Captain, I am here to try how a life of pleasure and idleness +will suit me. I hate the mill, I hate its labor and all about it, and +John thought a few months of nothing to do would make me go cheerfully +back to work." + +"Do you think it will?" + +"I say no--downright." + +"And what then, sir?" + +"I really cannot say what I may do. I have a bit of money from my +father, and I know lots of good fellows who seem happy enough without +business or work of any kind. They just amuse themselves or have some +fad of pleasure-making like fast horses." + +"Such men ought never to have been born, sir. They only cumber the mills +and the market-places, the courts of law and the courts of the +church--yes, even the wide spaces of the ocean." + +"Are you not a bit hard, Captain?" + +"No; I am not hard enough. Do you think God sent any man that had his +five senses into this busy world to _amuse_ himself?" + +"Are you preaching me a sermon, Captain?" + +"Nay, not I! Preaching is nothing in my line. But you are on a new +road, sir, and no one can tell where it may lead to, so I'll just remind +you to watch your beginnings; the results will manage themselves." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM + +Love is the only link that binds us to those gone; the only link that +binds us to those who remain. Surely it _is_ the spiritual world--the +abiding kingdom of heaven, not far from any one of us. + +On a day of grace, she came of God's grace to me. + + +One night at the end of October Mrs. Hatton was sitting in the +living-room of the Hall. To say "sitting," however, is barely true, for +she was in that irritably anxious mood which both in men and women +usually runs into motion, and Mrs. Hatton was more frequently off her +chair than on it. She lifted the brass tongs and put a few pieces of +coal on the fire; she walked to the window and looked down the long +vista of trees; she arranged chairs and cushions, that did not need +arranging; she sent away the large tortoise-shell cat that was watching +as eagerly as herself for John's return; and finally her restlessness +found a tongue. + +"What for are you worrying about the lad, Martha Hatton? He's grown up, +you know, and he isn't worrying about you. I'll warrant that some way +or other he's with that Harlow girl, and where's his poor mother then? +Clean forgotten, of course. Sons and daughters, indeed! They are a +bitter pleasure, they are that. Here's John getting on to thirty years +old, and I never knew it in his shoes to run after a girl before--but +there--I'm down-daunted with the changes that will have to come--yes, +that will have to come--well, well, life is just a hurry-push! One +trouble after another--that's John's horse, I know its gallop, and it is +high time he was here, it is that. Besides, it's dribbling rain, and I +wouldn't wonder if it was teeming down in half an hour--and there's Tom +crying for all he's worth--I may as well let him in--come in, Tom!"--and +Tom walked in with an independent air to the rug and lay down by John's +footstool. Indeed, his attitude was impudent enough to warrant Mrs. +Hatton's threat to "turn him out-of-doors, if he did not carry himself +more like a decent cat and less like a blackguard." + +The creature knew well enough what was said to him. He lay prone on the +rug, with his head on his forepaws, watching Mrs. Hatton; and she was a +little uncomfortable and glad when John entered the room. The cat ran to +meet him, but John went straight to his mother's side and said, + +"Dear mother, I want your kiss and blessing tonight. God has given me +the desire of my heart, but I am not satisfied until you share my joy." + +"That means that God has given you the love and promise of Jane +Harlow." + +"Yes, that is what I mean. Sit down, mother; I must talk the matter over +with you, or I shall miss some of the sweetest part of it." + +Then she lifted her face and looked at him, and it was easy to see that +Love and the man had met. Never before in all his life had she seen him +so beautiful--his broad, white forehead, his bright contemplative eyes, +his sweet, loving, thoughtful face breaking into kind smiles, his gentle +manner, and his scrupulously refined dress made a picture of manhood +that appealed to her first, as a mother, and secondly, as a woman. And +in her heart an instantaneous change took place. She put her hands on +his shoulders and lifted her face for his kiss. + +"My good son!" she said. "Thy love is my love, and thy joy is my joy! +Sit thee down, John, and tell me all about it." + +So they sat down together on the bright hearth, sat down so close that +John could feel the constant touch of his mother's hand--that white, +firm hand which had guided and comforted him all his life long. + +"Mother," he said, "if anyone had told me this morning that I should be +Jane's betrothed husband before I slept this night, I would hardly have +believed in the possibility. But Love is like a flower; it lies quiet in +its long still growth, and then in some happy hour it bursts into +perfect bloom. I had finished my business at Overton and stayed to eat +the market dinner with the spinners. Then in the quiet afternoon I took +my way home, and about a mile above the village I met Jane. I alighted +and took the bridle off Bendigo's neck over my arm, and asked permission +to walk with her. She said she was going to Harlow House, and would be +glad of my company. As we walked she told me they intended to return +there; she said she felt its large rooms with their faded magnificence +to be far more respectable than the little modern villa with its +creaking floors and rattling windows in which they were living." + +"She is quite right," said Mrs. Hatton. "I wonder at them for leaving +the old place. Many a time and oft I have said that." + +"She told me they had been up there a good deal during the past summer +and had enjoyed the peace and solitude of the situation; and the large +silent rooms were full of stories, she said--love stories of the old gay +Regency days. I said something about filling them with love stories of +the present day, and she laughed and said her mother was going there to +farm the land and make some money out of it; and she added with a smile +like sunshine, 'And I am going to try and help her. That accounts for +our walk this afternoon, Mr. Hatton,' and I told her I was that well +pleased with the walk, I cared little for what had caused it. + +"In a short time we came in sight of the big, lonely house and entered +the long neglected park and garden. I noticed at once a splendid belt +of old ash-trees that shielded the house from the north and northeast +winds. I asked Jane if she knew who planted them, and she said she had +heard that the builder of the house planted the trees. Then I told her I +suspected the builder had been a very wise man, and when she asked why I +answered, Because he could hardly have chosen a better tree. The ash +represents some of the finest qualities in human nature.'" + +"That wasn't much like love talk, John." + +"It was the best kind of talk, mother. There had to be some commonplace +conversation to induce that familiarity which made love talk possible. +So I told her how the ash would grow _anywhere_--even at the seaside, +where all trees lean from the sea--_except the ash_. Sea or no sea, it +stands straight up. Even the oak will shave up on the side of the wind, +_but not the ash_. And best of all, the ash bears pruning better than +any other tree. Pruning! That is the great trial both for men and trees, +mother. None of us like it, but the ash-tree makes the best of it." + +"What did she say to all this rigmarole about trees?" + +"She said there was something very human about trees, that she had often +watched them tewing with a great wind, tossing and fretting, but very +seldom giving way to it. And she added, 'They are a great deal more +human than mountains. I really think they talk about people among +themselves. I have heard those ash-trees laughing and whispering +together. Many say that they know when the people who own them are going +to die. Then, on every tree there are some leaves splashed with white. +It was so the year father died. Do you believe in signs, Mr. Hatton?' +she asked. + +"Then, mother, without my knowledge or intention I answered, '_Oh, my +dear_! The world is full of signs and the man must be deaf and blind +that does not believe in them. I have seen just round Hatton that the +whole bird world is ruled by the signs that the trees hang out.' And she +asked me what they were, and I told her to notice next spring that as +soon as the birch-leaves opened, the pheasant began to crow and the +thrush to sing and the blackbird to whistle; and when the oak-leaves +looked their reddest, and not a day before, the whole tribe of finches +broke into song. + +"Thus talking, mother, and getting very close and friendly with each +other, we passed through the park, and I could not help noticing the +abundance of hares and pheasants. Jane said they had not been molested +since her father's death, but now they were going to send some of them +to market. As we approached the house, an old man came to meet us and I +gave my horse to his care. He had the keys of the house and he opened +the great door for us. The Hall was very high and cold and lonely, but +in a parlor on the right-hand side we found an old woman lighting a +fire which was already blazing merrily. Jane knew her well and she told +her to make us a pot of tea and bring it there. With her own hands she +drew forward a handsome Pembroke table, and then we went together +through the main rooms of the house. They were furnished in the time of +the Regency, Jane said, and it was easy to recognize the rich, ornate +extravagance of that period. In all this conversation, mother, we were +drawing nearer and nearer to each other and I kept in mind that I had +called her once 'my dear' and that she had shown no objection to the +words." + +"I suppose the old man and woman were John Britton and his wife Dinah. I +believe they have charge of the place." + +"I think so. I heard Jane give the man some orders about the glass in +the windows and he spoke to her concerning the bee skeps and the dahlia +bulbs being all right for winter. In half an hour there was a nice +little tea ready for us, and just imagine, mother, how it felt for me to +be sitting there drinking tea with Jane!" + +"Was it a nice tea, John?" + +"Mother, what can I tell you? I wasn't myself at all. I only know that +Dinah came in and out with hot cakes and that Jane put honey on them and +gave them to me with smiles and kind words. It was all wonderful! If I +had been dreaming, I might have felt just as much out of the body." + +"Jane can be very charming, I know that, John." + +"She was something better than charming, mother; she was kind and just +a little quiet. If she had been laughing and noisy and in one of her +merry moods, it would not have been half so enchanting. It was her sweet +sedateness that gave sureness and reality to the whole affair. + +"We left Harlow House just as the hunting-moon was rising. Its full +yellow splendor was over everything, and Jane looked almost spiritual in +its transfiguring light. Mother, I do not remember what I said, as I +walked with her hand-in-hand through the park. Ask your own heart, +mother. I have no doubt father said the same words to you. There can +only be one language for an emotion so powerful. Wise or foolish, Jane +understood what I said, and in words equally sweet and foolish she gave +me her promise. Oh, mother, it was not altogether the words! It was the +little tremors and coy unfoldings and sweet agitations of love revealing +itself--it wakened in Jane's heart like a wandering rose. And I saw this +awakening of the woman, mother, and it was a wonderful sight." + +"John, you have had an experience that most men miss; be thankful for +it." + +"I am, mother. As long as I live, I will remember it." + +"Did you see Mrs. Harlow?" + +"For a short time only. She was much pleased at her daughter's choice. +She thought our marriage might disarrange some of her own plans, but +she said Jane's happiness came before all other considerations." + +"Well, John, it is more than a few hours since you had that wonderful +tea with cakes and honey. You must have your proper eating, no matter +what comes or goes. What do you say to a slice of cold roast beef and +some apple pie?" + +"Nay, mother, I'm not beef hungry. I'll have the apple pie, and a +pitcher of new milk." + +"And then thou must go to bed and settle thyself with a good, deep +sleep." + +"To be sure, mother. Joy tires a man as trouble does, but a deep sleep +will rest and steady me." + +So John went to the deep, steadying sleep he needed; it was Mrs. Hatton +who watched the midnight hours away in anxious thought and careful +forebodings. She had not worried much about Harry's passion for Lucy +Lugur. She was sure that his Mediterranean trip would introduce him to +girls so much lovelier than Lucy that he would practically have +forgotten her when he returned. Harry had been in love with half a dozen +girls before Lucy. She let Harry slip out of her consideration. + +John's case was different. It was vitally true and intense. She +understood that John must marry or be miserable, and she faced the +situation with brimming eyes and a very heavy heart. She had given John +her loving sympathy, and she would not retract a word of it to him. But +to God she could open her heart and to Him she could tell even those +little things she would not speak of to any human being. She could ask +God to remember that, boy and man, John had stood by her side for nearly +thirty years, and that he was leaving her for a woman who had been +unknown a year ago. + +She could tell God that John's enthusiastic praise of this strange woman +had been hard to bear, and she divined that at least for a time she +might have to share her home with her. She anticipated all the little +offenses she must overlook, all the small unconsidered slights she must +pass by. She knew there would be difficulties and differences in which +youth and beauty would carry the day against truth and justice; and she +sat hour after hour marshaling these trials of her love and temper and +facing them all to their logical end. + +Some women would have said, "Time enough to face a trial when it comes." +No, it is too late then. Trials apprehended are trials defended; and +Martha Hatton knew that she could not trust herself with unexpected +trials. In that case she believed the natural woman would behave herself +naturally, and say the words and do the deeds called forth by the +situation. So Martha in this solemn session was seeking strength to give +up, strength to bear and to forbear, strength to see her household laws +and customs violated, and not go on the aggressive for their sanctity. + +She had a custom that devout women in all ages have naturally followed. +She sat quiet before God and spoke to Him in low, whispered words. It +was not prayer; it was rather the still confidence of one who asks help +and counsel from a Friend, able and willing to give it. + +"Dear God," she said, in a voice that none but God could hear, "give me +good, plain, household understanding--let me keep in mind that there is +no foolishness like falling out--help me to hold my temper well in hand +so that I may put things right as fast as they go wrong. I am jealous +about John--it _is_ hard to give him up. Thou gavest him to me, Thou +knowest. Oh, let nothing that happens unmother me!" + +In this way she sat in the dark and silence and asked and waited for the +answer. And no doubt it came, for about two o'clock she rose up like one +that had been strengthened and went calmly to her rest. + +In the morning the first shock of the coming change was over, the +everyday use and wont of an orderly house restored the feeling of +stability, and Martha told herself things might turn out better than +looked likely. John was just as loving and attentive as he had always +been, and when he asked her to call on Jane Harlow as soon as she could +and give her welcome into the Hatton family, she did not impute his +attentions to any selfish motive. + +Nevertheless, it was as the Lady of Hatton Manor, rather than as John's +mother, she went to make this necessary call. She dressed with the +greatest care, and though she was a good walker, chose to have her +victoria with its pair of white ponies carry her to the village. Jane +met her at the gate of their villa and the few words of necessary +welcome were spoken with a kindness which there was no reason to doubt. + +With Mrs. Harlow Martha had a queer motherly kind of friendship, and it +was really by her advice the ladies had been led to think of a return to +Harlow House. For she saw that the elder woman was unhappy for want of +some interest in life, and she was sure that the domestic instinct, as +well as the instinct for buying and selling, was well developed in her +and only wanted exercise. Indeed, an hour's conversation on the +possibilities of Harlow House, of the money to be made on game, poultry, +eggs, milk, butter, honey, fruit, had roused such good hopes in Mrs. +Harlow's heart that she could hardly wait until the house was put in +order and the necessary servants hired. + +She relied on Martha like a child, and anyone who did that was sure of +her motherly kindness. On this day Martha was particularly glad to turn +the conversation on the subject. She spoke of Jane's marriage and +pointed out what a comfort it would be when she was alone to be making a +bit of money at every turn. "Why!" she cried enthusiastically. "Instead +of moping over the fire with some silly tale of impossible tragedy, you +will have your dairy and poultry to look after. Even in winter they +bring in money, and there's game to send to market every week. Hares +come as fast as they go, and partridge are hardy and plentiful. Why, +there's a little fortune lying loose in Harlow! If I were you, I would +make haste to pick it up." + +This was a safe and encouraging subject, and Mrs. Hatton pressed it for +all it was worth. It was only Jane that saw any objections to their +immediate removal to Harlow House. She said Lord Harlow, as her nearest +relative and the head of their house, had been written to that morning, +being informed of her intended marriage, and she thought no fresh step +ought to be taken until they heard from him. + +But this or that, Martha Hatton spent more than two hours with the +Harlow ladies, and she left them full of hope and enthusiasm. And oh, +how good, how charming, how strengthening is a new hope in life! The two +ladies were ten or twelve degrees higher in moral atmosphere when Mrs. +Hatton left them than they had been before her call. And she went away +laughing and saying pleasant things and the last flirt of her white +kerchief as her victoria turned up the hill was like the flutter of some +glad bird's wing. + +In four days there was a letter of great interest and kindness from Lord +Harlow. He said that he was well acquainted with Mr. John Hatton from +many favorable sources and that the marriage arranged between him and +his niece Jane Harlow was satisfactory in all respects. Further she was +informed that Lady Harlow requested her company during the present +season in London. It would, she said, be her duty and her pleasure to +assist in getting ready her niece's wedding outfit, but she left her to +fix the day on which she would come to London. + +This letter was a little thunderbolt in the Harlow villa, and Jane said +she could not go away until her mother was settled at Harlow House. John +was much troubled at this early break in his love dream, but Mrs. Harlow +would not listen to any refusal of Lord and Lady Harlow's invitation. +She said Jane had never seen anything of life, and it was only right she +should do so before settling down at Hatton. Besides, her uncle and +aunt's gifts would be very necessary for her wedding outfit. In the +privacy of her own thoughts--yes, and several times to her daughter--she +sighed deeply over this late kindness of Lord and Lady Harlow. She +wished that Jane had been asked before she was engaged; nobody knew in +that case what good fortune might have come. It was such a pity! + +Mrs. Harlow's removal was not completed until Christmas was so close at +hand that it was thought best to make it the time for their return home. +It was really John and Mrs. Hatton who managed the whole business of the +removal, and to their efforts the complete comfort--and even beauty--of +the old residence was due. But the days spent in this work were days +full of the sweet intimacies of love. John could never forget one hour +of them, and it added to their charm to see and hear Martha Hatton +everywhere, her hands making beauty and comfort, her voice sounding like +a cheerful song in all the odd corners and queer places of the house. + +Upon the whole it was a wonderful Christmas, but when it was over the +realities of life were to face. Jane was going to London and John +wondered how he was to bear the days without her. In the spring he would +begin to build the house for himself he had long contemplated building. +The plan of it had been fully explained to Jane, and had been approved +by her, and John was resolved to break ground for the foundation as soon +as it was possible to do so. And he calculated somewhat on the diversion +he would find in building a home for the woman he so dearly loved. + +Then the parting came, and John with tears and misgivings sent his +darling into the unknown world of London. It was a great trial to him; +fears and doubts and sad forebodings gave him tragic hours. It was a new +kind of loneliness that he felt; nothing like it had ever come to him +before. + +"My food has lost all flavor," he said to his mother, "and I cannot get +any good sleep. I am very unhappy." + +"Well, my dear," she answered, "if you don't turn your suffering into +some sort of gain, you'll be a great loser. But if you turn it into +patience or good hope or good temper you will make gain out of it. You +will buy it with a price. You will pay yourself down for it. It will be +yours forever. To be plain with you, John, you have been peevish all day +long. I wouldn't if I were you. Nothing makes life taste so bitter in +your mouth as a peevish temper." + +"Why, mother! What do you mean?" + +"Just what I say, John, and it is not like you. You have no real +trouble. Jane Harlow is having what any girl would call a happy time. +There is nothing wrong in it. She does not forget you, and you must not +make troubles out of nothing, or else real troubles are sure to come. +Surely you know _who_ to go to in your trouble?" + +"Yes! Yes! In anxiety and fear we learn how necessary it was that God +should come to us as man. 'It is our flesh that we seek and that we find +in the Godhead. It is a face like my face that receives me, a Man like +to me that I love and am loved by forever.' I have learned how necessary +the revelation of Christ was in these lonely weeks. I did not know I was +cross. I will mend that." + +"Do, my dear. It isn't like John Hatton to be cross. No, it isn't!" + +Slowly the winter passed. John went several times to London during it +and was kindly and honorably entertained by Lord Harlow during his +visits. Then he saw his Jane in environments that made him a little +anxious about the future. Surrounded by luxury, a belle and favorite in +society, a constant participator in all kinds of amusement and the +recipient of much attention, how would she like to settle down to the +exact monotony of life at Hatton? + +It was well for John that he had none of the Hellenic spirit in him. He +was not tempted to sit down and contemplate his worries. No, the Hebrew +spirit was the nobler one, and he persistently chose it--"get thee forth +into their midst, and whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy +might." John instinctively followed this advice, so that even his +employees noticed his diligence and watchfulness about everything going +on. + +In the earliest days of April when spring was making the world fresh and +lovely and filling the balmy air with song, John thought of the home for +himself that he would build and he determined to see the man who was to +dig the foundation that night. He had just received a letter from Jane, +and she said she was weary of London, and longing to be with her dear +mother at Harlow House, or indeed anywhere that would allow her to see +him every day. A very little kindness went a long way with John and such +words lying near his heart made him wonderfully happy. And because he +was happy he was exceedingly busy. Even Greenwood did not trouble him +with observations; and official conversation was reduced to +monosyllables. People came in and left papers and went out without a +word; and there was a pressure on John to "do whatsoever his hand found +to do with all his might." + +Suddenly the door was flung open with unrestricted force and noise and +John raised his head to reprove the offender. Instead of this, he rose +from his chair and with open arms took his brother to his heart. "Why, +Harry!" he cried. "Mother will be glad to see you. I was thinking of you +while I dressed myself this morning. When did you reach England?" + +"I got to London three days ago." + +"Never! I wouldn't tell mother that! She will think you ought to have +been at Hatton three days ago." + +"I had to look after Lucy, first thing. I found her, John, in Bradford +in a sad state." + +"I don't understand you, Harry." + +"Her father had left her with a very strict aunt, and she was made to do +things she never had done--work about the house, you know--and she +looked ill and sorrowful and my heart ached for her. Her father was away +from her, and she thought I had forgotten her. The dear little woman! I +married her the next day." + +"Henry Hatton! What are you saying?" + +"I married there and then, as it were. It was my duty to do so." + +"It was your will. There was no duty in it." + +"Call it what you like, John. She is now my wife and I expect you and +mother will remember this." + +"You are asking too much of mother." + +"You said you would stand by me in this matter." + +"I thought you would behave with some consideration for others. Is it +right for you to expect mother to take an entire stranger into her home, +a girl for whom she had no liking? Why should mother do this?" + +"Because I love the girl." + +"You are shamelessly selfish, and a girl who could make a mother's love +for you a pretext for entering Hatton Hall as her right is not a nice +girl." + +"Lucy has done nothing of the kind. She is satisfied in the hotel. Do +you want me to stay at the hotel?" + +"I should feel very much hurt if you did." + +"But I shall stay where my wife stays." + +"You had better go and see mother. What she does I will second." + +"John, can you settle the matter of the mill now? I want no more to do +with it and you know you promised to buy my share in that case." + +"I want to build my home. I cannot build and buy at the same time." + +"Why need you build? There is Hatton Hall for you, and mother will not +object to the nobly born Jane Harlow." + +"We will not talk of Miss Harlow. Harry, my dear, dear brother, you have +come home to turn everything upside down. Let me have a little time to +think. Go and see mother. I will talk to you immediately afterwards. +Where did you leave the yacht?" + +"At London. I disliked Captain Cook. I felt as if I was with a tutor of +some sort all the time. He said he would take the yacht to her wharf at +Whitby and then write to you. You ought to have a letter today. I don't +think you are very glad to see me, John." + +"Oh, Harry, you have married that girl, quite regardless of how your +marriage would affect your family! You ought to have given us some time +to prepare ourselves for such a change." + +"Lucy was in trouble, and I could not bear to see her in trouble." + +"Well, go and see mother. Perhaps you can bear mother's trouble more +easily." + +"I hope mother will be kinder to me than you have been. John, I have no +money. Let me have a thousand pounds till we settle about the mill." + +"Do you know what you are asking, Harry? A thousand pounds would run +Hatton Hall for a year." + +"I have to live decently, I suppose." + +With these words he left the mill and went at once to the Hall. Mrs. +Hatton was in the garden, tying up some straying branches of +honeysuckle. At her feet were great masses of snowdrops tall and white +among moss and ivy, and the brown earthen beds around were cloth of gold +with splendid crocus flowers; but beyond these things, she saw her son +as soon as he reached the gate. And she called him by his name full and +heartily and stood with open arms to receive him. + +Harry plunged at once into his dilemma. "Mother! Mother!" he cried, +taking both her hands in his. "Mother, John is angry with me, but you +will stand by me, I know you will. It is about Lucy, mother. I found her +in great trouble, and I took her out of it. Don't say I did wrong, +mother. Stand by me--you always have done so." + +"You took her out of it! Do you mean that you married her?" + +"How else could I help her? She is my wife now, and I will take care +that no one troubles her. May I bring her to see you, mother?" + +Mrs. Hatton stood looking at Harry. It was difficult for her to take in +and believe what she heard, but in a few moments she said, + +"Where is she?" + +"At the little hotel in the village." + +"You must bring her here at once. She ought never to have gone to the +hotel. Dear me! What will people say?" + +"Thank you, mother." + +"Take my victoria. James is in the stable and he will drive it. Go for +your wife at once. She must come to your home." + +"And you will try and love her for my sake, mother?" + +"Nay, nay! If I can't love the lass for her own sake, I'll never love +her for thy sake. But if she is thy wife, she will get all the respect +due thy wife. If she can win more, she'll get more, and that is all +there is to it." + +With this concession Harry had to be satisfied. He brought his wife to +the Hall and Mrs. Hatton met her with punctilious courtesy. She gave her +the best guest room and sent her own maid to help her dress. The little +woman was almost frightened by the ceremonious nature of her reception. +But when John came home he called her "Lucy," and tempered by many +little acts of brotherly kindness, that extreme politeness which is +harder to bear than hard words. + +And as John and his mother sat alone and unhappy after Harry and his +wife had bid them good night, John attempted to comfort his mother. "You +carried yourself bravely and kindly, mother," he said, "but I see that +you suffer. What do you think of her?" + +"She is pretty and docile, but she isn't like a mother of Hatton men. +Look at the pictured women in the corridor upstairs. They were born to +breed and to suckle men of brain and muscles like yourself, John. The +children of little women are apt to be little in some way or other. Lucy +does not look motherly, but Harry is taken up with her. We must make the +best of the match, John, and don't let the trial of their stay here be +too long. Get them away as soon as possible." + +"Harry says that he has decided to make his home in or near London." + +"Then he is going to leave the mill?" + +"Yes." + +"What is he thinking of?" + +"Music or art. He has no settled plans. He says he must settle his home +first." + +"Well, when Harry can give up thee and me for that girl, we need not +think much of ourselves. I feel a bit humiliated by being put below +her." + +"Don't look at it in that way, mother." + +"Nay, but I can't help it. I wonder wherever Harry got his fool notions. +He was brought up in the mill and for the mill, and I've always heard +say that as the twig is bent the tree is inclined." + +"That is only a half-truth, mother. You have the nature of the tree to +reckon with. You may train a willow-tree all you like but you will never +make it an oak or an ash. Here is Harry who has been trained for a +cotton-spinner turns back on us and says he will be an artist or a +singer, and what can we do about it? It is past curing or altering now." + +But though the late owner of Hatton Mill had left the clearest +instructions concerning its relation to his two sons, the matter was not +easily settled. He had tied both of them so clearly down to his will in +the matter that it was found impossible to alter a tittle of his +directions. Practically it amounted to a just division of whatever the +mill had made after the tithe for charities had been first deducted. It +gave John a positive right to govern the mill, to decide all disputes, +and to stand in his place as master. It gave to Henry the same financial +standing as his brother, but strictly denied to either son who deserted +the mill any sum of larger amount than five thousand pounds; "to be made +in one payment, and not a shilling more." A codicil, however, three +years later, permitted one brother to buy the other out at a price to be +settled by three large cotton-spinners who had long been friends of the +Hatton family. These directions appeared to be plain enough but there +was delay after delay in bringing the matter to a finish. It was nearly +a month before Harry had his five thousand pounds in his pocketbook, and +during this time he made no progress with his mother. She thought him +selfish and indifferent about the mill and his family. In fact, Harry +was at that time a very much married man, and though John was capable of +considering the value of this affection, John's mother was not. John +looked on it as a safeguard for the future. John's mother saw it only as +a marked and offensive detail of the present. Lucy did nothing to help +the situation. In spite of the attention paid her, she knew that she was +unwelcome. "Your people do not like me, Harry," she complained; and +Harry said some unkind things concerning his people in reply. + +So the parting was cool and constrained, and Harry went off with his +bride and his five thousand pounds, caring little at that time for any +other consideration. + +"He will come to himself soon, mother," said John. "It isn't worth while +to fret about him." + +"I never waste anything, John, least of all love and tears. I can learn +to do without, as well as other mothers." + +But it was a hard trial, and her tired eyes and weary manner showed it. +John was not able to make any excuse she would listen to about Harry's +marriage. Its hurried and almost clandestine character deeply offended +her; and the young wife during her visit had foolishly made a point of +exhibiting her power over her husband, while both of them seemed +possessed by that egotistical spirit which insists on their whole world +seeing how vastly superior their love is to any other love that ever had +been. Undoubtedly the young couple were offensive to everyone, and Mrs. +Hatton said they had proved to her perfect satisfaction the propriety +and even the necessity for the retirement of newly married people to +some secluded spot for their honeymoon. + +Soon after their departure Jane Harlow returned. She came home attended +by the rumor of her triumphs and enriched by a splendid wardrobe and +many fine pieces of jewelry. She told modestly enough the story of the +life she had been leading, and Mrs. Hatton was intensely interested in +it. + +"Jane Harlow is a woman of a thousand parts, and you have chosen a wife +to bring you friendship and honor," she said to John. "Dear knows one +cannot weary in her company. She has an opinion on every subject." + +"She has been in highly cultivated society and it has improved her a +great deal, mother. Perhaps if Lucy had had the same opportunity she +would have been equally benefited." + +"I beg to remind you, John, of what you said about training trees--'the +nature of the tree has to be taken into account'; no amount of training +could make an oak out of a willow." + +"True, mother. Yet there are people who would prefer the willow to the +oak." + +"And you couldn't help such people, now could you? You might be sorry +for them. But there--what could you do?" + +And John said softly, + + "What can we do o'er whom the unbeholden + Hangs in a night, wherewith we dare not cope; + What but look sunward, and with faces golden, + Speak to each other softly of our Hope?" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +SHOCK AND SORROW + + + There's not a bonnie flower that springs + By fountain, shaw, or green, + There's not a bonnie bird that sings, + But minds me of my Jean. + + Only a child of Nature's rarest making, + Wistful and sweet--and with a heart for breaking. + +Life is a great school and its lessons go on continually. Now and then +perhaps we have a vacation--a period in which all appears to be at +rest--but in this very placidity there are often bred the storms that +are to trouble and perhaps renew us. For some time after the departure +of Harry and his bride, John's life appeared to flow in a smooth but +busy routine. Between the mill and Harlow House, he found the days all +too short for the love and business with which they were filled. And +Mrs. Hatton missed greatly the happy and confidential conversations that +had hitherto made her life with her son so intimate and so affectionate. + +Early in the spring John began the building of his own home, and this +necessarily required some daily attention, especially as he had designs +in his mind which were unusual to the local builders, and which seemed +to them well worthy of being quietly passed over. For the house was +characteristic of the man and the man was not of a common type. + +There was nothing small or mean about John's house. The hill on which it +stood was the highest ground on the Hatton Manor. It commanded a wide +vista of meadows, interspersed with peacefully flowing waters, until the +horizon on every hand was closed by ranges of lofty mountains. On this +hill the house stood broadly facing the east. It was a large, square +Georgian mansion, built of some white stone found in Yorkshire. Its +rooms were of extraordinary size and very lofty, their windows being +wide and high and numerous. Its corridors were like streets, its +stairways broad enough for four people to ascend them abreast. Light, +air, space were throughout its distinguishing qualities, and its +furnishings were not only very handsome, they had in a special manner +that honest size, solidity, and breadth which make English household +belongings so comfortable and satisfactory. The grounds were full of +handsome forest trees and wonderful grassy glades and just around the +house the soil had been enriched and planted with shrubbery and flowers. + +Its great proportions in every respect suited both John Hatton and the +woman for whom it was built. Both of them appeared to gain a positive +majesty of appearance in the splendid reaches of its immense rooms. +Certainly they would have dwarfed small people, but John and Jane +Hatton were large enough to appropriate and become a part of their +surroundings. John felt that he had realized his long, long dream of a +modern home, and Jane knew that its spacious, handsome rooms would give +to her queenly figure and walk the space and background that was most +charming and effective. + +In about a year after Harry's marriage it was completely finished and +furnished; then John Hatton and Jane Harlow were married in London at +Lord Harlow's residence. Harry's invitation did not include his wife, +and John explained that it was impossible for him to interfere about the +people Lord and Lady Harlow invited to their house or did not invite. "I +wish the affair was over," he exclaimed, "for no matter who is there I +shall miss you, Harry." + +"And Lucy?" + +"Yes; but I will tell you what will be far better. Suppose you and Lucy +run over to Paris and see the new paintings in the Salon--and all the +other sights?" + +"I cannot afford it, John." + +"The affording is my business. I will find the guineas, Harry. You know +that. And Lucy will not have to spend them in useless extravagant +dress." + +"All right, John! You are a good brother, and you know how to heal a +slight." + +So John's marriage took place without his brother's presence, and John +missed him and had a heartache about it. Subsequently he told his mother +so, upon which the Lady of Hatton Manor answered, + +"Harry managed very well to do without either mother or brother at his +own wedding. You know that, John; and I was none sorry to miss him at +yours. When you have to take a person you love with a person you don't +love, it is like taking a spoonful of bitterness with a spoonful of +jelly after it. I never could tell which spoonful I hated the worst." + +After the marriage John and his wife came directly to their own home. +John could not leave his mill and his business, and Lord and Lady Harlow +considered his resolution a wise proceeding. Jane was also praised for +her ready agreement to her husband's business exigencies. But really the +omission of the customary wedding-journey gave Jane no disappointment. +To take possession of her splendid home, to assume the social +distinction it gave her, and to be near to the mother she idolized were +three great compensations, superseding abundantly the doubtful pleasures +of railway travel and sightseeing. + +Jane's mother had caused a pleasant surprise at her daughter's wedding, +for the past year's efforts at Harlow House had amply proved Mrs. +Harlow's executive abilities in its profitable management; and she was +so sure of this future result that she did not hesitate to buy a rich +and fashionable wedding-garment or to bring to the light once more the +beautiful pearls she had worn at her own bridal. There were indeed few +ladies at John's wedding more effectively gowned than his +mother-in-law--_except his mother_. + +Mrs. Hatton's splendid health set off her splendid beauty, fine +carriage, and sumptuous gown of silver-gray brocaded satin, emphasized +by sapphires of great luster and value. + +"I hevn't worn them since father died, thou knowest," she had said to +John the day before the wedding, as she stood before him with the gems +in her hands, "but tomorrow he will expect me to wear them both for his +sake and thine, thou dear, dear lad!" And she looked up at her son and +down at the jewels and her eyes were dim with tears. Presently she +continued, "Jane was here this afternoon. I dare say thou art going to +the train with her tonight, and may be she will tell thee what she is +going to wear. She didn't offer to tell me, and I wouldn't ask her--not +I!" + +"What for?" + +"I thought she happen might be a bit superstitious about talking of her +wedding fineries. You can talk the luck out of anything, you know, +John." + +"Nay, nay, mother!" + +"To be sure, you can. _Why-a!_ Your father never spoke of any business +he wanted to come to a surety, and if I asked him about an offer or a +contract he would answer, 'Be quiet, Martha, dost ta want to talk it to +death?'" + +"I will keep mind of that, mother." + +"Happen it will be worth thy while to do so." + +"Father was a shrewd man." + +"Well, then, he left one son able to best him if so inclined." + +"You will look most handsome, mother. I shall be proud of you. There +will be none like you at the London house." + +"I think that is likely, John. Jane's mother will look middling well, +but I shall be a bit beyond her. She showed me her gown, and her pearls. +They were not bad, but they might hev been better--so they might!" + +It was thus John Hatton's marriage came off. There was a dull, chill +service in St. Margaret's, every word of which was sacred to John, a gay +wedding-breakfast, and a laughing crowd from whom the bride and +bridegroom stole away, reaching their own home late in the afternoon. +They were as quiet there as if they had gone into a wilderness. Mrs. +Hatton remained in London for two weeks, with an old school companion, +and Mrs. Harlow was hospitably entertained by Lord and Lady Harlow, who +thoroughly respected her successful efforts to turn Harlow House into +more than a respectable living. + +Perhaps she was a little proud of her work, and a little tiresome in +explaining her methods, but that was a transient trial to be easily +looked over, seeing that its infliction was limited to a short period. +On the whole she was praised and pleased, and she told Mrs. Hatton when +they met again, that it was the first time her noble brother-in-law had +ever treated her with kindness and respect. + +So the days grew to months, and the months to more than four years, and +the world believed that all was prosperous with the Hattons. Perhaps in +Harry Hatton's case expectations had been a little bettered by +realities. At least in a great measure he had realized the things he had +so passionately desired when he resigned his share in the mill and gave +life up to love, music, and painting. He certainly possessed one of +those wonderful West Riding voices, whose power and sweetness leaves an +abiding echo in memory. And in London he had found such good teachers +and good opportunities that John was now constantly receiving programs +of musical entertainments in which Harry Hatton had a prominent part. +Indeed, John had gone specially to the last Leeds musical event, and had +been greatly delighted with the part assigned Harry and the way in which +he rendered it. + +Afterwards he described to Harry's mother the popularity of her son. +"Why, mother," he said, "the big audience were most enthusiastic when +Harry stepped forward. He looked so handsome and his smile and bearing +were so charming, that you could not wonder the people broke into cheers +and bravos. I was as enthusiastic as anyone present. And he sang, yes, +he sang like an angel. Upon my word, mother, one could not expect a soul +who had such music in it to be silent." + +"I'm sure I don't know where he got the music. His father never sang a +note that I know of, and though I could sing a cradle song when a crying +child needed it, nobody ever offered me money to do it; and your father +has said more than often when so singing, '_Be quiet, Martha_!' So his +father and mother did not give Harry Hatton any such foolish notions and +ways." + +"Every good gift is from God, mother, and we ought not to belittle them, +ought we, now?" + +"I'm sure I don't know, John. I've been brought up with cotton-spinners, +and it is little they praise, if it be not good yarns and warps and +wefts and big factories with high, high chimneys." + +"Well, then, cotton-spinners are mostly very fine singers. You know +that, mother." + +"To be sure, but they don't make a business of singing, not they, +indeed! They work while they sing. But to see a strapping young man in +evening dress or in some other queer make of clothes, step forward +before a crowd and throw about his arms and throw up his eyes and sing +like nothing that was ever heard in church or chapel is a stunningly +silly sight, John. I saw and heard a lot of such rubbishy singing and +dressing when I was in London." + +"Still, I think we ought to be proud of Harry." + +"Such nonsense! I'm more than a bit ashamed of him. I am that! You +can't respect people who _amuse_ you, like you do men who put their +hands to the world's daily work. No, you can not, John. I would have +been better suited if Harry had stuck to his painting business. He could +have done that in his own house, shut up and quiet like; but when I was +in London I saw pictures of Henry Hatton, of our Harry, mind ye, singing +in all makes and manners of fool dresses. I hope to goodness his father +does not know a Hatton man is exhibiting himself to gentle and simple in +such disreputable clothes. I have been wondering your father hasn't been +to see me about it." + +"To see you, mother?" + +"To be sure. If there's anything wrong at Hatton, he generally comes and +gives me his mind on the same." + +"You mean that you dream he does?" + +"You may as well call it 'dreaming' as anything else. The name you give +it doesn't matter, does it?" + +"Not much, mother. I brought home with me two of Harry's paintings. They +are fine copies of famous pictures. I gave him fifty pounds for them and +thought them cheap at that." + +"Well, then, if I was buying Harry's work, I would not count on its +cheapness. I'll be bound that you bought them as an excuse for giving +him money. I would buy or give away, one or the other. I hate +make-believes--I do that!--of all kinds and for all reasons, good or +bad." + +"There was nothing like pretending in the transaction, mother. The +pictures were good, I paid their value and no more or less, because they +were only copies. Harry's technique is perfect, and his feeling about +color and atmosphere wonderful, but he cannot create a picture. He has +not the imagination. I am sorry for it." + +"Be sorry if you like, John. I have a poor opinion of imagination, +except in religious matters. However, Harry has chosen his own way: I +don't approve of it. I won't praise him, and I won't quarrel with him. +You can do as you like. One thing is sure--he is more than good enough +for the girl he married." + +"He is very fond of her and I do believe she keeps Harry straight. He +does just as she thinks best about most things." + +"Does he? Then he ought to be ashamed of himself to take orders from +her. Many times he sneaked round my orders and even his father's, and +then to humble a Hatton to obey the orders of a poor Welsh girl! It's a +crying shame! It angers me, John! It would anger anyone, it would. You +can't say different, John." + +"Yes, I can, mother. I assure you that Lucy is just the wife Harry +needs. And they have two fine little lads. I wish the eldest--called +Stephen after my father--was my own son. I do that!" + +"Nay, my dear. There's no need for such a wish. There are sons and +daughters for Hatton, no doubt of that. Thy little Martha is very dear +to my heart." + +"To mine also, mother." + +"Then be thankful--and patient. I'm going upstairs to get a letter I +want posted. Will you take it to the mail for me?" + +Then Mrs. Hatton left the room and John looked wistfully after her. "It +is always so," he thought. "If I name children, she goes. What does it +mean?" + +He looked inquiringly into his mother's face when she returned and she +smiled cheerfully back, but it was with the face of an angry woman she +watched him to the gate, muttering words she would not have spoken had +there been anyone to hear them nearby. And John's attitude was one of +uncertain trouble. He carried himself intentionally with a lofty +bearing, but in spite of all his efforts to appear beyond care, he was +evidently in the grip of some unknown sorrow. + +That it was unknown was in a large degree the core of his anxiety. He +had noticed for a long time that his mother was apparently very +unsympathetic when his wife was suffering from violent attacks of +sickness which made her physician tread softly and look grave, and that +even Jane's mother, though she nursed her daughter carefully, was +reticent and exceedingly nervous. _What could it mean?_ + +He had just passed through an experience of this kind, and as he +thought of Jane and her suffering the hurry of anxious love made him +quicken his steps and he went rapidly home, so rapidly that he forgot +the letter with which he had been intrusted. He knew by the light in +Jane's room that she was awake and he hastened there. She was evidently +watching and listening for his coming, for as soon as the door was +partly open, she half-rose from the couch on which she was lying and +stretched out her arms to him. + +In an instant he was kneeling at her side. "My darling," he whispered. +"My darling! Are you better?" + +"I am quite out of pain, John, only a little weak. In a few days I shall +be all right." But John, looking into the white face that had once been +so radiant, only faintly admitted the promise of a few days putting all +right. + +"I have been lonely today dear, so lonely! My mother did not come, and +Mother Hatton has not even sent to ask whether I was alive or dead." + +"Yet she is very unhappy about your condition. Jane, my darling Jane! +What is it that induces these attacks? Does your medical man know?" + +"If so, he does not tell me. I am a little to blame this time, John. On +the afternoon I was taken sick, I went in the carriage to the village. I +ought not to have gone. I was far from feeling well, and as soon as I +reached the market-house, I met two men helping a wounded girl to the +hospital. Do you remember, John?" + +"I remember. Her hand was caught in some machinery and torn a good deal. +I sent the men with her to the village." + +"While I was speaking to her, Mrs. Mark Levy drove up. She insisted on +taking what she called 'the poor victim' to the hospital in her +carriage; and before I could interfere the two men lifted the girl into +Mrs. Levy's carriage and they were off like lightning without a word to +me. I was so angry. I turned sick and faint and was obliged to come home +as quickly as possible and send for Dr. Sewell." + +"O Jane! Why did you care?" + +"I was shocked by that woman's interference." + +"She meant it kindly. I suppose----" + +"But what right had she to meddle with your hands? If the girl required +to be taken in a carriage to the hospital, there was my carriage. I +think that incident helped to make me sick." + +"You should have lifted the injured girl at once, Jane, and then Mrs. +Levy would have had no opportunity to take your place." + +"She is such an interfering woman. Her fingers are in everyone's way and +really, John, she has got the charitable affairs of Hatton town in her +hands. The girls' clubs rely on her for everything, and she gives +without any consideration, John. How much is her husband worth? Is he +very rich? She appears to have no end of money--and John, dear, she is +always in my way. I don't know how she manages it, but she is. I wish +you would get them out of our town, dear." + +"I cannot, Jane. Levy is a large property-owner. He is not indigent. He +is not lazy. He is not in any way immoral. He has become a large +taxpayer, and has of late political aspirations. He annoys me +frequently, but money is now everything. And he has money--plenty of it. +Until he came, we were the richest family in Hatton. Father and I have +really built Hatton. We have spent thousands of pounds in making it a +model community, but we have received little gratitude. I think, Jane, +that men have more respect for those who _make_ money, than for those +who _give it away_." + +"You don't like Mr. Levy, do you, John?" + +"He annoys me very frequently. It is not easy to like people who do +that." + +"His wife annoys me. Cannot we make up some plan to put them down a peg +or two?" + +"We can do nothing against them, my dear." + +"Why, John?" + +"Because 'God beholdeth mischief and spite to requite it.' And after +all, these Levys are only trying to win public respect and that by +perfectly honorable means. True they are pushing, but no one can push +Yorkshire men and women beyond their own opinions and their own +interests. In the meantime, they are helpful to the town." + +"Mrs. Swale, of Woodleigh, told me she had heard that Mrs. Levy came +from the Lake District and is a Christian. Do you believe that, John?" + +"Not for a minute. Mr. Levy is a Hebrew of long and honorable descent. +His family came from Spain to England in the time of Henry the Seventh. +Such Jews never marry Christian women. I do not believe either love or +money could make them do it. I have no doubt that Mrs. Levy has a family +record as ancient and as honorable as her husband's. She is a +kind-hearted woman and really handsome. She has four beautiful sons. I +tell you, Jane, when she stands in the midst of them she is a sight +worth looking at." + +Jane laughed scornfully, and Jane's husband continued with decided +emotion, "Yes, indeed, when you see Mrs. Levy with her four sons you see +a woman in her noblest attribute. You see her as _the mother of men_." + +"What is Mr. Levy's business? Who knows?" + +"Everyone in Hatton knows that he is an importer of Spanish wines and +fine tobaccos." + +"Oh! The ladies generally thought he was a money lender." + +"He may be--it is not unlikely." + +"Mrs. Swale said so." + +"I dare say Mrs. Swale's husband knows." + +"Well, John, the Levys cannot touch me. The Harlows have been in +Yorkshire before the Romans came and my family is not only old, it is +noble, or John Hatton would not have married me." + +"John Hatton would have married you if you had been a beggar-maid. There +is no woman in the world to him, but his own sweet Jane." Then Jane took +his hands and kissed them, and there was a few moments of most eloquent +silence--a silence just touched with happy tears. + +John spoke first. "Jane, my darling," he said, "do you think a few +months in the south would do you good? If you could lie out in the warm +breeze and the sunshine--if you were free of all these little social +worries--if you took your mother with you--if you----" + +"John, my dear one, I have an invitation from Lady Harlow to spend a few +weeks with her. Surrey is much warmer than Yorkshire. I might go there." + +"Yes," answered John, but his voice was reluctant and dissenting, and in +a few moments he said, "There is little Martha--could you take her with +you?" + +"Oh dear me! What would be the good of my going away to rest, if I drag +a child with me? You know Martha is spoiled and wilful." + +"Is she? I am sorry to hear that. She would, however, have her maid, and +she is now nearly three years old." + +"It would be useless for me to go away, unless I go alone. I suggested +Surrey because I thought you could come to see me every Saturday." + +The little compliment pleased John, and he answered, "You shall do just +as you wish, darling! I would give up everything to see you look as you +used to look." + +"You are always harping on that one string, John. It is only four years +since we were married. Have I become an old woman in four years?" + +"No, but you have become a sick woman. I want you to be well and +strong." + +Then she lay back on her pillows, and as she closed her eyes some quick, +hot tears were on her white face, and John kissed them away, and with a +troubled heart, uncertain and unhappy, he bid her good night. + +Nothing in the interview had comforted or enlightened him, but there was +that measure of the Divine spirit in John Hatton, which enabled him to +_rise above_ what he could not _go through_. He had found even from his +boyhood that for the chasms of life wings had been provided and that he +could mount heaven-high by such help and bring back strength for every +hour of need. And he was comforted by the word that came to him, and he +fell asleep to the little antiphony he held with his own soul: + + O Lord how happy is the time-- + + * * * * * +When from my weariness I climb, + Close to thy tender breast. + + * * * * * + + For there abides a peace of Thine, + Man did not make, and cannot mar. + + * * * * * + + Perfect I call Thy plan, + I trust what Thou shalt do. + +And in some way and through some intelligence he was counseled as he +slept, in two words--_Mark Sewell_. And he wondered that he had not +thought of his wife's physician before. Yet there was little need to +wonder. He was always at the mill when Doctor Sewell paid his visit, and +he took simply and reliably whatever Mrs. Harlow and Jane confided to +him. But when he awoke in the misty daylight, the echo of the two words +he had heard was still clear and positive in his mind; consequently he +went as soon as possible to Dr. Sewell's office. + +The Doctor met him as if he was an expected client. "You are come at +last, Hatton," he said. "I have been expecting you for a long time." + +"Then you know what instruction I have come for?" + +"I should say I do." + +"What is the matter with my wife's health?" + +"I ought to send you to her for that information. She can tell you +better than I can." + +"Sewell, what do you mean? Speak straight." + +"Hatton, there are some women who love children and who will even risk +social honor for maternity. There are other women who hate motherhood +and who will constantly risk suicide rather than permit it. Mrs. Hatton +belongs to the latter class." + +John was stupefied at these words. He could only look into the Doctor's +face and try to assimilate their meaning. For they fell upon his ears as +if each syllable was a blow and he could not gather them together. + +"My wife! Jane--do you mean?" and he looked helplessly at Sewell and it +was some minutes before John could continue the conversation or rather +listen to Sewell who then sat down beside him and taking his hand in his +own said, + +"Do not speak, Hatton. I will talk for you. I should have spoken long +ago, but I knew not whether you--you--forgive me, Hatton, but there are +such men. If I have slandered you in my thought, if I have done you this +great wrong----" + +"Oh Doctor, the hope and despair of my married life has been--the +longing for my sons and daughters." + +"Poor lad! And thee so good and kind to every little one, that comes in +thy way. It is too bad, it is that. By heaven, I am thankful to be an +old bachelor! Thou must try and understand, John, that women are never +the same, and yet that in some great matters, what creation saw them, +they are today. Their endless variety and their eternal similarity are +what charm men. In the days of the patriarchs there were women who would +not have children, and there were women also who longed and prayed for +them, even as Hannah did. It is just that way today. Their reasons then +and their reasons now may be different but both are equally powerful." + +"I never heard tell of such women! Never!" + +"They were not likely to come thy road. Thou wert long in taking a wife, +and when thou did so it was unfortunate thou took one bred up in the way +she should _not_ go. I know women who are slowly killing themselves by +inducing unnatural diseases through the denial and crucifixion of +Nature. Thy own wife is one of them. That she hes not managed the +business is solely because she has a superabundance of vitality and a +perfect constitution. Physically, Nature intended her for a perfect +mother, but--but she cannot go on as she is doing. I have told her +so--as plainly as I knew how. Now I tell thee. Such ways cannot go on." + +"They will be stopped--at once--this day--this hour." + +"Nay, nay. She is still very weak and nervous." + +"She wants to go to London." + +"Let her go." + +"But I must speak to her before she goes." + +"In a few days." + +"Sewell, I thank you. I know now what I have to meet. It is the grief +_not sure_ that slays hope in a man." + +"To be sure. Does Mrs. Stephen Hatton know of your wife's practices?" + +"No. I will stake my honor on that. She may suspect her, but if she was +certain she would have spoken to me." + +"Then it is her own mother, and most likely to be so." + +It was noon before John reached Hatton mill. He had received a shock +which left him far below his usual condition, and yet feeling so cruelly +hurt and injured that it was difficult to obey the physician's request +to keep his trouble to himself for a few days. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE GODDESS OF THE TENDER FEET + + + The goddess Calamity is delicate ...her feet are tender. Her feet + are soft, for she treads not upon the ground, she makes her path + upon the hearts of men.--PINDAR. + + Animosities perish, the humanities are eternal. + +One morning, nearly a week after his interview with Dr. Sewell, John +found Jane in her room surrounded by fine clothing and trunks and +evidently well enough to consider what he had to say to her. + +"What are you doing, Jane?" he asked. + +"Why, John, I am sorting out the dresses that are nice enough for +London. I think I shall be well enough to go to Aunt Harlow next week." + +"I wish you would come to my room. I want to speak to you." + +"Your room is such a bare, chilly place, John." + +"It is secluded and we must have no listener to what I am going to say +to you." + +Jane looked up quickly and anxiously, asking, "Are you in trouble, +John?" + +"Yes, in great trouble." + +"About money?" + +"Worse than that." + +"Then it is that tiresome creature, Harry." + +"No. It is yourself." + +"Oh, indeed; I think you had better look for someone else to quarrel +with." + +"I have no quarrel with anyone; I have something to say to you, and to +you, only; but there are always servants in and out of your rooms." + +She rose reluctantly, saying as she did so, "If I get cold, it makes no +matter, I suppose." + +"Everything about you is of the greatest importance to me, I suppose you +know that." + +"It may be so or it may not be so. You have scarcely noticed me for +nearly a week. I am going to London. There, I hope, I shall receive a +little more love and attention." + +"But you are not going to London." + +"I am going to London. I have written to Lady Harlow saying I would be +with her on next Monday evening." + +"Write to Lady Harlow at once and tell her you will not be able to leave +home." + +"That is no excuse for breaking my word." + +"Tell her I, your husband, need you here. No other excuse is necessary." + +Jane laughed as if she was highly amused. "Does 'I, my husband,' expect +Lady Harlow and Jane Hatton to change their plans for his whim?" + +"Not for any whim of mine, Jane, would I ask you to change your plans. I +have heard something which will compel me to pay more attention to +you." + +"Goodness knows, I am thankful for that! During my late illness, I think +you were exceedingly negligent." + +"Why did you make yourself so ill? Tell me that." + +"Such a preposterous question!" she replied, but she was startled and +frightened by it and more so by the anger in John's face and voice. In a +moment the truth flashed upon her consciousness and it roused just as +quickly an intense contradiction and a willful determination not only to +stand her ground but to justify her position. + +"If this is your catechism, John, I have not yet learned it." + +"Sit down, Jane. You must tell me the truth if it takes all the day. You +had better sit down." + +Then she threw herself into the large easy chair he pushed towards her; +for she felt strangely weak and trembling and John's sorrowful, angry +manner terrified her. + +"Jane," he said, "I have heard to my great grief and shame that it is +your fault we have no more children." + +"I think Martha is one too many." At the moment she uttered these words +she was sorry. She did not mean them. She had only intended to annoy +John. + +And John cried out, "Good God, Jane. Do you know what you are saying? +Suppose God should take the dear one from us this night." + +"I do not suppose things about God. I do not think it is right to +inquire as to what He may do." + +"Jane, it is useless to twist my question into another meaning. Suppose +you had not destroyed our other children before they saw the light?" + +"John," she cried, "how dare you say such dreadful things to me? I will +not listen to you. Open the door. You might well put the key in your +pocket--and I have been so ill. I have suffered so much--it is +dreadful"--and she fell into a fit of hysterical weeping. + +John waited patiently until she had sobbed herself quiet, then he +continued, "When I think of my sons or daughters, _written down in God's +Book_ and blotted out by _you_." + +"I will not listen. You are mad. Your 'sons or daughters' could not be +hurt by anyone before they had life." + +"They always had life. Before the sea was made or the mountains were +brought forth, + + 'Ere suns and moons could wax and wane, + God thought on _me_ his child,' + +and on _you_ and on _every soul_ made for immortality by the growth that +fresh birth gives it. He loves us with an everlasting love. No false +mother can destroy a child's soul, but she can destroy its flesh and so +retard and interfere with its eternal growth. This is the great sin--the +sin of blood-guiltiness--any woman may commit it." + +"You talk sheer nonsense, John. I do not believe anything you say." + +Then John went to a large Bible lying open on a table. "Listen, then," +he said, "to the Word of God"; and with intense solemnity he read aloud +to her the wonderful verses in the one-hundred-and-thirty-ninth Psalm, +between the twelfth and seventeenth, laying particular stress on the +sixteenth verse, "'Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being imperfect; +and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were +fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.' So then Jane, dear Jane, +you see from the very, very first, when as yet no member of the child +had been formed it was _written down in God's Book_ as a man or a woman +yet to be. All souls so written down, are the children of the Most High. +It was not only yourself and me you were wronging, Jane, you were +sinning against the Father and lover of souls, for we are all 'the +children of the most High.'" + +But Jane was apparently unmoved. "I am tired," she said wearily. "I want +to go to my room." + +"I have other things to say to you, most important things. Will you come +here this evening after dinner?" + +"No, I will not. I am going to see mother." + +"Call at Hatton House as you come back, and I will meet you there." + +"I shall not come back today. I feel ill--and no wonder." + +"When will you return?" + +"I don't know. I tell you I feel ill." + +"Then you had better not go to Harlow House." + +"Where else should a woman go in trouble but to her mother? When her +heart is breaking, then she knows that the nest of all nests is her +mother's breast." + +John wanted to tell her that God and a loving husband might and surely +would help her, but when she raised her lovely, sad eyes brimming with +tears and he saw how white and full of suffering her face was, he could +not find in his heart to dispute her words. For he suffered in seeing +her suffer far more than she could understand. + +At her own room door he left her and his heart was so heavy he could not +go to the mill. He could not think of gold and cotton while there was +such an abyss between him and his wife. Truly she had wronged and +wounded him in an intolerable manner, but his great love could look +beyond the wrong to her repentance and to his forgiveness. + +Walking restlessly about his room or lost in sorrowful broodings an hour +passed, and then he began to tell himself that he must not for the +indulgence of even his great grief desert his lawful work. If things +went wrong at the mill, because of his absence, and gain was lost for +his delay, he would be wronging many more than John Hatton. Come what +might to him personally, he was bound by his father's, as well as his +own, promise to be "diligent in business, serving the Lord." That was +the main article of Hatton's contract with the God they served--the +poor, the sick, the little children whom no one loved, he could not +wrong them because he was in trouble with his wife. + +Such thoughts came over him like a flood and he instantly rose up to +answer them. In half an hour he was at his desk, and there he lost the +bitterness of his grief in his daily work. _Work_, the panacea for all +sorrow, the oldest gospel preached to men! And because his soul was fit +for the sunshine it followed him, and the men who only met him among the +looms went for the rest of the day with their heads up and a smile on +their faces, so great is the strengthening quality in the mere presence +of a man of God, going about his daily business in the spirit of God. + +He found no wife to meet him at the end of the day. Jane had gone to +Harlow House and taken her maid and a trunk with her. He made no remark. +What wise thing could he do but quietly bear an evil that was past cure +and put a good face on it? He did not know whether or not Jane had +observed the same reticence, but he quickly reflected that no good could +come from servants discussing what they knew nothing about. + +However, when Jane did not return or send him any message, the +following day his anxiety was so great that he called on Dr. Sewell in +the evening and asked if he could tell him of his wife's condition. + +"I was sent for this morning to Harlow House," he answered. + +"Is she ill--worse?" + +"No. She is fretting. She ought to fret. I gave her some soothing +medicine. I am not sure I did right." + +"O Sewell, what shall I do?" + +"Go to Madame Hatton. She is a good, wise woman. She is not in love with +her daughter-in-law, but she is as just as women ever are. She will give +you far better counsel than a mere man can offer you." + +So late as it was, John rode up to Hatton Hall. It had begun to rain but +he heeded not any physical discomfort. Still he had a pleasant feeling +when he saw the blaze of Hatton hearthfire brightening the dark shadows +of the dripping trees. And he suddenly sent his boyish "hello" before +him, so it was Mrs. Hatton herself who opened the big hall door, who +stood in the glow of the hall lamp to welcome him, and who between +laughing and scolding sent him to his old room to change his wet +clothing. + +He came back to her with a smile and a dry coat, saying, "Dear mother, +you keep all the same upstairs. There isn't pin nor paper moved since I +left my room." + +"Of course I keep all the same. I would feel very lonely if I hadn't thy +room and Harry's to look into. They are not always empty. Sometimes I +feel as if you might be there, and Oh but I am happy, when I do so! I +just say a 'good morning' or a 'good night' and shut the door. It is a +queer thing, John." + +"What is queer, mother?" + +"That feeling of 'presence.' But whatever brings thee here at this time +of night? and it raining, too, as if there was an ark to float!" + +"Well, mother, there is in a way. I am in trouble." + +"I was fearing it." + +"Why?" + +"I heard tell that Jane was at Harlow. What is she doing there, my +dear?" + +"Dr. Sewell told me something about Jane." + +"Oh! He told you at last, did he! He ought to have told you long ago." + +"Has he known it a long time?" + +"He has--if he knows anything." + +"And you--mother?" + +"I was not sure as long as he kept quiet, and hummed and ha'ed about it. +But I said enough to Jane on two occasions to let her know I suspected +treachery both to her own life and soul and to thee." + +"And to my unborn children, mother." + +"To be sure. It is a sin and a shame, both ways. It is that! The last +time she was here, she told me as a bit of news, that Mary Fairfax had +died that morning of cancer, and I said, 'Not she. She killed herself.' +Then Jane said, 'You are mistaken, mother, she died of cancer.' I +replied a bit hotly, 'She gave herself cancer. I have no doubt of that, +and so she died as she deserved to die.' And when Jane said, 'No one +could give herself cancer,' I told her plain and square that she did it +by refusing the children God sent her to bear and to bring up for Him, +taking as a result the pangs of cancer. She knew very well what I +meant." + +"What did she say?" + +"Not a word. She was too angry to speak wisely and wise enough not to +speak at all." + +"Well, mother?" + +"I said much more of the same kind. I told her that no one ever abused +Nature and got off scot-free. _'Why-a!'_ I said, 'it is thus and so in +the simplest matters. If you or I eat too much we have a sick headache +or dyspepsia. If you dance or ride too much your heart suffers, and you +know what happened to Abram Bowles with drinking too much. It is much +worse,' I went on, 'if a tie is broken it is death to one or the other +or both, especially if it is done again and again. Nature maltreated +will send in her bill. That is sure as life and death, and the longer it +is delayed, the heavier the bill.' I went on and told her that Mary +Fairfax had been married seventeen years and had never borne but one +child. She had long credit, I said, but Nature sent in her bill at last, +and Mary had it to settle. Now, John, I did my duty, didn't I?" + +"You did, mother. What did Jane say?" + +"She said women had a hard lot to endure. She said they were born slaves +and died slaves and a good deal more of the same kind of talk. I told +her in reply that women were sent into life _to give life_, to be, as +thou said, _mothers of men_, and she laughed, a queer kind of laugh +though. Then I added, 'You may like the reason or not, Jane. You may +accept or defy it, but I tell you plainly, motherhood was and is and +always will be the chief reason and end of womanhood.'" + +"Well, mother?" + +"She was unpleasant and sarcastic and said this and that for pure +aggravation about the selfishness of men. So our cup of tea was a bit +bitter, and as a last fling she said my muffins were soggy and she would +send me her mother's receipt. And I have been making muffins for thirty +years, John!" + +"I am astonished at Jane. She is usually so careful not to hurt or +offend." + +"Well, she forgets once in a while. I had the best of the argument, for +I had only to remind her that it was I who taught her mother how to make +muffins and who gave her my receipt for the same. Then she said, +'Really,' and, 'It is late, I must go!' And go she did and I have not +seen her since." + +"I wish I knew what to do, mother." + +"Go to thy bed now and try to sleep. This thing is beyond thy ordering +or mending. Leave it to those who are wiser than thou art. It will be +put right at the right time by them. And don't meddle with it rashly. +Every step thou takes is like stirring in muddy water--every step makes +it muddier." + +"But I must go to Harlow and see Jane if she does not come home." + +"Thou must not go a step on that road. If thou does, thou may go on +stepping it time without end. She left thee of her own free will. Let +her come back in the same way. She is wrong. If thou wert wrong, I would +tell thee so. Yes, I would be the first to bid thee go to Harlow and say +thou wanted to be forgiven and loved again." + +"I believe that, mother." + +"By the Word of Christ, I would!" + +"I shall be utterly unhappy if I do not know that she is well." + +"Ask Sewell. If she is sick he will know and he will tell thee the +truth. Go now and sleep. Thy pillow may give thee comfort and wisdom." + +"Your advice is always right, mother. I will take it." + +"Thou art a good man, John, and all that comes to thee shall be good in +the fullness of its time and necessity. Kiss me, thou dear lad! I am +proud to be thy mother. It is honor enough for Martha Hatton!" + +That night John slept sorrowfully and he had the awakening from such a +sleep--the slow, yet sudden realization of his trouble finding him out. +It entered his consciousness with the force of a knockdown blow; he +could hardly stand up against it. Usually he sang or whistled as he +dressed himself, and this was so much a habit of his nature that it +passed without notice in his household. Once, indeed, his father had +fretfully alluded to it, saying, "Singing out of time is always singing +out of tune," and Mrs. Hatton had promptly answered, + +"Keep thyself to thyself, Stephen. Singing beats grumbling all to +pieces. Give me the man who _can_ sing at six o'clock in the morning. He +is worth trusting and loving, I'll warrant that. I wish thou would sing +thyself. Happen it might sweeten thee a bit." And Stephen Hatton had +kept himself to himself, about John's early singing thereafter. + +This morning there was no song in John's heart and no song on his lips. +He dressed silently and rapidly as if he was in a hurry to do something +and yet he did not know what to do. His mother's positive assertion, +that the best way out of the difficulty was to let it solve itself, did +not satisfy him. He wanted to see his wife. He knew he must say some +plain, hard words to her; but she loved him, and she would surely listen +and understand how hard it was for him to say them. + +He went early to the mill. He hoped there might be a letter there for +him. When he found none among his mail, he hurried back to his home. +"Jane would send her letter there," he thought. But there was no letter +there. Then his heart sank within him, but he took no further step at +that hour. Business from hundreds of looms called him. Hundreds of +workers were busy among them. Greenwood was watching for him. Clerks +were waiting for his directions and the great House of Labor shouted +from all its myriad windows. + +With a pitiful and involuntary "God help me!" he buckled himself to his +mail. It was larger than ordinary, but he went with exact and patient +care over it. He said to himself, "Troubles love to flock together and I +expect I shall find a worrying letter from Harry this morning"; but +there was no letter at all from Harry and he felt relieved. The only +personal note that came to him was a request that he would not fail to +be present at the meeting of the Gentlemen's Club that evening, as there +was important business to transact. + +He sat with this message in his hand, considering. He had for some time +felt uneasy about his continuance in the Club, for its social +regulations were strict and limited. Composed mostly of the landed +gentry in the neighborhood, it had very slowly and reluctantly opened +its doors to a few of the most wealthy manufacturers, and Harry's +appearance as a public and professional singer negatived his right to +its exclusive membership. In case Harry was asked to resign, John would +certainly withdraw with his brother. Yet the mere thought of such a +social humiliation troubled him. + +When the mail was attended to be rose quickly, shook himself, as if he +would shake off the trouble that oppressed him, and went through the +mill with Greenwood. This duty he performed with such minute attention +that the overseer privately wondered whatever was the matter with +"Master John," but soon settled the question, by a decision that "he hed +been worried by his wife a bit, and it hed put him all out of gear, and +no wonder." For Greenwood had had his own experiences of this kind and +had suffered many things in consequence of them. So he was sorry for +John as he told himself that "whether married men were rich or poor, +things were pretty equal for them." + +Just as the two men parted, Jonathan said, in a kind of afterthought +way, "There's a full meeting of the Gentlemen's Club tonight, sir. I +suppose you know." + +"Certainly, but how is it _you_ know?" + +"You may well ask that, sir. I am truly nobbut one o' John Hatton's +overseers, but I hev a son who has married into a landed family, and he +told me that some of the old quality were going to propose his +father-in-law for membership tonight. I promised my Ben I would ask your +vote in Master Akers' favor." + +"Akers has bought a deal of land lately, I hear." + +"Most of the old Akers' Manor back, and there are those who think he +ought to be recognized. I hope you will give him a ball of the right +color, sir." + +"Greenwood, I am not well acquainted with Israel Akers. I see him at the +market dinner occasionally, but----" + +"Think of it, sir. It is mebbe right to believe in a man until you find +out he isn't worthy of trust." + +"That is quite contrary to your usual advice, Greenwood." + +"_Privately_, sir, I am a very trusting man. That is my nature--but in +business it is different--trusting doesn't work in business, sir. You +know that, sir." + +John nodded an assent, and said, "Look after loom forty, Greenwood. It +was idle. Find out the reason. As to Akers, I shall do the kind and just +thing, you may rest on that. Is he a pleasant man personally?" + +"I dare say he is pleasant enough at a dinner-table, and I'll allow that +he is varry unpleasant at a piece table in the Town Hall. But webs of +stuff and pieces of cloth naturally lock up a man's best self. He +wouldn't hev got back to be Akers of Akerside if things wern't that way +ordered." + +This Club news troubled John. He did not believe that Akers cared a +penny piece for a membership, and pooh-pooh it as he would, this +trifling affair would not let him alone. It gnawed under the great +sorrow of Jane's absence, like a rat gnawing under his bed or chair. + +But come what will, time and the hour run through the hardest day; the +looms suddenly stopped, the mill was locked, the crowd of workers +scattered silently and wearily, and John rode home with a sick sense of +sorrow at his heart. He had no hope that Jane would be there. He knew +the dear, proud woman too well to expect from her such an impossible +submission. Tears sprang to his eyes as he thought of her, and yet there +was set before him an inexorable duty which he dared not ignore, for the +things of Eternity rested on it. + +He left his horse at the stable and walked slowly round to the front of +the house. As he reached the door it was swiftly opened, and in smiles +and radiant raiment Jane stood waiting to receive him. + +"John! John, dear!" she said softly, and he took her in his arms and +whispered her name over and over on her lips. + +"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," she said, "and it is the dinner +you like best of all. Do not loiter, John." + +He shook his head happily and took the broad low steps as a boy +might--two or three at a time. Everything now seemed possible to him. +"She is in an angel's temper," he thought. "She has divined between the +wrong and the right. She will throw the wrong over forever." + +And Jane watched him up the stairs with womanly pleasure. She said to +herself, "How handsome he is! How good he is! There are none like him." +Then her face clouded, and she went into the parlor and sat down. She +knew there was a trying conversation before her, but, "John cannot +resist the argument of my beauty," she thought, "It is sure to prevail." +In a few moments she continued her reflections. "I may be weak enough to +give a promise for the future, but I will never, never, admit I was +wrong in the past. Make your stand there, Jane Hatton, for if he ever +thinks you did wrong knowingly, you will lose all your influence over +him." + +During dinner and while the butler was in the room the conversation was +kept upon general subjects, and John in this interval spoke of Akers' +wish to join the Gentlemen's Club. + +"I am not astonished," answered Jane. "Mrs. Will Clough and her daughter +arrived in my Club a year ago. They are very pushing and what they call +'advanced.' They do not believe that the earth is the Lord's nor yet +that it belongs to man. They think it is woman's own heritage. And they +want the name of the Club changed. It has always been the Society Club. +Mrs. William Clough thinks a society club is shockingly behind the +times; and she proposed changing it to the Progressive Club. She said we +were all, she hoped, progressive women." + +"Well, Jane, my dear, this is interesting. What next?" + +"Mrs. Israel Akers said she had been told that 'very few of the +old-fashioned women were left in Hatton, that even the women in the +mills were progressing and getting nearer and nearer to the modern +ideal'; and she added in a plaintive voice, 'I'm a good bit past +seventy, and I hope some old-fashioned women will live as long as I do, +that we may be company for each other.' Mrs. Clough told her, 'she would +soon learn to love the new woman,' and she said plain out, 'Nay not I! I +can't understand her, and I doan't know what she means.' Then Mrs. +Brierly spoke of the 'old woman' as a downtrodden 'creature' not to be +put in comparison with the splendid 'new woman' who was beginning to +arrive. I'm sure, John, it puzzles me." + +"I can only say, Jane, that the 'old woman' has filled her position for +millenniums with honor and affection, almost with adoration. I would not +like to say what will be the result of her taking to men's ways and +men's work." + +"You know, John, you cannot judge one kind of woman from the other kind. +They are so entirely different. Women have been kept so ignorant. Now +they place culture and knowledge before everything." + +"Surely not before love, Jane?" + +"Yes, indeed! Some put knowledge and progress--always progress--before +everything else." + +"My dear Jane, think of this--all we call 'progress' ends with death. +What is that progress worth which is bounded by the grave? If progress +in men and women is not united with faith in God, and hope in His +eternal life and love, I would not lift my hand or speak one word to +help either man or woman to such blank misery." + +"Do not put yourself out of the way, John. There will be no change in +the women of today that will affect you. But no doubt they will +eventually halve--and better halve--the world's work and honors with +men. Do you not think so, John?" + +"My dear, I know not; women perhaps may cease to be women; but I am +positive that men will continue to be men." + +"I mean that women will do men's work as well as men do it." + +"Nature is an obstinate dame. She offers serious opposition to that +result." + +"Well, I was only telling you how far progressive ideas had grown in +Hatton town. Women propose to share with men the honors of statecraft +and the wealth of trading and manufacturing." + +"Jane, dear, I don't like to hear you talking such nonsense. The mere +fact that women _can not fight_ affects all the unhappy equality they +aim at; and if it were possible to alter that fact, we should be +equalizing _down_ and not up." Then he looked at his watch and said he +must be at the Club very soon. + +"Will you remain in the parlor until I return, Jane?" he asked. "I will +come home as quickly as possible." + +"No, John, I find it is better for me to go to sleep early. Indeed, as +you are leaving me, I will go to my room now. Good night, dear!" + +He said good night but his voice was cold, and his heart anxious and +dissatisfied. And after Jane had left the room he sat down again, +irresolute and miserable. "Why should I go to the Club?" he asked +himself. "Why should I care about its small ways and regulations? I have +something far more important to think of. I will not go out tonight." + +He sat still thinking for half an hour, then he looked again at his +watch and found that it was yet possible to be at the Club in time. So +with a great sigh he obeyed that urging of duty, which even in society +matters he could not neglect and be at rest. + +There was no light in Jane's room when he returned home and he spent the +night miserably. Waking he felt as if walking through the valley of the +shadows of loss and intolerable wrong. Phantoms created by his own +sorrow and fear pressed him hard and dreams from incalculable depths +troubled and terrified his soul. In sleep it was no better. He was then +the prisoner of darkness, fettered with the bonds of a long night and +exiled for a space from the eternal Providence. + +At length, however, the sun rose and John awoke and brought the terror +to an end by the calling on One Name and by casting himself on the care +and mercy of that One, who is "a very present help in time of trouble." +That was all John needed. He did not expect to escape trouble. All he +asked was that God would be to him "a very present help" in it. + +Slowly and thoughtfully he dressed, wondering the while from what depths +of awful and forgotten experiences such dreams came. He was yet +awestruck and his spirit quailed when he thought of the eternity +_behind_ him. Meanwhile his trouble with Jane had partly receded to the +background of thought and feeling. He did not expect to see her at his +breakfast table. That was now a long-time-ago pleasure and he thought +that by dinner-time he would be more able to cope with the +circumstances. + +But when he reached the hall the wide door stood open, the morning +sunshine flooded the broad white marble steps which led to the entrance +and Jane was slowly ascending them. She had a little basket of fruit in +her hand, she was most fittingly gowned, and she looked exquisitely +lovely. As soon as John saw her, he ran down the steps to meet her, and +she put her hand in his and he kissed it. Then they went to the +breakfast-table together. + +The truce was too sweet to be broken and John took the comfort offered +with gratitude. Jane was in her most charming mood, she waited on him as +lord and lover of the home, found him the delicacies he liked, and gave +with every one that primordial touch of loving and oneness which is the +very heaven of marriage. She answered his words of affection with +radiant smiles and anon began to talk of the Club balloting. "Was it +really an important meeting, John?" she asked. And to her great surprise +John answered, "It would have been hard to make it more important, +Jane." + +"About old Akers! What nonsense!" + +"Akers gave us no hesitation. He was elected without a dissenting vote. +Another subject was, however, opened which is of the most vital +importance to cotton-spinners." + +"Whatever is to do, John?" + +"America is likely to go to war with herself--the cotton-spinning States +of the North, against the cotton-growing States of the South." + +"What folly!" + +"In a business point, yes, but there is something grander than business +in it--an idea that is universally in the soul of man--the idea of +freedom." + +"Yes, I have read about that quarrel, but men won't fight if it +interferes with their business, with their money-making and spinning." + +"You are wrong, Jane. Men of the Anglo-Saxon race and breeding will +fight more stubbornly for an idea than for conquest, injury, or even for +some favorite leader. Most nations fight for some personality; the +English race and its congeners fight for a principle or an idea. My +dear, remember that America fought England for eight years only for her +right of representation." + +"How can a war in America hurt us?" + +[Illustration: "He ran down the steps to meet her, and she put her hand +in his."] + +"By cutting off our cotton supply--unless England helps the Southern +States." + +"But she will do that." + +"No, she will not." + +"What then?" + +"If the war lasts long, we shall have to shut our factories." + +"That is not a pleasant thought, John. Let us put it aside this lovely +morning." + +Yet she kept reverting to the subject, and as all men love to be +inquired of and to give information, John was easily beguiled, and the +breakfast hour passed without a word that in any way touched the +sorrowful anxiety in his heart. But at length they rose and John said, + +"Jane, my dear, come into the garden. We will go to the summer-house. I +want to speak to you, dear. You know----" + +"John, I cannot stay with you this morning. There will be a committee of +the ladies of the Home Mission here at eleven o'clock. I have some +preparations for them to make and if I get put out of my way in the +meantime I shall be unable to meet them." + +"Is not our mutual happiness of more importance than this meeting?" + +"Of course it is. But you know, John, many things in life compel us +continually to put very inferior subjects before either our personal or +our mutual happiness. A conversation such as you wish cannot be +hurried. I am not yet sure what decision I shall come to." + +"Decision! Why, Jane, there is only one decision possible." + +"You are taking advantage of me, John. I will not talk more with you +this morning." + +"Then good morning." + +He spoke curtly and went away with the words. Love and anger strove in +his heart, but before he reached his horse, he ran rapidly back. He +found Jane still standing in the empty breakfast-room; her hands were +listlessly dropped and she was lost in an unhappy reverie. + +"Jane," he cried, "forgive me. You gave me a breakfast in Paradise this +morning. I shall never forget it. Good-bye, love." He would have kissed +her, but she turned her head aside and did not answer him a word. Yet +she was longing for his kiss and his words were music in her heart. But +that is the way with women; they wound themselves six times out of the +half-dozen wrongs of which they complain. + +The next moment she was sorry, Oh, so sorry, that she had sent the man +she loved to an exhausting day of thought and work with an aching pain +in his heart and his mental powers dulled. She had taken all joy and +hope out of his life and left him to fight his way through the hard, +noisy, cruel hours with anxiety and fear his only companions. + +"I am so sorry! I am so sorry!" she whispered. "What was the use of +making him happy for fifty-nine minutes, and then undoing it all in the +sixtieth? I wish--I wish----" and she had a swift sense of wrong and +shame in uttering her wish, and so let it die unspoken on her closed +lips. + +At the park entrance John stood still a minute; his desire was to put +Bendigo to his utmost speed and quickly find out the lonely world he +knew of beyond Hatton and Harlow. There he could mingle his prayer with +the fresh winds of heaven and the cries of beasts and birds seeking +their food from God. His flesh had been well satisfied, but Oh how +hungry was his soul! It longed for a renewed sense of God's love and it +longed for some word of assurance from Jane. Then there flashed across +his memory the rumor of war and the clouds in the far west gathering +volume and darkness every day. No, he could not run away; he must find +in the fulfilling of his duty whatever consolation duty could give him, +and he turned doggedly to the mill and his mail. + +Once more as he lifted his mail, he had that fear of a letter from Harry +which had haunted him more or less for some months. He shuffled the +letters at once, searching for the delicate, disconnected writing so +familiar to him and hardly knew whether its absence was not as +disquieting as its presence would have been. + +The mail being attended to, he sent for Greenwood and spoke to him about +the likelihood of war and its consequences. Jonathan proved to be quite +well informed on this subject. He said he had been on the point of +speaking about buying all the cotton they could lay hands on, but +thought Mr. Hatton was perhaps considering the question and not ready to +move yet. + +"Do you think they will come to fighting, Greenwood?" Mr. Hatton asked. + +"Well, sir, if they'll only keep to cotton and such like, they'll never +fire a gun, not they. But if they keep up this slavery threep, they'll +fight till one side has won and the other side is clean whipped forever. +Why not? That's our way, and most of them are chips of the old oak +block. A hundred years or more ago we had the same question to settle +and we settled it with money. It left us all nearly bankrupt, but it's +better to lose guineas than good men, and the blackamoors were well +satisfied, no doubt." + +"How do our men and women feel, Greenwood?" + +"They are all for the black men, sir. They hevn't counted the cost to +themselves yet. I'll put it up to them if that is your wish, sir." + +"You are nearer to them than I am, Jonathan." + +"I am one o' them, sir." + +"Then say the word in season when you can." + +"The only word now, sir, is that Frenchy bit o' radicalism they call +liberty. I told Lucius Yorke what I thought of him shouting it out in +England." + +"Is Yorke here?" + +"He was ranting away on Hatton green last night, and his catchword and +watchword was liberty, liberty, and again liberty!' He advised them to +get a blue banner for their Club, and dedicate it to liberty. Then I +stopped him." + +"What did you say?" + +"I told him to be quiet or I would make him. I told him we got beyond +that word in King John's reign. I asked if he hed niver heard of the +grand old English word _freedom_, and I said there was as much +difference between freedom and liberty, as there was between right and +wrong--and then I proved it to them." + +"What I want to know, Greenwood, is this. Will our people be willing to +shut Hatton factory for the sake of--_freedom?"_ + +"Yes, sir--every man o' them, I can't say about the women. No man can. +Bad or good, they generally want things to go on as they are. If all's +well for them and their children, they doan't care a snap for public +rights or wrongs, except mebbe in their own parish." + +"Well, Jonathan, I am going to prepare, as far as I can, for the worst. +If Yorke goes too far, give him a set down and advise all our workers to +try and save a little before the times come when there will be nothing +to save." + +"Yes, sir. That's sensible, and one here and there may happen listen to +me." + +Then John began to consider his own affairs, for his married life had +been an expensive one and Harry also a considerable drain on his +everyday resources. He was in the midst of this uncomfortable reckoning, +when there was a strong decisive knock at the door. He said, "Come in," +just as decisively and a tall, dark man entered--a man who did not +belong to cities and narrow doorways, but whom Nature intended for the +hills and her wide unplanted places. He was handsomely dressed and his +long, lean, dark face had a singular attraction, so much so, that it +made everything else of small importance. It was a face containing the +sum of human life and sorrow, its love, and despair, and victory; the +face of a man that had been and always would be a match for Fate. + +John knew him at once, either by remembrance or some divination of his +personality, and he rose to meet him saying, "I think you are Ralph +Lugur. I am glad to see you. Sit down, sir." + +"I wish that I had come on a more pleasant errand, John Hatton. I am in +trouble about my daughter and her husband." + +"What is wrong there?" and John asked the question a little coldly. + +"You must go to London, and see what is wrong. Harry is gambling. Lucy +makes no complaints, but I have eyes and ears. I need no words." + +"Are you sure of what you are saying, Lugur?" + +"I went and took him out of a gambling-house three days ago." + +"Thank you! I will attend to the matter." + +"You have no time to lose. If I told you your brother was in a burning +house, what haste you would make to save him! He is in still greater +danger. The first train you can get is the best train to take." + +"O Harry! Harry!" cried John, as he rose and began to lock his desk and +his safe. + +"Harry loves and will obey you. Make haste to help him before he begins +to love the sin that is now his great temptation." + +"Do you know much of Harry?" + +"I do and I love him. I have kept watch over him for some months. He is +worth loving and worth saving. Go at once to him." + +"Have you any opinion about the best means to be used in the future?" + +"He must leave London and come to Hatton where he can be under your +constant care. Will you accept this charge? I do not mind telling you +that it is your duty. These looms and spindles any clever spinner can +direct right, but it takes a soul to save a soul. You know that." + +"I will be in London tonight, Mr. Lugur. You are a friend worth having. +I thank you." + +"Good-bye! I leave for Cardiff at once. I leave Harry with God and +you--and I would not be hard with Harry." + +"I shall not. I love Harry." + +"You cannot help loving him. He is doing wrong, but you cannot stop +loving him, and you know it was _while as yet we were sinners_, God +loved and saved us. Good-bye, sir!" + +The door closed and John turned the key and sat down for a few minutes +to consider his position. This sorrow on the top of his disagreement +with Jane and his anxiety about the threatened war in America called +forth all his latent strength. He told himself that he must now put +personal feelings aside and give his attention first of all to Harry's +case, it being evidently the most urgent of the duties before him. Jane +if left for a few days would no doubt be more reasonable. Greenwood +could be safely left to look after Hatton mill and to buy for it all the +cotton he could lay his hands on. He had not the time to visit his +mother, but he wrote her a few words of explanation and as he knew +Jane's parlors were full of women, he sent her the following note: + + MY DEARLY LOVED WIFE, + + Instant and important business takes me at a moment's notice to + London. I have no time to come and see you, and solace my heart + with a parting glance of your beauty, to hear your whispered + good-bye, or taste the living sweetness of your kiss, but you will + be constantly present with me. Waking, I shall be loving and + thinking of you; sleeping I shall be dreaming of you. Dearest of + all sweet, fair women, do not forget me. Let me throb with your + heart and live in your constant memory. I will write you every day, + and you will make all my work easy and all my hours happy if you + send me a few kind words to the Charing Cross Hotel. I do not + think I shall be more than three or four days absent, but however + short or long the time may be, I am beyond all words, + + Your devoted husband, + JOHN HATTON. + +This letter written, John hurried to the railway station, but in spite +of express trains, it was dark when he reached London, and long after +seven o'clock when he reached his brother's house. He noticed at once +that the parlors were unlit and that the whole building had a dark, +unprosperous, unhappy appearance. A servant woman admitted him, and +almost simultaneously Lucy came running downstairs to meet him, for +during the years that had passed since her marriage to Harry Hatton, +Lucy had become a real sister to John and he had for her a most sincere +affection. + +They went into a parlor in which there had been a fire and stood talking +for a few moments. But the fire was nearly out, and the girl had only +left a candle on the table, and Lucy said, "I was sitting upstairs, +John, beside the children. Harry told me it would be late when he +returned home, so I went to the nursery. You see children are such good +company. Will you go with me to the nursery? It is the girl's night out, +but if you prefer to----" + +"Let us go to the nursery, Lucy, and send the girl out. I have come +specially to have a long talk with you about Harry and her absence will +be a good thing." + +Then he took her hand and they went together to a large room upstairs. +There was a bright fire burning on this hearth and a large fur rug +before it. A pretty bassinet, in which a lovely girl-baby was sleeping, +was on one side of the hearth and Lucy's low nursing-chair on the other +side, and a little round table set ready for tea in the center. A +snow-white bed in a distant corner held the two boys, Stephen and Ralph, +who were fast asleep. John stooped first to the baby, and kissed it, and +Lucy said, "I have called her Agnes. It was my mother's name when she +was on earth. Do you think they call her Agnes in heaven, John?" + +_"He hath called thee by thy name_, is one of the tokens given us of +God's fatherhood, Lucy." + +"Well, John, a father must care what his children are called--if he +cares for the children." + +"Yes, we may be sure of that." As he spoke, he was standing by the +sleeping boys. He loved both, but he loved Stephen, the elder, with an +extraordinary affection. And as he looked at the sleeping child, the boy +opened his eyes. Then a beautiful smile illumined his face, a delightful +cry of wonder and joy parted his lips, and he held out his arms to John. +Without a moment's hesitation, John lifted him. + +"Dear little Stephen!" he said. "I wish you were a man!" + +"Then I would always stay with you, Uncle." + +"Yes, yes! Now you must go to sleep and tomorrow I will take you to the +Hippodrome." + +"And Ralph, too?" + +"To be sure, Ralph goes, too." Then he tenderly laid Stephen back in bed +and watched Lucy from the fireside. She talked softly to him, as she +went about the room, attending to those details of forethought of which +mothers have the secret. He watched her putting everything in place with +silent pleasure. He noted her deft, clever ways, the exquisite neatness +of her dress, her small feet so trigly shod, her lovely face bending +over the most trivial duty with a smile of sweet contentment; and he +could not help thinking hopefully of Harry. Indeed her atmosphere was so +afar from whatever was evil or sorrowful that John wondered how he was +to begin a conversation which must be a disturbance. + +Presently the room was in perfect order, and the children asleep; then +she touched a bell, but no one answered it. After waiting a few minutes, +she said, "John, the girl has evidently gone out. I must go down for my +supper tray. In five minutes I will be back." + +"I will go with you." + +"Thank you! When Harry is not home, I like to eat my last meal beside +the sleeping children. Then I can take a book and read leisurely, so the +hours pass pleasantly away." + +"Is Harry generally late?" + +"He has to be late. Very often his song is the last on the program. Here +is the tray. It is all ready--except your cup and plate. You will take a +cup of tea with me, John?" + +"Yes, but I am going to look for Harry soon and I may keep him all +night. Do you care? Are you afraid?" + +"Harry is safe with you. I am glad you are going to keep him all night, +I am not at all afraid," and as she arranged the tray and its contents +on the table by the hearth, John heard the sweetest strain of melody +thrill the little space between them. He looked at her inquiringly, and +she sang softly, + + "I dwell + Too near to God, for doubt or fear, + And share the eternal calm." + +"Where is Harry tonight?" he asked. + +"He was to sing at the _Odeon_ in the oratorio of 'Samson.' I used to go +and hear him but I cannot leave the children now." + +"My dear Lucy, I have come to London specially to talk with you and +Harry. I have been made miserable about Harry." + +"Who told you anything wrong of Harry?" + +"Your father. He is distressed at the road Harry is taking. He says +Harry is beginning to gamble." + +"Is my father sure of what he says?" + +"Lucy, I am Harry's elder brother. He is dear as life to me. I am your +true friend; be trustful of me. You may speak to me as to your own +heart. I have come to help you." + +Then she let all the minor notes of doubt and uncertainty go and +answered, "Harry needs you, John, though I hardly know how. He is in +great temptations--he lost every shilling of the last money you sent. I +do not know how he lost it. We are living now on money I saved when +Harry made so much more, and my father gave me fifty pounds when he was +here, but he advised me not to tell Harry I had it. I was to save it for +days Harry had none--for the children. O John, all this troubles me!" + +And John's face flamed up, for his family pride was keenly touched. How +could Henry Hatton humble his family and his own honor by letting the +poor schoolmaster feed his wife and children? And he threw aside then +some considerations he had intended to make in Lucy's favor, for he saw +that she already shared his anxiety, and so would probably be his best +helper in any plan for Harry's salvation, from the insidious temptation +by which he was assailed. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +JOHN INTERFERES IN HARRY'S AFFAIRS + + + Gamblers are reckless men, always living between ebb and flow. + + The germ of every sin, is the reflection, whether it be possible. + +After John had recovered from the shock which the knowledge of Lugur's +interference in the financial affairs of his brother had given him, he +drew closer to his sister and took her hand and she said anxiously, +"John, what can I do to help you in getting Harry into the right way? I +know and feel that all is at present just as it should _not_ be. I will +do whatever you advise." She was not weeping, but her face was white and +resolute and her eyes shone with the hope that had entered her heart. + +"As I traveled to London, Lucy, I thought of many ways and means, but +none of them stood the test of their probable ultimate results; and as I +entered my hotel I let them slip from me as useless. Then I saw a +gentleman writing his name in the registry book, and I knew it was +Matthew Ramsby. As soon as I saw him the plan for Harry's safety came +to me in a flash of light and conviction. So I went and spoke to him and +we had dinner together. And I asked him if he was ever coming to Yoden +to live, and he said, 'No, it is too far from my hunt and from the races +I like best.' Then I offered to rent the place, and he was delighted. I +made very favorable terms, and Harry must go there with you and your +dear children. Are you willing?" + +"O John! It would be like a home in Paradise. And Harry would be safe if +he was under your influence." + +"You know, Lucy, what Jane's mother has done with Harlow House. Yoden +can be made far prettier and far more profitable. You may raise any +amount of poultry and on the wold there is a fine run for ducks and +geese. I will see that you have cows and a good riding-horse for Harry +and a little carriage of some kind for yourself and the children." + +"I shall soon have all these pleasant things at my finger ends. O John!" + +"But you must have a good farmer to look after the cattle and horses, +the meadowland and the grain-land and also the garden and orchard must +be attended to. Oh, I can see how busy and happy you will all be! And, +Lucy, you must use all your influence to get Harry out of London." + +"Harry will go gladly, but how can he be employed? He will soon be weary +of doing nothing." + +"I have thought of that. What is your advice on this subject, Lucy?" + +"He is tired of painting, and he has let his musical business fall away +a great deal lately. He does not keep in practice and in touch with the +men of his profession. He has been talking to me about writing a novel. +I am sure he has all the material he wants. Do not smile, John. It might +be a good thing even if it was a failure. It would keep him at home." + +"So it would, Lucy. And Harry always liked a farm. He loves the land. He +used to trouble mother meddling in the management of Hatton until he got +plainly told to mind his own business." + +"Well, then, John, we will let him manage Yoden land, and encourage him +to write a book, and he need not give up his music. He has always been +prominent in the Leeds musical festivals and Mr. Sullivan insists on +Harry's solo wherever he leads." + +"You are right, Lucy. In Hatton Harry used to direct all our musical +entertainments and he liked to do so. Men and women will be delighted to +have him back." + +"And he was the idol of the athletic club. I have heard him talk about +that very often. O John, I can see Harry's salvation. I have been very +anxious, but I knew it would come. I will work joyfully with you in +every way to help it forward." + +"You have been having a hard time I fear, Lucy." + +"Outwardly it was sometimes hard, but there was always that wonderful +inner path to happiness--you know it, John." + +"And you never lost your confidence in God?" + +"If I had, I should have come to you. Did I ever do so? No, I waited +until God sent you to me. When I first went to Him about this anxiety, +He made me a promise. God keeps his promises." + +"Now I am going to look for Harry." + +"Do you know where he is?" + +"I know where the house he frequents is." + +"Suppose they will not let you see him?" + +"I am going to Scotland Yard first." + +"Why?" + +"For a constable to go with me." + +"You will be kind to Harry?" + +"As you are kind to little Agnes. I may have to strip my words for him +and make them very plain, but when that is done I will comfort and help +him. Will you sleep and rest and be sure all is well with Harry?" + +"As soon as my girl returns, I will do as you tell me. Tomorrow I--" + +"Let us leave tomorrow. It will have its own help and blessing, but +neither is due until tomorrow. We have not used up all today's blessing +yet. Good-bye, little sister! Sleeping or waking, dream of the happiness +coming to you and your children." + +It was only after two hours of delays and denials that John was able to +locate his brother. Lugur had given him the exact location of the +house, but the man at the door constantly denied Harry's presence. It +was a small, dull, inconspicuous residence, but John felt acutely its +sinister character, many houses having this strange power of revealing +the inner life that permeates them. The man obtained at Scotland Yard +was well acquainted with the premises, but at first appeared to be +either ignorant or indifferent and only answered John's questions in +monosyllables until John said, + +"If you can take me to my brother, I will give you a pound." + +Then there was a change. The word "pound" went straight to his nervous +center, and he became intelligent and helpful. + +"When the door is opened again," he said, "walk inside. There is a long +passage going backward, and a room at the end of that passage. The kid +you want will be in that room." + +"You will go with me?" + +"Why not? They all know me." + +"Tell them my name is John Hatton." + +"I don't need to say a word. I have ways of putting up my hand which +they know, and obey. Ring the bell. I'll give the doorman the word to +pass you in. Walk forward then and you'll find your young man, as I told +you, in the room at the end of the passage. I'll bet on it. I shall be +close behind you, but do your own talking." + +John followed the directions given and soon found himself in a room +handsomely but scantily furnished. There were some large easy chairs, a +wide comfortable sofa, and tables covered with green baize. A fire +blazed fitfully in a bright steel grate, but there were no pictures, no +ornaments of any kind, no books or musical instruments. The gas burned +dimly and the fire was dull and smoky, for there was a heavy fog outside +which no light could fully penetrate. The company were nearly all +middle-aged and respectable-looking. Their hands were full of cards, and +they were playing with them like men in a ghostly dream. They never +lifted their eyes. They threw down cards on the table in silence, they +gathered them up with a muttered word and went on again. They seemed to +John like the wild phantasmagoria of some visionary hell. Their silent, +mechanical movements, their red eyelids, their broad white faces, +utterly devoid of intellect or expression, terrified him. He could not +avoid the tense, shocked accent with which he called his brother's name. + +Harry looked up as if he had heard a voice in his sleep. A strained +unlovely light was on his face. His luck had turned. He was going to +win. He could not speak. His whole soul was bent upon the next throw and +with a cry of satisfaction he lifted the little roll of bills the +croupier pushed towards him. + +Then John laid his hand firmly on Harry's shoulder. "_Give that money to +me_," he said and in a bewildered manner Harry mechanically obeyed the +command. Then John, holding it between his finger and thumb, walked +straight to the hearth and threw the whole roll into the fire. For a +moment there was a dead silence; then two of the youngest men rose to +their feet. John went back to the table. Cards from every hand were +scattered there, and looking steadily at the men round it, John asked +with intense feeling, + +"GENTLEMEN, _what will it profit you, if you gain the whole world and +lose your own souls; for what shall a man give in exchange for his +soul?_" + +A dead silence followed these questions, but as John left the room with +his brother, he heard an angry querulous voice exclaim, + +"Most outrageous! Most unusual! O croupier! croupier!" + +Then he was at the door. He paid the promised pound, and as his cab was +waiting, he motioned to Harry to enter it. All the way to Charing Cross, +John preserved an indignant silence and Harry copied his attitude, +though the almost incessant beating of his doubled hands together showed +the intense passion which agitated him. + +Half an hour's drive brought them to the privacy of their hotel rooms +and as quickly as they entered them, John turned on his brother like a +lion brought to bay. + +"How dared you," he said in a low, hard voice, "how dared you let me +find you in such a place?" + +"I was with gentlemen playing a quiet game. You had no right to disturb +me." + +"You were playing with thieves and blackguards. There was not a +gentleman in the room--no, not one." + +"John, take care what you say." + +"A man is no better than the company he keeps. Go with rascals and you +will be counted one of them. Yes, and so you ought to be. I am ashamed +of you!" + +"I did not ask you to come into my company. I did not want you. It was +most interfering of you. Yes, John, I call it impudently interfering. I +gave way to you this time to prevent a police scene, but I will never do +it again! Never!" + +"You will never go into such a den of iniquity again. Never! Mind that! +The dead and the living both will block your way. We Hattons have been +honest men in all our generations. Sons of the soil, taking our living +from the land on which we lived in some way or other--never before from +dirty cards in dirty hands and shuffled about in roguery, treachery, and +robbery. I feel defiled by breathing the same air with such a crowd of +card-sharpers and scoundrels." + +"I say they were good honest gentlemen. Sir Thomas Leland was there, +and----" + +"I don't care if they were all princes. They were a bad lot, and theft +and cards and brandy were written large on every sickly, wicked, white +face of them. O Harry, how dared you disgrace your family by keeping +such company?" + +"No one but a Methodist preacher is respectable in your eyes, John. +Everyone in Hatton knew the Naylors, yet you gave them the same bad +names." + +"And they deserved all and more than they got. They gambled with horses +instead of cards. They ran nobler animals than themselves to death for +money--and money for which neither labor nor its equivalent is given is +dishonest money and the man who puts it in his pocket is a thief and +puts hell in his pocket with it." + +"John, if I were you I would use more gentlemanly language." + +"O Harry! Harry! My dear, dear brother! I am speaking now not only for +myself but for mother and Lucy and your lovely children. Who or what is +driving you down this road of destruction? I have left home at a hard +time to help you. Come to me, Harry! Come and sit down beside me as you +always have done. Tell me what is wrong, my brother!" + +Harry was walking angrily about the room, but at these words his eyes +filled with tears. He stood still and looked at John and when John +stretched out his arms, he could not resist the invitation. The next +moment his head was on John's breast and John's arm was across Harry's +shoulders and John was saying such words as the wounded heart loves to +hear. Then Harry told all his trouble and all his temptation and John +freely forgave him. With little persuasion, indeed almost voluntarily, +he gave John a sacred promise never to touch a card again. And then +there were some moments of that satisfying silence which occurs when a +great danger has been averted or a great wrong been put right. + +But Harry looked white and wretched. He had been driven, as it were, out +of the road of destruction, but he felt like a man in a pathless desert +who saw no road of any kind. The fear of a lost child was in his heart. + +"What is it, Harry?" asked John, for he saw that his brother was faint +and exhausted. + +"Well, John, I have eaten nothing since morning--and my heart sinks. I +have been doing wrong. I am sorry. I ought to have come to you." + +"To be sure. Now you shall have food, and then I have something to tell +you that will make you happy." So while Harry ate, John told him of the +renting of Yoden and laid before him all that it promised. And as John +talked the young man's countenance grew radiant and he clasped his +brother's hand and entered with almost boyish enthusiasm into every +detail of the Yoden plan. He was particularly delighted at the prospect +of turning the fine old house into an unique and beautiful modern home. +He laughed joyously as he saw in imagination the blending of the old +carved oak furniture with his own pretty maple and rosewood. His +artistic sense saw at once how the high dark chimney-pieces would glow +and color with his bric-a-brac, and how his historical paintings would +make the halls and stairways alive with old romance; and his copies of +Turner and other landscapes would adorn the sitting-and sleeping-rooms. + +John entered fully into his delight and added, "Why, Ramsby told me that +there were some fine old carpets yet on the floors and Genoese velvet +window-curtains lined with rose-colored satin which were not yet past +use." + +"Oh, delightful!" cried Harry. "We will blend Lucy's white lace ones +with them. John, I am coming into the dream of my life." + +"I know it, Harry. The farm is small but it will be enough. You will +soon have it like a garden. Harry, you were born to live on the land and +by the land, and when you get to Yoden your feverish dream of cities and +their fame and fortune will pass, even from your memory. Lucy and you +are going to be so busy and happy, happier than you ever were before!" + +It was however several days before the change could be properly entered +upon. There were points of law to settle and the packing and removal to +arrange for, and though John was anxious and unhappy he could not leave +Harry and Lucy until they thoroughly understood what was to be done. But +how they enjoyed the old place in anticipation! John smiled to see Harry +from morning to night in deshabille as workmanlike as possible, with a +foot rule or hammer constantly in his hand. + +Yes, the London house was all in confusion, but Oh, what a happy +confusion! Lucy was so busy, she hardly knew what to do first, but her +comfortable good-temper suffused the homeliest duties of life with the +sacred glow of unselfish love, and John, watching her sunny +cheerfulness, said to himself, + +"Surely God smiled upon her soul before it came to this earth." + +In a short time Lucy had got right under the situation. She knew exactly +what ought to be done and did it, being quite satisfied that Harry +should spend his time in measuring accurately and packing with extremest +care his pictures and curios and all the small things so large and +important to himself. And it was not to Harry but to Lucy that John gave +all important instructions, for he soon perceived that it was Harry's +way to rush into the middle of things but never to overtake himself. + +At length after ten days of unwearying superintendence, John felt that +Lucy and Harry could be left to manage their own affairs. Now, we like +the people we help and bless, and John during his care for his brother's +family had become much attached to every member of it, for even little +Agnes could now hold out her arms to him and lisp his name. So his last +duty in London was to visit Harry's house and bid them all a short +farewell. He found Harry measuring with his foot rule a box for one of +his finest paintings. It had to be precisely of the size Harry had +decided on and he was as bent on this result as if it was a matter of +great importance. + +"You see, John," he said, "it is a very hard thing to make the box fit +the picture. It is really a difficult thing to do." + +John smiled and then asked, "Why should you do it, Harry? It would be so +easy _not_ to do it, or to have a man who makes a business of the work +do it for you." And Harry shook his head and began the measurement of +box and picture over again. + +"The little chappies are asleep, John, I wouldn't disturb them. Lucy is +in the nursery. You had better tell her anything that ought to be done. +I shall be sure to forget with these measurements to carry in my head." + +"Put them on paper, Harry." + +"The paper might get lost." + +And John smiled and answered, "So it might." + +So John went to the nursery and first of all to the boys' bed. Very +quietly they slipped their little hands into his and told him in +whispers, "Mamma is singing Agnes to sleep, and we must not make any +noise." So very quiet good-bye kisses full of sweet promises were given +and John turned towards Lucy. She sat in her low nursing-chair slowly +rocking to-and-fro the baby in her arms. Her face was bent and smiling +above it and she was singing sweet and singing low a strain from a +pretty lullaby, + + "O rock the sweet carnation red, + And rock the silver lining, + And rock my baby softly, too, + With skein of silk entwining. + Come, O Sleep, from Chio's Isle! + And take my little one awhile!" + +She had lost all her anxious expression. She was rosy and smiling, and +looked as if she liked the nursery rhyme as well as Agnes did and that +Agnes liked it was shown by the little starts with which she roused +herself if she felt the song slipping away from her. + +"Let me kiss the little one," said John, "and then I must bid you +good-bye. We shall soon meet again, Lucy, and I am glad to leave you +looking so much better." + +Lucy not only looked much better, she was exceedingly beautiful. For her +nature reached down to the perennial, and she had kept a child's +capacity to be happy in small, everyday pleasures. It was always such an +easy thing to please her and so difficult for little frets to annoy her. +Harry's inconsequent, thoughtless ways would have worried and tried some +women to the uttermost, for he was frequently less thoughtful and less +helpful than he should have been. But Lucy was slow to notice or to +believe any wrong of her husband and even if it was made evident to her +she was ready to forgive it, ready to throw over his little tempers, his +hasty rudenesses, and his never-absent selfishness, the cloak of her +merciful manifest love. + +"What a loving little woman she is!" thought John, but really what +affected him most was her constant cheerfulness. No fear could make her +doubt and she welcomed the first gleam of hope with smiles that filled +the house with the sunshine of her sure and fortunate expectations. How +did she do it? Then there flashed across John's mind the words of the +prophet Isaiah, "Thou meetest him _that rejoiceth_, and worketh +righteousness." God does not go to meet the complaining and the doubting +and the inefficient. He goes to meet the cheerful, the courageous and +the good worker; that is, God helps those who help themselves. And God's +help is not a peradventure; it is potential and mighty to save; "for our +Redeemer is strong. He shall thoroughly plead our cause," in every +emergency of Life. + +Very early next morning John turned a happy face homeward. The hero of +today has generally the ball of skepticism attached to his foot, but +between John Hatton and the God he loved there was not one shadow of +doubt. John knew and was sure that everything, no matter how evil it +looked, would work together for good. + +It was a day of misty radiance until the sun rose high and paved the +clouds with fire. Then the earth was glad. The birds were singing as if +they never would grow old, and, Oh, the miles and miles of green, green +meadows, far, far greener than the youngest leaves on the trees! There +were no secrets and no nests in the trees yet, but John knew they were +coming. He could have told what kind of trees his favorite birds would +choose and how they would build their nests among the branches. + +Towards noon he caught the electric atmosphere pouring down the northern +mountains. He saw the old pines clambering up their bulwarks, and the +streams glancing and dancing down their rocky sides and over the brown +plowed fields below great flocks of crows flying heavily. Then he knew +that he was coming nigh to Hatton-in-Elmete and at last he saw the great +elm-trees that still distinguished his native locality. Then his heart +beat with a warmer, quicker tide. They blended inextricably with his +thoughts of mother and wife, child and home, and he felt strongly that +mystical communion between Man and Nature given to those + + Whose ears have heard + The Ancient Word, + Who walked among the silent trees. + +Not that Nature in any form or any measure had supplanted his thoughts +of Jane. She had been the dominant note in every reflection during all +the journey. Mountain and stream, birds and trees and shifting clouds +had only served as the beautiful background against which he set her in +unfading beauty and tenderness. For he was sure that she loved him and +he believed that Love would yet redeem the past. + +During his absence she had written him the most affectionate and +charming letters and when the train reached Hatton-in-Elmete, she was +waiting to receive him. He had a very pardonable pride in her appearance +and the attention she attracted pleased him. In his heart he was far +prouder of being Jane's husband than of being master of Hatton. She had +driven down to the train in her victoria, and he took his seat proudly +at her side and let his heart fully enjoy the happy ride home in the +sunshine of her love. + +A delightful lunch followed and John was glad that the presence of +servants prevented the discussion of any subject having power to disturb +this heavenly interlude. He talked of the approaching war, but as yet +there was no tone of fear in his speculations about its effects. He told +her of his visits to her uncle, and of the evenings they had spent +together at Lord Harlow's club; or he spoke in a casual way of Harry's +coming to Yoden and of little external matters connected with the +change. + +But as soon as they were alone Jane showed her disapproval of this +movement. "Whatever is bringing your brother back to the North?" she +asked. "I thought he objected both to the people and the climate." + +"I advised him to take Ramsby's offer for Yoden. The children needed +the country and Harry was not as I like to see him. I think they will be +very happy at Yoden. Harry always liked living on the land. He was made +to live on it." + +"I thought he was made to fiddle and sing," said Jane with a little +scornful laugh. + +"He does both to perfection, but a man's likes and dislikes change, as +the years go by." + +"Yes, plenty of women find that out." + +Her tone and manner was doubtful and unpleasant, the atmosphere of the +room was chilled, and John said in a tentative manner, "I will now ride +to Hatton Hall. Mother is expecting me, I know. Come with me, Jane, and +I will order the victoria. It is a lovely afternoon for a drive." + +"I would rather you went alone, John." + +"Why, my dear?" + +"It will spare me telling you some things I do not care to speak about." + +"What is wrong at Hatton Hall?" + +"Only Mrs. John Hatton." + +Then John was much troubled. The light went out of his eyes and the +smile faded from his face and he stood up as he answered, + +"You have misunderstood something that mother has said." + +"Why do you talk of things impossible, John?" Jane asked. "Mrs. Stephen +Hatton speaks too plainly to be misunderstood. Indeed her words enter +the ears like darts." + +"Yes, she strips them to the naked truth. If it be a fault, it is one +easy to excuse." + +"I do not find it so." + +"I am sorry you will not go with me, for I shall have to give a good +deal of this evening to Greenwood." + +"I expected that." + +"Go with me this afternoon, _do_, my dear! We can ride on to Harlow +also." + +"I spent all yesterday with my mother." + +"Then, good-bye! I will be home in an hour." + +John found it very pleasant to ride through the village and up Hatton +Hill again. He thought the very trees bent their branches to greet him +and that the linnets and thrushes sang together about his return. Then +he smiled at his foolish thought, yet instantly wondered if it might not +be true, and thus fantastically reasoning, he came to the big gates of +the Hall, and saw his mother watching for his arrival. + +He took her hands and kissed her tenderly. "O mother! Mother!" he cried. +"How glad I am to see you!" + +"To be sure, my dear lad. But if I had not got your note this morning, I +would have known by the sound of your horse's feet he was bringing John +home, for your riding was like that of Jehu, the son of Nimshi. But +there! Come thy ways in, and tell me what has happened thee, here and +there." + +They talked first of the coming war, and John advised his mother to +prepare for it. "It will be a war between two rich and stubborn +factions," he said. "It is likely enough to last for years. I may have +to shut Hatton mill." + +"Shut it while you have a bit of money behind it, John. I heard Arkroyd +had told his hands he would lock his gates at the end of the month." + +"I shall keep Hatton mill going, mother, as long as I have money enough +to buy a bale of cotton at any price." + +"I know you will. But there! What is the good of talking about +_maybe's_? At every turn and corner of life, there is sure to stand a +_maybe_. I wait until we meet and I generally find them more friendly +than otherwise." + +"I wanted Jane to come with me this afternoon, and she would not do so." + +"She is right. I don't think I expect her to come. She didn't like what +I said to her the last time she favored me with a visit." + +"What did you say to her, mother?" + +"I will not tell thee. I hev told her to her face and I will not be a +backbiter. Not I! Ask thy wife what I said to her and why I said it and +the example I set before her. She can tell thee." + +"Whatever is the matter with the women of these days, mother?" + +"I'm sure I cannot tell. If they had a thimbleful of sense, they would +know that the denial of the family tie is sure to weaken the marriage +tie. One thing I know is that society has put motherhood out of +fashion. It considers the nursery a place of punishment instead of a +place of pleasure. Young Mrs. Wrathall was here yesterday all in a +twitter of pleasure, because her husband is letting her take lessons in +music and drawing." + +"Why, mother, she must be thirty years old. What did you say to her?" + +"I reminded her that she had four little children and the world could +get along without water-color sketches and amateur music, but that it +could not possibly get along without wives and mothers." + +"You might have also told her, mother, that if the Progressive Club +would read history, they might find out that those times in any nation +when wives were ornaments and not mothers were always periods of +national decadence and moral failures." + +"Well, John, you won't get women to search history for results that +wouldn't please them; and to expect a certain kind of frivolous, selfish +woman to look beyond her own pleasure is to expect the great miracle +that will never come. You can't expect it." + +"But Jane is neither frivolous nor selfish." + +"I am glad to hear it." + +"Is that all you can say, mother?" + +"All. Every word. Between you and her I will not stand. I have given her +my mind. It is all I have to give her at present. I want to hear +something about Harry. Whatever is he coming to Yoden for? Yoden will +take a goodish bit of money to run it and if he hasn't a capable wife, +he had better move out as soon as he moves in." + +Then John told her the whole truth about Harry's position--his weariness +of his profession, his indifference to business, and his temptation to +gamble. + +"The poor lad! The poor lad!" she cried. "He began all wrong. He has +just been seeking his right place all these years." + +"Well, mother, we cannot get over the stile until we come to it. I think +Harry has crossed it now. And there could not be a better wife and +mother than Lucy Hatton. You will help and advise her, mother? I am sure +you will." + +"I will do what I can, John. She ought to have called the little girl +after me. I can scarce frame myself to love her under Agnes. However, it +is English enough to stick in my memory and maybe it may find the way to +my heart. As to Harry, he is my boy, and I will stand by him everywhere +and in every way I can. He is sweet and true-hearted, and clever on all +sides--the dangerous ten talents, John! We ought to pity and help him, +for their general heritage is + + "The ears to hear, + The eyes to see, + And the hands + That let all go." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +AT HER GATES + + + We shape ourselves the joy or tear, + Of which the coming life is made; + And fill our future atmosphere + With sunshine or with shade. + +It was just at the edge of the dark when John left his mother. He had +perhaps been strengthened by her counsel, but he had not been comforted. +In Hatton market-place he saw a large gathering of men and women and +heard Greenwood in a passionate tone talking to them. Very soon a voice, +almost equally powerful, started what appeared to be a hymn, and John +rode closer to the crowd and listened. + + "The Day of the Lord is at hand, at hand, + His storms roll up the sky; + The nations sleep starving on heaps of gold, + The dreamers toss and sigh. + The night is darkest before the morn, + When the pain is sorest the child is born, + And the Day of the Lord is at hand. + + "Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell, + Famine, and Plague, and War, + Idleness, Bigotry, Cant and Misrule, + Gather, and fall in the snare. + Hireling and Mammonite, Bigot and Knave, + Crawl to the battlefield, sneak to your grave, + In the Day of the Lord at hand." + +John did not hear Greenwood's voice among the singers, but at the close +of the second verse it rose above all others. "Lads and lasses of the +chapel singing-pew," he cried, "we will better that kind of stuff. Sing +up to the tune of Olivet," and to this majestic melody he started in a +clarion-like voice Toplady's splendid hymn, + + "Lo! He comes with clouds descending, + Once for favored sinners slain, + Thousand, thousand saints attending, + Swell the triumph of his train. + Hallelujah! + God appears on earth to reign." + +The words were as familiar as their mother tongue, and Greenwood's +authoritative voice in chapel, mill, and trade meetings, was quite as +intimate and potential. They answered his request almost as +automatically as the looms answered the signal for their movement or +stoppage; for music quickly fires a Yorkshire heart and a hymn led by +Jonathan Greenwood was a temptation no man or woman present could +resist. Very soon he gave them the word "_Home_," and they scattered in +every direction, singing the last verse. Then Greenwood's voice rose +higher and higher, jubilant, triumphant in its closing lines, + + "Yea, amen! Let all adore Thee, + High on thy eternal throne; + Saviour, take the power and glory, + Claim the kingdom for thine own. + Jah Jehovah! + Everlasting God come down." + +Greenwood's joyful enthusiasm was more than John could encounter at that +hour. He did not stop to speak with him, but rode swiftly home. He saw +and felt the brooding trouble and knew the question of more wage and +shorter hours, though now a smoldering one, might at any hour become a +burning one, only there was the coming war. If the men went on strike, +he could then reasonably lock his factory gates. No, he could not. The +inner John Hatton would not permit the outer man to do such a thing. His +looms must work while he had a pound of cotton to feed them. + +This resolution, warm and strong in his heart, cheered him, and he +hastened home. Then he wondered how it would be with him there, and a +feeling of unhappiness conquered for a moment. But John's mental bravery +was the salt to all his other virtues, and mental bravery does not quail +before an uncertainty. + +He hoped that Jane would, as was her usual custom, meet him at the +door, that she would hear his step and answer the call of it. But she +did not. Then he remembered that the night had turned chilly and that it +was near to dinner-time. She was probably in her dressing-room, but this +uncertainty was not cheerful. Yet he sang as he prepared himself for +dinner. He did not know why he sang for the song was not in his +heart--he only felt it to be an act of relief and encouragement. + +When he went to the dining-room Jane was there. She roused herself with +a sleepy languor and stretched out her arms to him with welcoming +smiles. For a moment he stood motionless and silent. She had dressed +herself wonderfully in a long, graceful robe of white broadcloth, rich +and soft and shining as the white satin which lay in folds about the +bosom and sleeves and encircled her waist in a broad belt. Her hair, +freed of puffs and braids, showed all its beauty in glossy smoothness +and light coils, and in its meshes was one large red rose, the fellow of +which was partly hidden among the laces at her bosom. Half-asleep she +went to meet him, and his first feeling was a kind of awe at the sight +of her. He had not dreamed she was so beautiful. Without a word he took +her hands and hiding his emotion in some commonplace remark, drew her to +his side. + +"You are lovelier than on your bridal morning, most sweet Jane," he +whispered. "What have you been doing to yourself?" + +"Well, John," she laughed, "Mrs. Tracy sent me word she was going to +call between four and five to give me a few points about the girls' +sewing-class, and I thought I would at the same time give her a few +points about dressing herself. You know she is usually a fright." + +"I thought--perhaps--you had dressed yourself to please me." + +"You are quite right, John. Your pleasure is always the first motive for +anything I do or wear." + +The dinner hour passed to such pleasant platitudes as John's description +of the manner in which Greenwood broke up the radical meeting in the +market-place; but in both hearts and below all the sweet intercourse +there lay a sense of tragedy that nothing could propitiate or avert. + +The subject, however, was not named till they were quite alone and the +very house in its intense stillness appeared to be waiting and listening +for the words to be spoken. John was about to speak them, but Jane rose +suddenly to her feet and looking steadily at him said, + +"John, what did your mother say about me this afternoon? I expect you to +tell me every word." + +"She would not talk about you in any way. She said she had given you her +whole mind straight to your face and would do no backbiting. That is, as +you know, mother's way." + +"Well, John, I would rather have the backbiting. I like to be treated +decently to my face. People are welcome to say whatever they like when +I am not present to be annoyed by their evil suspicions." + +"She told me to ask you what was said and I trust you will tell me." + +"I will. You remember that I had a whole society of women in the parlors +and I could only give you a short farewell; but I was much grieved to +send you away with such a brooding sorrow in your heart. The next day I +was putting the house in order and writing to you and I did not go out. +But on the morning of the third day I determined to visit my mother and +to call at Hatton Hall as I returned home. + +"I did not have a pleasant visit at Harlow. Since mother has begun to +save money, she has lost all interest in any other subject. I told her +how affairs were between us, and though she had hitherto been rabidly in +favor of no children she appeared that morning indifferent to everything +but the loss of a brood of young chickens which some animal had eaten or +carried off. On this subject she was passionately in earnest; she knew +to a farthing the amount of her loss, and when I persisted in telling +her how you and I had parted, she only reiterated in a more angry manner +her former directions and assurances on this subject. + +"After a very spare dinner she was more attentive to my trouble. She +said it had become a serious question in nearly all married lives--" + +"I deny that, Jane. The large majority of women, I am sure, when they +marry do not hold themselves outraged and degraded by the consequences, +nor do they consider natural functions less honorable than social ones. +Money can release a woman from work, but it cannot release her from any +service of love." + +"Men forget very easily the physical sufferings of wives. I love our +little Martha as well as, perhaps better than, you do, but I remember +clearly that for nearly a whole year I endured the solitude, sickness, +and acute suffering of maternity. And whatever else you do, you will +_never_ persuade me to like having children. And pray what kind of +children will women bear when they don't want them?" + +"Well, Jane, your question would stagger me, if I did not know that +Nature often skips a generation, and produces some older and finer +type." + +"Highly civilized men don't want children. Lady Harlow told me so, +John." + +"Well then, Jane, highly civilized men are in no danger. They need not +fear what women can do to them. They will only find women pleasant to +meet and easy to leave. I saw many, many women in the London parks and +shopping district so perverted as to be on friendly terms with dogs, and +in their homes, with cats and cockatoos, and who had no affection for +children--women who could try to understand the screams of a parrot, the +barking of a dog, but who would not tolerate the lovely patois of the +nursery. Jane, the salvation of society depends on good mothers, and if +women decline to be mothers at all, it is a shameful and dangerous +situation." + +"Oh, no! Why should I, for instance, undertake the reformation of +society? I wish rather to educate and reform myself." + +"All right! No education is too wide or too high for a mother. She has +to educate heroes, saints, and good workers. There would have been no +Gracchi, if there had been no Cornelia; no Samuel, if Hannah had not +trained him. The profession of motherhood is woman's great natural +office; no others can be named with it. The family must be put before +everything else as a principle." + +"John," she said coaxingly, "you are so far behind the times. The idea +of 'home' is growing antiquated, and the institution of the family is +passing out of date, my dear." + +"You are mistaken, Jane. Mother and home are the soul of the world; they +will never pass. I read the other day that Horace Walpole thanked God +that he came into the world when there were still such terms as +'afternoon' and 'evening.' I hope I may say I came when the ideas of +'home' and children' were still the moving principles of human society; +and I swear that I will do nothing to sink them below the verge. God +forbid!" + +"John, I am not concerned about principles. My care is not for anything +but what concerns ourselves and our home. I tell you plainly I do not +desire children. I will not have any more. I will do all I can to make +you honorable and happy. I will order and see to your house, servants, +and expenditures. I will love and cherish and bring up properly our dear +child. I will make you socially respected. I will read or write, or play +or sing to your desire. I will above all other things love and obey you. +Is not this sufficient, John?" + +"No, I want children. They were an understood consequence of our +marriage. I feel ashamed among my fellows----" + +"Yes, I suppose you would like to imitate Squire Atherton and take two +pews in church for your sons and daughters and walk up the aisle every +Sunday before them. It is comical to watch them. And poor Mrs. Atherton! +Once she was the beauty of the West Riding! Now she is a faded, draggled +skeleton, carelessly and unfashionably dressed, following meekly the +long procession of her giggling girls and sulky boys. Upon my word, +John, it is enough to cure any girl of the marriage fever to see Squire +Atherton and his friend Ashby and Roper of Roper's Mills and Coates of +Coates Mills and the like. And if it was an understood thing in our +marriage that I should suffer and perhaps die in order that a new lot of +cotton-spinners be born, why was it not so stated in the bond?" + +"My dear Jane, the trial to which you propose to subject me, I cannot +discuss tonight. You have said all I can bear at present. It has been a +long, long, hard day. God help me! Good night!" Then he bowed his head +and slowly left the room. + +Jane was astonished, but his white face, the sad, yonderly look in his +eyes, and the way in which he bit his lower lip went like a knife to her +heart. + +She sat still, speechless, motionless. She had not expected either his +prompt denial of her position or its powerful effect on him physically. +Never before had she seen John show any symptoms of illness, and his +sudden collapse of bodily endurance, his evident suffering and +deliberate walk frightened her. She feared he might have a fit and fall +downstairs. Colonel Booth had found his death in that way when he heard +of his son's accident on the railway. "All Yorkshiremen," she mused, +"are so full-blooded and hot-blooded, everything that does not please +them goes either to their brains or their hearts--and John _has_ a +heart." Yes, she acknowledged John had a heart, and then wondered again +what made him so anxious to have children. + +But with all her efforts to make a commonplace event of her husband's +great sorrow, she did not succeed in stifling the outcry in her own +heart. She whispered to it to "Be still!" She promised to make up for +it, even to undo it, sometime; but the Accuser would not let her rest, +and when exhaustion ended in sleep, chastised her with distracting, +miserable dreams. + +John walked slowly upstairs, but he had no thought of falling. He knew +that something had happened to the Inner Man, and he wanted to steady +and control him. It was not Jane's opinions; it was not public opinion, +however widespread it might be. It was the blood of generations of good +men and good women that roused in him a passionate protest against the +destruction of their race. His private sense of injustice and disloyalty +came later. Then the iron entered his soul and it was on this very bread +of bitterness he had now to feed it; for on this bread only could he +grow to the full stature of a man of God. His heart was bruised and +torn, but his soul was unshaken, and the hidden power and strength of +life revealed themselves. + +First he threw all anger behind him. He thought of his wife with +tenderness and pity only. He made himself recall her charm and her love. +He decided that it would be better not to argue the fatal subject with +her again. "No man can convince a woman," he thought. "She must be led +to convince herself. I will trust her to God. He will send some teacher +who cannot fail." Then he thought of the days of pleasantness they had +passed together, and his heart felt as if it must break, while from +behind his closed eyelids great tears rolled down his face. + +This incident, though so natural, shocked him. He arrested such evident +grief at once and very soon he stood up to pray. So prayed the gray +fathers of the world, Terah and Abram, Lot and Jacob; and John stood at +the open window with his troubled face lifted to the starlit sky. His +soul was seeking earnestly that depth in our nature where the divine and +human are one, for when the brain is stupefied by the inevitable and we +know not what to abandon and what to defend, that is the sanctuary where +we shall find help for every hour of need. + +What words, wonderful and secret, were there spoken it is not well to +inquire. They were for John's wounded heart alone, and though he came +from that communion weeping, it was + + --as a child that cries, + But crying, knows his Father near. + +Nothing was different but he sat down hushed and strengthened, and in +his heart and on his lips the most triumphant words a man or woman can +utter, _"Thy Will be done!"_ Then there was a great peace. He had cast +all his sorrow upon God and _left it with God_. He did not bring it back +with him as we are so ready to do. It was not that he comprehended any +more clearly why this sorrow and trial had come to darken his happy +home, but Oh, _what matters comprehension when there is faith!_ John did +not make inquiries; he knew by experience that there are spiritual +conditions as real as physical facts. The shadows were all gone. Nothing +was different, + + --yet this much he knew, + His soul stirred in its chrysalis of clay, + A strange peace filled him like a cup; he grew + Better, wiser and gladder, on that day: + This dusty, worn-out world seemed made anew, + Because God's Way, had now become his way. + +Then he fell into that sleep which God gives to his beloved, and when he +awoke it was the dayshine. The light streamed in through the eastern +windows, there was a robin singing on his window sill, and there was no +trouble in his heart but what he could face. + +His business was now urging him to be diligent, and his business--being +that of so many others, he durst not neglect it. Jane he did not see. +Her maid said she had been ill all night and had fallen asleep at the +dawning, and John left her a written message and went earlier to the +mill than usual. But Greenwood was there, busily examining bales of +cotton and singing and scolding alternately as he worked. John joined +him and they had a hard morning's work together, throughout which only +one subject occupied both minds--the mill and cotton to feed its looms. + +In the afternoon Greenwood took up the more human phase of the question. +He told John that six of their unmarried men had gone to America. "They +think mebbe they'll be a bit better off there, sir. I don't think they +will." + +"Not a bit." + +"And while you were away Jeremiah Stokes left his loom forever. It +didn't put him out any. It was a stormy night for the flitting--thunder +and lightning and wind and rain--but he went smiling and whispering, + + "There is a land of pure delight!" + +"The woman, poor soul, had a harder journey." + +"Who was she?" + +"Susanna Dobson. You remember the little woman that came from Leeds?" + +"Yes. Loom forty. I hope she has not left a large family." + +"Nay, if there had been a big family, she would varry likely hev been at +her loom today"--then there were a few softly spoken words, and John +walked forward, but he could not forget how singularly the empty loom +had appealed to him on that last morning he had walked through the mill +with Greenwood. There are strange coincidences and links in events of +which we know nothing at all--occult, untraceable altogether, material, +yet having distinct influences not over matter but over some one mind or +heart. + +A little before closing time Greenwood said, "Julius Yorke will be +spreading himself all over Hatton tonight. A word or two from thee, sir, +might settle him a bit." + +"I think you settled him very well last night." + +"It suited me to do so. I like to threep a man that is my equal in his +head piece. Yorke is nobbut a hunchbacked dwarf and he talks a lot of +nonsense, but he _feels_ all he says. He's just a bit of crooked +humanity on fire and talking at white heat." + +"What was he talking about?" + +"Rights and wrongs, of course. There was a good deal of truth in what he +said, but he used words I didn't like; they came out of some +blackguard's dictionary, so I told him to be quiet, and when he wouldn't +be quiet, we sung him down with a verse out o' John Wesley's hymn-book." + +"All right! You are a match for Yorke, Greenwood. I will leave him to +you. I am very weary. The last two days have been hard ones." + +There was a tone of pathos in John's words and voice and Greenwood +realized it. He touched his cap, and turned away. "Married men hev their +own tribulations," he muttered. "I hev had a heartache mysen all day +long about the way Polly went on this morning. And her with such a good +husband as I am!" + +Greenwood went home to such discouraging reflections, and John's were +just as discomforting. For he had left his wife on the previous night, +in a distressed unsettled condition, and he felt that there was now +something in Jane's, and his own, past which must not be referred to, +and indeed he had promised himself never to name it. + +But a past that is buried alive is a difficult ghost to lay, and he +feared Jane would not be satisfied until she had opened the dismal +grave of their dead happiness again--and perhaps again and again. He set +his lips straight and firm during this reflection, and said something of +which only the last four words were audible, "Thy grace is sufficient." + +However, there was no trace of a disposition to resume a painful +argument in Jane's words or attitude. She looked pale from headache and +wakefulness, but was dressed with her usual care, and was even more than +usually solicitous about his comfort and satisfaction. Still John +noticed the false note of make-believe through all her attentions and he +was hardly sorry when she ended a conversation about Harry's affairs by +a sudden and unexpected reversion to her own. "John," she said, with +marked interest, "I was telling you last night about my visit to Hatton +Hall while you were in London. You interrupted and then left me. Have +you any objections to my finishing the story now? I shall not go to +Hatton Hall again and as mother declines to tell her own fault, it is +only fair to me that you know the whole truth. I don't want you to think +worse of me than is necessary." + +"Tell me whatever you wish, Jane, then we will forget the subject." + +"As if that were possible! O John, as if it were possible to forget one +hour of our life together!" + +"You are right. It is not possible--no, indeed!" + +"Well, John, when I left Harlow House that afternoon, I went straight to +Hatton Hall. It was growing late, but I expected to have a cup of tea +there and perhaps, if asked, stay all night and have a good wise talk +over the things that troubled me. When I arrived at the Hall your mother +had just returned from the village. She was sitting by the newly-made +fire with her cloak and bonnet on but they were both unfastened and her +furs and gloves had been removed. She looked troubled, and even angry, +and when I spoke to her, barely answered me. I sat down and began to +tell her I had been at Harlow all day. She did not inquire after +mother's health and took no interest in any remark I made." + +"That was very unlike my mother." + +"It was, John. Finally I said, 'I see that you are troubled about +something, mother,' and she answered sharply, 'Yes, I'm troubled and +plenty of reason for trouble.' I asked if I could help in any way." + +John sat upright at this question and said, "What reply did mother +make?" + +"She said, 'Not you! The trouble is past all help now. I might have +prevented it a few days ago, but I did not know the miserable lass was +again on the road of sin and danger. Nobody knew. Nobody stopped her. +And, O merciful God, in three days danger turned out to be death! I have +just come back from her funeral.' 'Whose funeral?' I asked. 'Susanna +Dobson's funeral,' mother said. 'Did you never hear John speak of her?' +I told her you never spoke to me of your hands; I knew nothing about +them. 'Well then,' mother continued, 'I'll tell you something about +Susanna. Happen it may do you good. She came here with her husband and +baby all of three years ago, and they have worked in Hatton factory ever +since. She was very clever and got big wages. The day before John went +to London she was ill and had to leave her loom. The next day Gammer +Denby came to tell me she was very ill and must have a good doctor. I +sent one and in the afternoon went to see her. By this time her husband +had been called from the mill, and while I was sitting at the dying +woman's side, he came in.'" + +"Stop, Jane. My dear love, what is the use of bringing that dying bed to +our fireside? Mother should not have repeated such a scene." + +"She did, however. I was leaving the room when she said, 'Listen a +moment, Jane. The man entered angrily, and leaning on the footboard of +the bed cried out, "So you've been at your old tricks once more, +Susanna! This is the third time. You are a bad woman. I will never live +with you again. I am going away forever, and I'll take little Willy with +me. If you aren't fit to be a mother, you aren't fit to be a wife!" She +cried out pitifully, but he lifted the child in his arms and went out +with him.' + +"At these words, John, I rang the bell and ordered my horse. Mother paid +no attention to that, but continued, 'The woman raved all night, and +died early the next morning.' I said with a good deal of anger, that +her husband's brutality had killed her and that the grave was the only +place for a poor woman who was married to such a monster. And then I +heard the trampling of horses' feet and I came away without another +word. But my heart was hot and I was sick and trembling and I rode so +recklessly that it was a wonder I ever reached home." + +"My dear Jane, I think--" + +"Nay, John, I do not want you to express any opinion on the subject. I +should not respect you if you said your mother could do wrong, and I do +not wish to hear you say she did right. I only want you to understand +why I refuse to go to Hatton Hall any more." + +"Do not say that, Jane. I am sure mother was conscious of no feeling but +a desire to do good." + +"I do not like her way of doing good. I will not voluntarily go to +receive it. Would you do so, John?" + +"She is my mother. A few words could not drive us apart. She may come to +you, you may go to her. As to that, nothing is certain." + +"Except that your words are most uncertain and uncomforting, John." + +Then John rose and went to her side and whispered those little words, +those simple words, those apparently meaningless, disconnected words +which children and women love and understand so well. And she wept a +little and then smiled, and the wretched story was buried in love and +pity--and perhaps the poor soul knew it! + +"You see, Jane, my dear one, the Unknown fulfills what we never dare to +expect, so we will leave the door wide open for Faith and Hope." And as +John said these words, he had a sudden clear remembrance of the empty +loom and the fair little woman he had so often seen at work there. Then +a prayer leaped from his heart to the Everlasting Mercy, a prayer we too +seldom use, "Father, forgive, they know not what they do." + +For a moment or two they sat hand in hand and were silent. Then Jane, +who was visibly suffering, from headache, went to her room, and John +took a pencil and began to make figures and notes in his pocketbook. His +face and manner was quiet and thoughtful. He had consented to his trial +outwardly; inwardly he knew it to be overcome. And to suffer, to be +wronged and unhappy, yet not to cease being loving and pleasant, implies +a very powerful, Christ-like disposition. + +He knew well very hard days were before his people, and he was now +endeavoring by every means in his power to provide alleviations for the +great tragedy he saw approaching. All other things seemed less urgent, +and a letter from Harry full of small worries about pictures and +bric-a-brac was almost an irritation. But he answered it in brotherly +fashion and laid the responsibility so kindly on Harry himself that the +careless young fellow was proudly encouraged and uplifted. + +In the meantime the small cloud in the far west was casting deeper +shadows of forthcoming events, but in the lovely springtime they were +not very alarming. Also in Hatton town the people relied on the Master +of Hatton. They told themselves he was doing all that could be done to +ward off evil and they trusted in him. And no one foresaw as yet how +long the struggle would last. So Harry Hatton's return to the home +county and neighborhood was full of interest. He was their favorite and +their friend, and he had been long enough away to blot out any memory of +his faults; and indeed a fault connected with horses calls forth from +Yorkshiremen ready excuse and forgiveness. As to the mill, few of its +workers blamed him for hating it. They hated it also and would have +preferred some other out-door employment. So Harry's return was far more +interesting than the supply of cotton, and then England might do this +and that and perhaps France might interfere. That wide, slippery word +"perhaps" led them into many delusive suppositions. + +Very nearly three weeks after John left him in London, Harry announced +his purpose of being in Yoden the following afternoon. He said his +furniture and trunks had arrived there three days previously, having +gone to Yoden by railway. In the afternoon John went up the hill to tell +his mother and found her thoroughly aware of all Harry's plans. + +"I went to Yoden, John, a week ago," she said, "to hire men to meet the +furniture and take it to the house. Well, I can tell you I was a bit +amazed to find there had been a lot of workmen there for more than two +weeks--paperers, painters, decorators and upholsterers. I thought you +had sent them to Yoden." + +"Not I! Not one of them. Did you think I could be so wicked? I want +every penny I can touch for cotton." + +"Wicked or not, the men were there. They were not men of this side of +England either. I asked who sent them to Yoden, and one of them told me +they came from Sandfords', Bond Street, London. I dare say Harry sent +them." + +"Then I fear Harry must pay for it. It is a bad time for him to be +extravagant." + +"Well then, if Harry can't pay, I can. Don't thee be cross with the poor +lad. He hesn't found life very pleasant so far and now that a bit of +pleasure comes into it, he's right to make the most of it." + +"All shall be as you wish, mother. Will you meet them tomorrow +afternoon?" + +"Nay, I know better. Lucy will be worn out, dusty and hungry, and she'll +thank nobody for bothering her, until she is rested. I'll go early next +morning. Lucy knows there is a time to call and a time to bide at home." + +John took dinner with his mother, and as they were eating it, Mrs. +Hatton said, "I suppose Jane is at Thirsk Hall tonight." + +"Yes," answered John. "I refused the invitation. I could not think of +feasting and dancing with the cry of War and Famine at my door." + +"You are saying too much, John. Neither war nor famine can touch you." + +"If it touches those who work for me and with me, it touches me. I must +think of them as well as myself." + +"How is little Martha? I never see her now." + +"Jane keeps her at her own side. She has many fine new ideas about the +bringing up of children." + +"Did she take Martha to Thirsk with her?" + +"Not likely. I hope not." + +"_Hum-m!!_" + +Towards dusk John rode slowly down the hill. Somehow he had missed the +usual tonic of his mother's company, and Harry's unexpected expenses +troubled him, for it is the petty details of life rather than its great +sorrows which fret and irritate the soul. Indeed, to face simple daily +duties and trials bravely and cheerfully is the most heroic struggle and +the greatest victory the soul can win. That it is generally unwitnessed +and unapplauded, that it seldom gains either honor or gratitude, that it +is frequently despised and blamed, is not to be regarded. It is the fine +tooling or graving on the soul capable of bearing it, of that supreme +grace we call character; that grace that makes all the difference +between one human being and another that there is between a block of +granite and a reach of shifting sand. Every person we meet, has more or +less of this quality, and not to be influenced by it is to belong to +those hard blocks of humanity whom Carlyle calls formulas and phantoms. + +Well, this little incident of Harry's unexpected extravagance was a line +of character-tooling on John's soul. He felt the first keen touches, was +suddenly angry, then passive, and as he rode down the hill, satisfied. +Some way or other he felt sure the expense would not interfere with the +things so vitally important to him. As he rode through the village he +noticed that the Spinners' Hall was lit up and that there was a mixed +sound of song and laughter and loud talking within and as Jane was at +Thirsk he alighted at the door of the hall and went in. + +On the platform there was one of his own spinners, a lad of seventeen +years old. The audience were mostly young men and women, and they were +dressed for dancing. A mirthful spirit pervaded the room and the usual +order was wanting. The lad speaking appeared to be an object of +criticism and amusement rather than of respect but he went on talking in +a schoolboy fashion of "the rights of the people." He was in a West +Riding evening-suit, he had a flower in his coat, and a pair of white +gloves in his hand. + +"Rich people all hev their rights," he said, "but a poor lad like me +can't spend his hard-earned wage without heving to pay this and that +sixpenny claim--" + +"For board and lodging, Sam," cried a pretty girl impatient for the +talking to cease, and the dance to begin. + +"Silence!" a voice called authoritatively and the lecturer stopped and +looked round. Then a big dark man pushed his way through the tittering +crowd of girls and reaching the platform, stretched out his hand and +grasping one of its supports, leaped lightly to it. The feat was not an +easy one and it was boldly and gracefully done; a hearty cheer greeted +its success. Even John joined in it and then he looked at the man and +though there was a slight change in appearance, knew him. It was Ralph +Lugur, and as soon as he was generally recognized, order and silence +reigned. He turned first to the speaker. + +"Samuel, my boy," he said, "keep quiet until you learn how to talk. Your +place is at a bobbin frame, it isn't on a platform. What do you know +about a rich man's rights?" and a pretty girl looked saucily at the +blushing lad and laughed. + +"I'll tell you, friends," continued Lugur, "how much right a rich man +has in his wealth. He has practically very little. The Poor Laws, the +Sunday Laws, the School Laws, the Income Tax, and twenty other taxes +that he must pay completely prevent him from doing as he likes with his +own money. Rich men are only the stewards of the poor man. They have to +provide him with bread, homes, roads, ships, railways, parks, music, +schools, doctors, hospitals, and a large variety of other comforts and +amusements. And, my dear friends, this is not tyranny. Oh no! It is +civilization. And if all these obligations did not control him, there +are two powerful and significant people whom he _has_ to obey whether he +likes to or not. I mean a lady you don't know much about, called Mrs. +Grundy; and a gentleman whom you know as much of as you want to know, +called Policeman A. Don't you fall into the mistake of taking sides +against your country. No! Don't do that but, + + "Let the laws of your own land, + Good or bad, between you stand." + +Then he slipped off the platform, and the band began to tune up. And the +boy who had been sent off the platform to his bobbin frame went up to +the pretty girl who had laughed at his oratorical efforts and asked her +to dance. She made a mocking curtsey, and refused his request, and John +who knew both of them said, "Don't be so saucy, Polly. Samuel will do +better next time." But Polly with a little laugh turned away singing, + + "He wears a penny flower in his coat, lah-de-dah! + And a penny paper collar round his throat, lah-de-dah! + In his mouth a penny pick, + In his hand a penny stick, + And a penny in his pocket, lah-de-dah-heigh!" + +John and Lugur walked through the village together, and then John +discovered that the remodeling of Yoden was Lugur's gift to the young +people who were really to begin life over again in its comfortable +handsome shelter. + +"My father, Colonel Thomas Lugur, died two years ago," said Lugur, "and +as it is now certain that my elder brother was killed in a late Afghan +engagement, I came into the Lugur estate naturally. It is not considered +a very rich one, but it is quite large enough for all the demands I +shall make on it." + +Some words of congratulation followed, and then they talked of Harry. +"He has a good heart," said Lugur, "and when I learned you were moving +in such a sensible way for his salvation, I wanted to help. The +improvements I have made at Yoden were not carelessly chosen. Harry +loves beautiful surroundings. They may mean little to you or to me, but +to him they are almost necessary. He is easily persuaded, but you cannot +reason with him. As a general thing you cannot reason with youth. You +may as well try to beat a cloud with a stick. Youth moves in the sublime +region of its own aspirations." + +John laughed softly as he answered, "That is the difficult point with +Harry. He cannot find a reality that fills his ideals." + +"Well then, Hatton, that is a sign of a rich and varied nature. We must +bear with patience and good nature Harry's gushing, little +condescensions, for he really thinks the majority of his elders to be +grossly ignorant, perverse, and cynical. Yet he really loves us in spite +of our faults, so I think we must be lenient with his faults." + +Lugur's ideas exactly fitted John's and as the men parted Lugur said, "I +foresee that we shall be friends. Call on me, if in the bad days coming +I can help you." + +"I will do so gladly, Lugur"--and then a silent clasp of their hands +said all that was necessary. + +At the entrance to John's grounds Lugur turned to the railway station +and John walked slowly onward through the wooded park till he came to +the main entrance of the house. There were few lights in the front rooms +and when the door was opened to him he was painfully conscious of a +great silence. He had expected the want of company and light, for Jane +had told him she would not return until the following day; but even if +we expect unpleasant conditions, the realized expectation does not +console us for them. But his dinner was immediately served and he ate it +with leisurely enjoyment, letting his thoughts drift calmly with his +physical rest and refreshment. + +After dinner he was quickly absorbed in a variety of calculations and, +lost in this arbitrary occupation, forgot all else until the clock +chimed ten. Then with a sigh he folded away a note of results and +ordered the closing of the house. A new light was immediately on his +face, and he went upstairs like a man who has a purpose. This purpose +took him to little Martha's sleeping-room. He opened the door gently. +There was only a rush light burning, but its faint beams showed him the +soft white bed on which his darling lay sleeping. Noiselessly he stepped +to her side and for a few moments stood in silent prayer, looking at the +lovely sleeper. No one saw him, no one heard him, and he left the little +sanctuary unnoticed by any human eye. + +Then he went to his own room, turned the key in his chamber door, and +walked straight to the Bible lying open on its stand; and as he read, a +glory seemed to shine over its pages and his face reflected the comfort +and joy he found there. And afterwards as he stood before the Book with +lifted eyes and clasped hands, he was a visible incarnation of that +beautiful manliness which is the outcome and result of nearly two +thousand years of Christian thought and feeling. + +[Illustration: "Noiselessly he stepped to her side and ... stood in +silent prayer."] + +He had not permitted himself to think of his wife. His calculations had +demanded his whole mind and intellect and he had purposely occupied +himself with subjects that would not permit wandering thought. For he +was aware that he had once been jealous of Lord Thirsk and he knew that +it was not pleasant for him to think of Jane brightening with her +beauty Lord Thirsk's mansion while he sat lonely in his own silent home. + +But he soon put all such reveries vigorously, even a little angrily, +under the positive stamp of his foot as he began to take his own share +in the circumstance. "I could have gone with Jane--I did not want to +go--I don't like Thirsk--I do not want his hospitality. How could I +feast and dance when I know some of my men must be out of work and out +of bread in a few weeks--Jane does not feel as I do--Mother does not +either--I cannot expect it--but I know!--I know!--I took my own wish and +way, and I have no right to complain--I must be just and fair--just and +fair to all--to all;" and with this decision, he slept well, courting +sleep consciously, because he knew that the times were too full of +anxiety to lose the rest so needful in unhappy and doubtful brooding. + +In the morning a thing quite unlooked-for occurred. When John went into +the breakfast-room Jane was there to receive him. "O John!" she cried, +"I am delighted that I caught you napping. I left Thirsk at seven +o'clock. Are you not glad to see me?" + +"Glad!" He could not find words to express his gladness, but his silent +kisses spoke for him and his beaming eyes and the warm clasp of his +strong hand. And his coffee was not coffee, it was some heavenly nectar, +and his bread was more than the staff of life, it was the bread of +love. She brought her chair close to his side, she said _that_ was the +place of honor. She fed his heart with soft, beaming glances, and she +amused him with laughable descriptions of her partners. "After you, +John," she said with a pretty seriousness, "after you, John, all other +men look so small!" And what man wholly devoted to his wife, would not +have been intoxicated with the rapture of a love so near and yet so far +from understanding him? + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +JANE RECEIVES A LESSON + +"There are times in life when circumstances decide for us; it is then +the part of wisdom to accept and make the best of what they offer." + + +Of course Harry would have felt it intolerable to come home just like +his neighbors. So he returned to the Hatton district as if he had +condescended to accept some pressing invitation to do so. It was, +however, almost the last exhibition of his overweening youthful egotism. +His mother's best carriage was at the station for Mrs. Henry Hatton and +family; his mother's gigs and wagons there for his servants and baggage. +Two or three of the village societies to which he had belonged or did +yet belong crowded the railway platform. They cheered him when he +alighted, and sent him homeward to the music of, + + There may be fairer lands beyond the sea, + But it's Home! It's Home in the North Country! + +Harry's mother was delighted. This public approbation justified her own +rather extravagant welcome, and when John's face showed a shadow of +disapproval, she was not pleased. + +"It is too much especially at this time, mother. It is more than Harry +can or will live up to. Trust me, mother, for I know the men. This noisy +welcome was not so much a mark of their friendship and admiration as it +was a bid for Harry's help and patronage, and when Harry gets weary of +giving and doing or becomes unable to give or do, they will feel wronged +and offended and perhaps express their dissatisfaction just as +pointedly." + +"He is thy own brother, and I wouldn't be jealous of his popularity if I +was thee." + +"Jealous! Mother! How can you accuse me of such a feeling?" He could say +no more for he was deeply pained at the charge. + +"Well, John, I was wrong to say 'jealous.' I said it because it was the +ugliest word I could think of at the moment." + +"If you thought I was jealous, you were right to tell me so." + +"Nay, my lad, I didn't think so--not for a moment--so I was wrong. Well, +then, we all say the wrong word sometimes." + +"To be sure we do." + +"Just out of pure ugliness." + +"Or misunderstanding?" + +"Not in Martha Hatton's case. She understands well enough. Sometimes she +is sorry, as she is now. Generally speaking, she is satisfied with +herself. Why did you not go to Yoden with your brother? Were you afraid +of vexing Jane?" + +"I thought as you did, that they would prefer going home alone. The +children were tired and hungry. Lucy had a headache, and after sending +off their baggage and servants, I gave them a promise to see them +tomorrow. I think, too, that Mr. Lugur was sure to be at Yoden." + +This air of returning home victorious over some undeserved misfortune +and of taking possession of a home to which he had some ancient right, +was the tone given to Harry's settlement at Yoden, and for a long time +he felt compelled to honor it, even after it had become stale and +tedious. For it pleased his mother, and she did many unconsidered things +to encourage it. For instance, she gave a formal dinner at Hatton Hall +to which she invited all the county families and wealthy manufacturers +within her knowledge. A dinner at Hatton Hall was a rare social ceremony +and had not been observed since the death of the late Master of Hatton. +But Stephen Hatton had been a member of Parliament, and chairman of many +clubs and associations, and it belonged to his public position to give +dinners to his supporters. + +However, Hatton dinners and receptions had always been popular when in +vogue, and the countryside was well satisfied in their apparent renewal; +and as there were two weeks given to prepare for the occasion, it was +fairly possible that everyone invited would answer the call personally. +For several reasons John seriously objected to the entertainment, but +seeing that opposition would be both offensive and useless, he accepted +what he could not decline. + +Then he began to look for ways in which good might come from such an +occasion. It would certainly give him an opportunity of trying to unite +the cotton-spinners in Hatton district and of systematizing the best +manner of helping the already large body of men out of work. In Hatton +Hall he found that it gave his mother a delightful rejuvenation. She +became the busiest and happiest of women amid her preparations, and it +brought his wife and Lucy together in a sensible way after he had given +up all hope of doing so. For when Lucy received her invitation she began +at once to consider what she must wear at such an important social +function. Harry had but a confused idea, Mrs. Stephen Hatton's favorite +fashions were considerably behind the period, and Mr. Lugur's advice was +after the strictest Methodist rules. + +So Lucy waived all rites and ceremonies and called on Mrs. John Hatton +for advice. Jane was alone when the visit was made, and the heaviness +and boredom of mid-afternoon was upon her. Mrs. Harry's card was a +relief. It would please John very much, she reflected, and so looking in +her mirror and finding her dress correct and becoming, she had Lucy +brought to her private sitting-room. She met her sister-in-law with a +kindness that astonished herself, and nothing occurred during the visit +to make her regret her courtesy. + +Lucy's sweet nature and her utter want of self-consideration won its +way, as it always did; and Jane was astonished at her youthful freshness +and her great beauty. They shook hands and smiled pleasantly, and then +Lucy apologized for her initiative call and Jane waxed ashamed of her +cold, aloof attitude. She felt that she had lost something irrevocably +by her neglect of domestic duties so obvious and so generally observed. +"I did not think you were really settled yet," she explained, "and it +was so kind of you to call first." + +"I am afraid it is rather a selfish call, Mrs. Hatton." + +"Oh, you must not call me Mrs. Hatton. There are three of us, you know; +though it is likely that our mother-in-law assumes the title, and you +are Mrs. Harry and I am Mrs. John. It would be quite in sympathy with +her way, and her manner of thinking. So call me Jane, and I will call +you Lucy. John always speaks of you as Lucy." + +"John gave me a sister's place from the first. John does not know how to +be unkind. I came, Jane, to ask you how I must dress for the Hatton +dinner. I could make nothing of Harry's advice." + +"What did he suggest?" + +"Anything from cloth of gold to book muslin." + +"And the color?" + +"A combination impossible. Harry's idea of color in pictures is +wonderfully good; in dress it would be for me almost ridiculous. I think +Harry likes all colors and he did not know which to select. He advises +me also, that I must wear a low-cut bodice and very short sleeves. I +have never done this, and I do not think that I should either feel right +or do right to follow such advice." + +"There would not be anything wrong in such a dress, but you would not be +graceful in any kind of garment you do not wear _habitually_." + +Then Jane showed her sister-in-law all her finest costumes, told her +what modistes made them, and at what social functions they were worn. +When this exhibition was over, the afternoon was advanced. They drank a +cup of tea together and Jane thought Mrs. Harry the most attractive and +affectionate woman she had ever met. She begged her to send for Harry +and to stay for dinner, and Lucy was delighted at the invitation but +said she could not leave her children because Agnes was not yet weaned +and "she will need me and cry for me." Then with an enchanting smile she +added, "And you know, I should want her. A mother cannot leave a nursing +babe, can she?" + +These words were the only minor notes in the interview; they were the +only words Jane did not tell her husband. Otherwise, she made a charming +report of the visit. "She is a darling!" was her comment, and, "No +wonder that Harry adores her. John, she makes you feel that goodness is +beautiful, and she looks so young and lovely and yet she has three +children! It is amazing!" + +John longed to intimate that the three children might be the secret of +Lucy's youth and beauty, but he refrained himself even from good words. +And which of us cannot recall certain interviews in life when we +refrained from good words and did wisely; and other times when we said +good words and did foolishly? So all John said was, + +"Did you tell her how to dress, Jane?" + +"No. I let her look at my prettiest frocks, and she took note of what +she thought possible. I gave her an introduction to my dressmaker who is +clever enough to make anything Lucy is likely to desire. What is there +about Lucy that makes her so enchanting? While she was in my room, I +felt as if there were violets in it." + +"It is the perfume of a sweet, loving life, Jane. She brought the love +of God into the world with her. Her soul was never at enmity with Him. +She would look incredulously at you, if you told her so. I wish you +would return her call--very soon, Jane." + +"Oh, I certainly shall! I have fallen in love with Lucy, besides people +would talk ill-naturedly about me, if I did not." + +"Would you care for that?" + +"Surely. You do not think, John, that I call on the Taylors and Dobsons +and such people because I like them. I am trying to make friends and +votes for you, when you decide to take your father's place in the +House." + +"Then, my dear, you are sacrificing yourself uselessly. I don't know a +Yorkshire man who would vote for any candidate for any office because he +liked him personally. I would not do so. My father never did such a +thing, and Harry, though so thoughtless and emotional, would be equally +stubborn." + +"But why? Such nonsense, John!" + +"No. You do not vote for yourself only; your interest is bound up with +the interests of many others. You may be voting for a generation yet +unborn. A vote is a sacred obligation." + +"I am glad you have told me this. I can now drop several names from my +visiting list." + +"If you think that is the right way--" + +"What do you think is the right way?" + +"The kind way is the right way and also the wise way." + +"O John, what uncomfortable things you can think of!" + +Until the great dinner at Hatton Hall was over, it formed the staple of +conversation in the neighborhood. Everyone wondered who would be there +and who would be left out. About the dinner itself there was no doubt, +for there is little variety in such entertainments. The meat and the +drink offerings are similar, and the company are bound by fashion and +commonplaces. In the days of John's father men drank heavily of red +wines and it was the recognized way for ladies to leave them awhile to +discuss their port and politics. John Hatton's hospitality was of a more +modern type, although it still preserved a kind of antique stateliness. +And this night it had a very certain air of a somewhat anxious +amusement. The manufacturers silently wondered as to the condition of +each other's mills, and the landed gentry had in their minds a fear of +the ability of the land to meet the demands that were likely to be made +upon it. + +It was a happy turn of feeling that followed an impetuous, unanimous +call for song, and Harry rose in their midst and made the room ring to, + + "Ye mariners of England, + That guard our native seas, + Whose flag has braved a thousand years, + The battle and the breeze. + + "Britannia needs no bulwarks, + No towers along the steep, + Her march is on the mountain waves, + Her home is on the deep. + + "The meteor flag of England! + Shall yet terrific burn, + Till Danger's troubled night depart, + And the Star of Peace return." + +The last line spoke for every heart, and the honest, proud, joyous burst +of loyalty and admiration made men and women something more than men +and women for a few glorified moments. Then the satisfied lull that +followed was thrilled anew by that most delicious charmful music ever +written, "O sweetest melody!" This was the event of the evening. It drew +Harry close to every heart. It made his mother the proudest woman in +Yorkshire. It caused John to smile at his brother and to clasp his hand +as he passed him. It charmed Jane and Lucy and they glanced at each +other with wondering pleasure and delight. + +After the songs some of the elder guests sat down to a game of whist, +the younger ones danced Money Musk, Squire Beverly and Mrs. Stephen +Hatton leading, while Harry played the old country dance with a snap and +movement that made hearts bound and feet forget that age or rheumatism +were in existence. + +At eleven o'clock the party dispersed and the great dinner was over. +Harry had justified it. His mother felt sure of that. He had sung his +way into every heart, and if John was so indifferent about political +honors and office, she could think of no one better to fill Stephen +Hatton's place than his son Harry. Her dreams were all for Harry because +John formed his own plans and usually stood firmly by them, while Harry +was easily persuaded and not averse to see things as others saw them. + +The next day Harry wrote a very full account of the dinner and the +company who attended it, describing each individual, their social rank +or station, their physical and mental peculiarities, their dress and +even their ornaments or jewelry. This account was read to all the +family, then dated, sealed and carefully placed among the records and +heirlooms of Hatton Hall. The receptacle containing these precious +relics was a very large, heavily carved oak chest, standing in the +Master's room. This chest was iron-bound, triple-locked, and required +four strong men to lift it, and the family traditions asserted it had +stood in its present place for three hundred and forty years. It was the +palladium of Hatton Hall and was regarded with great honor and +affection. + +After this event there were no more attempts at festivity. The clouds +gathered quickly and a silent gloom settled over all the cotton-spinning +and weaving districts of England. But I shall only touch this subject as +it refers to the lives and characters of my story. Its facts and +incidents are graven on thousands of lives and chronicled in numerous +authentic histories. It is valuable here as showing how closely mankind +is now related and that the cup of sorrow we have to drink may be +mingled for us at the ends of the earth by people whose very names are +strange on our lips. Then + + ... "Impute it not a crime + To me or my swift passage, that I slide + O'er years." + +Very sorrowful years in which the strong grew stronger, and the weak +perished, unless carried in the Everlasting Arms. Three of them had +passed in want and suffering, constantly growing more acute. Mill after +mill closed, and the dark, quiet buildings stood among the starving +people like monuments of despair. No one indeed can imagine the pathos +of these black deserted factories, that had once blazed with sunlight +and gaslight and filled the town with the stir of their clattering looms +and the traffic of their big lorries and wagons and the call and song of +human voices. In their blank, noiseless gloom, they too seemed to +suffer.[1] + +FOOTNOTE: + +[Footnote 1: I need hardly remind my readers that I refer to the war of +1861 between the Northern and Southern States. At this time it was in +its third year, and the Southern States were closely blockaded and no +cotton allowed to leave them. Consequently the cotton-spinning counties +of Yorkshire and Lancashire were soon destitute of the necessary staple, +and to be "out of cotton" meant to more than a million cotton-spinning +families absolute starvation--for a cotton-spinner's hands are fit for +no other labor, and are spoiled by other work. This starvation was borne +with incredible faith and patience, because the success of the +blockading States meant freedom for the slaves of the cotton-growing +States.] + +A large proportion of mill-owners had gone to the continent. They could +live economically there and keep their boys and girls at inexpensive +schools and colleges. They were not blamed much, even by their +employees. "Rathmell is starting wife and childer, bag and baggage for +Geneva today," said one of them to another, and the answer was, "Happen +we would do the same thing if we could. He hes a big family. He'll hev +to spare at both ends to make his bit o' brass do for all. He never hed +any more than he needed." + +This was an average criticism and not perhaps an unfair one. Men, +however, did not as a rule talk much on the subject; they just quietly +disappeared. Everyone knew it to be a most unexpected and unmerited +calamity. They had done nothing to deserve it, they could do nothing to +prevent it. Some felt that they were in the hands of Destiny; the large +majority were patient and silent because they believed firmly that it +was the Lord's doing and so was wonderful in their eyes. Some even said +warmly it was time slavery was put down, and that millions could not be +set free without somebody paying for it, and to be sure England's skirts +were not clean, and she would hev to pay her share, no doubt of it. Upon +the whole these poor, brave, blockaded men and women showed themselves +at this time to be the stoutest and most self-reliant population in the +world; and in their bare, denuded homes there were acted every day more +living, loving, heroic stories than fiction or poetry ever dreamed of. +So far the sufferers of Hatton had kept their troubles to themselves and +had borne all their privations with that nobility which belongs to human +beings in whom the elements are finely mixed. + +John had suffered with them. His servants, men and women, had gradually +been dismissed, until only a man and woman remained. Jane had at first +demurred and reminded John that servants must live, as well as +spinners. + +"True," answered John, "but servants can do many things beside the one +thing they are hired to do. A spinner's hands can do nothing but spin. +They are unfit for any other labor and are spoiled for spinning if they +try it. Servants live in other people's houses. Nearly all of Hatton's +spinners own, or partly own, their homes. In its seclusion they can bear +with patience whatever they have to bear." + +Throughout the past three years of trouble John had been the Greatheart +of his people, and they loved and trusted him. They knew that he had +mortgaged or sold all his estate in order to buy cotton and keep them at +work. They knew that all other factories in the neighborhood had long +been closed and that for the last four months Hatton had been running +only half-time, and alas! John knew that his cotton was nearly gone and +that peace appeared to be as far off as ever. + +"You see, sir," said Greenwood, in a half-admiring and half-apologizing +way, "both North and South are mostly of good English breed and they +don't know when they are whipped." + +One afternoon Mrs. Stephen Hatton called at the mill to see John. It was +such a strange thing for her to do that he was almost frightened when he +heard of it. Strengthening his heart for anything, he went to his +private room to meet her, and his anxiety was so evident that she said +immediately in her cheerful comforting way, + +"Nay, nay, my lad, there is nothing extra for thee to worry about. I +only want thee to look after something in a hurry--it must be in a +hurry, or I would not have come for thee." + +"I know, mother. What is it?" + +"They have brought thirty-four little children from Metwold here, and +they are in a state of starvation. I want thee to see about getting +mattresses and blankets into the spinners' lecture room. I have looked +after food for them." + +"Have you anything to spare for this purpose, mother?" + +"No, I hev not, John. The town hes plenty. They will do whatever thou +tells them to do." + +"Very well, mother. I will go at once." + +"I hev been in the village all day. I hev seen that every poor nursing +woman hes hed some soup and tea and that these thirty-four little ones +were well and properly fed. Now I am going home to save every drop of +milk I can spare for them." + +"Is it fair for Metwold to send her starving children here?" + +"If thou could see them, John, thou would never ask that question. Some +of them are under three years old. They are only skin and bone, they are +as white as if they were dead--helpless, enfeebled, crippled, and, John, +three of them are stone blind from starvation!" + +"O my God!" cried John, in an acute passion of pity and entreaty. + +"Every sign of severe and speechless misery is on their small, shrunken +faces and that dreadful, searching look that shows the desperate hunger +of a little child. John, I cried over every one of them. Where was the +pitiful Christ? Why did He not comfort them?" + +"Mother! Mother! Tell me no more. I can not bear it. Who brought them +here?" + +"The town officer. They were laid on straw in big wagons. It was a hard +journey." + +"Where are their mothers?" + +"Dead or dying." + +"I will see they have beds and blankets. Do you want money, mother, for +this service?" + +"No." + +"But you must." + +"I never give money. I give myself, my health, my time, my labor. +Money--no!" + +"Why not money?" + +"Because money answers all ends, and I don't know what end is coming; +but I do know that it will be a very uncommon end that money can't +answer. Thou must have spent nearly all of it thou had." + +"It will come back to me." + +"If the war stops soon, happen some of it will come back. If it does not +stop soon, thou art standing to lose every shilling of it. So thou sees +I must save my shillings in case my children need them. How is Jane?" + +"Very well. She is the greatest help and comfort to me. I do not know +how I could have borne and done without her." + +"Mebbe thy mother might hev helped thee." + +And John answered with a beaming smile, "My mother never failed me." + +"What is Jane doing?" + +"Did you not hear that Mrs. Levy and Jane started a sewing-club for the +girl mill-hands? Very few of this class of workers can sew, and they are +being taught how to make all kinds of garments for themselves and +others. They meet in a large room over Mr. Levy's barn. He has had it +well warmed and he gives them one good meal every day." + +"I am sure I never thought Jane would notice that woman." + +"Mrs. Levy? She says she has the sweetest, kindest nature, and the +wisest little ways of meeting emergencies. And I can tell you, mother, +that her husband has given his full share of help both in money and work +during all these last three bitter years. He will be a greater honor to +the Gentlemen's Club than any of the gentlemen who have run away to rest +in Italy and left Hatton to starve or survive as she could. Have you +seen Harry lately? How is he managing?" + +"Harry does not manage at all, but _he is very manageable_, the best +quality a man can possess. Lucy manages Harry and everything else at +Yoden to perfection. She expects another baby with the spring, but she +is well and cheerful and busy as a bee." + +"Does Yoden farm do anything worth while?" + +"To be sure it does. Lugur helps Harry about the farm and Harry likes +work in the open, but Harry's voice is worth many farms. It has improved +lately, and next week he goes to Manchester to sing in oratorio. He will +bring a hundred pounds or more back with him." + +"Then at last he is satisfied and happy." + +"Happy as the day is long. He is wasteful though, in money matters, and +too ready to give the men he knows a sovereign if they are in trouble. +And it is just wasting yourself to talk to him about wasting money. I +told him yesterday that I had heard Ben Shuttleworth had been showing a +sovereign Mr. Harry gave him and that he ought not to waste his money, +and he said some nonsense about saved money being lost money, and that +spending money or giving it away was the only way to save it. Harry +takes no trouble and Medway, the new preacher, says, Henry Hatton lifts +up your heart, if he only smiles at you." + +"So he does, mother--God bless him!" + +"Well, John, I can't stop and talk with thee all day, it isn't likely; +but thou art such a one to tempt talk. I must be off to do something. +Good-bye, dear lad, and if thy trouble gets hard on thee and thou wants +a word of human love, thy mother always has it ready and waiting for +you--so she has!" + +John watched his mother out of sight; then he locked his desk and went +about her commission. She had trusted him to find beds for thirty-four +children, and it never entered his mind that any desire of hers could +possibly be neglected. Fortunately, circumstances had gone before him +and prepared for his necessity. The mattresses were easily found and +carried to the prepared room, and the children had been nourished on +warm milk and bread, had been rolled in blankets and had gone to sleep +ere John arrived at his own home. He was half-an-hour behind time, and +Jane did not like that lost half-hour, so he expected her usual little +plaintive reproach, "You are late tonight, John." But she met him +silently, slipped her hand into his and looked into his face with eyes +tender with love and dim with sorrow. + +"Did you see those little children from Metwold, John?" + +"No, my dear. Mother told me about them." + +"Your mother is a good woman, John. I saw her today bathing babies that +looked as if they had never been washed since they were born. Oh, how +they smiled lying in the warm water! And how tenderly she rubbed them +and fed them and rocked them to sleep in her arms. John, your mother +would mother any miserable neglected child. She made me cry. My anger +melted away this afternoon as I watched her. I forgave her everything." + +"O my darling! My darling Jane!" + +"I wanted to kiss her, and tell her so." + +After this confession it seemed easier for John to tell his wife that he +must close the mill in the morning. They were sitting together on the +hearth. Dinner was over and the room was very still. John was smoking a +cigar whose odor Jane liked, and her head leaned against his shoulder, +and now and then they said a low, loving word, and now and then he +kissed her. + +"John," she said finally, "I had a letter from Aunt Harlow today. She is +in trouble." + +"I am sorry for it." + +"Her only child has been killed in a skirmish with the Afghans--killed +in a lonely pass of the mountains and buried there. It happened a little +while since and his comrades had forgotten where his grave was. The man +who slew him, pointed it out. He had been buried in his uniform, and my +uncle received his ring and purse and a scarf-pin he bought for a +parting present the day he sailed for India." + +"I do not recollect. I never saw him, I am sure." + +"Oh, no! He went with his regiment to Simla seventeen years ago. Then he +married a Begum or Indian princess or something unusual. She was very +rich but also very dark, and Uncle would not forgive him for it. After +the marriage his name was never mentioned in Harlow House, but he was +not forgotten and his mother never ceased to love him. When they heard +of his death, Uncle sent the proper people to make investigations +because of the succession, you know." + +"I suppose now the nephew, Edwin Harlow, will be heir to the title and +estate?" + +"Yes, and Uncle and Aunt so heartily dislike him. Uncle has spent so +many, many years in economizing and restoring the fortune of the House +of Harlow, and now it will all go to--Edwin Harlow. I am sorry to +trouble you with this bad news, when you have so much anxiety of your +own." + +"Listen, dearest--I must--shut--the mill--tomorrow--some time." + +"O John!" + +"There is no more cotton to be got--and if there was, I have not the +money to buy it. Would you like to go to London and see your uncle and +aunt? A change might do you good." + +"Do you think I would leave you alone in your sorrow? No, no, John! The +only place for me is here at your side. I should be miserable anywhere +else." + +John was much moved at this proof of her affection, but he did not say +so. He clasped her hand a little tighter, drew her closer to his side, +and kissed her, but the subject dropped between them into a silence +filled with emotion. John could not think of anything but the trial of +the coming day. Jane was pondering two circumstances that seemed to have +changed her point of view. Do as she would, she could not regard things +as she had done. Of a stubborn race and family, she had hitherto +regarded her word as inviolable, her resolves, if once declared, as +beyond recall. She quite understood Lord and Lady Harlow's long +resentment against their son, and she knew instinctively that her +uncle's extreme self-denial for the purpose of improving the Harlow +estate was to say to his heir, "See how I have loved you, in spite of my +silence." + +Now Jane had declared her mind positively to John on certain questions +between them, and it never occurred to her that retraction was possible. +Or if it did occur, she considered it a weakness to be instantly +conquered. Neither Jane Harlow nor Jane Hatton could say and then unsay. +And she was proud of this racial and family characteristic, and +frequently recalled it in the motto of her house--_"I say! I do!"_ + +It is evident then that some strong antagonistic feeling would be +necessary to break down this barrier raised by a false definition of +honor and yet the circumstances that initially assailed it were of +ordinary character. The first happened a few weeks previously. Jane had +gone out early to do some household shopping and was standing just +within the open door of the shop where she had made her purchases. +Suddenly she heard John's clear, joyous laugh mingling with the clatter +of horses' feet. The sound was coming near and nearer and in a moment +or two John passed on his favorite riding-horse and with him was his +nephew Stephen Hatton on a pretty pony suitable to his size. John was +happy, Stephen was happy, and _she! She_ had absolutely no share in +their pleasure. They were not thinking of her. She was outside their +present life. + +An intense jealousy of the boy took possession of her. She went home in +a passion of envy and suspicion. She was a good rider, but John in these +late years had never found time to give her a gallop, and indeed had +persuaded her to sell her pretty riding-horse and outfit. Yet Stephen +had a pony and she was sure John must have bought it. Stephen must have +been at the mill early. _Why?_ Then she recalled John's look of love and +pride in the boy, his watchful care over him, his laughter and apparent +cheerfulness. + +She brooded over these things for some hours, then gave her thought +speech and in slow, icy tones said with intense feeling, "Of course, he +regards Stephen as the future master of Hatton Hall and Hatton factory. +He is always bringing Stephen and my Martha together. He intends them to +marry. They shall not. Martha is mine--she is Harlow"--then after a long +pause, "They are cousins. I shall have religious scruples." + +She did not name this incident to John and it was some days before John +said, "Stephen is going to be a fine horseman. His grandfather bought +him a pony, a beautiful spirited animal, and Steve was at once upon his +back. Yorkshire boys take to horses, as ducks to the water. Mother says +I leaped into the saddle before I was five years old." + +Jane smiled faintly at this last remark and John said no more on the +subject. He understood it to be the better way. But it had been ever +since a restless, unhappy thought below all other thoughts in Jane's +mind, and finally she had swift personal whispers and slow boring +suppositions which, if she had put them into words, would have sounded +very like, "Lucy may be disappointed yet! John might have a son of his +own. Many things happen as the clock goes round." + +She was in one of these jealous moods on the morning after John had told +her he must close the mill. Then Mrs. Levy called, and asked if she +would drive with her to Brent's Farm. "We have received a large number +of young children from Metwold," she said, "and I want to secure milk +for them." + +"Brent's Farm!" replied Jane. "I never heard of the place." + +"O my dear Mrs. Hatton, it is only a small farm on the Ripon road. The +farmer is a poor man but he has five or six cows and he sells their milk +in Hatton. I want to secure it all." + +"Is that fair to the rest of his customers?" asked Jane, with an air of +righteous consistency. + +"I do not know," was the answer. "I never asked myself. I think it is +fair to get it for babies who cannot bargain for their milk--the people +they take it from can speak for themselves." + +They found Brent's Farm to be a rough, roomy stone cottage on the +roadside. There was some pasture land at the back of the house and some +cows feeding on it. A stone barn was not far off, and the woman who +answered their call said, "If you be wanting Sam Brent, you'll find him +in the barn, threshing out some wheat." + +Mrs. Levy went to interview the milk dealer; Jane was cold and went into +the cottage to warm herself. "It is well I'm at ironing today," said +Mrs. Brent, "for so I hev a good fire. Come your ways in, ma'am, and sit +on the hearth. Let me make you a cup o' tea." + +"My friend will be here in a few minutes," Jane answered. "She only +wants to make a bargain with Mr. Brent for all his milk." + +"Then she won't be back in a few minutes; Sam Brent does no business in +a hurry. It's against his principles. You bed better hev a cup o' hot +tea." + +It seemed easier to Jane to agree than to dispute, and as the kettle was +simmering on the hob it was ready in five minutes. "You see," continued +Mrs. Brent, "I hev a big family, and washing and ironing does come a bit +hard on me now, but a cup o' tea livens me up, it does that!" + +"How many children have you, Mrs. Brent?" + +"I hev been married seventeen years, and I hev ten lads and lasses--all +of them fair and good and world-like. God bless them!" + +"Ten! Ten! How do you manage?" + +"Varry well indeed. Sam Brent is a forelooking man. They hev a good +father, and I try to keep step with him. We are varry proud of our +childer. The eldest is a boy and helps his father with the cows main +well. The second is a girl and stands by her mother--the rest are at +school, or just babies. It _is_ hard times, it is that, but God blesses +our crust and our cup, and we don't want. We be all well and healthy, +too." + +"I wonder you are not broken down with bearing so many children." + +"Nay, not I! Every fresh baby gives me fresh youth and health--if I do +it justice. Don't you find it so, ma'am?" + +"No." + +"How many hev you hed?" + +"One. A little girl." + +"Eh, but that's a shame! What does your good man say?" + +"He would like more." + +"I should think he _would_ like more. And it is only fair and square he +should _hev_ more! Poor fellow!" + +"I do not think so." + +"Whatever is the matter with thee?" + +"I think it is a shame and a great wrong for a woman to spend her life +in bearing and rearing children." + +"To bear and to rear children for His glory is exactly and perfectly +what God sent her into the world to do. It is her work in the days which +the Lord her God gives her. Men He told to work. Women He told to hev +children and plenty o' them." + +"There are more women working in the factories than men now." + +"They hev no business there. They are worse for it every way. They ought +to be in some kind of a home, making happiness and bringing up boys and +girls. Look at the whimpering, puny, sick babies factory women +bear--God, how I pity them!" + +"Tell me the truth, Mrs. Brent. Were you really glad to have ten +children?" + +"To be sure, I was glad. Every one of them was varry welcome. I used to +say to mysen, 'God must think Susy Brent a good mother, or He wouldn't +keep on sending her children to bring up for Him.' It is my work in this +life, missis, to bring up the children God sends me, and _I like my +work_!" With the last four words, she turned a beaming face to Jane and +sent them home with an emphatic thump of her iron on the little shirt +she was smoothing. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +PROFIT AND LOSS + + + The trifles of our daily life, + The common things scarce worth recall, + Whereof no visible trace remains, + These are the main springs after all. + + O why to those who need them not, + Should Love's best gifts be given! + How much is wasted, wrecked, forgot, + On this side of heaven? + +The thing that John feared, had happened to him, no miracle had +prevented it, and that day he must shut the great gates of Hatton +factory. He could hardly realize the fact. He kept wondering if his +father knew it, but if so, he told himself he would doubtless know the +why and the wherefore and the end of it. He would know, also, that his +son John had done all a man could do to prevent it. This was now a great +consolation and he had also a confident persuasion that the enforced +lock-out would only last for a short time. + +"Things have got to their worst, Greenwood," he said, "and when the tide +is quite out, it turns instantly for the onward flow." + +"To be sure it does, sir," was the answer. "Your honored father, sir, +used to say, 'If changes don't come, make them come. Things aren't +getting on without them.'" + +"How long can we run, Greenwood?" + +"Happen about four hours, sir." + +"When the looms give up, send men and women to the lunchroom." + +"All right, sir." + +Was it all right? If so, had he not been fighting a useless battle and +got worsted? But he could not talk with his soul that morning. He could +not even think. He sat passive and was dumb because it was evidently +God's doing. Perhaps he had been too proud of his long struggle, and it +was good spiritual correction for him to go down into the valley of +humiliation. Short ejaculatory prayers fell almost unconsciously from +his lips, mainly for the poor men and women he must lock out to poverty +and suffering. + +Finally his being became all hearing. Life appeared to stand still a +moment as loom after loom stopped. A sudden total silence followed. It +was broken by a long piercing wail as if some woman had been hurt, and +in a few minutes Greenwood looked into his office and said, "They be all +waiting for you, sir." The man spoke calmly, even cheerfully, and John +roused himself and with an assumed air of hopefulness went to speak to +his workers. + +They were standing together and on every face there was a quiet +steadfastness that was very impressive. John went close to them so that +he seemed to mingle with them. "Men and women," he said, "I have done my +best." + +"Thou hes, and we all know it." + +It was Timothy Briggs, the manager of the engine room, who spoke, a man +of many years and many experiences. "Thou hes done all a man could do," +he added, "and we are more than a bit proud of thee." + +"I do not think we shall be long idle," continued John, "and when we +open the gates again, there will be spinning and weaving work that will +keep the looms busy day and night. And the looms will be in fine order +to begin work at an hour's notice. When the first bell rings, I shall be +at my desk; let me see how quickly you will all be at your looms again." + +"How long, master, will it be till we hear the sound of the bell again?" + +"Say till midsummer. I do not think it will be longer. No, I do not. Let +us bear the trial as cheerfully as we can. I am not going a mile from +Hatton, and if any man or woman has a trouble I can lighten, let them +come to me. And our God is not a far-off God. He is a very present help +in time of need." With these words John lifted his hat a moment, and as +he turned away, Greenwood led the little company out, singing +confidently, + + "We thank Him for all that is past, + We trust Him for all that's to come." + +John did not go home for some hours. He went over his books and brought +all transactions up to date, and accompanied by Greenwood made a careful +inspection of every loom, noted what repairs or alterations were +necessary, and hired a sufficient number of boys to oil and dust the +looms regularly to keep the mill clean and all the metal work bright and +shining. So it was well on in the afternoon when he turned homeward. +Jane met him at the park gates, and they talked the subject over under +the green trees with the scent of the sweetbriar everywhere and the +April sunshine over every growing thing. She was a great help and +comfort. He felt her encouraging smiles and words to be like wine and +music, and when they sat down to dinner together, they were a wonder to +their household. They did not speak of the closed mill and they did not +look like people who expected a hard and sorrowful time. + +"They hev a bit o' money laid by for theirsens," said the selfish who +judged others out of their own hearts; but the majority answered +quickly, "Not they! Not a farthing! Hatton hes spent his last shilling +to keep Hatton mill going, and how he is going to open it when peace +comes caps everyone who can add this and that together." + +The first week of idleness was not the worst. John and Greenwood found +plenty to do among the idle looms, but after all repairs and alterations +had been completed, then John felt the stress of hours that had no +regular daily task. For the first time in his life his household saw him +irritable. He spoke impatiently and did not know it until the words were +beyond recall. Jane had at such times a new feeling about her husband. +She began to wonder how she could bear it if he were always "so short +and dictatorial." She concluded that it must be his mill way. "But I am +not going to have it brought into my house," she thought. "Poor John! He +must be suffering to be so still and yet so cross." + +One day she went to Harlow House to see her mother and she spoke to her +about John's crossness. Then she found that John had Mrs. Harlow's +thorough sympathy. + +"Think of the thousands of pounds he has lost, Jane. For my part I +wonder he has a temper of any kind left; and all those families on his +hands, as it were. I am sure it is no wonder he is cross at times. Your +father would not have been to live with at all." + +"I hope you have not lost much, mother." + +"O Jane, how could I help losing? Well then, I have been glad I could +give. When hungry children _look_ at you, they do not need to speak. My +God, Jane! You must have seen that look--if it was in Martha's eyes----" + +Jane caught her breath with a cry, "O mother! Mother! Do not say such +words! I should die!" + +"Yes. Many mothers did die. It was like a knife in their heart. When did +you see John's mother?" + +"The day the children came from Metwold." + +"Did you speak to her?" + +"No." + +"Why not? She has been kind to me." + +"You have given her milk for the children, I suppose." + +"All I could spare. I do not grudge a drop of it." + +Then Jane laid her arm across her mother's shoulders and looked lovingly +at her. "I am so glad," she said. "You may value money highly, mother, +but you can cast it away for higher things." + +"I hope I should never hesitate about that, Jane. A baby's life is worth +all the money I have"--and Jane sighed and went home with a new thought +in her heart. + +She found John and his little daughter in the garden planting bulbs and +setting out hardy geraniums. She joined them, and then she saw the old, +steadfast light on her husband's face and the old sure smile around his +mouth. She put her hand in his hand and looked at him with a question in +her loving eyes. He smiled and nodded slightly and drew her hand through +his arm. + +"Let us go into the house," he said. "The evenings are yet chilly"--and +they walked together silently and were happy without thought or +intention of being happy. A little later as they sat alone, Jane said, +"You look so much better than you have done lately, John. Have you had +any good news?" + +"Yes, my dear one--the best of news." + +"Who brought it?" + +"One who never yet deceived me." + +"You know it to be true?" + +"Beyond a doubt. My darling, I have been thinking of the sad time you +have had here." + +"I hope I have done some good, John." + +"You have done a great deal of good. The trouble is nearly over, it will +be quite over in a few weeks. Now you could go to London and see your +aunt. A change will do you good." + +"Cannot you and Martha go with me? You have nothing to do yet." + +"I shall have plenty to do in a short time. I must be preparing for it." + +"Then I must be content with Martha. It will be good for the child to +have a change." + +"Oh, I could not part with both you and Martha!" + +"Nor could I part with both you and Martha. Besides, who is to watch +over the child? She would be too much alone. I should be miserable in +London without her." + +"I thought while you were in London, I would have the house thoroughly +cleaned and renovated. I would open it up to every wind of heaven and +let them blow away all sad, anxious thoughts lurking in the corners and +curtains." + +"O John, I would like that so much! It would be a great comfort to me. +But you can see that Martha would be running about cold and warm, wet +and dry, and her old nurse went to Shipley when she left here." + +"I have considered these things, Jane, and decided that I would take +Martha up to Hatton Hall, and we would stay with mother while you were +away. It would be a great pleasure to mother, and do us all good." + +"But, John, London would be no pleasure to me without Martha." + +"I feel much the same, Jane. Martha is the joy of life to me. You must +leave me my little daughter. You know her grandmother will take every +care of her." + +"I can take care of her myself. She has been my companion and comforter +all through these past four years of sorrow. I cannot part with her, not +for a day." + +This controversy regarding the child was continued with unremitting +force of feeling on both sides for some time, but John finally gave way +to Jane's insistence, and the early days of April were spent in +preparations for the journey to London and the redecoration of the home. +Then one exquisite spring morning they went away in sunshine and smiles, +and John returned alone to his lonely and disorderly house. The very +furniture looked forlorn and unhappy. It was piled up and covered with +unsightly white cloths. John hastily closed the doors of the rooms that +had always been so lovely in their order and beautiful associations. He +could not frame himself to work of any kind, his heart was full of +regrets and forebodings. "I will go to my mother," he thought. "Until I +hear they are safe in Lord Harlow's house, I can do nothing at all." + +So he went up to Hatton Hall and found his mother setting her +dinner-table. "Eh, but I am glad to see thee, John!" she cried joyfully. +"Come thy ways in, dear lad. There's a nice roast turning over a +Yorkshire pudding; thou art just in a fit time. What brought thee up the +hill this morning?" + +"I came to see your face and hear your voice, mother." + +"Well now! I am glad and proud to hear that. How is Martha and her +mother?" + +"They are on their way to London." + +"However could thou afford it?" + +"Sometimes we spend money we cannot afford." + +"To be sure we do--and are always sorry for it. Thou should have brought +Martha up here and sent her mother to London by herself." + +"Jane would not go without her." + +"I'm astonished at thee! I am astonished at thee, John Hatton!" + +"I did not want her to go. I said all I could to prevent it." + +"That was not enough. Thou should not have permitted her to go." + +"Jane thought the change would do her good." + +"Late hours, late dinners, lights, and noise, and crowded streets, and +air that hes been breathed by hundreds and thousands before it reaches +the poor child, and----" + +"Nay, mother, that's enough. Count up no more dangers. I am miserable as +it is. How goes all with you?" + +"Why, John, it goes and goes, and I hardly know where it goes or how it +goes, and the mischief of it all is this--some are getting so used to +the Government feeding and clothing them that they'll think it a +hardship when they hev to feed and clothe themselves." + +"Not they, or else they are not men of this countryside. How is Harry? I +heard a queer story about him and others yesterday." + +"Queer it might be, but it was queer in a good way if it is set against +Harry. What did you hear?" + +"That Harry had trained a quartette of singers and that they had given +two concerts in Harrow-gate and three in Scarborough and Halifax, and +come back with nearly five hundred pounds for the starving mill-hands in +Hatton District." + +"That is so--and I'm thankful to say it! People were glad to give. Many +were not satisfied with buying tickets; they added a few pounds or +shillings as they could spare them. Lord Thirsk went with the company +as finance manager. People like a lord at the head of anything, and +Thirsk is Yorkshire, well known and trusted." + +"No more known and trusted than is Hatton. I think Harry might have +asked me. It is a pity they did not think of this plan earlier." + +"There may be time enough for the plan to wear itself out yet." + +"No. We shall have peace and cotton in three months." + +"However can thou say a thing like that?" + +"Because I know it." + +Then she looked steadily at him. He smiled confidently back, and no +further doubt troubled her. "I believe thee, John," she said, "and I +shall act accordingly." + +"You may safely do so, mother. How is Lucy?" "Quite well, and the new +baby is the finest little fellow I ever saw. Harry says they are going +to call him John. Harry is very fond of thee." + +"To be sure he is and I am fond of him. I wonder how they manage for +cash? Do you think they need it? Have they asked you for any?" + +"Not a farthing. Lucy makes the income meet the outgo. The farm feeds +the family and Harry earns more than a little out of the music and song +God put into him." + +"A deal depends on a man's wife, mother." + +"Everything depends on her. A man must ask his wife whether he is to do +well with his life or make a failure of it. What wilt thou do with +thyself while Jane is in London?" + +"I am going to stay with you mostly, mother. There will be painters and +paperers and cleaners in my home and a lot of dirt and confusion." + +"Where is thy economy now, John?" + +"When God turns again and blesses Hatton, He will come with both hands +full. The mill is in beautiful order, ready for work at any moment. I +will make clean and fair my dwelling; then a blessing may light on both +places." + +It was in this spirit he worked and as the days lengthened his hopes and +prospects strengthened and there was soon so much to do that he could +not afford the time for uncalled anxiety. He was quickly set at rest +about his wife and daughter. Jane wrote that they had received a most +affectionate welcome and that Martha had conquered her uncle and aunt's +household. + + Uncle is not happy, if Martha is out of sight [she wrote] and Aunt + is always planning some new pleasure for her. And, John, Uncle is + never tired of praising your pluck and humanity. He says he wishes + the Almighty had given him such an opportunity; he thinks he would + have done just as you have done. It was a little strange that Uncle + met a great Manchester banker the other day, and while they were + talking of the trouble, now so nearly over, this man said, + "Gentlemen, a great many of us have done well, but there is a + cotton-spinner in the Yorkshire wolds that has excelled us + all--one John Hatton. He mortgaged and sold all he had and kept his + looms going till the war was practically over. His people have not + been idle two months. What do you think of that?" + + Some man answered, he did not think it was extraordinary, for John + Hatton of Hatton-Elmete was of the finest blood in England. He + could not help doing the grand thing if it was there to be done. + And then another man took it up and said your blood and family had + nothing to do with your conduct. Many poor spinners would have done + as you did, if they had been your equals in money. Then the first + speaker answered, "We can do without any of your 'equality' talk, + Sam Thorpe. What the cream is, the cheese is. Chut! Where's your + equality now?" Uncle told me much more but that is enough of praise + for you, at once. Martha and I are very happy, and if all the news + we hear is true, I expect you to be living by the factory bell when + we get home. Dear, good John, we love you and think of you and talk + of you all the day long. + + JANE. + +Jane's letters came constantly and they gave to this period of getting +ready for work again a sense of great elation. If a man only passed John +on the hill or in the corridors of the mill during these days, he caught +spirit and energy and hope from his up-head and happy face and firm +step. At the beginning of May the poor women had commenced with woeful +hearts to clean their denuded houses, and make them as homelike as they +could; and before May was half over, peace was won and there were +hundreds of cotton ships upon the Atlantic. + +John's finished goods were all now in Manchester warehouses, and +Greenwood was watching the arrival of cotton and its prices in +Liverpool. John had very little money--none in fact that he could use +for cotton, but he confidently expected it, though ignorant of any +certain cause for expectation. + +As he was eating dinner with his mother one day, she said, "Whatever +have you sent Greenwood to Liverpool for?" + +"To buy any cotton he can." + +"But you have no money." + +"Simpson and Hager paid me at once for the calicoes I sent them. I shall +be getting money every day now." + +"Enough?" + +"I shall have enough--some way or other--no fear." + +"I'll tell you what, John. I can lend you twenty thousand pounds. I'll +be glad to do it." + +"O mother! Mother! That will be very salvation to me. How good you are! +How good you are!" and there was a tone in John's voice that was perhaps +entirely fresh and new. It went straight to his mother's heart, and she +continued, "I'll give you a check in the morning, John. You are varry, +varry welcome, my dear lad." + +"How can you spare me so much?" + +"Well, I've been saving a bit here and there and now and then for thirty +years, and with interest coming and coming, a little soon counts up. +Why, John, I must have been saving for this very strait all these years. +Now, the silent money will talk and the idle money roll here and there, +making more. That is what money is cut round for--I expect." + +"Mother, this is one of the happiest hours in my life. I was carrying a +big burden of anxiety." + +"Thou need not have carried it an hour; thou might hev known that God +and thy mother would be sufficient." + +The next morning John went down the hill with a check for twenty +thousand pounds in his pocket and a prayer of rest in his heart and a +bubbling song on his lips. And all my readers must have noticed that +good fortune as well as misfortune has a way of coming in company. There +is a tendency in both to pour if they rain, and that day John had +another large remittance from a Manchester house and the second mail +brought him a letter which was as great a surprise as his mother's loan. +It was from Lord Harlow and read as follows: + + JOHN HATTON, MY GOOD FRIEND, + + I must write you about three things that call for recognition from + me. The first is that I am forever your debtor for the fresh + delightful company of your little daughter. I have become a new man + in her company. She has lifted a great burden from my heart and + taught me many things. In my case it has been out of the mouths of + babes I have heard wisdom. My second reason for gratitude to you is + the noble and humane manner in which you have taken the loss and + privations this war entailed. The name of Hatton has been thrice + honored by your bearing of it and I count my niece the most + fortunate of women to be your wife. She and Martha have in a large + measure helped to console me for the loss of my dear son. The third + call for recognition is, that I owe you some tangible proof of my + gratitude. Now I have a little money lying idle or nearly so, and + if you can spend it in buying cotton, I do not know of any better + use it can be put to. I am sending in this a check on Coutts' Bank + for ten thousand pounds. If it will help you a little, you will do + me a great favor by setting poor men and women to work with it. I + heard dear little Martha reading her Bible lesson to her mother + this morning. It was about the man who folded his talent in a + napkin and did nothing with it. Take my offer, John, and help me to + put my money to use, so that the Master may receive His own with + usury, when he calls for it. + + Yours in heart and soul, + HARLOW. + +John answered this letter in person. He ran down to London by a night +train and spent a day with Jane and Martha and his uncle and aunt. It +was such a happy day that it would hardly have been possible to have +duplicated it, and John was wise to carry it back to Hatton untouched by +thought or word, by look or act which could in any way shadow its +perfection. He had longed to take his wife and child back to Hatton with +him, but Lady Trelawney was to give a children's May garden-party on +the eighteenth of May and Martha had been chosen queen of the May, and +when her father saw her in the dress prepared for the occasion and +witnessed her enthusiasm about the ceremony and the crowning of herself +queen, he put down all his personal desires and gave a ready consent to +her stay in London until the pageant was over. Then Jane dressed her in +the lace and satin of her coronation robe, with its spangled train of +tulle, put on her bright brown hair the little crown of shining gilt and +mock jewels, put in her hand the childish scepter and brought her into +the drawing-room and bade all make obeisance to her. And the child +played her part with such a sweet and noble seriousness that everyone +present wondered at her dignity and grace, and John's eyes were full as +his heart and the words were yet unknown to human tongues that could +express his deep love and emotion. Perhaps Lord Harlow made the best and +truest of commentaries when he said, + +"My dear friends, let us be thankful that we have yet hearts so +childlike as to be capable of enjoying this simple pleasure; for we are +told that unless we become as little children, we are not fit for the +kingdom of heaven." + +The next day soon after noon John was in his factory, but the image of +his child still lived in his eyes. His vision was everywhere obstructed +by looms and belts and swirling bands, but in front of them there was a +silvery light and in its soft glow he saw--he saw clearly--the image of +the lovely May Queen in her glimmering dress of shining white with the +little gilt crown on her long brown hair. Nor could he dismiss this +phantom until he went up to Hatton Hall and described her fairy Majesty +to his mother. + +"And when are they coming home, John?" asked Mrs. Hatton. "Jane's house +is as fine as if it was new and Martha's governess is wearying for her. +Martha ought to be at her lessons now. Her holiday is over by all +rights." + +"The festival will be on the twenty-eighth, and they will come on the +thirtieth if the weather be fine." + +"What has the weather to do with it?" + +"Well, Jane does not like to travel in wet weather. It drabbles her +skirts and depresses her spirits--always." + +"Dear me! It is a pity she can't order the weather she prefers. I was +taught when a year or two younger than Martha six lines that my mother +bid me remember as long as I lived. I have not forgot to mind them yet." + +"Why didn't you teach them to me?" + +"You never feared rain--quite the other way." + +"Tell them to me now, mother. It is your duty, you know," and John +laughed and bent forward and took in his large brown hand the plump, +small, white one she put out to meet his. + +"Well then, listen John, and see thou mind them: + + "The rain has spoiled the farmer's day, + Shall weather put my work away? + Thereby are two days lost. + Nature shall mind her own affairs, + I will attend my proper cares, + In rain or sun or frost." + +And the days went busily forward and John though he counted off day by +day was happy. Every loom he had was busy overtime. His manufactured +goods, woven in such stress and sorrow, were selling well, his cotton +sheds were filling rapidly. Men and women were beginning to sing at +their work again, for as one result of the day John spent with Harlow, +his lordship had opened a plain, good, and very cheap furniture store, +where the workers in cotton factories could renew on easy installments +the furniture they had sold for a mouthful of bread. It was known only +as "The Hatton Furniture Store" and John Hatton, while denying any share +in its business, stood as guarantee for its honesty, and no one was +afraid to open an account there. It really seemed as if Hatton village +had never before been so busy, so hopeful, and so full of life. The +factory bell had never sounded so cheerful. The various societies and +civic brotherhood meetings never had been so crowded and so cordial. Old +quarrels and grudges had died out and had been forgotten forever while +men and women broke their last crust of bread together or perhaps +clemmed themselves to help feed the children of the very man that had +wronged them. Consequent on these pleasant surroundings, Hatton Chapel +was crowded, the singing-pew held the finest voices in the countryside, +and there was such a renewal of religious interest that Greenwood chose +the most jubilant hymn tunes he could find in all Methodist Psalmody. + +Then suddenly in spite of all these pleasant happenings strange +misgivings began to mix with John's days and cross and darken his hours +of rest. Every morning he got his London letter, always full of love and +satisfactions, yet uncalled-for and very unlikely apprehensions came +into his thoughts and had power to shake his soul as they passed. He was +angry at himself. He called himself ungrateful to God who had so +wonderfully helped him. He prayed earnestly for a thankful, joyful +spirit, and he assumed the virtue of cheerfulness though he was far from +feeling it. But he said nothing of this delusive temper to his mother. +He was in reality ashamed of his depression, for he knew + + Love that is true must hush itself, + Nor pain by its useless cry; + For the young don't care, and the old must bear, + And Time goes by--goes by. + +One morning John said to his mother, "Today Martha is queen of the May. +Tomorrow they will pack, and do their last shopping and on Friday +afternoon they promise to be home. The maids and men will be all in +their places by tonight, and I think Jane will be pleased with the +changes I have made." + +"She ought to be, but ought often stands for nothing. It cost thee a +goodish bit when thou hedn't much to count on." + +"Not so much, mother--some paint and paper and yards of creton." + +"And new white curtains 'upstairs and downstairs and in my lady's +chamber.' Add to that men's and women's wage; and add to that, the love +that could neither be bought nor sold." + +"She is worth it all many times over." + +"Happen she may be. Her aunt has had a heartbreaking lesson. She may say +a few words to unsay words that she never should have spoken." + +"I shall be thinking of Martha all day. I hope she will keep her +confidence." + +"What art thou talking about? Martha will do herself no injustice. It +isn't likely. What is the matter with thee, John? Thou art as +down-hearted as if all had gone wrong instead of right. O thou of little +faith!" + +"I know and I am sorry and ashamed, mother." + +The next morning John had a charming letter from Jane. Martha had done +wonderfully. She had played her part to perfection and there were only +exclamations of delight at the airy, fairy cleverness of her conceptions +of mimic royalty. Jane said the illustrated papers had all taken +Martha's picture, and in fact the May Day Dream had been an +unqualified, delightful success. "And the praise is all given to Martha, +John. I shall have her likeness taken today as she appeared surrounded +by her ladies. We shall surely see you at home on Friday." + +John was so immensely proud of this news, that he went up the hill +earlier than usual in order to give it to his mother. And her attitude +disappointed him. She was singularly indifferent, he thought, and +answered his excited narrative by a fervent wish that they "were safely +back at Hatton." He wondered a little but let the circumstance pass. +"She has been worried about some household misdoing," he thought, and he +tried during their dinner together to lead her back to her usual homely, +frank cheerfulness. He only very partially succeeded, so he lit a cigar +and lay down on the sofa to smoke it. And as his mother knit she lifted +her eyes occasionally and they were full of anxious pity. She knew not +_why_, and yet in her soul there was a dark, swelling sorrow which would +not for any adjuration of Scripture nor any imploration of prayer, be +stilled. + +"I wonder what it is," she whispered. "I wonder if Jane----" then there +was a violent knocking at the front door, and she started to her feet, +uttering as she did so the word, "_Now!_" She knew instinctively, +whatever the trouble was, it was standing at her threshold, and she took +a candle in her hand and went to meet it face to face. It was a stranger +on a big horse with a telegram. He offered it to Mrs. Hatton, but John +had quickly followed his mother and he took it from her and read its +appalling message: + + Come quickly! Martha is very, very ill! + +A dark, heavy cloud took possession of both hearts, but John said only, +"Come with me, mother." "No," she answered, "this is Jane's opportunity. +I must not interfere with it. I shall be with you, dear John, though you +may not see. My kiss and blessing to the little one. God help her! +Hurry, John! I will have your horse at the door in ten minutes." + +In that long, dark, hurrying ride to London, he suddenly remembered that +for two days he had been haunted by a waylaying thought of some verses +he had read and cut out of a daily paper, and with the remembrance, back +they came to his mind, setting themselves to a phantom melody he could +hardly refrain himself from softly singing, + + "Many waters go softly dreaming + On to the sea, + But the river of Death floweth softest, + By tower and tree. + + "No rush of the mournful waters + Breaks on the ear, + To tell us when Life is strongest, + That Death flows near. + + "But through throbbing hearts of cities + In the heat of the day, + The cool, dark River passeth + On its silent way. + + "This is the River that follows + Wherever we go, + No sand so dry and thirsty, + But these strange waters flow. + + "Many waters go softly dreaming + On to the sea, + But the river of Death flows softest + To Thee and me. + + "And the Lord's voice on the waters + Lingereth sweet, + He that is washed needest only + To wash his feet." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE LOVE THAT NEVER FAILS + + + Go in peace, soul beautiful and blest! + + Yet high above the limits of our seeing, + And folded far within the inmost heart, + And deep below the deeps of conscious being, + Thy splendor shineth! There O God! Thou art. + +When John reached London it was in the gray misty dawning. The streets +were nearly deserted, and an air of melancholy hung over the long rows +of low dwellings. At Harlow House he saw at once that every window was +shrouded, and he turned heartsick with the fear that he was too late. A +porter, whose eyes were red with weeping, admitted him, and there was an +intolerable smell of drugs, the odor of which he recollected all the +days of his future life. + +"She is still alive, sir--but very ill." + +John could not answer, but his look was so urgent and so miserable the +man divined the hurry of heart and spirit that he was possessed by and +without another word led him to the room where the child lay dying. The +struggle was nearly over and John was spared the awful hours of slow +strangulation which had already done their work. She was not insensible. +She held tight the hand of her mother, kneeling by her side, and gazed +at John with eyes wearing a new, deep look as if a veil had been rent +and she with open face saw things sweet and wonderful. Her pale, mute +mouth smiled faintly and she tried to stretch out her arms to him. There +she lay, a smitten child, fallen after a bewildering struggle with a +merciless foe. John with a breaking heart lifted her in his arms and +carried her gently to-and-fro. The change and motion relieved her a +little and what words of comfort and love he said in that last communion +only God knows. But though he held her close in his strong arms, she +found a way to pass from him to God. Quivering all over like a wounded +bird, she gave John her last smile, and was not, for God took her. The +bud had opened to set free the rose--the breathing miracle into silence +passed. Weeping passionately, his tears washed her face. He was in an +agony of piteous feeling in which there was quite unconsciously a strain +of resentment. + +"She is gone!" he cried, and the two physicians present bowed their +heads. Then Jane rose and took the body from the distracted father's +arms. She was white and worn out with suffering and watching, but she +would allow no one to make the child's last toilet but herself. For this +ceremony she needed no lace or satin, no gilt or mock jewelry. She +washed the little form free of all earth's stain, combed loose the +bright brown hair, matted with the sweat of suffering, and dressed her +for the last--the last time, in one of the pretty white linen nightgowns +she had made for her darling but a few weeks previously. + +Oh, who dare inquire what passed in Jane's soul during that hour? The +God who wrote the child's name in His book before she was born, He only +knew. Of all that suffered in Martha's loss, Jane suffered incredibly +more than any other. She fell prostrate on the floor at the feet of the +Merciful Father when this duty was done--prostrate and speechless. +Prayer was beyond her power. She was dumb. God had done it and she +deserved it. She heard nothing John said to her. All that long, long day +she sat by her dead child, until in the darkening twilight some men came +into the room on tiptoe. They had a small white coffin in their care, +and placed it on a table near the bed. Then Jane stood up and if an +unhappy soul had risen from the grave, it could not have shocked them +more. She stood erect and looked at them. Her tall form, in its crushed +white gown, her deathly white face, her black eyes gleaming with the +lurid light of despair, her pale quivering lips, her air of hopeless +grief, shocked even these men, used to the daily sight of real or +pretended mourners. With a motion of her hand she prevented them coming +closer to the dead child, and then by an imperative utterance of the +word, "_Go_," sent them from the room. With her own hand she laid +Martha in her last bed and disposed its one garment about the rigid +little limbs. She neither spoke nor wept for Ah! in her sad soul she +knew that never day or night or man or God could bring her child back to +her. And she remembered that once she had said in an evil moment that +this dear, dead child was "one too many." Would God ever forgive her? + +By a late train that night they left for Hatton Hall, reaching the +village about the time for the mill to open. No bell summoned its hands +to cheerful work. They were standing at various points, and when the +small white coffin went up the hill, they silently followed, softly +singing. At the great gates the weeping grandmother received them. + +For one day the living and the dead dwelt together in hushed and +sorrowful mourning, nor did a word of comfort come to any soul. The +weight of that grief which hung like lead upon the rooms, the stairs, +the galleries where her step had lately been so light, was also on every +heart; and although we ought to be diviner for our dead, the strength of +this condition was not as yet realized. John had shut himself in his +room, and the grandmother went about her household duties silently +weeping and trying to put down the angry thoughts which would arise +whenever she remembered how stubbornly her daughter-in-law had refused +to leave Martha with her, and make her trip to London alone. She knew +it was "well with the child," but Oh the bitter strength of regrets +that strain and sicken, + + Yearning for love that the veil of Death endears. + +Jane sat silent, tearless, almost motionless beside her dead daughter. +Now and then John came and tried to comfort the wretched woman, but in +her deepest grief, there was a tender motherly strain which he had not +thought of and knew not how to answer. "Her little feet! Her little +feet, John! I never let them wander alone or stray even in Hatton +streets without a helper and guide. O John, what hand will lead them +upward and back to God? Those little feet!" + +"Her angel would be with her and she would know the way through the +constellations. Together they would pass swift as thought from earth to +heaven. Martha loved God. They who love God will find their way back to +Him, dear Jane." + +The next day there was no factory bell. Nearly the whole village was +massed in Hatton churchyard, and towards sunset the crowd made a little +lane for the small white coffin to the open grave waiting for it. None +of the women of the family were present. They had made their parting in +the familiar room that seemed, even at that distracting hour, full of +Martha's dear presence. But Jane, sitting afterwards at its open window, +heard the soft singing of those who went to the grave mouth with the +child, and when a little later John and Harry returned together, she +knew that _all had been_. + +She did not go to meet them, but John came to her. "Let me help you, +dear one," he said tenderly. "One is here who will give you comfort." + +"None can comfort me. Who is here?" + +"The new curate. He said words at the graveside I shall never forget. He +filled them with such glory that I could not help taking comfort." + +"O John, what did he say?" + +"After the service was over, and the people dispersing, he stood talking +to Harry and myself, and then he walked up the hill with us. I asked him +for your sake." + +"I will come down in half an hour, John." + +"Then I will come and help you." + +And in half an hour this craver after some hope and comfort went down, +and then John renewed the conversation which was on the apparent cruelty +of children being born to live a short time and then leave Earth by the +inscrutable gate of Death. + +"It seems to be so needless, so useless," said Jane. + +"Not so," the curate answered. "Let me repeat two verses of an ancient +Syrian hymn, written A.D. 90, and you will learn what the earliest +Fathers of the Church thought of the death of little children. + + "The Just One saw that iniquity increased on earth, + And that sin had dominion over all men, + And He sent His Messengers, and removed + A multitude of fair little ones, + And called them to the pavilion of happiness. + + "Like lilies taken from the wilderness, + Children are planted in Paradise; + And like pearls in diadems, + Children are inserted in the Kingdom; + And without ceasing, shall hymn forth his praise." + +"Will you give me a copy of those verses?" asked Jane with great +emotion. + +"I will. You see a little clearer now?" + +"Yes." + +"And the glory and the safety for the child? Do you understand?" + +"I think I do." + +"Then give thanks and not tears because the King desired your child, for +this message came forth from Him in whom we live and move and have our +being: 'Come up hither, and dwell in the House of the Lord forever. The +days of thy life have been sufficient. The bands of suffering are +loosed. Thy Redeemer hath brought thee a release.' So she went forth +unto her Maker. She attained unto the beginning of Peace. She departed +to the habitations of just men made perfect, to the communion of saints, +to the life everlasting." + +In such conversation the evening passed and all present were somewhat +comforted, yet it was only alleviation; for comfort to be lasting, must +be in a great measure self-evolved, must spring from our own +convictions, our own assurance and sense of absolute love and justice. + +However, every sorrow has its horizon and none are illimitable. The +factory bell rang clearly the next morning, and the powerful call of +duty made John answer it. God had given, and God had taken his only +child, but the children of hundreds of families looked to the factory +for their daily bread. Yea, and he did not forget the contract with God +and his father which bound him to the poor and needy and which any +neglect of business might imperil. He lifted his work willingly and +cheerfully, for work is the oldest gospel God gave to man. It is good +tidings that never fail. It is the surest earthly balm for every grief +and whatever John Hatton was in his home life and in his secret hours, +he was diligent in business, serving God with a fervent, cheerful +spirit. In the mill he never named his loss but once, and that was on +the morning of his return to business. Greenwood then made some remark +about the dead child, and John answered, + +"I am very lonely, Greenwood. This world seems empty without her. Why +was she taken away from it?" + +"Perhaps she was wanted in some other world, sir." + +John lifted a startled face to the speaker, and the man added with an +air of happy triumph, as he walked away, + +"A far better world, sir." + +For a moment John rested his head on his hand, then he lifted his face +and with level brows fronted the grief he must learn to bear. + +Jane's sorrow was a far more severe and constant one. Martha had been +part of all her employments. She could do nothing and go nowhere, but +the act and the place were steeped in memories of the child. All her +work, all her way, all her thoughts, began and ended with Martha. She +fell into a dangerous condition of self-immolation. She complained that +no one cared for her, that her suffering was uniquely great, and that +she alone was the only soul who remembered the dead and loved them. + +Mrs. Stephen came from her retreat in Hatton Hall one day in order to +combat this illusion. + +"Three mothers living in Hatton village hev buried children this week, +Jane," she said. "Two of them went back to the mill this morning." + +"I think it was very wicked of them." + +"They _hed_ to go back. They had living children to work for. When the +living cling to you, then you must put the dead aside for the living. +God cares for the dead and they hev all they want in His care. If you +feel that you must fret youself useless to either living or dead, try +the living. They'll mostly give you every reason for fretting." + +"John has quite forgotten poor little Martha." + +"He's done nothing of that sort, but I think thou hes forgotten John, +poor fellow! I'm sorry for John, I am that!" + +"You have no cause to say such things, mother, and I will not listen to +them. John has become wrapped up in that dreadful mill, and when he +comes home at night, he will not talk of Martha." + +"I am glad he won't and thou ought to be glad too. How can any man work +his brains all day in noise and worry and confusion and then come home +and fret his heart out all night about a child that is in Heavenly +keeping and a wife that doesn't know what is good either for herself or +anybody else. Listen to me! I am going to give thee a grain of solid +truthful sense. The best man in the world will cease giving sympathy +when he sees that it does no good and that he must give it over and over +every day. I wonder John gave it as long as he did! I do that. If I was +thee, I would try to forget myself a bit. I would let the sunshine into +these beautiful rooms. If thou doesn't, the moths will eat up thy fine +carpets and cushions, and thou will become one of those chronic, +disagreeable invalids that nobody on earth--and I wouldn't wonder if +nobody in heaven either--cares a button for." + +Jane defended herself with an equal sincerity, and a good many truths +were made clear to her that had only hitherto been like a restless +movement of her consciousness. In fact the Lady of Hatton Hall left her +daughter-in-law penetrated with a new sense of her position. Nor was +this sense at all lightened or brightened by her parting remarks. + +"I am thy true friend, Jane, that is something better than thy +mother-in-law. I want to see thee and John happy, and I assure thee it +will be easy now to take one step thou must never take if thou wants +another happy hour. John is Yorkshire, flesh and bone, heart and soul, +and thou ought to know that Yorkshiremen take no back steps. If John's +love wanes, though it be ever so little, it has waned for thee to the +end of thy life. Thou can never win it back. _Never!_ So, I advise thee +to mind thy ways, and thy words." + +"Thank you, mother. I know you speak to me out of a sincere heart." + +"To be sure I do. And out of a kind heart also. _Why-a!_ When John said +to me, 'Mother, I love Jane Harlow,' I answered, 'Thou art right to love +her. She is a fit and proper wife for thee,' and I made up my mind to +love thee, too--faults included." + +"Then love me now, mother. John minds your lightest word. Tell him to be +patient with me." + +"I will--but thou must do thy best to even things. Thou must be more +interested in John. Martha is with God. If she hed lived, thou would +varry soon be sending her off to some unlovelike, polite +boarding-school, and a few years later thou would make a grand feast, +and deck her in satin and lace and jewels and give her as a sacrifice to +some man thou knew little about--just as the old pagans used to dress +up the young heifers with flowers and ribbons before they offered them +in blood and flame to Jupiter or the like of him. Martha was God's child +and He took her, and I must say, thou gave her up to Him in a varry +grudging way." + +"Mother, I am going to do better. Forgive me." + +"Nay, my dear lass, seek thou God's forgiveness and all the rest will +come easy. It is against Him, and Him only, thou hast sinned; but He is +long-suffering, plenteous in mercy, and ready to forgive." And then +these two women, who had scarcely spoken for years, kissed each other +and were true friends ever after. So good are the faithful words of +those who dare to speak the truth in love and wisdom. + +As it generally happens, however, things were all unfavorable to Jane's +resolve. John had been impeded all day by inefficient or careless +services; even Greenwood had misunderstood an order and made an +impossible appointment which had only been canceled with offense and +inconvenience. The whole day indeed had worked itself away to cross +purpose, and John came home weary with the aching brows that annoyance +and worry touch with a peculiar depressing neuralgia. It need not be +described; there are very few who are not familiar with its exhausting, +melancholy dejection. + +John did his best to meet his wife's more cheerful mood, but the +strongest men are often very poor bearers of physical pain. Jane would +have suffered--and did often suffer--the same distress with far less +complaint. Women, too, soon learn to alleviate such a cruel sensation, +but John had a strong natural repugnance for drugs and liniments, and it +was only when he was weary of Jane's entreaties that he submitted to a +merciful medication which ended in a restorative sleep. + +This incident did not discourage Jane in her new resolve. She told +herself at once that the first steps on a good or wise road were sure to +be both difficult and painful; and in the morning John's cheerful, +grateful words and his brave sunny face repaid her fully for the +oblivion to which she had consigned her own trials and the subjection +she had enforced upon her own personality. + +This was the new battle-ground on which she now stood, and at first John +hardly comprehended the hard, self-denying conflict she was waging. One +day he was peculiarly struck with an act of self-denial which also +involved for Jane a slight humiliation, that he could not but wonder at +her submission. He looked at her in astonishment and he did not know +whether he admired her self-control and generosity or not. The +circumstance puzzled and troubled him. That afternoon he had to go to +Yoden to see his brother, and he came home by way of Hatton Hall. + +As he anticipated, he found his mother pleasantly enjoying her cup of +afternoon tea, and she rose with a cry of love to welcome him. + +"I was thinking of thee, John, and then I heard thy footsteps. I hev +the best pot of tea in Yorkshire at my right hand; I'm sure thou wilt +hev a cup." + +"To be sure I will. It is one of the things I came for, and I want to +talk to you half an hour." + +"Say all that is in thy heart, and there's nothing helps talk, like a +cup of good tea. Whatever does thou want to talk to me about?" + +"I want to talk to you about Jane." + +"Well then, be careful what thou says. No man's mother is a fair +counselor about his wife. They will both say more than they ought to +say, especially if she isn't present to explain; and when they don't +fully understand, how can they advise?" + +"You could not be unjust to anyone, mother?" + +"Well, then?" + +"She is so much better than she has ever been since the child went +away." + +"She is doing her best. Thou must help her with all thy heart and soul." + +"All her love for me seems to have come back." + +"It never left thee for a moment." + +"But for weeks and months she has not seemed to care for anything but +her memory of Martha." + +"That is the way men's big unsuspecting feet go blundering and crushing +through a woman's heart. In the first place, she was overwhelmed with +grief at Martha's sudden death and at her own apparent instrumentality +in it." + +"I loved Martha as well, perhaps better, than Jane." + +"Not thou! Thou never felt one thrill of a mother's love. Jane would +have died twice over to save her child. Thou said with all the +bitterness of death in thy soul, 'God's will be done.'" + +"We will let that pass. Why has her grief been so long-continued?" + +"Thou _hed_ to put thine aside. A thousand voices called on thee for +daily bread. Thou did not dare to indulge thy private sorrow at the risk +of neglecting the work God had given thee to do. Jane had nothing to +interest her. Her house was so well arranged it hardly needed oversight. +The charities that had occupied her heart and her hands were ended and +closed. In every room in your house, in every avenue of your garden and +park Martha had left her image. Many hours every day you were in a total +change of scene and saw a constant variety of men and women. Jane told +me that she saw Martha in every room. She saw and heard her running up +and down stairs. She saw her at her side, she saw her sleeping and +dreaming. Poor mother! Poor sorrowful Jane! It would be hard to be kind +enough and patient enough with her." + +"Do you think she will always be in this sad condition?" + +"Whatever can thou mean? God has appointed Time to console all loss and +all grief. Martha will go further and further away as the days wear on +and Jane will forget--we all do--we all _hev_ to forget." + +"Some die of grief." + +"Not they. They may induce some disease, to which they are disposed by +inordinate and sinful sorrow--and die of that--no one dies of grief, or +grief would be our most common cause of death. I think Jane will come +out of the Valley of the Shadow a finer and better woman--she was always +of a very superior kind." + +"Mother, you allude to something that troubles me. I have seen Jane bear +and do things lately that a year ago she would have indignantly refused +to tolerate. Is not this a decadence in her superior nature?" + +"Thou art speaking too fine for my understanding. If thou means by +'decadence' that Jane is growing worse instead of better, then thou art +far wrong--and if it were that way, I would not wonder if some of the +blame--maybe the main part of it--isn't thy fault. Men don't understand +women. How can they?" + +"Why not?" + +"Well, if the Bible is correct, women were made after men. They were the +Almighty's improvement on his first effort. There's very few men that I +know--or have ever known--that have yet learned to model themselves +after the improvement. It's easier for them to manifest the old Adam, +and so they go on living and dying and living and dying and remain only +men and never learn to understand a woman." + +John laughed and asked, "Have you ever known an improved man, mother?" + +"Now and then, John, I have come across one. There was your father, for +instance, he knew a woman's heart as well as he knew a loom or a sample +of cotton, and there's your brother Harry who is just as willing and +helpful as his wife Lucy, and I shall not be far wrong, if I say the +best improvement I have seen on the original Adam is a man called John +Hatton. He is nearly good enough for any woman." + +Again John laughed as he answered, "Well, dear mother, this is as far as +we need to go. Tell me in plain Yorkshire what you mean by it." + +"I mean, John, that in your heart you are hardly judging Jane fairly. I +notice in you, as well as in the general run of husbands, that if they +hev to suffer at all, they tell themselves that it is their wife's +fault, and they manage to believe it. It's queer but then it's a man's +way." + +"You think I should be kinder to Jane?" + +"Thou art kind enough in a way. A mother might nurse her baby as often +as it needed nursing, but if she never petted it and kissed it, never +gave it smiles and little hugs and simple foolish baby talk, it would be +a badly nursed and a very much robbed child. Do you understand?" + +"You think I ought to give Jane more petting?" + +Mrs. Hatton smiled and nodded. "She calls it _sympathy_, John, but that +is what she means. Hev a little patience, my dear lad. Listen! There is +a grand wife and a grand mother in Jane Hatton. If you do not develop +them, I, your mother, will say, 'somehow it is John's fault.'" + +Now life will always be to a large extent what we make it. Jane was +trying with all her power to make her life lovable and fair, and the +beginning of all good is action, for in this warfare they who would win +must struggle. Hitherto, since Martha's death, she had found in nascent, +indolent self-pity the choicest of luxuries. Now she had abandoned this +position and with courage and resolve was devoting herself to her +husband and her house. Unfortunately, there were circumstances in John's +special business cares that gave an appearance of Duncan Grey's wooing +to all her efforts--when the lassie grew kind, Duncan grew cool. It was +truly only an appearance, but Jane was not familiar with changes in +Love's atmosphere. John's steadfast character had given her always fair +weather. + +In reality the long strain of business cares and domestic sorrow had +begun to tell even upon John's perfect health and nervous system. Facing +absolute ruin in the war years and surrounded by pitiable famine and +death, he had kept his cheerful temper, his smiling face, his resolute, +confident spirit. Now, he was singularly prosperous. The mill was busy +nearly night and day, all his plans and hopes had been perfected; yet +he was often either silent or irritable. Jane seldom saw him smile and +never heard him sing and she feared that he often shirked her company. + +One hot morning at the end of August she had a shock. He had taken his +breakfast before she came down and he had left her no note of greeting +or explanation. She ran to a window that overlooked the main avenue and +she could see him walking slowly towards the principal entrance. Her +first instinct was to follow him--to send the house man to delay him--to +bring him back by some or any means. Once she could and would have done +so, but she did not feel it wise or possible then. What had happened? +She went slowly back to her breakfast, but there was a little ball in +her throat--she could not swallow--the grief and fear in her heart was +surging upward and choking her. + +All that her mother-in-law had said came back to her memory. Had John +taken that one step away? Would he never take it back to her? She was +overwhelmed with a climbing sorrow that would not down. Yet she asked +with assumed indifference, + +"Was the Master well this morning?" + +"It's likely, ma'am. He wasn't complaining. That isn't Master's way." + +Then she thought of her own complaining, and was silent. + +After breakfast she went through the house and found every room +impossible. She flooded them with fresh air and sunshine, but she could +not empty them of phantoms and memories and with a little half-uttered +cry she put on her hat and went out. Surely in the oak wood she would +find the complete solitude she must have. She passed rapidly through the +band of ash-trees that shielded the house on the north and was directly +in the soft, deep shadow of umbrageous oaks a century old. They +whispered among themselves at her coming, they fanned her with a little +cool wind from the encircling mountains, and she threw herself +gratefully down upon the soft, warm turf at their feet. + +Then all the sorrow of the past months overwhelmed her. She wept as if +her heart would break and there was a great silence all around which the +tinkle of a little brook over its pebbly bed only seemed to intensify. +Presently she had no more tears left and she dried her eyes and sat +upright and was suddenly aware of a great interior light, pitiless and +clear beyond all dayshine. And in it she saw herself with a vision more +than mortal. It was an intolerable vision, but during it there was +formed in her soul the faculty of prayer. + +Out of the depths of her shame and sorrow she called upon God and He +heard her. She told Him all her selfishness and sin and urged by some +strong spiritual necessity, begged God's forgiveness and help with the +conquering prayers that He himself gave her. "Cast me not from Thy +Presence," she cried. "Take not Thy holy spirit from me," and then +there flashed across her trembling soul the horror and blackness of +darkness in which souls "cast from God's presence" must dwell forever. +Prostrate in utter helplessness, she cast herself upon the Eternal +Father's mercy. If He would forgive her selfish rebellion against the +removal of Martha, if He would give her back the joy of the first years +of her espousal to her husband, if He would only forgive her, she could +do without all the rest--and then in a moment, in the twinkling of an +eye, she knew she was forgiven. An inexpressible glory filled her soul, +washed clean of sin. Love beyond words, peace and joy beyond expression, +surrounded her. She stood up and lifted her face and hands to heaven and +cried out like one in a swoon of triumph, + +"Thou hast called me by my name! I am Thine!" + +All doubt, all fear, all sorrow, all pain was gone. She knew as by +flashlight, her whole duty to her husband and her relatives and friends. +She was willing with all her heart to perform it. She went to the little +stream and bathed her face and she thought it said as it ran onward, +_"Happy woman! Happy woman!"_ The trees looked larger and greener, and +seemed to stand in a golden glow. The shepherd's rose and the stately +foxgloves were more full of color and scent. She heard the fine inner +tones of the birds' songs that Heaven only hears; and all nature was +glorified and rejoiced with her. She had a new heart and the old cares +and sorrows had gone away forever. + +Such conversions are among the deepest, real facts in the history of the +soul of man. They have occurred in all ages, in all countries, and in +all conditions of life, for we know that they are the very truth, as we +have seen them translated into action. There is no use attempting to +explain by any human reason facts of such majesty and mystery, for how +can natural reason explain what is supernatural? + +In a rapture of joy Jane walked swiftly home. She was not conscious of +her movements, the solid earth might have been a road of some buoyant +atmosphere. All the world looked grandly different, and she herself was +as one born again. Her servants looked at her in amazement and talked +about "the change in Missis," while the work of the household dropped +from their hands until old Adam Boothby, the gardener, came in for his +dinner. + +"She passed me," he said, "as I was gathering berries. She came from the +oak wood, and O blind women that you be, couldn't you see she hed been +with God? The clear shining of His face was over her. She's in a new +world this afternoon, and the angels in heaven are rejoicing over her, +and I'm sure every man in Hatton will rejoice with her husband; he's hed +a middling bad time with her lately or I'm varry much mistaken." + +Then these men and women, who had been privately unstinting in their +blame of Missis and her selfish way, held their peace. She had been with +God. About that communion they did not dare to comment. + +As it neared five o'clock, Jane's maid came into the kitchen with +another note of surprise. "Missis hes dressed hersen in white from head +to foot," she cried. "She told me to put away her black things out of +sight. I doan't know what to think of such ways. It isn't half a year +yet since the child died." + +"I'd think no wrong if I was thee, Lydia Swale. Thou hesn't any warrant +for thinking wrong but what thou gives thysen, and thou be neither judge +nor jury," said an old woman, making Devonshire cream. + +"In white from top to toe," Lydia continued, "even her belt was of white +satin ribbon, and she put a white rose in her hair, too. It caps me. +It's a queer dooment." + +"Brush the black frocks over thy arm and then go and smarten thysen up a +bit. It will be dinner-time before thou hes thy work done." + +"Happen it may. I'm not caring and Missis isn't caring, either. She'll +never wear these frocks again--she might as well give them to me." + +In the meantime Jane was looking at herself in the long cheval mirror. +The rapture in her heart was still reflected on her face, and the white +clothing transfigured her. "John must see that the great miracle of +life has happened to me, that I have really been born again. Oh, how +happy he will be!" + +With this radiant thought she stepped lightly down to the long avenue by +which John always came home. About midway, there was a seat under a +large oak-tree and she saw John sitting on it. He was reading a letter +when Jane appeared, but when he understood that it really was Jane, he +was lost in amazement and the letter fell to the ground. + +"John! John!" she cried in a soft, triumphant voice. "O John, do you +know what has happened to me?" + +"A miracle, my darling! But how?" And he drew her to his side and kissed +her. "You are like yourself--you are as lovely as you were in the hour I +first saw you." + +"John, I went to the oak-wood early this morning. I carried with me all +my sins and troubles, and as I thought of them my heart was nearly +broken and I wept till I could weep no longer. Then a passionate longing +to pray urged me to tell God everything, and He heard me and pitied and +forgave me. He called me by name and comforted me, and I was so happy! I +knew not whether I was in this world or in Paradise; every green thing +was lovelier, every blue thing was bluer, there was a golden glory in my +heart and over all the earth, and I knew not that I had walked home till +I was there. John, dear John! You understand?" + +"My darling! You make me as happy as yourself." + +"Happy! John, I shall always make you happy now. I shall never grieve or +sadden or disappoint you again. Never once again! O my love! O my dear +good husband! Love me as only you can love me. Forgive me, John, as God +has forgiven me! Make me happy in your love as God has made life +glorious to me with His love!" + +And for some moments John could not speak. He kissed her rapturously and +drew her closer and closer to his side, and he sought her eyes with that +promise in his own which she knew instinctively would surround and +encompass and adore her with unfailing and undying affection as long as +life should last. + +In a communion nigh unto heaven they spent the evening together. John +had left his letter lying on the ground where he met his white-robed +wife. He forgot it, though it was of importance, until he saw it on the +ground in the morning. He forgot everything but the miracle that had +changed all his water into wine. It seemed as if his house could not +contain the joy that had come to it. He threw off all his sadness, as he +would have cast away a garment that did not fit him, by a kind of +physical movement; and the years in which he had known disappointment +and loss of love dropped away from him. For Jane had buried in tenderest +words and hopes all the cruel words which had so bitterly wounded and +bereaved and impoverished his life. Jane had promised and God was her +surety. He had put into her memory a wondrous secret word. She had heard +His voice, and it could never again leave her heart; + + And who could murmur or misdoubt, + When God's great sunshine finds them out? + + * * * * * + + + + +SEQUENCES + + +There are few episodes in life which break off finally. Life is now so +variable, travel so easy, there are no continuing cities and no lasting +interests, and we ask ourselves involuntarily, "What will the sequence +be?" When I left Yorkshire, I was too young and too ignorant of the +ever-changing film of daily existence to think or to care much about +sequences; and the Hattons were a family of the soil; they appeared to +be as much a part of it as the mountains and elms, the blue bells and +the heather. I never expected to see them again and the absence of this +expectation made me neither sorry nor glad. + +One day, however, a quarter of a century after the apparent close of my +story, I was in St. Andrews, the sacred, solemn-looking old city that is +the essence of all the antiquity of Scotland. But it was neither its +academic air nor its ecclesiastical forlornness, its famous links nor +venerable ruins of cloister and cathedral that attracted me at that +time. It was the promise of a sermon by Dean Stanley which detained me +on my southward journey. I had heard Dean Stanley once, and naturally I +could not but wish to hear him again. + +He was to preach in the beautiful little chapel of St. Salvator's +College and I went with the crowd that followed the University faculty +there. One of the incidents of this walk was seeing an old woman in a +large white-linen cap, carrying an umbrella, innocently join the gowned +and hooded procession of the University faculty. I was told afterwards +that Stanley was greatly delighted at her intrusion. He wore a black +silk gown and bands, the Oxford D.D. hood, a broad scarf of what looked +like crepe, and the order of the Bath, and his text was, "Ye have need +of patience." The singing was extraordinarily beautiful, beginning with +that grand canticle, "Lord of All Power and Might," as he entered the +pulpit. His beautiful beaming face and the singular way in which he +looked up with closed eyes was very attractive and must be well +remembered. But I did not notice it with the interest I might have done, +if other faces had not awakened in my memory a still keener interest. +For in a pew among those reserved for the professors and officials of +the city, I saw one in which there was certainly seated John Hatton and +his wife. There were some young men with them, who had a remarkable +resemblance to the couple, and I immediately began to speculate on the +probabilities which could have brought a Yorkshire spinner to the +ecclesiastical capital of Scotland. + +After the service was over I found them at the Royal Hotel. Then I began +to learn the sequence. The landlord of the Royal introduced it by +informing me that Mr. and Mrs. John Hatton were _not_ there, but that +Sir John Hatton and Lady Hatton _were_ staying at the Royal. They were +delighted to see me again and for three days I was almost constantly in +Lady Hatton's company. During these days I learned in an easy +conversational way all that had followed "the peace that God made." No +trouble was in its sequence--only that blessing which maketh rich and +addeth no sorrow therewith. + +"Yes," Lady Hatton answered to my question concerning the youths I had +seen in the church with them, "they were my boys. I have four sons. The +eldest, called John, is attending to his father's business while my +husband takes a little holiday. Stephen is studying law, and George is +preparing for the Navy; my youngest boy, Elbert, is still at Rugby." + +"And your daughters?" I asked. + +She smiled divinely. "Oh!" she replied. "They are such darlings! Alice +is married and Jane is married and Clara is staying with her +grandmother. She is only sixteen. She is very beautiful and Mrs. Hatton +will hardly let her leave the Hall." + +"Then Mrs. Hatton is still alive?" I said. + +"Yes, indeed, very much so. She will _live_ to her last moment, and +likely 'pass out of it,' as our people say, busy with heart and head and +hands." + +"And what of Mrs. Harry?" I asked. + +"Ah, she left us some years ago! Just faded away. For nearly two years +she knew she was dying, and was preparing her household for her loss, +yet joining as best she could in all the careless mirth of her children. +But she talked to me of what was approaching and said she often +whispered to herself, 'Another hour gone.' Dear Lucy, we all loved her. +Her children are doing well, the boys are all in Sir John's employ." + +"And Mr. Harry? Does he still sing?" + +"Not much since Lucy's death. But he looks after the land, and paints +and reads a great deal, and we are all very fond of Harry. His mother +must see him every day, and Sir John is nearly as foolish. Harry was +born to be loved and everyone loves him. He has gone lately to the +Church of England, but Sir John, though a member of Parliament, stands +loyally by the Methodist church." + +"And you?" + +"I go with Sir John in everything. I try to walk in his steps, and so +keep middling straight. Sir John lives four square, careless of outward +shows. It is years and years since I followed my own way. Sir John's +ways are wiser and better. He is always ready for the duty of the hour +and never restless as to what will come after it. Is not that a good +rule?" + +"Are you on your way home now?" I asked. + +"Oh, no! We are going as far as the Shetlands. John had a happy holiday +there before we were married. He is taking Stephen and George to see the +lonely isles." + +"You have had a very happy life, Lady Hatton?" + +"Yes," she answered. "The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places." + +"And you have beautiful children." + +"Thank God! His blessing and peace came to me from the cradle. One day I +found my Bible open at II Esdras, second chapter, and my eyes fell on +the fifteenth verse: 'Mother, embrace thy children and bring them up +with gladness.' I knew a poor woman who had ten children, and instead of +complaining, she was proud and happy because she said God must have +thought her a rare good mother to trust her with ten of His sons and +daughters." + +"I have not seen much of Sir John." + +"He is on the yacht with the boys most of the time. They are visiting +every day some one or other of the little storied towns of Fife. +Sometimes it is black night when they get back to St. Andrews. But they +have always had a good time even if it turned stormy. John finds, or +makes, good come from every event. Greenwood--you remember Greenwood?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"He used to say Sir John Hatton is the full measure of a man. He was +very proud of Sir John's title, and never omitted, if it was possible to +get it in, the M.P. after it. Greenwood died a year ago as he was +sitting in his chair and picking out the hymns to be sung at his +funeral. They were all of a joyful character." + +So we talked, and of course only the best in everyone came up for +discussion, but then in fine healthy natures the best _does_ generally +come to the top--and this was undoubtedly one reason that conversation +on any subject always drifted in some way or other to John Hatton. His +faith in God, his love for his fellowmen, his noble charity, his +inflexible justice, his domestic virtues, his confidence in himself, and +his ready-handed use of all the means at his command--yea, even his +beautiful manliness, what were they but the outcome of one thousand +years of Christian faith transmitted through a royally religious +ancestry? + +When a good man is prosperous in all his ways they say in the North "God +smiled on him before he was born," and John Hatton gave to this blessing +a date beyond limitation, for a little illuminated roll hanging above +the desk in his private room bore the following golden-lettered +inscription: + + ...God smiled as He has always smiled, + Ere suns and moons could wax and wane, + God thought on me His child. + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Measure of a Man +by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEASURE OF A MAN *** + +***** This file should be named 16453.txt or 16453.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/4/5/16453/ + +Produced by Polly Stratton, Charles Aldarondo and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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