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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/78742-0.txt b/78742-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6446a99 --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11500 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78742 *** + +Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. + + + +[Illustration: DR. VERNER TURNED FURIOUSLY TO AUDREY. "I DECLINE THE +HONOUR. THAT IS MY REPLY TO THAT ASTONISHING LETTER."] + + + + _"...On the north three gates; on the south_ + _three gates; and on the west three gates."_ + + + FOUR GATES + + + THE DIFFERENT OUTLOOK ON + + LIFE OF FOUR YOUNG WOMEN + + + BY + + AMY LE FEUVRE + + Author of "Probable Sons," "Herself and Her Boy," etc. + + + [Illustration] + + + PICKERING & INGLIS + LONDON GLASGOW EDINBURGH + + + +LONDON • • 14 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.4 +GLASGOW • • 229 BOTHWELL STREET, C.2 +EDINBURGH • 29 GEORGE IV BRIDGE, 1 +NEW YORK • LOIZEAUX BROS., 19 WEST 21ST ST. + + + GOLDEN CROWN LIBRARY + + OF STORIES BY AUTHORS OF HIGH REPUTE + + 1 HERSELF AND HER BOY AMY LE FEUVRE + 3 HER HUSBAND'S HOME E. EVERETT GREEN + 4 PEPPER & CO ESTHER E. ENOCK + 5 ELDWYTH'S CHOICE L. A. BARTER SNOW + 6 MARTYRLAND ROBERT SIMPSON + 7 ANDY MAN AMY LE FEUVRE + 9 FOUR GATES AMY LE FEUVRE + 11 A MADCAP FAMILY AMY LE FEUVRE + 12 NORAH'S VICTORY L. A. BARTER SNOW + 13 JOAN'S HANDFUL AMY LE FEUVRE + 14 CORAL CHARLOTTE MURRAY + 15 SOME BUILDERS AMY LE FEUVRE + 16 AGNES DEWSBURY L. A. BARTER SNOW + 17 MARGARET'S STORY MARJORIE DOUGLAS + 18 'TWIXT ALTAR AND PLOUGH L. A. BARTER SNOW + 19 TRUE TO THE LAST E. EVERETT GREEN + 20 MY LADY'S GOLDEN FOOTPRINTS E. E. ENOCK + 21 NORAH: A GIRL OF GRIT BETH J. C. HARRIS + 22 HER LITTLE KINGDOM L. A. BARTER SNOW + 23 BRAVE BROTHERS E. M. STOOKE + 24 A COUNTRY CORNER AMY LE FEUVRE + 25 THE HOME OF THE AYLMERS MARJORIE DOUGLAS + 26 O CARRY ME BACK! E. A. BLAND + 27 MONICA'S CHOICE FLORA E. BERRY + 28 A STUDY IN GOLD GRACE PETTMAN + + + Made and Printed in Great Britain + + + CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I. FOUR LIVES + + II. FACING WEST + + III. FACING NORTH AND EAST + + IV. FACING SOUTH + + V. AN UNFORTUNATE INTERVIEW + + VI. UNSUCCESSFUL EFFORT + + VII. BEATEN + + VIII. A FRESH SPHERE + + IX. AN INVALID'S WHIM + + X. OLDER AND WISER + + XI. AN IDEAL TEACHER + + XII. AN EMPTY SHRINE + + XIII. CONFIDENCES + + XIV. BATTLING TOWARDS THE SHORE + + XV. A FATHER AND CHILD + + XVI. WANTED + + XVII. A TURN FROM THE EAST + + XVIII. THE HELPER + + XIX. NEGLECTED DUTY + + XX. THE HOLIDAYS + + XXI. HOMELESS + + XXII. MOTHERHOOD + + XXIII. A BABY'S LIFEWORK + + XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL + + XXV. TWO LETTERS + + XXVI. COME BACK + + XXVII. SUMMONED TO PART + + + ILLUSTRATIONS + +DR. VERNON TURNED FURIOUSLY TO AUDREY. _Frontispiece_ + +"I HAVE A FANCY," SAID MRS. DAVENTRY, "THAT EACH ONE OF US + MAY BE ENTERING THAT CITY THROUGH DIFFERENT GATES." + +PAULINE'S TONE WAS DESPERATE. "WE THINK MOTHER IS GETTING + WORSE. IS SHE?" + +THE DOCTOR SHOUTED, AND AUDREY AND HE STOPPED TO LISTEN. + +"BUT YOU WON'T LIVE ALONE," SAID MR. DANBY. + "WHY NOT?" REPLIED PAULINE. + + + + Four Gates + +CHAPTER I + +FOUR LIVES + + "Who would be planted chooseth not the soil, + Or here or there, + Or loam or peat, + Wherein he best may grow, + And bring forth guerdon of the planter's toil. + + "Lord, even so + I ask one prayer, + The which if it be granted— + It skills not where + Thou plantest me— + Only—I would be planted." + T. E. BROWN. + +"PAULINE, do you honestly like being in a backwater?" + +"Backwaters have their uses." + +"That is not an answer." + +"I think I regard it as a halting-place—a wayside station on life's +railroad." + +"But that is just what it isn't. It comes from nowhere, and leads to +nowhere. And I stamp and I fume at the stagnation!" + +"You are an impetuous spirit! Perhaps, later on, you will look back to +these quiet sweet days, and long to experience them again." + +"I don't say that I shouldn't enjoy it at the end of my life, when I +have been in all the stir and rush; when I have had my good time and +can sit in an easy-chair and look back at it all." + +"Then you should have sympathy with your father." + +"Oh, I have. From his point of view, his lines have fallen to him in +pleasant places. But I am at the beginning of my life. I think everyone +ought to be in towns when they are young, and retire into the country +when they are old. Of course, it is delightful when you have money; +then you can have both in your life. But with a small purse, if you +live the first half of your life in the country, and only get release +from it when you are old, then you are too old to enjoy your liberty. +Opportunities are gone; your talents are rusted, your ignorance of the +world is ridiculous!" + +"Why, Audrey, dear, you are getting quite excited!" + +"I am—I feel so. Do say you agree with me. You must if you think it +out. Look at us in this village. Here are four young women, not poor +enough to earn their living, but not rich enough to satisfy their +mental needs. One, Pauline Erskine, devotes herself to an invalid +mother, and never leaves home for a single night. Don't interrupt me. +She might, as your old Mary would say, 'grace a castle,' with her +dignity and beauty. She once had a longing for an artistic life, but +it has been stifled. She did go to London for three weeks when she was +quite young, and she has lived on the memory of it ever since. She +pretends her life satisfies her, but I know it doesn't. + +"Then there is Honor Broughton, who is nursery governess to her three +small stepsisters. Her whole world is centred in this backwater. +She can never talk of anyone but her immediate neighbours, and the +iniquities of her mother's servants. + +"Amabel Osborne is a most dutiful daughter, of course, and is always +the picture of happy content. But she confesses that reading a +newspaper to her father is the most uninteresting part of her day's +work. She has never worked her brains, and never will. Picking flowers +in the garden, and listening to a lark's song, and roaming across +buttercup meadows are her highest pleasures." + +"And Audrey Hume—" + +"Oh, she's just another, with a passion for reading, but can get no +books worth the name of books, and a passion for novelty and change, +and has never been twelve miles out of this backwater all her life. +Talk about the revolt of women, and the era of independent women—what +do we understand by such terms? There are no stronger chains than those +of affection and blood, and we are all tied to those who are old and +weak and helpless, and who are our beloved belongings!" + +Quick tears sprang to the young girl's eyes as she turned to her friend +for sympathy. + +Pauline looked at her, then gazed over the peaceful landscape in front +of them with a wistful smile. + +They were both leaning over a gate as they talked. It was a buttercup +meadow in front of them, and young lambs were at play in it. The soft +spring air, with the thrill of youth and expectancy in it, had got +into Audrey's veins. She was quivering all over with excitement and +feeling, and her dark grey eyes were flashing with a thousand lights +and sparkles. Slim and of the average height, with a broad low brow, +and soft dusky hair, and a face that owed all its beauty to its variety +of expression, she was a marked contrast to the tall fair girl beside +her. + +Pauline was a woman who attracted all who knew her, and yet was utterly +unconscious of her power. Her dignified serenity, the deep earnest +vibration in her tone, and her slow, bewildering smile that seemed to +caress the one upon whom she smiled—all helped to add to her charms. +But her power was in her wide outlook, and deep love and sympathy for +everyone who came across her path. Audrey often called her a "Viking's +daughter." Her deep blue eyes, fair complexion, and coils of golden +hair, with her tall and beautifully proportioned figure, certainly +claimed a Northern ancestry. + +Audrey glanced at her now, and Pauline met her gaze with the words: + +"We must be going on, or we shall be late for tea, and Mrs. Daventry +will be disappointed." + +"Oh!" exclaimed Audrey, with a quick sigh, which she turned to +laughter. "We always have to be doing things we do not like for fear +of disappointing people. I can so rarely get you to myself, and I am +bubbling over with thoughts that I want to pass on to you." + +"We can walk and talk at the same time, can't we?" + +"Yes, but the house is already in sight. Walk very slowly, Pauline, +there's a dear. I've been thinking out this question about single +women, and I find it infinitely pathetic. They are the least considered +and the most heroic—now, don't laugh at me! But isn't it true that by +devoting themselves to the old people, they lose the chance of ever +getting, in their turn, the devotion of the young? In broad plain +language, they are prevented from meeting men whom they might marry by +attending to their home ties and duties. I'm not thinking of myself at +all—it isn't a personal grievance; I am looking out from this small +village upon the world at large—the world I hear about, and read +about, and think about. Why should the generation of daughters be more +self-sacrificing than the parents? The single daughters look forward +to a lonely old age, to poverty perhaps, to a time when they will be +in the way of their friends, only tolerated as far as they can prove +themselves useful, and spoken of with contemptuous pity by the young. +And some of them are the noblest and best in creation!" + +"They will have their reward," said Pauline gently. + +"Oh, you are so good, and I am so wicked!" + +Then Audrey laughed, and her laugh was an infectious one. + +"I won't moralise any more. I am going to enjoy myself this afternoon. +I love Mrs. Daventry. I wish she were my aunt or grandmother." + +They had reached a small lodge, and went through some handsome iron +gates up the drive that led to Barford Towers. + +The park stretched away on either side of them; the chestnut avenue +brought a sense of refreshment and peace after their rather hot and +dusty walk along the high road. + +Just in front of the old Tudor house was a green lawn, and under a +cluster of beech trees was a group of people about to enjoy their +afternoon tea together. Mrs. Daventry was the centre of the group, and +she rose to receive the two girls with her usual smiling welcome. She +was a very handsome old lady, with snow-white hair that was rolled +back in French fashion under a filmy handkerchief of Mechlin lace. Her +figure was still as erect, her eyes still as bright, as when, fifty +years before, she had come to her beautiful home a happy bride. + +The group around her were only young girls, but they all adored her; +she was their queen, and they her court, as they often laughingly told +her. And Mrs. Daventry loved every one of them. + +The childless widow had taken to her heart the young maidens who +lived outside her gates; she had seen the world as they had not. She +remembered her own youth, and had boundless sympathy for any of them in +a difficulty. + +"Come along, Pauline, sit by me," the old lady said, drawing a lounge +chair a little nearer her own; "and Audrey, sit where I can see your +bright face. Here is Honor declaring you would not be coming. Now, I +really think the Tabby's Tea-party has commenced." + +Four girls and an old lady can keep the art of conversation up to the +mark. There was no shyness amongst any of them. Pauline was perhaps the +most silent, and Audrey the most talkative; Amabel laughed most; Honor +was the most appreciative, though she had a most melancholy cast of +countenance. + +When tea was over, Audrey said: + +"Now, Mrs. Daventry, let us talk about life—our lives; that's the most +interesting thing in the world to us. Make us feel that a good time is +coming to us. Inspire us with some of your thoughts. We are all more or +less discontented, though I'm the only honest one who owns up." + +Mrs. Daventry shook her head at Audrey, with her silvery laugh. + +"I see no signs of discontent upon your faces," she said. + +"No," said Honor quickly, "but that is because we are so close to our +sun that we must reflect her rays!" + +"I've never heard that the sun was a female before," said Mrs. +Daventry, smiling. "Do you know what I always think when I look +upon your young, fresh faces? I thank God that His works are always +beautiful to start with. And then I muse upon the bundle of charms that +you each possess, and which, if properly used, will make your world +fair and beautiful." + +"I have no charms," murmured Honor. + +And, certainly, as far as outward charm went, she had not, for no one +could call her anything but plain to look at. She had a broad mouth, +snub nose, and small, short-sighted, blue eyes; yet when she talked, no +one could call her uninteresting. + +"Tell us our charms," said Audrey. "It's very nice to hear of our +graces." + +"I won't put beauty first, though it is one of them, and when I speak +of beauty, I mean more than faultless features and good complexions. +You have youth, health, strength, a boundless hope, enthusiasm, +good spirits, and vivacity. You have innocence and freshness, and +unembittered views of life." + +"And we are all stagnating in a backwater," said Audrey mischievously. + +"There is no such thing as stagnation in a human life. We either +deteriorate or improve." + +The old lady's voice was grave. + +"Do you know," she went on cheerfully, "that I had a good deal of +thought to-day over my lodges? You know the names of them?" + +"Yes," said Amabel. "They are called North, South, East, and West +Lodges, because you have one on each of the four sides of the Park." + +"And do you know this about the City we all hope to enter one day: + + "'On the East three gates; on the North three gates; on the South +three gates; and on the West three gates'?" + +The four girls looked at her expectantly. + +"I have a fancy—" and here Mrs. Daventry's dark eyes became soft and +dreamy as she looked away to some distant hills on the horizon—"that +each one of us may be entering that City through different gates; we +may be journeying out to it with our faces towards the North, South, +East, or West. Think it out, will you? It may explain the different +winds we face through life. When once we get inside, we shall +acknowledge that whatever road led us to our destination was the right +one for us, and thank our Guide for having enabled us to face our wind." + +[Illustration: "I HAVE A FANCY," SAID MRS. DAVENTRY, "THAT EACH ONE OF +US MAY BE ENTERING THAT CITY THROUGH DIFFERENT GATES."] + +Audrey's eyes sparkled. + +"I like that," she said. "I'll find out which is my gate before +to-morrow." + +"I know which is mine," said Honor. "I have faced East all my life. My +wind is always sharp and cutting, and I have to be for ever bracing up +myself to meet it without a whimper." + +No one answered. Each girl was reflecting, and when Mrs. Daventry rose +from her seat and took all of them into the house to see some wonderful +needlework of hers, the subject was dropped. + + +An hour later, the four girls left the house together, and chatted +gaily as they walked along. + +"Do you know, we are really going up to London for a month soon," said +Amabel. "I have an aunt who has lived in Paris most of her life, but +since my uncle's death, she has taken a house in town, and she has +invited my parents and me. Won't it be delicious? She has a motor and +any amount of money, so we shall be in the lap of luxury." + +"What a lucky girl you are!" sighed Honor. "It was only a short time +ago that you went a lovely driving tour. Things like that never come to +me. It's just as I said. I shall face the East always, and hardly ever +see the sun." + +"Yes," said Audrey, laughing; "and all of us know that Amabel's road +faces due South. She will go through life in the blazing sunshine of +prosperity." + +"Then my soul will get very parched." + +Amabel's tone was light, but there was a glimmer of seriousness in her +eyes. + +Audrey glanced at her reflectively. + +She was a pretty, childish little creature, with soft, playful ways and +a ringing laugh that could not easily be suppressed. + +"I dare say facing South always would be very enervating," Audrey said +slowly. + +"Yes, of course it will be, and you must make allowances accordingly +for a Southerner. Pray, what gate is your destination, Audrey?" + +"I think it must be West, because such storms crop up in a moment. +Pauline, can your gate be the Northern one? I pity you if it is, for +not a gleam of sunshine will you get as you go along. But it will +suit you, for you will step along serenely, and in your eyes will be +steadfast purpose. I believe your hidden fires will keep your Northern +outlook from freezing you." + +Pauline looked at her friend with her sweet, grave smile, then her blue +eyes kindled with deep feeling as she said: + +"Remember, if my face is towards the North, my back will be towards the +sun. I may not see it, but I shall feel it, and I shall be kept warm." + +Honor linked her arm in Pauline's. + +"And what hope do you give me if I am to be perpetually meeting the +most cutting and cruel wind of all?" + +"There's a rush of thought over facing East, but don't you like this, +'And they journeyed towards the sunrising'? Can you wish for anything +better than that?" + +"It wants thinking out," said Honor slowly. + +"We shall all get some sunshine," said Audrey, with knitted brow. "I +really think it will be very interesting making out our different ways +and fitting all our circumstances into them. I vote we meet each other +in a year's time to mark progress and note past events." + +"Perhaps," said Amabel gaily, "we may not all be here. Sometimes a year +brings great changes." + +"I feel in my bones it will bring no change to me," said Audrey. "'As +it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be—' don't look shocked, +Pauline! I don't mean to be frivolous, but things come into my head so! +And now here we part, for this is my turning." + +They parted, but each took with them the thought that had been given +them by their old friend that day, and shaped it into their lives. + + + +CHAPTER II + +FACING WEST + + "For the work to God the dearest + Is the duty lying nearest." + +"WELL, 'I' think summer very depressing—given a small house, a treeless +garden, and an incompetent domestic. What is there in it to please? All +the morning I have been stripping gooseberry bushes in the blazing sun, +scratching and tearing the flesh off my hands; and all the afternoon +I've been topping and tailing these same gooseberries and standing over +a scorching fire seeing them bubble and squeal and subside into sticky +jam. And now you want me to pelt along the high road in the dust and +heat, carrying your heavy parcel to the tailor's; and it is a good mile +and a half each way. Of course, I'll do it. Fanny says she's feeling +the heat too much. I'm sure I am. But as I'm not in service, I can't +object. You mustn't mind this grumble. It cools me to discharge my +feeling." + +"I wish, my dear Audrey, you would curb your tongue a little. It is +most unpleasant and disturbing. I think I must have my chair moved into +the porch; it will be cooler, and I may be able to have a nap when +you are gone, for there will be quiet in the house. You keep it in a +perpetual ferment when you are in it." + +"Oh," said Audrey, with an impatient laugh, "I must let myself go +sometimes, father! It will take years to extricate all the gas inside +me. There—now I have arranged your chair in the coolest corner. Here +are your specs and your newspaper. Anything else? Oh, your hat! You +must have left it in the garden. You had it when you were weeding the +gooseberries. I'll fetch it." + +With a half-smothered sigh, Audrey sped along the neat gravel path that +surrounded their small back garden. Her father's failing memory and +aptitude for losing his belongings took up a good deal of her time. +Mr. Hume was a tall, fine-looking old man, but was stiff and crippled +with rheumatism. He had held a Civil appointment in India for many +years, and was now living on his pension. He was a man without a hobby, +and was consequently very dependent on his daughter for interest and +occupation. He read a little, but beyond his daily newspaper, only the +works of the lightest fiction did he care about. He wrote occasional +letters, and every now and then, when much stirred by any topical +subject, would write a letter to the Press. He gardened, but that was +more superintendence than actual work, and the rest of the day he spent +dozing and sleeping in his arm-chair, varied by short walks along the +high road. + +The house was one of three in a terrace. On one side of them lived +a doctor and his wife, both rather sleepy, middle-aged people; on +the other, a solicitor, with his two sisters. No other houses were +near, and it was unfortunate that Audrey was not a favourite with her +neighbours. They liked to give advice, she disliked receiving it. They +invariably took her father's views of life and strongly disapproved of +emancipated young women. Audrey loved shocking them, and was intolerant +of their narrow views of life. Especially was this the case with the +Misses Blunt, who were thin, angular women, with a humble adoration for +their only brother, and a rigid primness of conduct and speech. + +Mr. Hume was not particularly fond of these good ladies, but he quoted +them when annoyed by his daughter, and occasionally made appeal to them +when Audrey rebelled against his authority. To do her justice, she was +a very dutiful daughter, though from her speech one would hardly credit +it. Mr. Hume was irritable and impulsive; periodically, he would have +storms of sudden passion which swept through his small household like +a tornado. His will was law, and he would never stand the slightest +opposition. Audrey had not learnt to bear these storms with serenity; +too often she would add fuel to the flames by inopportune remarks. +But she struggled to be patient and calm, and sometimes succeeded in +pacifying him before he lost entire control of himself. + +As she sped along the road to the small country town, with aching head +and weary feet, she felt tired of it all. + +"Oh!" she said impatiently to herself. "I am just a beast of burden, +and have no other outlook. I shall get old and grey cooking jam, +carrying parcels, and making talk for old people. But—" here a flash of +humour lightened up her depression—"never will I screw my hair into a +tight little knot or my mouth into a creasy button, like Miss Julia and +Miss Grace Blunt!" + +Then she raised her eyes, and over the range of sloping meadows in +front of her was the setting sun in all its splendour. The radiant +colouring and beautiful cloud effect appealed to her artistic soul. + +She watched it in breathless delight. + +"Ah!" she said. "I hope I shall enter my West gate through such a +sunset." + +And then deep, serious thought settled down upon her—thought that +stamped itself upon eyes and brow, and made the remaining distance but +nothing to her unconscious feet. + +She left her parcel and returned home with a bright and smiling face. + +Her father looked at her as she helped him back to his sitting-room and +lit the lamp to disperse the gathering dusk. + +"Did you enjoy your walk?" + +"I think I did—the return part of it, at any rate." + +She stood at the window, looking up into the sky, her hand raised to +pull down the blind. Then she turned quickly to her father. + +"Oh, don't you think—don't you wish sometimes that the earth would give +itself a little shake and begin to go round the other way? It would be +such a revolutionary change. The very thought of it is delicious!" + +"You talk a great deal of nonsense," said Mr. Hume testily. "Change! +Change! Who wants change? Let well alone. It comes too fast for most of +us." + +"Not for me," said Audrey, lowering the blind, and sitting down in an +easy-chair opposite her father. "I feel I am becoming petrified. What +kind of an old age shall I have, father? Your pension will die with +you. I shall be left penniless, and there is not a craft or trade that +I can work at." + +Mr. Hume moved uneasily in his chair. + +"You are talking very strangely, Audrey. We are a long-lived race, and +I may outlive you. In any case, I am putting by a little every year for +you. It will be a nice little nest-egg one day. There is no occasion +for you to be discussing your future after my death—" + +"No," said Audrey, with a funny little smile, as her thoughts went to +her father's bank-book, which he often showed her, and the five pounds +at the most that he saved out of his income every year. "One must live +like the grasshoppers—that is the best way." + +Then she fetched her work-basket, with her mending in it, and hummed +under her breath: + + "Say what shall be our sport to-day? + There's nothing on earth, in sea or air, + Too bright, too bold, too high, too gay + For spirits like mine to dare!" + +Her father fidgeted his paper. + +"And if you do outlive me," he said abruptly, "you will marry as your +mother did before you." + +Audrey laughed deliciously. Her friends always said that the sound of +her laugh was intoxicating. + +"Whom shall I marry, father? Will a prince come driving up in a coach +and four? He will have to fall from the skies, for a young man in our +village is an unheard-of article. I don't believe—" here Audrey dropped +her mending and leant forward, nursing her chin in her hands—"I don't +believe that I have ever spoken to a young man since I was a girl of +fourteen at school and one of the boarders' brothers came to see her. +Mr. Broughton is strong enough and wise enough to have no curates—there +are too many single young women about to make such a venture. No, +father, marriage for penniless, commonplace girls is an impossibility." + +Her father made no reply, but seemed absorbed in thought. After a time, +he said in a slow, musing tone: + +"We do not know for certain about Bernard." + +Audrey sat up with a little start. It was years since her father had +mentioned that name. + +Fifteen years had passed since a hot, passionate quarrel had taken +place between father and son. There had been a hasty departure, and, +beyond a letter to his mother announcing his arrival at Sydney, no +other news had come of the absent one. For years, they had tried to +trace his whereabouts, but had failed. And for a long time now, they +had looked upon him as dead. + +"Of course," said Audrey, a little pity stealing into her voice, "you +are always hoping that the prodigal will return with bags of gold, +having made his fortune. But I rather fancy the Bible version is truer +to life, and though I have still a sisterly affection for him, I do not +know that I would welcome rapturously a broken-down, needy man who, +failing to support himself, has returned to be supported by those who +can ill afford to do so." + +"Your mother had faith in him to the last." + +Sudden tears filled Audrey's eyes. Her heart was softer than her +tongue, and the deeper she felt about things, the more she tried to +hide it. She could never forget, as a girl of fifteen, her gentle +mother's death-bed and her pathetic yearning for her absent son. + +"Bernard is not bad, only hot-tempered. He will make a good man—my +heart tells me that he will," she had said to her husband over and over +again. + +Silence fell between father and daughter. Audrey took up her mending +rather fiercely, whilst she brushed away her tears with an impatient +hand. + +And then in a few minutes her father spoke again. + +"Do you remember Everard Vernon? I have lost sight of him for many +years, but I consider he is deeply in my debt." + +"What! Does he owe you money? I don't remember him. He was the man that +lived with you out in India, wasn't he? Mother used to talk about him." + +"Money is not the one and only thing you can owe," Mr. Hume said +testily. "Of course you don't remember him." + +He took up his newspaper, and did not speak again until he retired +to his room for the night. Then, as Audrey accompanied him upstairs, +candle in hand, and stooped to give him her usual good-night kiss, he +murmured almost under his breath: + +"Deeply in my debt! I shall not forget it." + +Audrey sped downstairs, going into the kitchen first to have a few +words with their young maidservant, and then going the round of the +house to see that all locks and bolts were securely fastened for the +night. When she came to the front door, she opened it and stood in the +porch, delighting in the cool, fresh evening air. + +And then, raising her face to the starlit sky, she murmured to herself: + +"It is easy to portion out our roads and gates, but am I perfectly +certain that Heaven is my goal and destination? Pauline is; she is as +sure and steadfast as a rock. But I seem tossed about, sometimes with +such high ideals, sometimes with such carnal, earthly ones, and then +something whirls up inside me and carries me off my feet, until I do +not know where I am. I suppose this hot temper is our hereditary curse. +Why did I not take after my mother, who was an angel of sweetness? +Father, I, and poor Bernard, spitting and spluttering out words best +forgotten, and never learning wisdom with age. Ah, poor Bernard! I +don't believe he is in this world at all." + +A heavy sigh escaped her. + +"Well, after all, am I doing better with my life than he? What will +my record be of these quiet years? Impatience of control, rebellion +against circumstances, distrust of God or of His dealings with us? I +keep a house going, I have a Sunday class, and I grumble and chafe +incessantly at my narrow life. Unlovable, unsympathetic, and bad +tempered—that is my character. I wonder if I was born to be different? +Perhaps I was meant to do small things all my life. But if I was, who +am I panting so for a wider sphere and for greater knowledge? I am so +ignorant, and yet I want to learn; I want to have my mind expanded, to +be for a time in the rush of life! Why should what I consider my best +longings be thwarted and denied?" + +Looking into the still infinity above her, Audrey breathed this prayer: + + "Oh, God, shape me into something that will bring Thee credit, +something that will leave its mark for good upon the world before I +die!" + +And then she locked the door in front of her and went to bed. + + +The following morning she was shopping in the village when she met +Pauline. + +Audrey greeted her enthusiastically. + +"I must talk to you. Can you wait till I have been to the butcher's, +and let me walk home with you?" + +"Yes. I am going to the post office." + +They parted, then met again a few minutes later, and turned up a lane +at the end of the village which led to Pauline's cottage home. + +"You are looking tired, Pauline. What have you been doing?" Audrey +asked affectionately, as she linked her arm in that of her friend and +insisted on carrying her basket. + +"Mother had a bad night; I was up with her." + +"I wonder how often you get a good night's rest?" + +"I am very strong," said Pauline, smiling. "Now, tell me how you are +yourself." + +"Still fermenting inside. I would give anything for your splendid calm. +You're like a ship sailing in smooth waters—no, that simile is not +good, for I know your waters are rough." + +"Some people say I am stoical," said Pauline. "Sometimes I wonder if I +am." + +"Never. But you've got the secret of happy living, and I haven't. And +do you know, Pauline, the worst of it is, I don't want to have it. +I don't want to settle down and be content with my life. It doesn't +satisfy my soul, and it never will; it's too small, and I can't cut +myself small enough to fit it." + +"Yes; I understand, dear," said Pauline cheerfully. "I have felt like +it myself. But fretting against the inevitable is very wearing to other +people as well as to oneself. Don't kick the dust and stones up as you +walk, but tread them under. You really will find that the best plan." + +"Ah, that is one of your nice sayings. I'll remember it. The fact +is, you are really good, and I am not. And at home, if I am not in +a bad humour, father is; it is a kind of see-saw arrangement with +us. Last night, I went to bed in quite a religious frame of mind. +This morning, nothing would please father. He had one of his letters +returned him from the 'Times,' and that put him out; then he wanted +Mr. Blunt to call and see him upon business. I know he can have no +business to transact, and I told him it was wasting his money to pay +for a gossiping visit from the old man. Then he flew into one of his +passions, and blew me up sky high, and said if I was a pauper after he +died, without a roof to cover me, it would be my own fault. Now, what +can he mean by that? I know I shall be a pauper—unless some unknown +rich relation dies and leaves me some money, I shall have absolutely +nothing to live upon when I am left alone. And I puzzle my head again +and again trying to solve the problem. I feel I ought to be fitting +myself for such an emergency. But what can I do? I have a certain +amount of time, but no talent to cultivate. Now, you have talents and +no time. I am only half educated, and can get no books to educate +myself." + +"Earn some money, and subscribe to a London library." + +"Oh, Pauline! How can I earn anything? And if I did, we want every +penny we can get to help us to live." + +"Well," said Pauline slowly, "I have known people in very difficult +circumstances earn something. It wants originality—I suppose that is +the battle." + +"Father wouldn't hear of my raising flowers or fruit for sale," said +Audrey meditatively; "and really, between attending to his wants and +those of the house, it takes me all my time. Ah, well! Don't let us +talk of me any more! Here we are! I wish I lived in such a picturesque +setting as you do. I think it would help me to take the ruffles of life +with calmness." + +Pauline's home was certainly picturesque. A low, thatched cottage in an +old-fashioned garden, opening into the lane by a tiny white gate. Yet, +as they stood and looked at it, the thick foliage of the overhanging +trees and shrubs seemed to cast a gloom over it. And though it was a +sunny morning, the cottage was entirely in the shade. + +"We face North," said Pauline, smiling. "I suppose you thought of that +when you suggested that my journey was Northwards." + +"Perhaps I did," said Audrey lightly, "but I know it won't hurt you. No +kind of life would. My life is hurting me, and I am getting more and +more bitter and irritable and hopeless. If I am in the refining-pot, I +shall melt away gradually in the process, for there nothing in me but +dross—no gold at on. You see, I can't keep off myself. And now I must +hurry home. Do you want me to come in? I would rather not to-day, but +if you'll have me to tea to-morrow, I think I can manage it." + +"Do come, then! And cheer up! Life is pretty well what we make it, +after all." + +Pauline kissed her affectionately, then for a moment let her hand rest +lightly on her shoulder. + +"You are made to be a joyous creature, Audrey. Cultivate gladness, if +you can. Do you remember it says: 'Because thou servedst not the Lord +thy God with joyfulness, and with gladness of heart for the abundance +of all things, therefore shalt thou serve thine enemies'?" + +"I don't think I have abundance. None of us have." + +"Yet Mrs. Daventry seemed to envy us for our possessions." + +"Yes. Oh I know I am all wrong. I really sometimes doubt if I am +serving God at all. I fancy it is only head knowledge of Him that I +have, and not heart." + +She turned away with a little laugh and wave of her hand. + +Pauline's eyes followed her retreating figure rather sadly; and then +she opened the small gate and went into the cottage. + + + +CHAPTER III + +FACING NORTH AND EAST + + "God help us through the common days, + The level stretches white with dust, + When thought is tired, and hands upraise + Their burden feebly, since they must. + In days of overwhelming care + Then most we need the strength of prayer." + +"OH, miss, I'm glad to see you back! I could do nothing with the +mistress. She insisted on getting up, and is now turning out her +writing-table. She's looking like death, and hasn't touched her +beef-tea!" + +It was the usual formula that greeted Pauline when she returned from +any errand or outing. + +She smiled into her old servant's anxious face. + +"I will go up at once. She must have taken a turn for the better." + +Pauline stepped lightly up the narrow stairs, and opened the door of +her mother's room. + +Mrs. Erskine turned round from her davenport at the sound of her +footsteps, and hastily pushed some papers into it and locked it. + +"Oh, mother dear, ought you to be up? You had such a bad night." + +Mrs. Erskine sat down rather heavily in a chair, and spoke irritably: + +"I told you that it was that soup last night which disagreed with me. +If you will go out when I am wanting you to write my letters, you need +not be surprised to see me making the effort to do it myself." + +Mrs. Erskine was a tall, imposing-looking woman; and though illness had +brought a stoop to her shoulders and hollows under her eyes, she was +still a very striking personality. She had always ruled her household +with a firm and masterful hand. People said she had ruled her husband +with the same rigid hand as she now exercised over her daughter. + +Pauline was not her mother's confidante. Mrs. Erskine still kept all +their money affairs in her own hands, and her daughter had little idea +of the amount of their income. She was never allowed to draw a cheque +or see her mother's bank-book. For over two years, Mrs. Erskine had +been confined to her room, and it was against her doctor's orders that +she ever left her bed. Pauline noted the trembling of her hands and the +shortness of her breath. She wasted no time in remonstrance, but gently +helped her back to bed, and then persuaded her to take the discarded +beef-tea which Mary again presented. + +"I will write for you at once, mother, if you like," she said, when +Mrs. Erskine seemed composed again. + +"I do not want you to. I have done what I wished myself. The letter is +there. See that it goes by this afternoon's post. It is to tell Doctor +Mann that I do not require his services any longer." + +"Oh, mother! Why?" + +"It is not my habit to give you my reasons for doing things. He does +not suit me. His medicines do me no good." + +"But whom can we have instead of him? You have left Dr. Arbuthnot, and +Mr. Thorne—" + +"I will have no doctor. They all tell me I shall never get any better. +I dislike these country practitioners extremely." + +Pauline stood by the bedside with a perplexed look in her eyes, then +she spoke very gently: + +"Won't you let this letter wait till to-morrow? You may have one of +your sharp attacks of pain again, and then you must have something to +relieve it. I was going to send to the surgery this evening for some +more of your medicine. The bottle is nearly empty." + +"I will have no more of it. Leave me now; I want to try to sleep. And +see that my letter goes this afternoon." + +Pauline withdrew, but downstairs she held counsel with Mary. + +"She has tried every doctor in the neighbourhood, Mary, and now she +will not have Dr. Mann any more. I do not know what to do." + +"Let it be, miss, till the pain comes on, and then she'll be tractable +again. Can't you explain to the doctor. He'll understand an invalid's +whims and fancies." + +"Yes, Mary, I think he will. I will send a little note to him myself +and enclose my mother's in it." + +Pauline's face was serene again. + +That afternoon, she was seated with some needlework in her mother's +room. Mrs. Erskine had dropped off into a troubled sleep. Pauline's +thoughts, as her needle flew backwards and forwards, were soon far +away. The scent of some mignonette that came in through the open window +from the little flower-bed below, took her back to a summer morning ten +years previously. It was in London. She had left her father and mother +to attend the School of Art in Kensington. They had just settled down +in this quiet cottage, and her father, who had always believed in her +talent, had persuaded his wife to let her go up to town and lodge with +an old cousin of his. + +Pauline had gone; her future to her was full of golden promise and +sunshine. She plunged into her work with enthusiasm. And then in London +at her cousin's house, she met a clever, cultured man—Justin Pembroke. +He was a relation of her cousin, and had just returned from some +researches in Egypt in connection with the Royal Geographical Society, +of which he was a member. Both of them were busy during the day, but +not an evening passed without their being together. He took her to +places of amusement and interest, or talked to her in her cousin's +drawing-room as no man had ever talked to her before. + +The last morning before the summons home had come was now as fresh as +ever in her memory. He brought her a bunch of mignonette, and paid her +the first compliment that had passed his lips. + +"It is as cool and sweet and refreshing as your presence has been," he +said. "Mignonette to me is associated with country gardens and Nature +in all its purity and freshness. It is my favourite flower. Will you +wear some when you come to the R.G.S.'s soirée this evening?" + +And with a smile, she had assented. + +Alas! She did wear it on her breast—in an express train, answering the +urgent summons of her mother: + + "Come at once. Your father died this morning from heart failure." + +A dark time ensued then for Pauline. Her mother's health suddenly +failed; she became a querulous, self-centred invalid, and required +her daughter's services night and day. With the loss of her father, +Pauline lost the only one who had shown her love and sympathy. But from +a little child, her faith and trust in God had influenced her life; +and she took her place by her mother's bedside with calm and cheerful +courage. Sometimes she would wonder why Justin Pembroke had passed so +suddenly out of her life. Her heart had told her that he was not one to +trifle with women. And though in those three weeks he had said nothing +definite, she knew that he had cared for her. + +It was a long time before she could think calmly of him. But ten years +softens memories, and it was only, as now, when the sudden scent of the +mignonette was wafted in the air that she felt again the pain of that +broken time of happiness. + +"It is a good thing it came to nothing," she said resolutely to +herself. "I could never have left my mother." + +Then she, too, like Audrey, began to dwell on her old friend's words. + +"I am quite content to journey North, even though my path is to be a +sunless one. Thank God for the sunshine that He gives within. I pray +that I may always reflect a little of it on others." + +She was startled by someone calling her from the garden below. Looking +out, she saw Honor Broughton. + +"Pauline, do come down to me." + +"Hush! I will come if you wait." + +She gave a glance towards her mother's sleeping form, then softly +slipped down the narrow cottage stairs and greeted her friend in the +porch. + +"I want you to advise me," began Honor breathlessly. "Oh, dear! I have +been so worried to-day! I've brought the children out, and they're +picking bluebells in the copse close by. Can you leave your mother for +a little?" + +"I think so—if I tell Mary. Wait a moment." + +She disappeared, then returned with a chair and some cushions. + +"You look so warm, Honor dear. Let us sit in this shady nook under the +medlar tree. Now we can tall, without being disturbed. I have told Mary +to ring for me if I am wanted. Would you like a glass of lemonade or +milk?" + +"Oh, no! It is merely temper, my stepmother would tell you. Oh, +Pauline, I feel as if I cannot stand my life! I must break away from +it, and my chance has come at last." + +Honor's sallow cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had lost their usual +rather melancholy look. + +"Tell me about it," said Pauline. + +"Father had a letter this morning from an old friend of his. Do you +remember her? A widow? Mrs. Bulwer, her name is. She stayed with us for +a week about four years ago. She wrote asking father if he knew of any +nice, useful girl who would act as a companion to a friend of hers. She +would have a good salary and a comfortable home, and then Mrs. Bulwer +said she wrote because she had thought of me. She said her friend +didn't want any of these pretty, flighty girls whose heads were only +filled with dress and lovers!" + +"But, Honor dear, you could never be spared from home?" + +"Couldn't I? Can't you see my stepmother? + +"Her eyes glistened at once. 'My dear Edward, if Honor's salary would +be sufficient to pay a resident governess for the children, the change +would be advantageous for us all!' + +"Then I boiled over. Why should I be her goods and chattel? I said, +'Perhaps I might not find it convenient to spare any of my salary!' + +"And then—well, we said some biting things to each other, and father +slipped away to his study, and I felt ashamed of myself, and the +subject was dropped. What shall I do, Pauline? Tell me." + +"It does not sound attractive," said Pauline musingly. "Your home +duties are, after all, a labour of love. I don't see the advantage of +looking after a stranger when your own people need you so much." + +"Do they? I think my stepmother is right when she says a governess for +the children would suit her better if I could provide the money for it. +She and I will never get on together, Pauline; we are too near each +other in age. You know how sharp and stinging her tongue is! Well, mine +is getting quite as bad. I jog along every day feeling so hopeless over +it all! I am not like Audrey. I should never have the energy to get +out of my groove unless I was poked out of it. But this has seemed to +come at a time when my patience is almost at an end. Everything I do +is wrong, and this hot weather makes me very slack. The boys will be +coming home from school soon, and I haven't the energy for all that +falls upon me." + +Pauline was silent for a moment. Honor Broughton was the daughter of +the Rector. She had lost her own mother when her two young brothers +were still in the nursery and she was a girl of sixteen. She came home +from school at once, and for two years managed the household and helped +her father in the parish in a thoroughly happy and capable manner. Then +a widow and her daughter came to reside in the village. The daughter +was delicate; she attended every church service, and was continually +appealing to the Rector for help and counsel. Mr. Broughton was a +gentle and kindly disposed man, not very strong-minded, and susceptible +to a woman's influence. + +But it was a tremendous shock to Honor when her father announced to her +his intention of marrying Emily Fenton. And when Emily came as a bride +to the Rectory, she revealed herself as a very irritable and selfish +young woman with a great many fancied ailments. She spent her time in +reading novels and in dressing herself in the latest fashion. From the +very first, Honor and she had mutually disliked each other. But for +the sake of her father, and from a certain pride of her own, Honor had +quietly taken the second place, and supplied the deficiencies of her +stepmother's rule. + +Emily was no housekeeper; she soon handed over that province to Honor. +She did not love parish work; she never sewed. And when little ones +began to appear, she adopted a semi-invalid life. + +Honor was nurse, lady's maid, and housekeeper in one. But she loved +the babies, and they learnt to love her. As time went on, Emily's +irritability increased. She vented it entirely on the quiet girl who +was the drudge of the family. Nothing that she did was right, and when +the countless little difficulties of a poor clergyman's household +occurred, Honor was made responsible for them all. It brought wrinkles +to her brow and a hopeless look into her blue eyes. She was always +tired in body and in soul, and lately had felt that her patience and +forbearance were waning. Only her friends realised what her life was, +and Pauline's heart ached for her. + +"Don't take a fresh step in life rashly, dear. Do you know at all what +kind of person this lady is who wants you? A companion is very often a +mere drudge. No governess would be to the children what you are, and +then there is your father. He said to me the other day when I met him: + +"'Ah! I am not getting younger. I wish I could afford a curate, but +with a daughter like Honor, I ought not to want one.'" + +"Did he say that? Dear old father! I should hate leaving home; and, +after all, as you say, I might be quite as miserable away. But Emily +has set her heart on my going. And she expects that every penny of my +salary will come to her. What does she expect me to dress upon, or +how are my thousand and one little expenses to be paid if I am away +from home? It is this that has annoyed me so. I only exist to ease her +circumstances. If it were not for father, I would leave home to-morrow +and keep every penny I receive for myself." + +A defiant light shot into her eyes as she spoke. Then her shoulders +drooped a little, and she sighed. + +"But I haven't the spirit. It is only to you that I talk like this. +East wind is meant to be invigorating and bracing, is it not? It +depresses me to death. I have been thinking over my Eastern outlook, +and I'm tired, quite tired, of meeting nothing but bitter blasts." + +"'They journeyed towards the sunrising,'" quoted Pauline softly, whilst +a bright smile came to her lips. "Oh, Honor dear, your path leads to +the sun. Look on and up, and you will see it rise—" + +"Well," said Honor, rising from her seat, "I must be off, for I have to +take the choir practice at four. I shall let Emily settle my fate. It +is the only thing to be done. You have done me good, Pauline. I will +look up. Good-bye." + +She hastened away, calling to her three little sisters. + +And Pauline once again mounted the stairs to her mother's room. + +"I don't know that the complete change would not be good for her," she +mused. "Honor has never left home for a day for the last three or four +years. When her father and stepmother go for a holiday, she has always +to stay at home. It is an unnatural life for a girl; she is too old for +her age—too careworn." + + +Honor did not look very careworn as she joined her small sisters. +They were three flaxen-headed mites of five, six, and seven years +respectively—too small to require much teaching at present, though for +two hours every morning Honor sat in the old schoolroom with them, +and mingled reading and writing with the joys of various kindergarten +studies. Daisy, the eldest, could read; Minnie was still struggling +with words of one syllable; and the baby, Chatty, as she was called, +barely knew her alphabet. + +Now they were running and dancing through the field path to the +Rectory, Honor apparently as lighthearted and gay as the little ones. + +"Quick!" she cried. "It is nearly four o'clock, and I must be in the +church sharp at four." + +"Let's purtend it isn't four," suggested Minnie with guile. + +But her suggestion was set aside with scorn by Daisy. + +"You can't purtend anything about father's church. It's wicked." + +As they reached the Rectory door, they were met by the young housemaid, +who looked rather perturbed. + +"Oh, Miss Honor, we've a lot of company. Lady Marion, with some ladies +from London. And me and cook has to hurry in tea as fast as ever we +can. And missis says will you send the children into the drawin'-room +in their best frocks, as Lady Marion has asked to see them." + +Honor looked at the hot, dirty little hands and faces and untidy heads +with dismay. + +"Oh, dear! I shall be late. We ought not to have stayed out so long. +Come along, chicks!" + +She flew upstairs, and the next ten minutes was a wild fight with time. +As she was ushering the three white-frocked little damsels downstairs, +Mr. Broughton came out into the hall. He was on his way to the +drawing-room. + +"Why, Honor, I thought you were at the practice! It is late." + +"Yes. I am sorry. I stayed out too long. Take the children in, father, +will you? I hope they will be good." + +She ran out along the path that led to the church, feeling tired and +heated. The choir boys were chasing each other round the churchyard, +and the two or three young women who also helped with their voices were +gossiping together in the porch. + +"I am so sorry I am late," Honor said, producing her key and unlocking +the church door. "Now, boys, quietly, please!" + +The church was cool and still. Honor loved music, and the singing of +the psalms and hymns for the following Sunday brought peace and comfort +to her heart. When she returned to the house an hour later, her mind +was rested—if her body was not. + +She went into the drawing-room, which was now a scene of confusion. The +visitors had gone, but the children were still there with their mother. +Chatty was crying; she had overturned some milk upon the carpet, and +Mrs. Broughton was scolding her sharply as she tried to wipe up the +spilt milk with her handkerchief. Minnie was jumping up and down on +the sofa, and Daisy was helping herself to some cake on the table. +The untidy tea-table, chairs pulled about in all directions, and the +fretful tones of her stepmother did much to dispel Honor's peace of +mind. + +"Oh, there you are! What a time you have been! Do, for goodness' sake, +take these children away. They have had their tea with us, but I will +never let them do it again. Get off that sofa at once, Minnie, you +naughty child! And here's a mess on our new carpet! I have rung the +bell three times for Ellen to come." + +"I expect she is at her tea. I will get a cloth from the pantry." + +By the time Honor had effaced the milk-stains and tidied the room, the +children had sobered down. Mrs. Broughton lay down upon the sofa as if +quite exhausted. + +"I am completely worn out," she said. "Lady Marion paid such a long +visit, and I thought Ellen would never bring the tea in! She is so +dreadfully slow! Do take the children away at once, and let me have a +little peace." + +"I want some tea myself, if there is any," said Honor, going to the +tea-tray. + +The tea was cold and bitter, but she poured herself out a cup and drank +it standing. No one would ever think of keeping hot tea for her, she +said to herself a little bitterly. She was never supposed to be tired +or thirsty. She collected the cups and saucers, which were scattered +all over the room, put them upon the tea-tray ready for Ellen to take +away, and then mounted the stairs again, the children keeping up a +vociferous chatter as they accompanied her. She did not leave them +again till they were all in bed. Then she changed her dress and went +down to supper with her father and mother. + +"Well," Mr. Broughton said a little nervously, as he looked at his +wife, "I—we have written to Mrs. Bulwer in answer to her letter this +morning, and I have told her that if this lady can give you £100 a +year, we will do our best to spare you, but not otherwise." + +"My dear father," said Honor, opening her eyes, "what an extraordinary +way to write! I should never expect such a salary as that; I—I am not +worth it. You write as if we are doing her a favour; she will look at +it in quite another light. I did not know you were going to answer so +quickly. We have not had time to talk it over." + +"Your father and I have had plenty of time," said Mrs. Broughton +sharply. "I could get a friend of mine to come and look after the +children if we could give her a small salary. And the extra amount +would be a godsend to us, when every penny has to be thought of." + +"If anyone would give me that handsome salary," said Honor +thoughtfully, "they would expect me to dress accordingly. You couldn't +expect to receive much from my first quarter's pay. At present, I have +not a dress fit to wear, and there are a thousand difficulties in the +way. Would your friend, Emily, be able and willing to do the things +that I do? It is not only the children to be thought about. There are +the Sunday-school, the club accounts, the choir practices, the visiting +in the village, the housekeeping. Most nursery governesses would not be +willing to do all this—and it must be done." + +"You have a wonderful faculty for extolling all your good deeds," +said Emily with a little sneer, "but I fail to discover them. You +are proverbially slow and stupid over everything you undertake, and +take twice the time in doing it that anyone else would do. If I were +stronger, I would make nothing of what you are always making such a hue +and cry about. I assure you, though you may not believe it, we should +get on just as well without you as with you—not to say better!" + +"We need not say any more now," her father said gently. "I dare say, +as Emily says, the change would be good for you, Honor. Of course, we +should miss you, but if it is for your good, I shall not try to keep +you. We will wait and hear what this lady says." + +Honor said no more. After supper, she went into her father's study, and +with him conned over some parish accounts. + +Then they went back to the drawing-room, and for the rest of the +evening she was busy with her mending-basket. Her thoughts were in +a tumult. Was her life going to be shaped differently so soon? She +evidently was to have no choice in it herself. She was a shy, diffident +girl, and had not Audrey's longing to see fresh scenes and be in a +wider sphere of action. Her life was full of her home duties and +interests, and her little sisters were her heart's joy and delight. +Though she had sometimes murmured and bewailed her lot, now that +there seemed a chance of altering it, she shrank from the unknown +possibilities before her. + +When she put her tired head down upon her pillow that night, she +murmured to herself: + +"I must not worry. No one would think of giving me £100 a year. I am +not worth it." + + + +CHAPTER IV + +FACING SOUTH + + "Am I wrong to be always so happy? This world is full of grief; + Yet there is laughter of sunshine, to see the crisp green in the leaf. + Daylight is ringing with song birds, and brooklets are crooning by + night, + And why should I make a shadow where God makes all so bright? + Earth may be wicked and weary, yet cannot I help being glad; + There is sunshine without and within me, and how should I mope + or be sad? + God would not flood me with blessings, meaning me only to pine + Amid all the bounties and beauties He pours upon me and mine; + Therefore will I be grateful, and therefore will I rejoice; + My heart is singing within me! Sing on, O heart and voice!" + WALTER SMITH. + +"OH, mother, isn't it delicious to be home again!" + +"I am sure, darling, you enjoyed London. You never seemed tired of +going about. I envied you your spirits. Towns always tire me." + +"And yet I could not drag you away from the shops," said Colonel +Osborne, laughing good-humouredly at his wife. + +They were sitting out on their lawn under the trees. Amabel presided at +the tea-table, and made a pretty picture in her white gown, with her +golden curls and radiant face. The Manor Cottage was half-way between +the town of Gadsborough and the village of Criscombe. + +Colonel Osborne had only his pension to live upon, and suffered a good +deal from his eyes, but was always cheery. His wife was a gentle, +placid woman whose one thought was how she could add to her husband's +and daughter's happiness, and Amabel was the sunshine of the house. +Everyone said that it was the happiest household in the neighbourhood. + +Naughty Audrey would sometimes impatiently exclaim: + +"I believe if they were in an earthquake the colonel would say, 'A +pleasant break to our monotony!'" + +And certainly, if catastrophes did come, the Osbornes took them very +lightly. The visit to London had lengthened from one month into two, +and had been a great success. + +Amabel had been taken everywhere by her aunt, and had made a great many +fresh friends. Amongst them was a Captain Rutland, who had hardly ever +left her side, and who had almost invited himself to spend a week-end +with them very soon. Her father had assured him he would always be +welcome, and perhaps it was the thought of this impending visit that +had brought an added softness to Amabel's blue eyes and a deeper flush +to her cheeks. As she lay back now in her lounge wicker chair and +watched the shadows cross the bright flower-beds and dance across the +lawn, as she glanced at the creeper-covered cottage with its casement +windows and old-fashioned porch, the thought that rose uppermost in her +heart and almost shaped itself into speech by her lips was: + +"Oh, I hope he will like it, I hope he will like it!" + +"I met Hume in the town to-day; he had driven in to get his hair cut," +said Colonel Osborne, who had been into Gadsborough for the same +purpose that morning. "What rages that fellow does put himself into! +He was fighting old Greene like an angry bull, and only because he had +sent him in a bill after it had been paid. A matter of nine shillings +and a penny, I believe." + +"Well, father," said Amabel, "you wouldn't have wanted to pay that +again, would you? I shouldn't." + +"No, but I think I should have taken old Greene's abject apology like +a gentleman. But Hume wasn't himself to-day. He tried to fight me over +this Licence Bill, but I wouldn't rise." + +"I think he is nearly always in pain, poor man," said Mrs. Osborne. +"You must make allowances. And he never sleeps well. Audrey has told me +that she hears him moving about in his room half the night." + +"I don't know which I pity most—Audrey or Pauline," said Amabel softly. +"Perhaps Pauline, because Mr. Hume's fits of temper are soon over; Mrs. +Erskine is always disagreeable. Audrey told me—" + +"Talk of the—hum—angel, and here she is!" said Colonel Osborne, turning +round in his seat as he heard the click of the gate. + +It was Audrey. + +"Welcome home!" she called out gaily. "Did you only arrive yesterday?" + +"Yesterday morning," said Amabel, jumping up and embracing her friend +warmly. + +Colonel Osborne got up from his seat and offered it to Audrey, whilst +Mrs. Osborne peeped into the teapot. + +"Amabel, you must make some fresh tea." + +"Yes," said Amabel, seizing hold of the teapot and running into the +house; "the kettle is sure to be boiling in the kitchen." + +"There!" she said when she returned. "That is one of the charms of +home! I couldn't have done that at Aunt Margaret's; we should have had +to ring the bell and wait the butler's pleasure." + +"And I suppose you want to know the latest fashion in gowns, Miss +Audrey?" questioned the colonel with twinkling eyes. + +"Of course I do. What else would have brought me to see you so soon?" +retorted Audrey. "I think you all have a London air about you. I'm sure +that is a Bond Street gown that Amabel is wearing, and Mrs. Osborne is +sitting on her chair as they do in the park." + +"How?" asked Mrs. Osborne, starting rather self-consciously. + +"Oh, a kind of 'I am beyond your criticism myself, so I am going to +criticise you.'" + +They all laughed. + +"And what about me?" said the colonel. + +"I am sure you are smoking a London cigar and wearing a London tie." + +"I plead guilty to both those charges." + +"Well," said Audrey, taking her tea from Amabel's hand, "I'm sure we +have all missed you tremendously, and we're awfully glad to see you +back. I am on my way home from the town, and when I saw the smoke +coming out of your chimneys, I couldn't resist coming in." + +"Have you been in town all day?" asked Colonel Osborne. "I saw your +father this morning, but you were not with him." + +"No, I came in later with Honor Broughton; we have been shopping +together. Father drove home two hours ago, so I mustn't stop long, for +he will be expecting me. I knew you would give me one of your delicious +cups of tea, Mrs. Osborne. I do feel so much better for it. Was it very +hot in town? We are having a spell of hot weather here." + +"You don't feel the heat much in town," said Amabel, "not when you are +in the lap of luxury, and drive everywhere and have ice at every meal, +and servants on all sides to fetch and carry for you." + +"You make me green with envy!" + +Amabel laughed merrily at Audrey's comical grimace. "Ah, well, I like +this best," she said. + +"You have set the ball rolling," said Audrey. "Do you know who will be +the next to go up to town?" + +"No; who?" + +"Honor." + +"Never! How can she be spared? Who is going to take her?" + +Amabel looked genuinely astonished at the news. + +"She is going away from home for a time—to a Mrs. Montmorency. I +believe she is very well off, and has a country house in Scotland." + +"How delightful for Honor! Oh, I am so glad her good time is coming! Is +this lady a great friend of theirs? I have never heard of her." + +"She is a friend of that Mrs. Bulwer who stayed at the Rectory some +time ago and took such a fancy to Honor. But Honor is going as a paid +companion; she makes no secret of it, so I don't see why I shouldn't +tell you. I believe it is entirely her stepmother's doing." + +"But what a shame!" + +Amabel was righteously indignant. + +"Oh, well, I think it is a very good step. They'll find out Honor's +worth when she is gone, and Honor will see a little more of life, and +get some money into the bargain. I wish myself in her shoes many times +a day." + +"But you wouldn't leave your father?" + +Audrey laughed. + +"I suppose I wouldn't, when it came to the point. But I like to think I +should, sometimes." + +"I really don't know how they can possibly get on without Honor at +the Rectory," said Mrs. Osborne, with a perplexed face. "She manages +everything in her quiet way—the parish as well as her home." + +Audrey made a little grimace. + +"She has shifted some of her duties on my shoulders. I have promised +to be organist, and that means choir practice and a good deal of +practising on my own account, I know. Pauline has been induced to take +the club accounts over—" + +"And what is going to be my share?" questioned Amabel. "I am the drone +amongst you. I haven't even a Sunday class." + +"I believe you're going to be asked to take charge of the village +library. Will you accept it?" + +"I really think I might. What do you say, mother?" + +"If it won't take you out in the evening, dear. You know that we always +like you home then." + +Audrey rose to go, and Amabel, linking her arm affectionately into +hers, walked down to the gate with her. + +"You don't know how nice it is to be home again. I sometimes longed for +you in London, Audrey. I knew you would enjoy it so." + +"Oh, shouldn't I! I could shake Honor! Here she is, with a big change +in her life, and she seems to have no spirit or hope for the future at +all. Why, I tell her anything may happen to her now! She may find a +husband, or the old lady may get so fond of her that she may make her +her heiress, or she may meet with the most charming of friends, and at +all events, she will get her mind enlarged by contact with the world. +That is what I want to do." + +"One does meet with fresh people," said Amabel softly. + +Audrey looked at her and smiled mischievously. + +"Have you met your fate?" + +The pink flush that rose in Amabel's cheeks, and the haste with +which she said good-bye to her friend, sent Audrey home with certain +conviction that her stray shot had told. + + +Meanwhile, Honor was very busy getting ready for her departure. From +the time when the letter came saying that her salary would be what her +father suggested, Honor knew that her fate was sealed. She had only +three weeks before she was to go up to London and enter upon her new +duties. And the subject of dress perplexed her not a little. Her father +presented her with a £10 note, but told her she must expect no more. +And Honor, in company with the little village dressmaker, spent most +of her days in the old schoolroom stitching and machining, making new +dresses and renovating old ones. + +Audrey, being very clever with her ideas as well as her fingers, was +called into counsel. Honor told her laughingly one day that she could +not understand whence she got all her knowledge of the fashionable +world. + +"But, my dear Honor, there are some things one knows by instinct. You +can't go into society without a proper evening dress, however simple it +may be." + +"But what I can't make you understand is that paid companions don't go +into society. They stay at home." + +"Yes, but they may have to appear at dinner any night, or every night," +retorted Audrey. "Dress in sober grey or black, if you like, but it +must be made properly." + +She spent a good deal of time in the schoolroom with Honor, and the two +girls learnt to know each other and like each other even better than +they had before. + +Honor's wardrobe, when finished, was a very simple one. A blue serge +skirt and coat for everyday wear, a grey suit for best, a black voile +for evening use, and a mauve one for grander occasions. White skirts +and three hats—a felt for rainy weather, a dark blue straw for common +use, and a grey straw to match her dress for best. With these, Honor +felt quite able to satisfy the most critical employer, and she told +Audrey that the sense of being properly dressed would give her more +confidence in herself. + +"Wait till you see the London gowns," said Audrey, with a wise nod +of her head. But she added hastily: "There is one thing, Honor: you +look what you are—a lady, and nothing can make you anything else! +Hold yourself up and step as if you own the whole world, and Mrs. +Montmorency will be congratulated upon her 'distinguée' companion!" + +The last days were painful ones. The children clung to their +stepsister as if they could not bear her out of their sight. Miss +Paton came and was initiated by Honor into her future duties. She was +a sharp-featured, chatty young woman, who was very demonstrative with +Mrs. Broughton, and was quite ready to humour and sympathise with +her as the occasion required. The children did not take to her, nor +apparently did she to them, and this was the chief anxiety in Honor's +mind. But she hoped that when once she was away, things would be better. + +Her father drove her to the station, and the poor girl found it +difficult to control her tears when the last moment came. + +"God bless you, my child. You will be a comfort to Mrs. Montmorency, +I know. But if you are not happy, write us word, and we will have you +back again." + +"And tell me about the children when you write, father. And remember, +if you want me badly, I will come." + +The train steamed off, leaving a very dismal-hearted father behind, and +taking with it a shrinking, fearful girl. + +But the last words that Pauline whispered to her brought a smile to her +quivering lips: + +"Remember,—'They journeyed towards the sun-rising.'" + + +Mrs. Daventry had been away from home for a couple of months, so knew +nothing of Honor's departure till she returned. When Amabel informed +her of it, expecting some word of disapproval or regret, she was +surprised by the brightness of the old lady's face. + +"I am charmed—delighted. It will be a most delightful change in her +life. She was becoming too anxious and careworn, too deeply rooted in +her narrow groove. And she was the one who said that, whatever change +came into other people's lives, none would come into her own. How much +better God is to us than either we expect or deserve." + +Then Mrs. Daventry added slowly: + +"I have sometimes wished to launch you all out in your little boats +away from this narrow creek down into the wider river of life, but I +always dread a human hand pushing before the Divine one. Disaster so +often follows in consequence." + +"But Honor has been sent away by her stepmother," said Amabel, with a +puzzled face. "Isn't that a human hand?" + +"It isn't mine," said Mrs. Daventry, smiling. + +And Amabel said no more. + + +One evening, Pauline sat in her garden alone. She had been in her +mother's room all day, and had had rather a trying time. She stretched +herself out in a lounge chair with a delicious sense of rest and peace. +And soon, her eyelids closed and sleep came to her. She awoke with a +start to find Amabel standing in front of her. + +"Oh, I am sorry; I have disturbed you. We have all been having +tea with the Humes. Mr. Hume invited us himself, to celebrate his +seventy-seventh birthday, and he has been quite genial. Father and +mother are strolling home, but I felt I wanted to tell you something. +May I?" + +Pauline stood up and drew her to her with an almost motherly embrace. + +"I can guess it, dear. I saw Captain Rutland in church with you on +Sunday." + +"Then I need not tell you. I'm such a happy girl. He left us yesterday +evening. His leave is up, and he goes back to Woolwich. He has a staff +appointment there. I don't believe, Pauline, there is another man like +him in the world! And father and mother are so pleased. They like him +awfully. It all seems like a dream to me. But this makes me know it is +real." + +She held out her little white finger, on which glistened one solitary +diamond in a circle of gold. "It isn't a new ring. It is a family one. +His mother gave it to him when she knew he was coming down to see me. +He said it looked as if he were presuming too quickly that I would say +'Yes' to him. But you see, Pauline, we knew each other very well in +London, and I think it doesn't always want words, does it? Oh, I hope—I +hope I shall be worthy of him; he is so true, so straight, so good!" + +"My dear little Amabel, I am very glad for you; so thankful that it has +all run so smooth and easy for you, and that he has—has not left you +long in doubt." + +Amabel looked into Pauline's face inquiringly. + +And the elder girl, meeting that look, prayed passionately in her heart +that this young lover should never disappoint her or play her false. + +"I—I didn't say anything to Audrey about it," said Amabel. "I put my +ring into my pocket so that she should not see it. I wanted to tell you +first, because I knew you would be glad." + +"And so will Audrey be glad, dear. She is very warm-hearted." + +"Yes, but sometimes she laughs at me. I felt she would say something +about my Southern aspect. And when she talks, I feel I have no business +to be so much happier than other people." + +"How do you know you are?" asked Pauline, laughing. + +"I ought to be. I have no disagreeables or difficulties in my life. +Everything is delightful, and I love every hour of my days." + +"Some people can be happy with difficulties." + +"Yes, 'you' are. You don't know how I 'adore' you, Pauline. When you +stroke my hair as you do now you send a little thrill through me! And +I wonder—I wonder no one has swooped down and carried you off before +this. But he would have to be very princely and clever—a king amongst +men; and I suppose there isn't anyone good enough for you!" + +"Oh, you little duffer! Your head is full of lovers now. But life can +be very sweet and good without that kind of love, Amabel. I am sure I +find it so." + +Something in the proud poise of Pauline's head stopped Amabel from +pursuing the subject. She put up her face for a good-bye kiss. + +"I must run. There is one thing, I shall soon overtake the parents. +They are sauntering home arm-in-arm, like a regular Darby and Joan. +Good-bye, Pauline; and will you tell Audrey my news? I would rather she +heard it from you." + +Amabel's light footsteps died away, but Pauline sat on, looking up at +the fast-darkening sky and smiling to herself: + +"I am so glad for her, dear child! I wonder if there's any money on +his side? Her parents are so unworldly that they would never think of +future prospects. But Amabel would make a very good wife for a poor +man; she is happy with so little. It would be different with Audrey, +who is always stretching out her arms to the unattainable. What a good +thing it is that we are not all made alike!" + + + +CHAPTER V + +AN UNFORTUNATE INTERVIEW + + "Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death; + Reproach more piercing than the pointed sword." + Howe. + +AN autumn morning, grey and dreary; storms of hail lash against the +window panes; the wind howls round the houses and shrieks down the +chimneys. And Audrey stands looking out of the window with dazed eyes, +wondering if the events of the past two days are just a series of +nightmares from which she will wake, or whether they are hard, sad +facts. + +Only two days ago, her father and she were in this very room, Mr. Hume +apparently in his usual health. Now she was fatherless, and he lay +upstairs a still, silent form. + +He had wished her good-night, and retired to his room. The next +morning, he did not respond to her call. And when she had gone in, she +found him breathing heavily, but quite unconscious. The doctor came in +at once. He told her it was some sort of stroke. + +All that day and the following night she had watched by his bedside. +And then in the early hours, his eyes slowly opened, and he recognised +her. She had to bend her head to hear his dying words: + +"Mr. Blunt knows—Vernon—tell you—about—about—your future." + +That was all. A little sigh, and eternity received the spirit of +Audrey's father. + +A rush of tears came to her eyes now as she remembered afresh that +his last thought had been of her. Only two days; yet two years would +seem short to gather in their embrace all the agony, suspense, and the +tumult of thoughts that had passed through the girl's heart and soul. + +She seemed stupefied and benumbed, and when someone addressed her by +name, she turned and stared for a moment into Mr. Blunt's rugged face +with an expression of utter bewilderment. + +"I am sorry to intrude, my dear young lady, but there are things that +must be done. May I act for you?" + +"Do anything—everything—but leave me alone. What does anything matter +now? My world has stopped." She looked at him in a dazed fashion as she +spoke. + +He cleared his throat, then produced an envelope from his pocket and +held it out to her. + +"It is early to talk over business matters, but I promised your father +to give this to you directly—er—um—he was called away. I will leave it +with you. And as your father asked me to act as executor to his will in +union with this Dr. Vernon, there will be no difficulty in my relieving +you of a great deal of sad work." + +He bowed himself out of the room, and Audrey, with trembling hands, +broke the seal of the letter addressed to herself in her father's +handwriting. + +It was as follows:— + + "MY DEAR AUDREY, + + "I have asked Mr. Blunt to give you this after my death. It may be many +years before it will be necessary for him to do so, but I do not think +it will be. Though we have been a long-lived race, I am less strong +than those who have gone before me. I am not so utterly indifferent to +your future as you consider me, and I have at last made what I feel to +be a thoroughly satisfactory arrangement with my friend Everard Vernon +concerning you. + + "He will tell you what this arrangement is. But I wish you to deliver +personally into his hands the enclosure which I have written, and +abide by his counsel as to the steps you take about your future. And I +should like you to go to him without delay; Mr. Blunt will give you his +address. I feel relieved from all anxiety about you. + + "Your affectionate— + + "FATHER." + +Audrey read and reread this strange letter with puzzled bewilderment. +It seemed like a voice from the dead, and in her present state of mind, +only one sentence impressed itself upon her: + + "I am not so utterly indifferent to your future as you consider me." + +Tears sprang to her eyes; the first she had shed since her father's +death. + +"Oh," she moaned, "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to upbraid him! I +was so hasty, so unkind, so full of myself, so impatient, and now he is +gone—so quickly and silently! How awful it is! I can never bring him +back. It is too late to ask his forgiveness! He has gone! How can I +bear it?" + +She thrust the letter into her pocket. At that juncture she could +not take in its contents. She had a morbid feeling that her craving +for change in her life had brought about her father's death. Yet her +practical common sense saved her from giving away to this grief for +long. + +And when later in the day, Pauline came round to comfort her, she found +her calm and self-controlled, arranging with Mr. Blunt all the sad +details that a death always brings. But when she saw her friend, she +held out her hands to her with agony in her eyes. + +"My wicked wish has been granted, Pauline, and my life has been turned +topsy-turvy. I wished for freedom and independence, and I have got it, +and I would cut off my right hand to have father sitting in his chair +as usual, and the old life back again!" + +"You poor child! Do you think God alters His plans for us to suit every +passing wish of ours? Why, Audrey, look up and trust." + +"I don't think I can. I am so miserable, and so bewildered. Do you +know that we have not a relation living to come to his funeral, except +Bernard?—And I expect he is dead, and I am the last of our family. I +haven't a soul belonging to me now." + +"But you have friends," said Pauline softly. + +And Audrey turned her face towards her with a smile flashing through +her tears. + +"Yes, I have. I always feel I have you—a strong tower of refuge. But +it's father, my dear father, who is always in my thoughts. Where is +he now, Pauline? We have never opened our hearts to each other, but +do you know that he read my mother's pocket Bible regularly every +morning? He never would have it moved from his dressing-table. He was +not an irreligious man—I do believe. I can't help thinking that he has +joined her. But it seems such sudden, awful silence. Oh! I must not +stay talking to you. I have a lot to do. There's our dreadful little +dressmaker waiting for me." + +Pauline went, but her short visit did Audrey good. And as her time was +much occupied for the next few days, she spent no more of it in useless +repining and regret. + + +When the funeral was over, she went back to her empty home, and began +for the first time to think of her future. She took out her father's +letter and reread it many times, and then she held consultation with +Pauline. + +"I am bound to carry out his wishes," she said slowly. + +"Dr. Vernon is an old friend of father's, a clergyman, I believe he +is—D.D., I suppose, as he calls himself a doctor. You see, Pauline, +it is as I supposed. I am a pauper. Father insured his life for one +thousand pounds. That will bring me in about forty pounds a year. Can I +live on that? Will it keep me from starvation?" + +"It is better than nothing. But, Audrey dear—forgive me for asking—but +I thought you told me your father was putting by for you? He said +something of the sort to me once." + +Audrey smiled. + +"Poor father! He would put by one month, and draw it out the next. +There was exactly twenty pounds balance at his bank when he died." + +"Well, of course, you must go to this Dr. Vernon. Your father wrote +that it will be a thoroughly satisfactory arrangement for you. He must +have known. Dr. Vernon is one of your father's executors, is he not?" + +"Yes, but Mr. Blunt is the acting one. I wish it had been anyone but +he; his sisters are so curious. And I do dislike them so! Yet they have +done me a good turn. A married Miss Blunt, who is home from Australia +with her husband, wants to come down near them, and they say they think +her husband would like to take this house off my hands at once. If I +could let it, that would bring me in a little ready money. I don't feel +a bit frightened at present about my future. I am young and strong; I +have backbone, I know, and there must be some way in which I can add to +my income. And this Dr. Vernon may have concocted a plan with my father +about getting me employment. I don't know, but I am going to 'trust and +not be afraid.' I think I have prayed more this last week, Pauline, +than I have ever done in my life." + +"I am so glad, because that means that you will be helped. I am certain +of it. But is it your intention to stay with this Dr. Vernon? Is he a +very old man? Has he a family? Do tell me what you know about him." + +"I know nothing—absolutely nothing—except that he lives in Sussex, +about two hours' journey from London. No, I shall go and see him and +return here, I suppose. I must take him father's enclosure; and the +sooner I go, the better." + + +She started two days after she had held this conversation, and when she +was actually in the train, her naturally buoyant spirits rose to the +occasion. She took herself to task for her heartless elation at the +novelty and change of her position. + +"If father were alive, how I should enjoy this! Going into an +unknown country—passing through London. What a sense of freedom +and emancipation it gives one! But how can I enjoy it under the +circumstances? I ought to be bowed down with grief and woe. But +I'm not! I'll be honest with myself. The thorough change in my +circumstances is the only comfort I have. It is all most mysterious +and interesting—this visit to a stranger—and the unknown plan about my +future." + +She looked out of her train with bright eyes and a hopeful heart. +Every fresh sweep of country was delightful to her: the large stations +attracted her more than the small. Audrey was very fond of her +fellow-creatures, and she loved to note the variety of passengers by +the way. But when she arrived in London, the rush and crush around her +almost frightened her. + +"This is being in the stream with a vengeance!" she muttered to +herself. "I wonder what Honor thought of it when she came up? I little +knew how soon I would follow her!" + +She got a cab, and drove across to Victoria. And the drive itself was a +wonderful one to her. + +Her heart throbbed with excitement. + +"This is London. I have seen it at last. How I wish I could live in the +midst of it! Perhaps I may some day. I feel I have Dick Whittington +blood in my veins." + +The journey of two hours to her destination sobered her a little. She +took out her father's letter, which was much worn by constant reading, +and for the hundredth time she began to conjecture about the contents +of the enclosure she was taking to Dr. Vernon. It was getting dusk when +she left the train. The station was a quiet one, and when she asked +the way to Horsborough, she was told it was a good two miles away. At +first, she thought of walking. Then a porter suggested her getting a +conveyance from an inn close by, and to this, she agreed. + +"Is Horsborough a village?" she asked the driver. "I suppose Dr. Vernon +is the rector or vicar, is he not?" + +"Bless you, no, miss! Horsborough be the name of the young gentlemen's +college. It be quite half a mile from the town and that be called +Bulton." + +Audrey began to feel a little uncomfortable. She had imagined Dr. +Vernon as an elderly clergyman in a quiet country village. She did not +like to show the driver her ignorance of her friend's surroundings, so +for the rest of the drive she sat in silence. They drove along wooded +roads, then climbed a long hill, and turned in at some imposing iron +gates, and up a broad drive to a block of buildings, now shrouded in +dusky mist, but with rows of twinkling lights brightening the gloom. + +When Audrey was landed before a massive stone porch, she stood for a +moment irresolute before she raised the brass knocker of the oak door. + +"Shall I wait?" the driver inquired, eyeing Audrey's small brown bag. + +A few moments ago Audrey would have said "No," but now sudden fear +assailed her. + +"Yes," she said briefly. "Wait; I may not be long." + +And, leaving her bag in the trap, she knocked and rang with no +uncertain hand. + +A manservant appeared, and led her through a broad, brightly lighted +hall. Once he turned. + +"It is Dr. Vernon you wish to see?" + +"Yes." + +In another moment, she was ushered into a spacious, comfortable study +lined with books, and with a large writing-table drawn across a bow +window. There was a cheerful fire burning. + +Suddenly Audrey began to laugh. + +"I declare it is every bit like a doctor's consulting-room! I wonder if +he is a clergyman, after all? I am getting quite nervous. I do wish he +would appear!" + +In another moment, the door was very briskly opened, and Dr. Vernon +stood before her. + +Audrey drew her breath in very sharply as she rose from her seat and +held out her hand. + +This was no elderly clergyman. A tall, broad-shouldered man who seemed +to make the room small by his presence; one whose massive forehead and +finely cut, intellectual face betokened power of brain as well as of +body. Keen, dark eyes, with thick eyebrows, so clean-shaven that the +determined curves in lips and chin were plainly discernible, dark hair +streaked slightly with grey, but crisply curling at the edges. As he +stood before her in the firelight, Audrey saw all this in a lightning +flash, and she saw, too, that this was a man to be feared as well as +liked. + +"You know who I am?" she said. "Mr. Blunt has written to you, I +believe." + +For a moment he looked at her uncomprehendingly, but when she mentioned +her name, he said, with a slight smile that seemed to transfigure his +face: + +"Yes, of course—you are the daughter of my old friend. Mr. Blunt said +you might be coming to see me, but I did not expect you to-day." + +"I asked him to mention the day," said Audrey a little stiffly. + +"Ah, well, perhaps he did. I am a busy man, Miss Hume, and have a very +large correspondence. Do sit down. My sister is out at present. Can I +offer you some tea?" + +He rang the bell without waiting for an answer, gave the order for tea, +and then looked expectantly at Audrey. + +She wasted no time in coming to the point. + +"I have brought you an enclosure from my father which he wished me to +deliver to you personally." + +He took it from her, saying: + +"I can only say again, as I wrote, that I sympathise very much with you +in your loss. I can never forget what I owe to your father. I have told +him so, many times, and your loss is to a great extent mine—" + +Then there was silence. Audrey sat back in her chair and waited, +feeling a tightening of her heart-strings as she watched him open the +envelope and begin to read her dead father's epistle. But she was +utterly unprepared for the effect it had upon the doctor. + +A dull red mounted to his cheeks, even to his forehead. His eyes +flashed, the very veins in his forehead seemed to swell out like +whipcords, and then sharp and stinging came the words: + +"Utterly preposterous! The man must have been mad!" + +Audrey rose from her chair. + +The passion of the moment overcame all Dr. Vernon's usual +self-restraint. He dashed the letter to the ground, and turned +furiously to Audrey: + +"I decline the honour. That is my reply to that astonishing and +impertinent letter. Your father's mind must have been failing. Fathers +do not generally sell their daughters in this time of refinement and +civilisation." + +It was Audrey's turn to flush now. She stooped and picked the letter +up, indignant at such discourteous language. + +"As I am utterly unaware of the contents of this letter, I must read it +to understand you," she said. + +But the words swam before her eyes. She doubted if she saw aright: + + "DEAR VERNON, + + "When you get this I shall be gone, and my daughter left pretty well +penniless. I have tried to save, but have been unsuccessful. She +sometimes upbraids me because I have not fitted her to earn her living. +I tell her she must marry, that will be her salvation. I have not +corresponded much with you, but Blunt tells me you are still unmarried. +I have several letters in which you assure me that you wish to prove +your gratitude to me for the past. I did not do much, and won't refer +to it, except to say this. If you wish to do me a favour, marry my +daughter, and I'll venture to say you won't regret it. + + "I am sending her with this for you to see her. She is a handsome girl, +and a good one, and will make any man a capable wife. Her future will +be assured if you will grant this request of mine. And remember that it +is a dead man who claims this favour from you.—Yours,— + + "ARTHUR HUME." + +The storm of anger that rushed through Audrey's soul blotted out for +the moment the humiliation of her position. She had been so utterly +unprepared for such a scene, so entirely innocent of what kind of a +missive she was presenting. + +And her anger was not directed against the author of the outrage, but +against the man who dared to let her see his detestation of such an +outrage, and who dared to speak of her dead father in such bitter, +scathing terms. + +When she spoke, her lips were white with passion, her grey eyes like +burning coals of fire. + +"You need not waste your energy in such denunciation, for I assure you +I am not a party to this—extraordinary proposition. It is a greater +insult to me than it is to you. And I would hardly be likely to wish +to expose myself to such a reception as you have given me. I have +carried out my father's wish, and that is where the matter ends. You +will never see or hear of me again. Nothing will induce me to have any +communication with you in future. We have been strangers up to now; we +shall continue to be so, though I shall not soon forget your insolence +in showing such temper before one who is entirely innocent of offence +towards you!" + +She dashed the crumpled letter into the fire, and made a hurried and +undignified exit, almost knocking over the servant who met her in the +doorway with the tea-tray in his hands. She sped along the hall, and +in another moment was driving back to the station, feeling nothing and +realising nothing but one tumult of bitter anger and hatred against the +man whom she had been to see. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +UNSUCCESSFUL EFFORT + + "A bitter and perplexed 'What shall I do?' + Is worse to man than worse necessity." + COLERIDGE. + +AUDREY reached the station to find that there would not be a train back +to London for another hour. She went into the small waiting-room, which +was empty, then drawing a chair up to the table, rested her elbows upon +it, and with her hands over her eyes, tried to steady her throbbing +pulses and formulate in some way plans for her future. She did not know +till now how much she had been building upon that disastrous letter. +She had pictured returning to her home with employment of some sort in +connection with her father's friend. His very personality, the extreme +contrast he presented to what she had depicted him, was in itself a +shock to her. + +"Abide by his counsel," had been her father's advice to her. And she +gave a short laugh in the bitterness of her heart at the absurdity of +such a suggestion. No gentle dignitary of the Church with grey hairs, +who would introduce her to a like-minded wife—a motherly, capable +woman—ready to take a lonely girl into her home and heart. But a +strong, able man in the prime of life—and an unmarried man—had stood +before her. A man whom she earnestly and hotly prayed she might never +set eyes on again. + +"And now," she kept repeating to herself, "what am I to do? How shall +I live? And how shall I have the courage to go back and tell them all +that it was a mare's nest, and worse than that? How can I tell them the +truth? I will die rather than do it. Why, in the folly of my heart, I +thought my ideal clergyman and his wife would ask me to stay the night! +And here I am, with no bed in prospect at all. It is certain I cannot +reach home to-night!" + +She sat and thought. A less strong-minded girl might have succumbed to +her unfortunate circumstances. Not so Audrey. Now that her passion was +burning itself out, the pressing need of employment of some sort for +the future began to fill her brain. + +"I 'must' earn money. I am in London, or will be very soon. Why should +I go back, away from all the opportunities it may offer me? I won't do +it. I have ten pounds in my pocket untouched. I will get some quiet +lodgings, and hunt up some registries or employment bureaux, and I +will—I must—find work." + +Such a resolution fired her with hope and energy. When her train came +in, she sat back in her third-class carriage, weaving all kinds of +possible adventures, and buoying herself up with the certain prospect +of success. + +When Victoria was reached, she began to have qualms. She knew she +could not afford to go to an hotel. She also knew that there were +many pitfalls for ignorant country girls, and unknown lodging filled +her with dread. Was it by chance that her eyes fell on a card headed +"Travellers' Aid Society" hung up in the waiting-room in which she +found herself? Audrey put it down afterwards to Pauline's earnest +prayers for her that very evening. + +She was not long in making her way to the address at the foot of the +card, but found a very tired and uninterested woman in the office. + +"Very sorry. We have a boarding-house in connection with the society, +but it is full at this time. I can recommend you some respectable +lodgings, I think. How long will you be in town?" + +"Not long, I hope. I am looking for employment." + +The woman gave a weary smile. + +"It may be longer than you think. There—these rooms are over a +greengrocer's, but we know the woman to be honest and industrious, and +the street is a fairly quiet one. It turns out of King's Road, Chelsea. +A 'bus will put you down at the corner." + +Audrey thanked her gratefully and departed. + +A little later, she was standing in a small dingy bed-sitting-room +overlooking a paved yard and chimney-stacks, and a careworn, anxious +little woman with one baby in her arms and another clinging to her +skirt, was explaining her terms to her. + +"My young ladies generally feed out, except what they buy and bring +in themselves. I had a young lady who was a post office clerk for +four months—very quiet and respectable she were. But she were very +delicate—got a cold on her lungs, and died in Brompton 'Orspital two +weeks ago come this Thursday. I only arsks five shillin's for the room, +and it is nicely furnished, as you see." + +"It will do very nicely," said Audrey cheerfully, "but couldn't you +just this first night give me a cup of tea and cook me a chop? I will +mind your babies up here while you do it. I'm strange to London. +To-morrow, I shall learn its ways." + +A faint smile flickered across Mrs. Dutton's face. + +"Ah!" she said. "I see you're strange to town ways. You're so fresh +and 'appy lookin'. I'll get you a bit o' supper. My man be in the shop +now. Thank you kindly. I've only these two children as yet, but they be +quite enough; the second one come so quick on top of the first." + +Audrey took the baby, which was clean, though poorly clad. She smiled +at herself as she lighted the one gas-jet the room contained, and +wondered if she could rise to the expense of a fire. + +She saw there was a grate, but no sign of coals or wood, and, sighing a +little, she turned her attention to the two children, sat down on a low +wooden chair, and took both of them in her lap. + +When Mrs. Dutton reappeared, Audrey was softly singing to the two +sleepy children: + + "Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, + Father will come to thee soon. + Rest, rest on mother's breast, + Father will come to thee soon. + Father will come to his babe in the nest, + Silver sails all out of the west + Under the silver moon. + Sleep, my little one; sleep, my pretty one, sleep." + +Mrs. Dutton put down her tray on the table very quietly, and when +Audrey looked up at her, she saw tears in her eyes. + +"Ah, miss, your voice do go right through me. We haven't no time for +that sort o' thing here, but I dearly loves music—always did. To think +of you a-sittin' there and rockin' my children to your breast, just as +if you were a mother!" + +"Ah, well," said Audrey, with a strange smile, "I'm trying to lull +myself as well as them to sleep!" + +She gave the babies back to their mother. + +"I suppose I couldn't have a fire?" she asked doubtfully. + +Mrs. Dutton looked surprised. + +"My last young lady had an oil-stove; she never had naught but that all +the winter through. She bought it herself, and her sister, what come +when she died, took it off with her other things." + +"Never mind; I'll have my supper and go to bed." + +"The sheets be clean and nicely aired. I always keep the room ready. +And you give me a call, if you want anything more." She left the room. + +And Audrey gazed at her blackened, smoky chop and chipped crockery with +disgust. + +Then she shook herself. + +"What with the dead young lady, and the oil-stove, and the extreme +drabbiness and poverty of it all, I am getting quite depressed. How I +shall laugh over my first night in London in a short time! Now I am +hungry; I shall shut my eyes and eat every bit that she has brought +me. And I'm thankful to be safely sheltered under an honest roof this +night!" + +But when her scanty meal was over, Audrey did not turn into her +uninviting-looking bed. She sat huddled up at the table, her waterproof +over her shoulders and her chin in her hands. Very slowly she was going +back over every detail of her past day, dwelling with hot and crimson +cheeks upon her short and passionate interview with Dr. Vernon, and +upon every word that escaped his angry lips. + +"He spoke to me abominably, as if I had come to request him to +marry me! I shall never forgive him for humiliating me so—'never!' +And father—poor father—how could he place me in such a disgraceful +position! How could he calmly try to dispose of me like a bundle of +goods! And sent me up all that way to be confronted with such rudeness! +I feel I shall never get back my self-respect. Oh, I won't think of +it. It makes me miserable! Let me turn my thoughts to what I must do +with myself. I will not return home yet. I couldn't. Mr. Blunt and his +curious sisters would soon get to the bottom of my story. I will die +rather than let them know the contents of that letter. I could never +hold up my head again if they got hold of the facts. I have enough +money to last me several weeks, I am sure. By that time, I shall have +found something to do. How often I have dreamed of such an opportunity +as I have now! They say you sink or swim in London. I don't think I +have it in me to sink very easily!" + +With such thoughts as these, she whiled away another hour, and then +turned into bed. For a very brief space of time, she bent her knees in +prayer. + +"Pauline felt so sure that I would be helped. I wonder if my experience +would shake her faith? And yet nothing would do that, and so far I have +certainly met with no disaster. + + "'O God, I ask Thee to strengthen my faith in Thee, to trust Thee for +my daily bread, and to give me the powers of mind and body to enable me +to get it!'" + +So Audrey prayed. As yet, God above was her Creator and +Preserver—nothing more. + + +"It is a pity you are not a clergyman's daughter, miss." + +"Why?" asked Audrey, amused. + +She was having her first interview with the principal, of a large +registry recommended to her by the Travellers' Aid Society. + +"It seems to give you a position at once," said the disposer of her +fate. "Nor an officer's daughter?" + +"My father was a retired Indian civil servant," said Audrey. "What +possible business is that of any employer? I don't care what I do, as I +tell you, only I have not received a very good education." + +"Ah, miss, that's the pity of it in these days. I will do what I can +for you, but my books are very full of such young ladies as you, and +unless you have a 'speciality' of some sort, it is difficult to get +work. You can give good references, I presume?" + +"Yes," said Audrey, a little doubtfully; "of course I shall be able to +do that." + +"Have you none with you?" + +"Dear me, no." + +Audrey's heart began to sink within her. Then she plucked up courage. + +"Look here, Mrs. Hart, I should be a very good companion. I wouldn't +mind teaching very small children. I have a smattering of Latin and +French, and could manage music as well. I am a good needlewoman. I am a +careful and economical housekeeper. Why, lots and lots of people would +find me quite a treasure!" + +She broke into a little laugh at the impressive stolidity of Mrs. +Hart's expression. + +"Will you call again? I will see what I can do for you?" + +Audrey left the office with renewed hope. And then, yielding to the +fascination of London, she spent the rest of the day in sight-seeing. +But she managed to write to Pauline the following letter: + + _"52 Nottingham Street,_ + _Chelsea, S.W._ + + "MY DEAR PAULINE, + + "Here I am, and this is my address for the present. I will let you +know when my future plans are definitely settled. I had my interview +yesterday with Dr. Vernon, but I would rather not tell you yet the +exact result of it. I am very well, bubbling over with energy and with +delight at being in the heart of this golden city! I am so glad I left +our house in good order for the Maypoles to take it over, for there is +no need for me to return yet awhile. You will hear from me before long. +I have been to the Tower, to the British Museum, and to Westminster +Abbey to-day, so I feel rather tired, but by no means satiated. I find +the omnibus a very cheap means of getting about, but I also find that +the pennies mount up, so I shall soon be content with my own legs. God +bless you, Pauline. Remember me in your prayers, and tell Mr. Blunt +everything is going well with me. + + "Yours affectionately, + + "AUDREY. + + "P.S.—A breeze or two is sure to come to one walking westward, but she +has had no gale to beat her down as yet." + +By the same post went a small note to Mr. Broughton: + + "DEAR MR. BROUGHTON, + + "I wonder if you would be so very kind as to write a little note, just +as a reference for me to show to someone? Only to say that you know me +to be respectable and so forth. It is a mere form, and I would ask you +to treat this in confidence. I will soon let you know what I am doing. + + "With kind regards, + + "Yours very sincerely, + + "AUDREY HUME." + +She got the necessary reference by return of post, and a very +affectionate letter from Pauline, which cheered and comforted her, for +before many days had passed, Audrey was in need of cheer. The formula +was the same wherever she went: + +"We have nothing this morning for you. Will you call again?" + +She began to haunt the registries: from a companion and governess she +came down to mother's help, and eventually had an interview with a +harassed little woman, the wife of a small tradesman, who nervously +told the registry woman that Audrey was too grand in manner for her. + + +At last, after ten days of effort, Audrey began to grow rather +desperate. + +"Look here," she said to Mrs. Hart, going back to her, "I must get +something to do. My money is dwindling away. There's a great dearth of +servants; I'll go into service if you can get me nothing else." + +"Lady servants are not much in demand," was the reply. "They don't seem +to answer." + +"Then leave out the 'lady,' and get me a place as house-parlourmaid +somewhere." + +Mrs. Hart smiled. + +"You are like so many of them. They think they can dispense with the +training of a lifetime, and know instinctively how to do things they +have never practically put their hand to before. The general verdict of +lady servants is that they have no order, or method, or punctuality, or +knowledge of the small details of a servant's life." + +"That may be the case with those who have lived a life of luxury," said +Audrey, "but not with me, for I have done the work of a small house +single-handed when we have been without a servant." + +"Everyone will say that you are too grand for them," said Mrs. Hart, +looking at her with disfavour. "Ladies in big houses would not +take you; they prefer the experienced class. And you would not be +appreciated by the small houses." + +"Well, all this means that you can get me no work," said Audrey. + +And Mrs. Hart replied reluctantly: + +"I am afraid it will be difficult, but I will do my best." + +Audrey went straight away, and bought some daily papers, which she +took back to her dingy bedroom. Then she began to answer the various +advertisements she thought might suit her. At first, she enclosed +stamped envelopes, but experience soon taught her to dispense with +those. After getting rid of nearly eight shillings' worth of stamps +with no result, she sat down with wrinkled brow to consider her next +step. + +"It's perfectly ridiculous!" she said to herself, stamping up and down +her room. "Someone must want me. I am healthy and able to work. I must +find some thing somewhere. I will not give in." + +Her little store of money was diminishing rapidly. She began to reduce +her food, until her health began to suffer. Then the climax came one +morning when she had her pocket picked in an omnibus and her purse, +with four pounds in it, stolen from her. + +"It is really like the story-books," she said, with a grim, set smile. +"I shall now slowly starve, or creep back to my native village a mere +bag of bones. Happy thought! I will go and see Honor. Why have I not +thought of looking her up before? What a fool I have been! She might +help me to get something, if I swear her to secrecy. I only hope she is +still in town." + +To think was to act with Audrey. She went straight off then and there +to Berkeley Square, and was told that Honor was in, but engaged with +Mrs. Montmorency. + +"When can I see her?" demanded Audrey peremptorily. + +The butler looked at her with impertinent curiosity. + +"Miss Broughton is at liberty between six and seven. You can call then +if you like." + +"Take her my card, and say I will see her at six." Audrey strode down +the steps with flaming cheeks. Then she laughed at herself. + +"If I were in Honor's shoes how happy I should be! I should not mind a +butler's insolent criticism. How I was hoping to get a nice cup of tea! +I shan't do that now, and I really must do without it this afternoon. I +will walk about in the Park, I think; only it makes one so hungry!" + +She did not go far, for she found herself in a very busy street, and +amused herself by watching the passers-by. + +"How I envy the working-girl with her shabby gloves and untidy hair! I +do not see any drone like myself; they are all in such a hurry. I wish +I could be an errand boy. I wonder if any milliner would engage me to +carry round her hat boxes? But I suppose the apprentices do it, or else +these swell porters." + +A sudden inspiration seized her to stop a young girl carrying a large +parcel under her arm. + +"Excuse me, but do tell me—are you in work—earning your living?" + +The girl stopped, and glanced at Audrey a little contemptuously. + +"Yes, I am," she snapped; "and sick enough I am of it." + +"Do you mind telling me what it is?" + +"I'm 'prenticed to a Court dressmaker. 'Tisn't often I get out. But +as I'm the youngest hand, and shopping has to be done sometimes, it's +generally me that does it. They all put on me. Are you out of a job? +What's your line?" + +"Oh," groaned Audrey, "I have none. I'm dying to work, and no one will +engage me. How did you get apprenticed? I wonder if I could begin from +the bottom? I'm a good needlewoman." + +"Our firm is full up; my sister took me in. She's a skirt hand. No +amatoor would do. You're a lady; I can tell that." + +"I shall soon be starving," said Audrey, with her happy laugh. + +The girl stared at her. + +"I guess you won't be the first one who finds looking for work a hungry +business. Go home to your friends, miss. You're doing no good to +yourself or any one else here!" + +"Thank you for such sage advice," said Audrey with a little nod. + +But the girl's last words had a depressing effect. + +"I'm not beaten yet, but I almost think I shall be," Audrey said to +herself as she retraced her steps to Berkeley Square. + +At six o'clock, she gained an entrance, and was shown into a small +ante-room at the end of the hall. And then in another moment, Honor +stood before her with a radiant face and outstretched hands. + +"Oh, Audrey! How delicious to see you! I heard you were up in town, but +no one gave me your address. Oh! You do bring a whiff of country air +with you. Do give me the latest news of all at home!" + +"I feel as if I have been away for twenty years," said Audrey, with +a little laugh. Then, with a graver face, she added: "I have been in +trouble, Honor, as you know, and have seen very little of any one +lately. I have been entirely engrossed with my own affairs, and am so +still. How are you? Happy?" + +"Oh, no—no, indeed! I'm desperately homesick. Mrs. Montmorency is hard +to please. I am really little more than a superior lady's maid. She +goes out a great deal, but never takes me with her." + +"Then you must have a lot of leisure time." + +"No; I mend, and even make many of her clothes. I am sewing away at +nightdresses now—most elaborate concerns. Oh, Audrey, you don't know +what it is to see you. I could hug you. But have you been ill? You look +so—so—" + +"Hideous. Don't mind saying it. I am quite well. A little worried, that +is all." + +"What brings you to town? Are you staying for long? I must see you. +I have oceans to talk about. Mrs. Montmorency is going out to lunch +to-morrow. I wonder if she would let me ask you to lunch with me +here?—Or we could go out together." + +"Better have me here," suggested Audrey, who knew how ill she could +afford a restaurant lunch. + +"Wait a moment. I think I must venture to ask Mrs. Montmorency. She is +resting in her room. I go to dress her at seven o'clock. She is going +out to dinner. Why, Audrey, could you stay with me to-night?" + +She ran out of the room. Audrey said, half aloud: + +"She is waking up. I never saw her so animated. The idea of a thorough +good dinner makes my mouth water. I only wish I could have it!" + + + +CHAPTER VII + +BEATEN + + "Hast thou o'er the clear heaven of thy soul + Seen tempests roll? + Hast thou watched all the hopes thou wouldst have won + Fade one by one? + Wait till the clouds are past, then raise thine eyes + To bluer skies! + + "Hast thou gone sadly through a dreary night, + And found no light, + No guide, no star, to cheer thee through the plain, + No friend, save pain? + Wait, and thy soul shall see, when most forlorn, + Rise a new morn." + A. PROCTOR. + +IN a few minutes, Honor returned, followed by Mrs. Montmorency herself. + +"I have come to see you," that lady announced, with great good humour, +"because I like to know Miss Broughton's friends. You come from her +part of the world, I hear." + +Mrs. Montmorency was a stout, handsome-looking woman, whose one object +in life was to preserve her good looks and have a good time. She was +very lavish over her personal expenditure, but very economical with +her staff of servants, and had dismissed her maid soon after Honor's +arrival, when she found that Honor could dress her hair and use her +needle as well as that expensive individual. Honor did not know how to +stand up for herself. She meekly acquiesced in every extra burden laid +upon her shoulders, though in private, she chafed against it. + +Audrey replied pleasantly; she was anxious to obtain friends, and hoped +that Mrs. Montmorency might do something for her. + +"Well, you must spend the evening, I suppose, with your friend. I shall +be in about eleven. Are you staying in London long?" + +"Only till I find some work," said Audrey, taking the bull by the +horns. "If you hear of any of your friends wanting a companion, Mrs. +Montmorency, will you kindly remember me? I should be very grateful for +a recommendation from you." + +"But I know nothing of you," said Mrs. Montmorency, eyeing her with a +certain amount of interest. "You look ladylike, and perhaps capable." + +"I am sure I am both," said Audrey, with a flickering smile. + +"Audrey is really very clever," said Honor eagerly, "much cleverer than +I am—" + +"That does not say much," said Mrs. Montmorency, with a smile that +seemed to wither Honor up at once. "I must be going. Good-night, Miss +Hume. I shall not see you again. You must amuse yourself whilst Miss +Broughton is attending to me." + +She disappeared. Honor came over to Audrey and kissed her in a +warm-hearted fashion. + +"She likes you. I can see she does. Every one does. What a delightful +evening we shall have together!" + +"I don't think she is a bad sort," said Audrey, looking at Honor +reflectively; "only why do you grovel to her so? No lady should do it!" + +"Do I grovel?" The pink colour came into Honor Broughton's cheeks. "I +am sometimes afraid I do. I am losing my self-respect, and that's a +fact, Audrey. I am in an anomalous position. I am not a servant, but I +am treated like one. And they even look upon me with contempt. I hate +the butler. I feel I should like to crush him under my feet for his +quiet insolence. You are quite right. I can't stand up for myself. When +you're unhappy, you can't; it doesn't seem worth while." + +"But, Honor, why should you be unhappy? And I should not sink to the +level of a servant if I were you. She gives you a handsome salary, and +yet makes you her maid. I can't understand it. She must be a mass of +contradictions." + +"So she is. She was constantly changing her maids, and then Mrs. +Bulwer suggested to her to get a companion. She made her give me £100 +a year. She told her I was worth it, and Mrs. Montmorency soon found +I was not, so she is determined to get as much as she can out of me. +I hate the life, Audrey! I hate London! I hate being treated like an +inferior being because I work for my living. Mrs. Montmorency dislikes +everything that I like, and likes everything that I despise. She hates +children and old people, and animals and the country; and she loves +rich, vulgar people and a show, and everything with push and brag." + +"She looks good-natured." + +"So she is, unless her will is crossed, but I think her vain and +childish. I suppose I have no tolerance with people of her sort. There +is her bell going! I must run. I never expected to be happy, you know, +so I am not disappointed." + +Honor disappeared. Audrey shook her head as she left the room. + +"Honor is not fit to fight her own battles; she goes to the wall at +once of her own accord. It's a great pity. But I'm afraid I should not +like being a paid companion any better than she does." + +A little later, the two girls were sitting down to a comfortable little +dinner together. Audrey never enjoyed a meal so much in her whole life +as she did that one. She was really hungry, for she was gradually +reducing her amount of food day by day, and to enjoy nicely cooked food +and plenty of it, without having to pay for it, was a great luxury. +After it was over, Honor took her into the drawing-room, and, drawing +up two easy-chairs before a blazing fire, they prepared to enjoy +themselves. + +"The comforts of life are something," said Audrey thoughtfully. "At +present, I feel I would change shoes with you with the greatest +pleasure." + +"I would rather beg my meal in the streets or sweep a crossing," said +Honor hotly, "than be dependent on another person's whims and fancies +for a livelihood!" + +"Ah! You would have to try a beggar's life first," said Audrey with +feeling. "You never know what it is to be hungry or cold, or disgusted +with sordid surroundings." + +"Why, you ridiculous girl, you talk as if you do!" + +"I am getting a taste of it," said Audrey. "Only what I say to you must +be kept to yourself. I am determined to stay in London till I can find +work to do, and I am beginning to be afraid of the consequences of this +determination." + +Honor looked at her wonderingly. + +"Is it really so necessary, Audrey? Oh, I'm sorry, very sorry for you. +You won't bear the yoke as easily as I can." + +"The yoke! Stuff and nonsense! I glory in my independence. If I was +earning money now, I should be in the seventh heaven of delight! +But I'd no idea there was such competition in every branch of trade +or profession. You don't know what I've tried! The shops will have +none of me; they are all provided for. I've thought of laundries, +hairdressers and libraries, and all kinds of professions. I drew a line +at hospitals; I can't bear sickness. I'm not a proper woman at all. +But the long and short of it is that London won't employ me, and I'm +determined that it shall. Do you think I shall win?" + +"I wish I could help you," said Honor wistfully. Then she leant forward +with flushed cheeks and bright eyes: + +"Would you like to take my place? I believe Mrs. Montmorency would +welcome any change. I'm sure she is getting tired of me already. I'm +not amusing. I'm a dull, commonplace, ugly girl, and my heart is with +my darlings. I can't live without them, Audrey, and that's a fact. I +shall never marry; I shall never have children of my own. But they fill +up the blank, and are my joy in life. If you think you would like my +billet, I can easily throw it up and go home." + +"Ah, no!" cried Audrey. "Don't be a failure. I won't encourage you +to be that. Rouse yourself, Honor, and put more heart into your +duties. Don't go through your days like an automatic figure. Make Mrs. +Montmorency like you. Have more ambition. Don't you like anything in +your life?" + +"I dare say it will be different when we go up to Scotland," said Honor +dolefully. "It may be better than this, but I don't feel it will be. We +are going next week." + +"Are you, indeed? You must keep me in mind, and if you hear of any +companion or help of any sort being wanted, think of me—" + +"But, Audrey—forgive me for seeming curious—you are not really in dire +need of earning something, are you? I must tell you. I heard from one +of the Miss Blunts the other day. It rather surprised me, as we are not +correspondents." + +"Do tell me what she said. I am sure it was to discover my whereabouts, +was it not?" + +"I will get you the letter. I don't see why you shouldn't see it." + +Honor left the room, and returning with the letter, handed it to Audrey. + +It was as follows:— + + "DEAR HONOR, + + "We shall be so interested to hear from you when you have time to +write to us. Our quiet village seems to be going through a great many +changes. You will have heard of Amabel Osborne's engagement. She is +very happy, of course, but the sudden death of dear Mr. Hume has +saddened us all. I wonder if you have seen anything of Audrey? We +believe that she is in London. She left us to go to an old friend of +her father's, who, 'entre nous,' was going to do something for her. I +am afraid she is left very badly off. But my brother does not doubt +that something has been arranged with this rich friend, only we have +heard nothing definite as yet. Do give her our love if you see her, +and if she is in any difficulty, my brother will only be too glad to +help her. We hope that you are happy and comfortable in your new home. +Your stepmother is much more active now than she has been. She and her +friend go about a great deal together. + + "With love from us all, + + "Yours very sincerely, + + "GRACE BLUNT." + +Audrey gave a little sniff as she finished reading. + +"No, Honor; I will not apply to Mr. Blunt for help. My father's friend +has been a dead failure, and I will not go home and let those good +ladies' tongues clack over my misfortunes. I will die first!" + +"How I wish I could help you! But you would never stand a life like +mine, I know." + +"Oh, I shall find work soon," Audrey said trying to speak cheerfully, +"but I had no idea it was so difficult. You must have education, and +certificates, or interest, I find. And I have neither. I feel my +westerly gales are giving me rather a buffeting at present!" + +"Ah!" said Honor. "But a life with gales and sunshine alternately, is +better than a dead biting east wind for ever blowing full in your face. +I knew, as far as happiness went, that I should not make an exchange +for the better when I left home. I am fated to have people dead against +me all my life. I suppose there is something in me that disgusts and +irritates them." + +"I think you always take too gloomy views of things," said Audrey +reflectively; "you want to cultivate gladness. That was Pauline's +advice to me once. And I started to do it. I won't say I've done it +ever since. And take my advice and don't make yourself too cheap. It +doesn't pay!" + +So they talked on over the fire. Audrey was loath to go away from the +luxuries around her, but left Honor in a more cheerful mood, and in +seeking to cheer another, she had cheered herself. + + +A few days after this, Audrey had a summons to Mrs. Hart's registry. +She started full of hope. It was a rainy morning, and not wishing to +spend any money she walked, with the result that she became wet through. + +"It is a lady who wishes to take someone to travel with herself and +daughter. She wants someone capable and reliable, and well bred. She +is going to call here very shortly to see you. I told her how you were +situated. Your duties would be to look after their comforts on the +journey, make all travelling arrangements, and relieve them of all +responsibility." + +"I'm not afraid of a post like that," said Audrey brightly. Her heart +beat fast in hopeful anticipation of the interview. + +But alas, when the lady arrived, one of the first questions she asked +Audrey was whether she was a good French and German scholar. And when +Audrey confessed that she was not, she would have nothing further to +say to her. + +"I ought to have told Mrs. Hart that that was essential. I want an +experienced traveller and a thoroughly good linguist." + +Audrey had had some miserable moments since she had been in London, but +she had never had quite such a bad time as she had that morning when +she dragged herself back to her lodgings in wet clothes, feeling that +hope was killed within her. + +"I believe God has forsaken me," she said to herself. "I shall give up +praying. It is all a farce. Pauline was wrong when she told me she knew +that I should be helped." + +She shivered as she sat down in her dreary little room and surveyed her +dinner—some boiled rice and onions, a piece of bread, and a glass of +water. + +Audrey had become a vegetarian some time ago; she found it much +cheaper. She tried to dry her feet in front of her small oil-stove, +then, having disposed of her unappetising meal, she pulled out her +purse and looked at its contents. + +"Five shillings for my rent to-morrow, and two shillings and ninepence +halfpenny over. Well, I can't sink much lower. I shall be able to buy +no more oil, and so good-bye to any more cooking. One day more will see +me literally at my last penny. Now the question is, what am I going to +do? My pride has had a disastrous fall. I must write to Mr. Blunt for +more money. His sister-in-law has paid me a month's rent in advance, +so he has that in the bank. I must have it at once. No, Audrey Hume, +you had a very good opinion of your abilities, and thought you would +be able to go great things in London by your own unaided efforts; now +you will soon be creeping home to your native place, failure stamped on +every feature! Oh, dear! I wish I didn't feel so seedy; it's the cold +and damp. I'll get right into bed. Of course, I ought to have got into +dry clothes long ago. I'll write to Mr. Blunt to-morrow. That will be +quite time enough." + +But when the next day came, Audrey was so poorly that she could not get +out of bed, and for a week, her little landlady nursed and fed her with +the warm-hearted generosity of her class. Audrey had taken a violent +chill, and when she at last began to get about again, she was so weak +that tears would come into her eyes at the least thing. + +She was sitting at her table one afternoon trying to write to Mr. +Blunt, when Mrs. Dutton came hurriedly into the room. + +"A gentleman has called to see you, miss. He will give no name. I took +the liberty of asking him into my back parlour. There's the shop bell! +I must go." She disappeared. + +Audrey stood up and felt her legs trembling beneath her. + +"It is Mr. Blunt! Come to spy out my poverty, and take back to his +sisters a detailed account of my position." + +A red spot burned in either cheek. But she gave herself no time for +thought. She swept down the stairs and into the little back parlour +behind the greengrocer's shop, with the air of a tragedy queen. + +And then she stopped short, for her visitor was not Mr. Blunt, but—Dr. +Vernon. + +Her first instinct was to leave the room instantly, but something in +his demeanour made her hesitate. + +He held out his hand. + +"I have come to ask your forgiveness," he said, and the smile that lit +up his face was a singularly sweet one. + +Audrey steeled her heart immediately. She was intensely angry that he +should have dared to discover her retreat, and follow her. Yet she +could not but put out her hand in response to his overture. + +"I can't forgive or forget," she said shortly. + +"I hope you will try. But I have a quick temper, I am ashamed to say, +and I treated you abominably." + +There was silence for a moment. The smile faded from his face, leaving +him grave and quiet. + +"I have been a long time finding you out," he continued, "but now I am +successful, I hope I may be able to retrieve the past." + +Then Audrey flashed out: + +"I never want to see you or speak to you again! I resent this intrusion +extremely!" + +"I do not doubt that, but you are your father's daughter, and I mean, +with your permission, to take you back with me to Horsborough this +afternoon. Please, don't let me keep you standing. Your landlady tells +me that you have been ill; and you look so now." + +Audrey was so overcome with his surprising audacity that she was glad +enough to seat herself in the chair he drew forward. She wondered +if she were dreaming. Twice she tried to speak, but, to her extreme +mortification, she felt the tears again rising to her eyes. At last she +gulped out: + +"I will never pass a night underneath your roof. It is an insult to ask +me." + +"Let me explain. Do you know—I suppose you do—that Horsborough College +is a large private school for boys? I have two or three houses in +connection with it in the grounds. One of these is for quite small +boys. I have several whose parents are in India and who want a woman's +care. So, for the last fifteen years, a widow lady and her daughter +have managed this house for me. There are about fourteen children in +it. Their ages are from six to nine. It is, in fact, a preparatory +school for the others. + +"Now, two months ago, Miss Bonar got married. Her mother is such an old +friend of mine that I want her to stay on, only she is getting old, +and needs a younger woman with her. That young woman I hope will be +you. Stop—let me speak. You do not have to teach, only help the little +fellows prepare their lessons in the afternoon. A very rudimentary +knowledge of Latin, arithmetic, and French will suffice for this. I +think, by the way, there are three youngsters who do not yet know +how to read. If so, they would fall to your share. You would have to +undertake the housekeeping, and do more or less a matron's duties. Now +wouldn't a billet of this sort suit you? Or have you already found +employment?" + +Audrey's head was in a whirl. + +Was this an answer to all her fervent prayers for help? She put her +hand up to her head. + +"I am not very well," she said, trying to speak with dignity, "so I +think I hardly take in what you say. You don't think I would wish to +come to 'you' for employment, do you?" + +"Now, look here, Miss Hume; listen to me. The other day we both very +unnecessarily lost our tempers, and said hard things to one another. We +were both placed in a very awkward position, but we'll wipe that away +as if it had never been. Your father has left me one of his executors. +He was a very old and valued friend of mine. Did you ever hear the +particulars of my obligation to him? May I tell you?" + +Audrey murmured an assent. + +"I was a very young fellow at the time, and had lost my billet out in +India through ill-health. I was not only down on my luck, but I was +desperate, and would have been destroyed body and soul if your father +had not stepped in, gripped me by the hand, and taken me right into his +house and home. He treated me like a son. Your mother—who was a saint +on earth—nursed me back to health, and was the means of bringing back +my lost ideals, and faith in God above. Your father got me a temporary +billet till I had cleared off my debts, and was able to hold up my +head again. Then I came home, for my widowed mother died and I had to +provide a home for my sister. Eventually, money came to us. I went +to college, entered the Church, and now am trying to be a trainer as +well as a schoolmaster. I want every boy to leave me with sounder and +more robust principles than I had myself at his age. I want to save +them from an experience like mine. Can you wonder that I revere your +father's memory, and am sorry that I failed in receiving his daughter +with the courtesy she deserved?" + +Audrey was moved by his recital, yet her hot pride rose at once at the +thought of assenting to Dr. Vernon's proposition. + +"I don't wish to be dependent upon 'you' for a living," she said +shortly. + +"There is no question of dependence, but of mutual obligation, in such +a proposal as I have made," said Dr. Vernon. "It would be affectation +if I were to pretend I did not know the state of your finances. But +our need of a lady like yourself is quite as great as your need of the +salary our school committee will give. We won't waste any more time in +talking. You can but give it a trial. If you do not like the post, you +are free to give it up. Do you think you could pack your things and be +ready to come off with me in an hour's time? Then we shall catch the +six o'clock train from Victoria." + +Audrey gave a little gasp. This man took her breath away. And yet his +magnetic personality seemed to dominate her. + +"I cannot possibly rush away in such a fashion," she said. "I have had +no time to think over your proposal." + +"But that is just what I do not want you to do," said Dr. Vernon, +smiling again. "Miss Hume, you must let me treat you in somewhat the +same fashion as your father treated me. I don't mean to say that your +experience is a bit what mine was, but—" + +"But?" interrupted Audrey, with flashing eyes. "You mean to take me in +out of charity and befriend me, in order to pay the debt you consider +you owed to my father. I am afraid I cannot bring myself to agree to +that." + +"That is an ungenerous way of stating things." + +"It is a true one." + +Audrey had risen from her chair and was facing him somewhat defiantly. + +Her nerves were on edge. She felt terribly afraid of losing her +self-control and bursting into tears. + +And Dr. Vernon, who was a keen student of human nature, saw and +understood. + +"Come, Miss Hume," he said, "you are a reasonable, sensible girl. Don't +act hysterically, but take my offer as it stands. I don't mean to leave +this house until you have promised to come with me. If we miss that six +o'clock train, there is not another till ten o'clock. I shall lose my +dinner, and my sister will be anxious. You see, I'm determined to have +my way in this matter—determined that you shall test the vacancy I want +you to fill before you refuse it. Come as my guest." + +"Never!" snapped Audrey. + +"Well, we will leave that. I don't care how you come, as long as you +accompany me to-night. Mrs. Bonar or my sister will look after you, and +make you comfortable." + +Then Audrey experienced a peculiar sensation, as if the room were +rising up to meet her. There was a buzzing in her ears, and she +remembered no more. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +A FRESH SPHERE + + "A kindly word and a kindly deed, + A helpful hand in time of need." + +WHEN she opened her eyes, she found herself upon the sofa, and Mrs. +Dutton was hovering over her with wet handkerchiefs and a glass of +brandy and water. + +Audrey began to laugh. + +"I'm all right. Don't look so scared, Mrs. Dutton!" + +Then her eyes fell on Dr. Vernon, who stood in the doorway, and seemed +to her to fill the room. + +"Oh! Are you waiting still?" she said. + +"I think you want to be in a doctor's hands," he said gravely. + +"Not at all," Audrey replied with haste, the blood rushing back quickly +to her white cheeks; "you have naturally rather upset me, and I'm only +just getting over a bad cold, am I not, Mrs. Dutton? I have never +fainted before in my life, and it isn't my fault that I did so this +time." + +"I'm sure, miss, I'm thankful your friends has found you out," said +Mrs. Dutton. "I says to my 'usband this morning that I'd a mind to +fetch the doctor myself, for you were just going the way the other +young lady did, and she were buried six weeks after she took to bed. +And she fed herself much better than you've a-done lately!" + +"Go away, please, Mrs. Dutton," said Audrey, with another weak laugh. +"I haven't taken to my bed, nor do I mean to be buried just yet." + +Mrs. Dutton departed, but cast an imploring glance at Dr. Vernon as she +did so. + +"Can that woman help you to pack?" he said. + +"How pertinacious you are! You have no consideration or pity. I have +hardly got my breath back yet. I suppose I shall have to go with you. +You have taken advantage of my weakness. I haven't the strength to +resist, and you know it. If you will leave me, I shall be ready in +about half an hour. I can meet you at Victoria Station." + +She hesitated, not seeing the gleam of relief that crossed his face, +then said, despairingly: + +"I was in the act of writing to Mr. Blunt when you arrived to ask him +to forward me a cheque. My father's affairs, as you know, are not +properly settled yet. I owe Mrs. Dutton something, and must pay her +before I go." + +"I will settle that. I will return in half an hour." + +He left the room, and Audrey, feeling as if she were in a dream, +dragged herself upstairs. + +As she glanced at her half-written letter which had cost her so much to +write, she murmured to herself: + +"At any rate, I am saved from the Miss Blunts' merciless criticism. I +am too downhearted to hold out against probable employment. But if it +is not a bona fide situation, I shall come back to London. I will not +be beholden to him for one single penny!" + +She packed her one trunk which she had had forwarded to her from home, +and then sat down, wishing her limbs would not tremble beneath her so. +Mrs. Dutton very soon came up to her. + +"The gentleman is waiting downstairs, miss. I'm right down sorry to +lose you, but you're not the sort of young lady to battle by yourself +in London." + +"Oh, Mrs. Dutton, don't crush me utterly! I used to feel myself such a +tower of strength and energy! But London is a horrid place for an empty +purse, and I shouldn't care if I never saw it again. I shan't forget +you and your babies. You've been awfully good to me. I told Dr. Vernon +to settle up my account. Has he done it?" + +"Yes, and very handsome, too. I don't know what my 'usband will say. +Tom is very particular about fairness and such like." + +Audrey left her lodgings with a mixture of regret and relief. She was +very silent till she was comfortably settled in a first-class carriage +at Victoria Station. Dr. Vernon arranged everything, and just before +the train started ordered a basin of hot soup to be brought to her. + +Audrey at first objected, but he said, very quietly: + +"You have missed your tea, and I think this will do you more good than +a glass of wine. Railway tea is often atrocious." + +He wrapped his travelling rug round her knees, and saw that she was +thoroughly comfortable, then settled himself in the opposite corner to +her with his evening papers. + +Audrey felt a delicious sense of repose and rest stealing over her. The +soup had stimulated and warmed her. The sense of being taken in hand +and managed, which would have been so utterly repugnant to her a few +months ago, now brought real relief to her strained nerves. She took +herself to task for liking creature comforts so much. The very thought +of sufficient nourishing food, and good fires to warm her, brought a +glow to her heart. And then, as the sense of thankfulness deepened, she +put up a silent prayer for forgiveness for all her doubts or want of +faith. + +"I have not been forsaken," she thought; "perhaps this was to be my +work, and I had to be brought down very low to make me accept it." + +She closed her eyes, and soon sleep came to her. + +Dr. Vernon read his paper steadily. Presently, as he was conscious of +Audrey's deeper breathing, he lowered his paper and regarded her with +quiet interest. He wondered if his hasty and quixotic proposal would +be beneficial to her and all concerned. He noted the dark lines under +her eyes, those clear grey eyes which had flashed and mocked him and +then filled with sudden tears. He marked the pallor and sharpness +of cheekbone showing through her transparent skin. He had a pretty +clear knowledge of what she had been experiencing from Mrs. Dutton's +garrulous revelations, and his heart swelled with pity for the proud, +lonely girl. + +"She has character," was his inward comment; "she has a little of her +mother's sweetness in her face, with her father's determination about +her mouth and chin. It remains to be seen how she will get on with the +youngsters." + +And then, taking up his papers again, he was soon engrossed in them. + +Shortly before their destination was reached, Audrey woke. + +"You have been asleep. Are you cold?" + +Audrey gave a little rippling laugh. + +"Excuse me. I can't help being amused. Here are we, who felt like +tearing each other's eyes out a short time ago, sitting up together +trying to do the polite! I am not at all cold, thank you. I have +abandoned myself to your care, as you know, but may I ask where I am to +sleep to-night? Am I expected by this Mrs. Bonar?" + +"Are you afraid I shall ask you to sleep under my roof?" he asked, +smiling. + +"Yes," said Audrey, looking at him steadily. "I shall prefer to live as +far away as possible. I shall want to forget that you have anything to +do with me." + +"I think your circumstances will make that very easy," he replied +with careless indifference. "Only I would remind you that if we work +together in the same community, there must be no bitterness of feeling +between us. And if occasion should demand instant loyalty to the +principal, I shall expect you to give it." + +Something in the stern gravity of his last words made Audrey look at +him reflectively. After a moment of silence, she said slowly: + +"I suppose I am placing myself in a kind of way under your rule and +government?" + +"Most assuredly you are." + +There was silence between them, then Audrey asked rather irrelevantly: + +"May I ask how you came to find me out?" + +"I applied to Mr. Blunt, of course. He gave me your address." + +"Oh," groaned Audrey, "what delight you have given to his sisters!" + +"Why?" + +She shook her head. + +"I can't tell you, except that I find their interest in me and my +doings rather trying sometimes." + +The train stopped. + +"Are you afraid of an open car?" Dr. Vernon asked. "We can hire, but it +will mean delay." + +"I'm not at all afraid of the car," was the reply. + +And so in a few minutes, Audrey was well wrapped up, and was being +whirled along the dark roads towards Horsborough College. She was very +silent. + +When they stopped at the imposing-looking entrance hall of the college, +she looked up quickly. + +"This is not my destination, is it?" + +"No, but I want you to come in and see my sister first. It is late, and +I am sure you must want some food. We will dine together, and then my +sister will take you across to Mrs. Bonar." + +Audrey stiffened a little, but she made no further objection. She was +taken into a very pretty, home-like drawing-room. An elderly lady +was reading over the fire. She came forward at once, and Audrey was +conscious of a very cheery voice and manner. + +Miss Vernon wore her grey hair in the old-fashioned way; it was rolled +back under a dainty lace cap; her figure was still erect, and she was +in evening dress. + +"Ah!" she said, taking Audrey by the hand. "My brother's wire prepared +me. Come and sit down. Why, my dear, how ill you look!" + +"I have only just recovered from a very bad chill," said Audrey, +sinking into an easy-chair with great relief. + +Dr. Vernon had gone back into the hall to give some directions to a +servant. She felt a sense of freedom from his absence. + +"I really feel only fit for bed," she said. "I'm sure I don't impress +you favourably, Miss Vernon, but I am naturally very strong, and it is +most unusual for me to be ill. If you would excuse me, I really would +rather go straight to bed. I shall be all right in the morning. Dr. +Vernon said perhaps you would—take me to Mrs. Sonar." + +"I shall do nothing of the sort," said Miss Vernon sharply. "I am not +going to let you commence work over there till you are fit for it. And +I shall not let Mrs. Bonar set eyes on you until you look stronger than +you are at present. She would think we were sending her an invalid +instead of a strong and capable helpmate." + +"I ought not to have come, then," said Audrey, rising from her chair, +"but I assure you I was given no choice in the matter." + +"And you will have no choice now," said Miss Vernon, with a little +friendly pat on her shoulder. "Come straight upstairs with me, we will +waste no time in talking, for we have put off dinner for an hour, and I +am sure the doctor is ravenous." + +She took hold of Audrey's arm and led her up a broad staircase to a +large comfortable bedroom with a blazing fire. + +"Yes," she said, "I made up my mind I should not let you go to the +Junior House to-night. I will send your dinner up to you, and take my +advice—get right into bed. There's nothing like that for exhaustion and +strained nerves." + +"You are most kind," murmured Audrey, feeling utterly unable to resist +any longer. + +Miss Vernon gave her a cheerful little nod, and departed, saying: + +"I will send my maid to you. Make yourself thoroughly comfortable." + +Audrey's nerves were indeed strained by the events of the afternoon. +Her feeling of antagonism to Dr. Vernon was overcome by the sense of +comfort and relief her present surroundings gave her. + +"I'm thankful not to sit up and dine with him. I'm a very poor-spirited +creature after all. I told him nothing would induce me to sleep under +his roof, but here I am, and here I shall have to stay, for I'm too +dead tired to protest. Oh, dear! How delicious it all is! And if I were +well, how I should enjoy these fresh experiences! As it is, I feel as +if I should like to crawl into bed and stay there for a year!" + +It was not long before a dainty little dinner was sent up to her. +Audrey sat in her easy-chair by the fire and enjoyed it, as she had +not enjoyed anything for a long time. She felt grateful to Miss Vernon +for leaving her alone. And very soon after, she was lying back on her +pillows watching the flickering firelight dancing over the room. She +was too tired to think much, but did not forget to express her thanks +in prayer to God for having sent help to her in her extremity. + +Presently a gentle knock came at her door, and Miss Vernon appeared. + +"I've just come to say good-night, and to see that you are +comfortable," she said. + +"I'm deliciously comfortable," said Audrey, looking up and almost +startling Miss Vernon by the brilliancy of her smile. "I don't know how +to thank you. I shall be quite myself to-morrow. I really feel as if I +shall be beginning life over again. Yesterday at this time, I felt as +if it were almost finished!" + +Miss Vernon walked straight down to her brother's study. + +"She is all right. Really, Everard, I quite like the look of her. +I don't get on with young girls as a rule, but I am taken with her +appearance. I will have a thorough good talk with her to-morrow." + +"Don't overdo it," said Dr. Vernon with a smile. "Remember she will be +rather difficult when she is stronger. And leave my name out of your +talk if you wish to win her confidence." + + +Audrey slept till late the next morning. A message was brought to her +by Miss Vernon's maid that breakfast would be sent to her. So she lay +lazily in bed. She heard a great school bell, and outside her window +shrill boys' voices. But she was too tired to satisfy her curiosity by +getting up to look out of the window. + +Miss Vernon paid her a flying visit about eleven o'clock. + +"Stay in bed till luncheon. You and I will have it alone. The doctor +always lunches in the hall with the boys. I am busy all this morning +with Mrs. Bonar." + +"Then you are doing my duties," said Audrey quickly. "Nothing will +please me better than setting to work. May I start on them to-day?" + +"No," said Miss Vernon, looking at her critically. "To-morrow is +Sunday. On Monday morning, I shall initiate you, or, rather, Mrs. Bonar +will. I am rather a useless person myself—as far as the school goes. I +entertain the masters and some of the elder boys, but I take no part in +the school itself." + +When Audrey was dressed, she surveyed the scene from her window with +interest. It overlooked the playing fields, and now they were full of +boyish figures. Football and hockey were going on. She noticed in the +distance a red-brick house amongst trees, and some much smaller boys +playing in the garden. She wondered if this was to be her sphere of +work. When she sat down to luncheon with Miss Vernon, she was told that +her surmise was correct. + +"I hope you like boys, Miss Hume? If you don't, you had better pack +your trunk again and leave to-morrow, for I assure you we see and talk +of nobody and nothing else!" + +"I have always been fond of them," Audrey said warmly; "I teach a class +of them every Sunday at home." + +"You will have to make up your mind to enter a boy's kingdom and stay +in it. We look at everything from a boy's standpoint. If there is great +rejoicing amongst us, it is not over any national victory, but because +Jones Major has passed first into Woolwich, or Smith Major has won a +scholarship, or the first eleven has beaten St. Olave's School in the +town. Our chief pleasures this coming winter will be attending football +matches and school concerts. If we have an 'at home,' the parents of +our boys are our first consideration, and our conversation is on the +relative merits of our different masters, and the programme of sports +and games. If we read our newspapers, it is the educational problems +that interest us. Our library books are chiefly biographies of learned +schoolmasters and historical accounts of famous schools. In fact, if +you are going to live amongst us, you must become a loyal Horsburgian." + +"Please tell me more. I love to hear it." + +"And, of course, it goes without saying," said Miss Vernon, looking at +Audrey very sharply, "that we consider the principal to be the very +best man on the face of the earth. He is the king of our kingdom. +Before him the oldest of us trembles, the youngest of us worships! He +is our sun round which we revolve!" + +"I have never been given to hero worship in any shape or form," said +Audrey rather coldly. + +"Then your education has not been completed. We will soon teach you +hero worship here!" + +Audrey wondered if she were in fun, or sober earnest. + +"And," went on Miss Vernon cheerfully, "we all lead a very busy life. +We have three other houses besides yours. The doctor has hardly any +leisure time, and I have not much. I am occupied in special work of my +own—literary work it is. I will tell you about it one day, but it keeps +me very busy." + +"I shall be glad to be busy," said Audrey with a little sigh. Her last +few weeks of enforced idleness had made her wish to have no more of it. +"Have you always had this school, Miss Vernon? My father did not know +of it." + +"My brother has had it now for eight years. His whole soul is wrapped +up in it, and he has spent a tremendous lot of his private income upon +improvements. I don't believe he would leave it if he were offered +a bishopric. He has already refused a deanery. You see he is such a +clever and able man that many think his talents wasted in such a sphere +as this, but he says that the training of young minds is work that an +archangel would covet. And he has wonderful power with boys. He is a +second Dr. Arnold, I consider. Ah! You may smile and regard this as a +fond sister's ravings, but I regard myself as an impartial judge. You +wait till you hear what other folk say!" + +It was in this way that Audrey received all the information she wished +to have. She was told that there were two married masters, each of whom +managed one of the houses. Dr. Vernon himself only housed fifteen of +the elder lads, and they did not board with him, but took their meals +in the big dining-hall. As she listened to Miss Vernon, she wondered at +the intense admiration she showed for her brother. + +"He is a masterful man," said Audrey to herself, "and is satiated with +homage, I should think. But I do not see anything at all remarkable in +him, except, perhaps, when he smiles. And then it is like a rift in a +cloud." + + + +CHAPTER IX + +AN INVALID'S WHIM + + "God sets some souls in shade alone; + They have no daylight of their own. + Only in lives of happier ones + They see the shine of distant suns." + + "MY DEAREST PAULINE, + + "How can I begin my letter to you? I want to write sheets, and sheets, +and sheets to make up for my long silence! And there is much that I +could tell you, but which I cannot write. I have sent you one or two +scraps before. My visit to Dr. Vernon seemed a failure. I tell you +this now, though I kept it from you at first. I left him and tried to +get work in London, and I utterly failed. Then he made a proposal, +which I think will suit me. And I came back here to try it. He is an +unmarried man with one sister, a good deal older than himself, who is +rather a character in her way. What do you think she is doing? Writing +an account of the Vernon family. They go back before the Conquest. She +has been working at their pedigree for about five years. They have had +pretty much the usual antecedents, I should think. A few have been +great politicians and soldiers, but not many of very great note. But +she is devoting all her life to their biographies, and Dr. Vernon, I +can see, regards it as a harmless hobby. + + "Did I tell you this is a big private school; and I am a kind of lady +matron over the small boys' part of it? An elderly widow lady is the +real head, but she does not do very much. She has what she calls her +surgery, where she doctors the boys, and anoints their bruises and +plasters their cuts. Someone is always in the wars, and it is a very +useful role. I find plenty to do. I have the store cupboards and linen +room in my charge; I am doing housekeeping, and I teach three tiny boys +for two hours every morning, and help about twelve others with their +preparation from six to seven every evening. I go out for walks with +them, and I love them all, especially a very naughty scapegrace called +Wriggles—his real name is Martin Price. His first act was to fill my +boots with live snails! + + "I never thought I could be so happy as I am. Everyone here seems to +have the hearty, fresh cheerfulness of the boys with whom we have to +do. I hardly ever set eyes on Dr. Vernon. But, oh, Pauline, how he +preaches! I never shall forget my first Sunday. He takes the morning +service in the boys' chapel, and a curate from the parish church +conducts the evening one. It seemed such a strange congregation to me, +rows and rows of fresh smiling boys' faces. He took for his text: + + "'Without Me ye can do nothing!' + + "I wish you had heard it. Of course, he spoke straight to the boys, +and said that this would be a hard saying to them, as they all felt so +sure of themselves and their future, so confident that they could get +along by themselves, so angry at being managed by anyone, so eager and +anxious to prove their independence. I tell you, Pauline, his words cut +into 'me.' And then he went on to show how weak is our strength at its +best, and what the real life of each of us ought to be, a life linked +to Christ, like the links of a chain, impossible to be broken. It has +given me such deep thought, for my life is not joined on to Christ's. +It never has been, I'm afraid. Oh, how I wish I could talk to you +instead of this dreadful pen and paper business! His eyes seemed to +glow, and his whole face was burning with eloquence. The boys listened +with open mouth and eyes. This is his style, very simple, but so +wonderfully clear— + + "'Without Me you cannot get your sins forgiven. Without Me you cannot +enter heaven. Without Me you cannot be saved. Without Me you cannot +resist temptation. Without Me you cannot please God. Without Me you +cannot live straight, speak straight, and walk straight. "Without Me ye +can do 'nothing.'"' + + "And he took up every one of these points and dwelt on it, and my mind +is in a tumult, Pauline, for the Second Person of the Trinity has never +so entered into my calculations. I have tried to serve God afar off. +The Son of God has not touched my lite or soul, or brought me into +contact with Himself. So the whole of my twenty-five years of life has +been wasted. I have lived away from Him Who said: 'Without Me ye can do +nothing!' + + "I always felt in my inner being that I was a fraud, and now I know +I am one. + + "Well, what else can I tell you? Life is very full to me here. And +my one desire has been gratified. There is the most splendid school +library here. And I am allowed to take any book and change it as often +as I like, so I am imbibing book lore voraciously. And I am cramming +myself with all the necessary knowledge for helping on my small boys. +I am rubbing up my Latin and French and history dates. I am dipping +into the most entrancing biographies of men and women of whom I frankly +confess I had never heard. I am beginning a course of philosophy, and +want to grasp political economy. + + "At eight o'clock, all our small boys are in bed. Mrs. Bonar writes +letters and works. I devour my books over the fire. I feel, Pauline, I +can say in the language of the Psalmist: + + "'Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them +unto their desired haven.' + + "I really felt battered to pieces in London with a genuine storm from +my West gate, and it is indeed a haven here. + + "Do you think me very heartless, I wonder, to be so quickly pleased, +when it is such a short time since dear father died? But that trouble +lies too deep for me to touch upon often. It is there still. If only I +had known he was going to be taken from me so soon, how differently I +should have behaved! + + "Now, after this selfish outpouring, how are you, and your mother? +Do you miss me? I am sure you must. My passionate outbursts always tried +you, though you pretended you liked them. Oh, Pauline, shall I ever go +through life with that wonderful radiant serenity of spirit which you +possess? You're always shining and glowing with happiness, and you've +nothing on earth to make you so. I wish, I wish I could have a talk +with you. Don't wear yourself to death, and do try to get undisturbed +nights sometimes. I don't believe you ever stay in your bed for a whole +night, and you ought to do so. Good-bye. Write to me. And if you see +those inquisitive spinsters, tell them what I am doing. + + "Yours very lovingly, + + "AUDREY HUME." + +Pauline read this letter over her solitary breakfast one frosty morning +in October. + +She was intensely relieved to hear from Audrey, for she had been very +anxious about her. She had a letter from Honor a short time before, in +which she mentioned having seen her. + + "I am afraid Audrey is not finding it easy to get what she wants," +she wrote. "She looked dreadfully thin and ill when I saw her. I suppose +you know about her affairs better than I do. She only told me her +father's friend had been a failure, and I don't think she wanted this +mentioned. Between you and me, I'm afraid she is starving herself. It +seems a dreadful thing to say, but she dined with me and I fancied she +was really hungry—painfully so." + +On the top of this, one of the Miss Blunts met Pauline in the village +one morning. + +"My dear, have you heard from Audrey Hume lately? Such an extraordinary +thing! You know she went to that great friend of her father's, a Dr. +Vernon. He wrote to my brother yesterday asking for her address! We +have quite believed her to be either staying with him in London or +doing work in connection with him. We have often said to our brother +that it was very curious her going to London directly, but she has made +a mystery of the whole thing. Of course, we all know how she panted to +go to London! She was so very restless and excitable, and so extremely +independent! But it is a terrible thing to think of her in London +alone, and with no one to guide or advise her. Do you think she ever +went to Dr. Vernon at all? One does not know what she might have done. +He evidently knows nothing of her." + +"I know she went to him," said Pauline quietly, "and I know she is +in quiet, respectable lodgings. Audrey is old enough to take care of +herself. And she has such energy and strength of character that she is +bound to make her way." + +Miss Blunt shook her head doubtfully as she walked away. + +And Pauline had been uneasy ever since, though she did not show her +anxiety to outsiders. Audrey's letter brought a bright smile to her +lips. + +"I knew she would find her feet. It seems the very thing for her. She +never could have stayed on here. And I am so thankful she is busy and +happy. Dr. Vernon has not failed her after all." + +Here she was called upstairs to her mother. + +Mrs. Erskine was slowly and gradually getting worse, yet no one saw it +but the doctor and Pauline. She herself was more restless and irritable +in consequence, and her active brain was always planning impossible +projects which Pauline was obliged to quench, for the doctor had told +her that her mother could not be moved. + +"Pauline," she began querulously, when she came into the bedroom, "I am +quite certain it is the unhealthiness of this house that is telling on +my health. Mary has been telling me how damp her kitchen is. We never +get a glimpse of sun, and I really feel inclined to go right away. I +happen to have heard from an old cousin of mine this morning. You don't +know her—oh, yes, you do. You stayed with her just before your father's +death. Do you remember her?" + +Could Pauline ever forget that memorable visit? Her pulses throbbed as +she answered: + +"I remember her very well. Cousin Bertha, you mean. She has been living +abroad, has she not?" + +"Yes, at Cannes. I feel inclined to go to the Riviera for a part of +this winter." + +"But, mother dear, you could not travel; and think of the expense!" + +"I have a small deposit account at the bank which I could draw from. +I am quite as fit to travel as many invalids. I certainly do not get +better here. I seem steadily getting worse. It is the damp climate. I +am sure of it. Don't set yourself against everything for my benefit, +Pauline. You are an extraordinary girl. Anyone would think the idea of +travelling would fill you with delight. But you seem quite content to +live on here in this mouldy, wretched cottage from year's end to year's +end. I cannot stand another winter here. It will kill me. Do you want +me to get worse instead of better? It seems like it." + +"Mother dear, I would do anything in the world to make you better, but +I know a long journey would be too much for you. I know the house is +rather cheerless in the winter. I had thought of cutting some of the +trees in front. The branches must be lopped." + +"Don't be ridiculous. A branch more or less couldn't affect my health. +I will speak to the doctor about it when he comes. Is this his day?" + +"No, he came yesterday. He will not be here till next Saturday, unless +you specially want him." + +"I do want him—at once. Write a note and leave it at his surgery. He +will have it when he comes in from his morning rounds. I wish to see +him this afternoon." + +"Very well." + +Pauline moved across to her mother's writing-table. For the next few +minutes, only the sound of her pen was heard. + +"Would you like me to take this at once? As long as he gets it before +one o'clock, it will be time enough." + +"You can read the paper to me first." + +"What does Cousin Bertha say for herself?" + +"She is not going abroad this winter. She says she is so well that she +does not need to do so. I dare say if I had done as she has, I should +be well, too. She has gone back to her house in London, and asks me if +we ever come to town. She says something about liking to see me again." + +"I suppose," Pauline said slowly, "that you would not like to ask her +to pay you a visit here?" + +"It's quite out of the question. Bertha is accustomed to luxuries. I +should be ashamed to offer her such poor hospitality." + +"But don't you think, mother, that as one gets older, one values +society more than bodily comforts? She and you would love to see each +other again. I could make her comfortable, I am sure. And if I remember +her rightly, her tastes are very simple!" + +"I should not think of beginning to entertain after so many years of +retirement. I am not strong enough to do it." + +"But—" + +"How you do argue, Pauline! My head cannot stand it. You always want +to do differently from what I wish. Are you going to read the paper or +not?" + +Pauline took up the "Morning Post," and commenced reading. + + +When she went out later to take the note to the doctor's, her heart was +full of loving pity for her mother. She felt herself that in sunnier, +cheerier surroundings, her mother's spirits, if not her health, would +improve. Yet she knew the doctor would not hear of a move. + +"If only mother would see some of our neighbours," she thought, "it +would do her a lot of good. But she will not do so, and we are shut up +together, and I know I am very dull company." + +Yet all the time she was out, Pauline was using her eyes and ears for +the benefit of her mother. Mrs. Erskine was always ready to hear about +her neighbours if she would not see them. And when Pauline returned +from the shortest errand, it was always: + +"Well, whom have you seen?" + +This morning, she returned to her mother's room with more than her +usual animation. + +"I found the three little Rectory children at the post office. Poor +mites! They were quite alone. They told me Miss Paton was altering +a dress for 'mummy.' And they were full of importance, having just +posted a letter to Honor, to beseech her to come back to them! Chatty's +fingers were through her gloves, and Minnie's thick, curly hair looked +as if it sadly wanted a good brushing. I am afraid Miss Paton is a +better companion to their mother than a governess to them." + +"They ought to have Honor back. I consider it was a most selfish thing +of her to do—to leave them in such a manner. It seems the one desire of +every girl nowadays to get away from home. Did you see the doctor?" + +"No, he wasn't in. I took pity on the children, and we all went to the +pine woods and gathered some fir cones. I have brought some back for +your fire. I knew how you liked them. It was quite delicious in the +wood; the sun came out, and the hoar-frost on the larches and pines +made the place look like fairyland. A robin was singing as we left; +I do wish you could have heard him. Coming home, I met Mrs. Daventry +walking with one of the Miss Blunts. I was glad to give them news of +Audrey. I did not tell you I had heard from her, did I?" + +"You generally keep all your correspondence to yourself." + +"Oh, mother! I haven't many letters, I assure you." + +Pauline then told her mother the gist of Audrey's letter. + +"Mrs. Daventry was very pleased. She said it was so good for Audrey +to have her hands full, and, mother dear, Mrs. Daventry asked me if I +would go to tea with her this afternoon. Do you think you could spare +me? I should not be away more than an hour. She has a tea-party, and +wants me to help her entertain." + +"You seem perpetually going out to tea." + +Pauline had been three weeks without going anywhere. Mrs. Daventry had +urged her so much that she did not want to refuse. + +"Well, we will see," she said cheerfully. "I cannot leave you till the +doctor has been." + +Dr. Mann came at half-past three, and, as Pauline had feared, would +not hear of Mrs. Erskine travelling. She was at first indignant with +him, and broadly hinted that it was to his advantage to keep her from +leaving. Then she dismissed him abruptly, and vented her displeasure +upon her daughter. + +"I suppose you have been talking to him and persuading him to prevent +the move. But I shall not submit to be managed by either of you, and +if I do not go abroad, I shall go up to London. I have wanted to see a +specialist for some time. I am convinced that Dr. Mann is treating me +quite wrongly. These country practitioners have neither knowledge nor +experience. I meant to have gone to him long ago, but you managed to +prevent it. This quite decides me. Now I want you to write to Bertha +for me. My talk with that obstinate, ignorant man has quite unnerved +me. Ask her if she knows of any quiet lodgings near her, and tell her +how we are situated here, and how my health is getting worse instead of +better." + +"I suppose I had better not go to Mrs. Daventry's?" + +Pauline spoke a little reluctantly. She very much wished to go, as +there were two people coming from a distance who were old friends of +hers. + +"It must be quite four o'clock now. It is too late. You can't possibly +want to go. Tea parties in this part must be the dullest form of +entertainment imaginable." + +Pauline said no more, but sat down to write the letter, and though she +wrote from her mother's standpoint, she managed to let her old cousin +see that the move would be a great risk. + +"You see, mother," she said, turning round, pen in hand, "personally, I +should love to go to London, but I dread a return of that pain for you. +And it is only whilst you lie absolutely quiet that you have relief +from it." + +"I never have relief from it night or day. But I know myself better +than anyone else. I will not stay here to die by inches, and I am +perfectly strong enough to go up to town in a reserved compartment. I +cannot afford to have doctors down. And I am determined to have other +advice. Dr. Mann will find he has made a great mistake in opposing my +wishes." + +Pauline hoped that her mother's restless mind would change from her +present purpose. But to her dismay, it did not, and day after day she +reiterated her determination to go, until at last Dr. Mann said she was +doing herself more harm by her ceaseless fret about it than the actual +journey would do. + + +They accordingly, after much thought and preparation, moved up to quiet +rooms in town. The old cousin, Mrs. Repton, did all she could to help +in the matter. + +Mrs. Erskine bore the journey wonderfully. Her strong will kept her up, +and she did not flag until the visit had been paid to the specialist. + +That was a trying day to Pauline. She dreaded lest her mother's +unusually buoyant hope should be dashed to the ground by the doctor's +verdict. She spent a very bad half-hour in the waiting-room. Her mother +would not let her accompany her into the specialist's presence. + +But when she came out, as impassive and calm as when she entered, +Pauline impulsively sprang forward—into the consulting-room. + +"I want to know what you think of my mother," she said. + +The doctor looked quietly at her. + +"She must go on as she is doing. A quiet country life with no +excitement will prolong her life. But you must treat her as an invalid +and humour her." + +"There is no immediate danger?" + +"Not at present." + +"Is this all that you can tell me?" + +Pauline's tone was desperate. She added. + +"We think—our doctor and I—that she is getting worse. Is she? Please +tell me. I know she cannot be cured." + +[Illustration: PAULINE'S TONE WAS DESPERATE. "WE THINK MOTHER IS +GETTING WORSE. IS SHE? PLEASE TELL ME."] + +"Her life may be prolonged by great care. I can say no more." + +"And this is all we have got by coming to London and spending more +money in a week than we should do in a month at home," thought Pauline, +as she joined her mother. + +Mrs. Erskine looked at her with a little laugh. + +"Well, Pauline, did he say to you the same inanities that he said to +me?" + +"What did you expect him to say, mother?" + +"That a little wholesome change would be good for me, that it was my +circumstances which were to be blamed for my present state of health." + +Pauline smiled. + +"Instead of which he says that quiet is essential to you, and your +present life your one hope." + +"All doctors are humbugs," said Mrs. Erskine irritably. "I shall go +home to-morrow." + +That evening, Pauline went round to her cousin's house for an hour or +two after her mother was comfortably settled in bed. It was the same +house in which she had met Justin Pembroke ten years previously, and +the memories that surged up in a flood almost overcame her. + +"My dear," said Mrs. Repton, "you have grown into a grand woman. How +proud your father would have been of you had he lived! He said to me +once, 'My little Pauline will be an unusual woman, and I believe a very +good one.'" + +Sudden tears filled Pauline's eyes. It was not often that her father's +name was mentioned to her. + +"Can't you afford to get your mother a good maid?" Mrs. Repton went on. +"It is wrong that you should be so tied to her sick-room. You are young +yet, and youth soon slips away. You ought to be having your good time +now!" + +"I am," said Pauline, looking at her cousin with her clear, shining +eyes. "I am having a good time every day." + +"I can't follow you. Your mother has not changed. And I knew her very +well in the old days." + +"Oh," said Pauline, "I don't believe any of us ought to feel we are +having a bad time if we are doing what we are meant to do. And in +the country, Cousin Bertha, life is very full. There are so many +that live round us, and whose lives we are bound to touch. I am very +interested in my fellow-creatures. I always have been. And if my life +is monotonous, some of their lives are not! Do I sound priggish?" + +"Not at all. No one who leads the life you do, and who looks as you do, +is a prig. Pauline, do you remember Mr. Pembroke? I once thought he +was smitten by you, but you were taken away from me before it came to +anything." + +Pauline schooled herself to reply very steadily: "Yes, I remember him. +Is he well?" + +"He has been in the wilds of Australia for many years, and came home +last week, and is in London now. You may come across him." + +"We are going home to-morrow." + +"What a pity! I might have had him to dinner, and asked you to meet +him. You must marry, child. Have you any admirers down in the country?" + +Pauline laughed and shook her head. + +But when she returned to her rooms that night, she took herself to +task for feeling her heart throb at the mention of one who had once +been so much in her thoughts. The very fact of his being in London, of +there being a possibility of a meeting, stirred her to the depths of +her soul. She shook her head half-humorously at her reflection in the +glass, as she stood before it plaiting her abundant golden hair that +evening. + +"Will nothing but the statement of his marriage with someone convince +you that he has never had you in his thoughts?" + +And then she went to bed and slept till she heard the usual restless +call of her mother. + + + +CHAPTER X + +OLDER AND WISER + + "For others' sake to make life sweet, + Though thorns may pierce your weary feet; + For others' sake to walk each day + As if joy helped you all the way— + While in the heart may be a grave + That makes it hard to be so brave, + Herein, I think, is love." + +THEY returned home the next day. Mrs. Erskine's fictitious strength and +spirits had deserted her. + +"I am going home to die," she asserted to her daughter, "and I ought +not to have been allowed to attempt this journey. It has sapped all the +strength out of me—and the hope and courage, too." She added these last +words in a breathless whisper to herself, but Pauline heard them, and +she laid her hand affectionately on her mother's arm. + +"We are going home together, mother dear, and I mean to take extra care +of you. We will give you the quiet and rest you require, and you may +feel much stronger soon." + +"Stronger!" said Mrs. Erskine bitterly. "I am sinking into a helpless, +whining invalid. I can't bear pain now as I used to do, and I am +getting tired of the struggle." + +Then she relapsed into silence, and would not permit Pauline to touch +upon the subject of her health again. + + +It was a sad home-coming. Mary hovered over her mistress with anxious +eyes, but when she was once more comfortably settled in her own bed, +Mrs. Erskine looked up into her old servant's face. + +"I shall never get out of this bed again," she said. "But I am given to +understand that I shall have plenty of time to prepare for death. You +won't get rid of me very soon, Mary." + +"Eh, mistress dear, don't talk so! The journey has tired you. You'll +feel quite fresh again after a few days' rest." + +Pauline left the room quickly. She felt strangely unnerved and unfit +to take up her daily burdens again. The verdict had not surprised her, +but it had taken away her mother's restless hope of getting better, +and she knew how hard the coming days would be to them both, and an +overwhelming pity for her mother filled her heart. + +"If only I could bear it for her!" was her passionate thought. + +She went out into the little garden, which was looking dreary and +forlorn. Dead leaves underfoot, bare leafless trees, sodden grass, and +a few withered dahlias, all spoke to her of death and decay. For a +moment, her spirit seemed weighed down by its depressing atmosphere. +Then she raised her eyes to the sky above, and sunshine and steadfast +hope were in her smile. + +"'For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were +dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, +eternal in the heavens.' I must get mother to believe that." + +She stayed a little longer, her lips moving in silent prayer; then she +went back to her mother, and the old routine of her life began again. + + +One afternoon, Miss Paton called with some message from the Rector. +Pauline had met her several times, and, in common with most people, +Miss Paton had taken a violent fancy to this stately golden-haired +girl, with her sympathetic eyes and smile. + +"I am actually alone to-day. Mr. and Mrs. Broughton have driven +into the town, and the children have been carried off to tea at the +Osbornes'. Miss Osborne called for them at three o'clock. What a merry +little thing she is—almost a child herself!" + +"Will you stay and have tea with me?" asked Pauline. "My mother sleeps +till five o'clock, so I shall be free." + +"I should like to very much. What a cosy little room you have! Whenever +I come to this house, it gives me the sense of rest. I suppose wherever +there is sickness, there must be quiet. Now, at the Rectory we are in +a scrimmage from morning to night, and I seem wanted in every place +at once. To tell you the honest truth, I am getting rather tired of +it. But I am fond of Emily, and she likes me, and I was at a loose end +before I came here." + +"Have you any home of your own?" Pauline asked, taking up her work and +settling down for a talk. + +Miss Paton laughed. + +"No. Mother and I came to the conclusion that a home was a great +mistake—it tires you so. At least, I felt pretty strongly that way, +and she didn't want much persuasion to settle in a boarding-house at +Folkestone. I couldn't live a life like you, Miss Erskine; it would +drive me mad. I have two brothers who went out to the colonies and +married there. And I have a married sister in Scotland. She—er—married +my lover; so you have my biography in a nutshell!" + +She gave a hard little laugh, then went on: + +"Mother and I never could pull together. She is old and fidgety, and I +cannot stand old people. I always think strangers get on much better +with them than their daughters, because they can't tyrannise over them +so much. I bore it for eight months, and then we were both dead sick of +each other, so I suggested the boarding-house scheme. It has answered +admirably. I go there whenever I want to, and mother and I, instead +of snapping and snarling at each other all day, are now the greatest +friends. She writes me most affectionate letters. And in this way, I am +able to go about and earn a little on my own account. We are not well +off." + +For a moment, Pauline said nothing. It was not her way to censure +people for what they said or did, but Miss Paton's selfish, callous +views of life rather took her breath away. + +"I think you must be a great comfort to Mrs. Broughton. She is not +strong enough to manage the Rectory household single-handed." + +"I hope I'm a comfort to her. But, between ourselves, she is rather a +humbug. Mind you, I am fond of her—I always was, since we were girls at +school together—but it's all take with her, and precious little giving." + +"Well," said Pauline, smiling, "it's good to be the giver instead of +the taker, isn't it? I am sure in the bottom of your heart you must +feel it so." + +"Perhaps I do," said Miss Paton hesitatingly. "But I don't think I rank +amongst the givers in the world. I'm a pretty selfish lot myself. But +one has only one life to live, and single women have to look out for +themselves—no one else does it for them." + +"Do you find the children difficult?" + +"My dear Miss Erskine, they worry me to death! They ought to have a +nurse, and I tell their mother so. They haven't the sense to look after +themselves. At best, if they do, they get into some scrape, and I +can't be at their heels all day. And they're for ever dinning into my +ears the virtues of the absent Honor—'Honor did this,' or 'Honor did +that'—till I feel I could slap them! Imagine! Mr. Broughton actually +said to me one day that he thought it was a mistake girls leaving home +when they had a parent dependent on them for help in their old age. + +"'Well,' I said, 'your daughter has run away from her home duties as +well as I—' And he shut up at once." + +"Poor Honor!" said Pauline meditatively. "She was very fond of her +home, but, like you, found it a good deal for one pair of shoulders. +Still, she did not want to leave." + +"Oh, I know all about it. It was another case of not pulling together. +Emily wrote me all her woes before I came. Now, honestly, Miss Erskine, +don't you think it wiser for people to take the easiest path in life? I +do. I should never stay anywhere where I was miserable." + +"I suppose you are very susceptible to your surroundings." + +"Who isn't? And I love peace at any price. If I don't like a person, I +can't help showing it, and then there are ructions. Isn't it far better +to separate at once?" + +"It just depends on what one's guiding principle is through life," said +Pauline slowly. + +"Oh, I have no guiding principle." + +"Indeed you have, though you may not have discovered what it is." + +Miss Paton stared at her. + +"You rather interest me—go on." + +"But I have done," said Pauline, laughing. + +Miss Paton joined her in her laugh. + +"I'm so glad you have. I was rather afraid you were going to deliver me +a sermon." + +Tea came in just then, and they drifted to other topics. When Miss +Paton got up at last to go, she said: + +"May I come to see you again? People are not over friendly to me here; +I believe they consider I have ousted the immaculate Honor from her +home, which is ridiculous. You are the only one who has regarded me +with friendly eyes. Even that bright little Miss Osborne looked up into +my face and said to-day,— + +"'I'm afraid children bore you, do they not? These mites were a little +spoiled by Honor—she adored them so—and they miss her dreadfully.' + +"I am sure she thinks I neglect them, and perhaps I do; but I can't +amuse them and their mother at the same time—and she is my friend." + +"I shall be delighted to see you whenever you have a moment to spare," +responded Pauline warmly. + +Miss Paton turned to go, then she looked back. + +"Of course I know my guiding principle, and you know it, too. It's to +take the easiest way. But I'm not the only one who does it." + +"I suppose we should all do it," said Pauline slowly, "if we all +believed as you do—that we have but one life to live." + +"Oh, well," said Miss Paton, a little shamefacedly, "that was a +careless speech of mine—I am not a heathen exactly." + +She gave Pauline a little nod, and departed. But Pauline's few words +stuck to her, and gave her much matter for thought. + + +About a fortnight after this, Mrs. Daventry called early one afternoon, +and insisted upon taking Pauline for a drive. + +"I will not take 'No,'" she said, "for you are needing change of air +badly. You are too young to lose your roses yet, and too valuable to us +all to overstrain yourself and have a breakdown." + +"I am very strong," said Pauline. + +But as she spoke, there were tired lines round her eyes and a little +droop to her tall, upright figure. + +Mrs. Daventry leant back in her luxurious carriage with a sigh of +relief, when she had Pauline by her side. + +"You have no idea how I long for you when I am driving about. You know +that you are my favourite, do you not? And yet I can hardly ever get +hold of you. I want to take you to the Burkes' this afternoon. It is +a social gathering, to welcome their son back from abroad, and Lady +Marion asked me specially to bring you. She has never forgotten meeting +you at my house last spring. She says she has seen no one like you in +this neighbourhood for years." + +"You flatter so," said Pauline, laughing, but casting rather a dismayed +look at her plain dark blue cloth coat and skirt. "I am not in company +attire, exactly, am I?" + +"Quite nice," said Mrs. Daventry. "And now tell me first about +yourself, and then about my other girls." + +"There is nothing much to say about myself. Mother has had a much +better week. Dr. Mann was quite pleased with her when he called +yesterday. I heard from Honor yesterday. She always writes a little +dismally, but she likes Scotland better than London, and says that Mrs. +Montmorency seems to like her better than she did. Poor Honor always +makes the worst of herself. I knew she would be appreciated before +long." + +"And Audrey?" + +"Audrey is very busy and very happy. I heard from her this morning. She +says, 'I really do believe my Western goal will be a bright path, after +all—my storms seem over.'" + +"Has she learnt so quickly?" said Mrs. Daventry, musingly. + +The drive was a long one, but Pauline enjoyed every bit of the way. +When they were ushered into a brightly lighted hall, and thence into a +well-filled drawing-room, she was still girl enough to enjoy the gay +scene. + +Lady Marion Burke received her warmly. + +"Let me introduce my son to you. He has been in Australia for many +years. Some scientific society sent him out, and he has brought his +great chum down from town with him. Leonard, let me introduce you to +Miss Erskine." + +A keen-looking young fellow, with the tanned skin that tells of an open +air life, turned at his mother's words and bowed. + +But Pauline went pale to the lips when his companion turned also, and +she was face to face with Justin Pembroke. + +For a moment their eyes met. Then he stepped forward gravely. + +"We met many years ago, did we not, Miss Erskine?" + +"Yes, I think we did," she replied with wonderful composure. "You have +been abroad a good many years, have you not?" + +"A good many, though time flies when one is occupied. Have you seen +Mrs. Repton lately?" + +"Yes; my mother and I were up in town a short time ago. She seems very +well." + +"I must go to see her. But, really, we have been so accustomed to our +life away from civilisation that we feel a little shy at first when we +get amongst our own people again. Burke and I have been in the Bush for +the last five years." + +They exchanged a few commonplace remarks, then he drifted away from +her, and Pauline felt as if she were in a dream. He was very much the +same, a trifle greyer than when she saw him last, and his voice not +quite so keen and eager. But she felt as if a cold-water douche had +descended upon her. + +He greeted her perfectly courteously but indifferently. He evidently +did not wish to recall the old days. Perhaps, she thought, he had never +attached any importance to them, and now they had faded away from +his memory. She thought hotly of the weeks and months that had been +one long, dreary torture to her, of the hope that lived on, though +suppressed and checked in every way, and which even now, though she had +imagined it dead, was so ready to rise again with eager expectancy. + +The woman had sat still, and waited and hoped. The man had continued +his career and forgotten. She smiled a little bitterly to herself. +And then, quick to hear anything from his lips, she listened to some +bantering talk between his hostess and himself. + +"I hope you are both tired of exploring the wilds and have come home to +marry and settle down." + +"Please be merciful. Why such a fate?" + +"It is your duty as a good citizen." + +"Then I am afraid that duty will remain undone by me. No, Lady Marion, +my work is my companion and my creed. I want no other. There was a time +when I thought differently, but I am older and wiser now." + +"That is the way you all talk; and the next I hear is that you have +fallen headlong into love. Your time has not come. 'Nous verrons.'" + +Pauline moved away. She did not want to hear any more. If she had +thought that time had wiped away the remembrance of a man's glowing +eyes reading her very soul, the death-knell that was sounding within +her now showed her the futility of such a misconception. But she +resolutely turned her thoughts from the past to the present, and as she +responded to her friends around her she was her usual sweet, gracious +self. + +She did not speak to Justin Pembroke again. And when she and Mrs. +Daventry departed, she was unaware that Justin's eyes were following +them. + +She talked brightly to her old friend driving home, and went up to her +mother's room to reproduce the events of the afternoon. But, though +she told her of many who had been present, she never mentioned Justin +Pembroke's name. + +When she went up to her bedroom, she opened a drawer and carefully +unlocked a carved ivory box. Taking from it a little packet in tissue +paper, she opened it, and held for a moment or two some faded stalks of +mignonette in her hand. + +Then with a quick gesture she opened her window and flung them out. + +"I also am older and wiser now," she said to herself. + +And then she went to bed. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AN IDEAL TEACHER + + "He who has the truth at his heart need never fear the want of +persuasion on his tongue."—RUSKIN. + +"THE doctor wishes to see Miss Hume in his study at four o'clock this +afternoon." + +That was the message given to Audrey one morning, just a month after +she had arrived at Horsborough College. She was looking a very +different girl now from what she did when she left London. + +Colour was in her cheeks, brightness in her eyes, and vigour and energy +in every movement. With her characteristic thoroughness, she had thrown +herself wholeheartedly into her work, and was adored by all the small +boys, as well as by some of the big ones. Of Dr. Vernon she saw little, +and if by chance she came across him, she had very few words to say to +him. She found Miss Vernon's speech very true about the boys' world +in which she would have to live. And she also found, if her outlook +was very broad in some ways, it was very narrow in others. She grew a +little impatient of hearing the doctor's praises sung. The two young +married women vied with one another in entertaining him, and their +pride when he dined or walked and talked with them seemed very small +and childish to the independent Audrey. + +Mrs. Ross was a pretty little gushing creature, who expected and +received much admiration from her friends. Audrey and she did not take +to each other from the first. Mrs. Tate, whose husband was the senior +master, was stiff in her manner, and a little given to patronising +Audrey, who, of course, resented such treatment, and kept away from her +in consequence. Miss Vernon and Mrs. Bonar were her great friends, and +she wanted no others. + +Yet, before she had been there a fortnight, she was beset by much +attention from two or three of the younger masters, especially one in +particular—a young fellow from Oxford, who was the master in literature +and a very able man. He would saunter up to her in the playground, +accompany her sometimes when she was walking out with the boys, and +hold long conversations with her in the library, of which he was +custodian. + +At first, Audrey had been very grateful to him for recommending her +various books to read. She had enjoyed talking over with him English +literature in general, and had thankfully learnt a great deal from him +on several subjects. But she grew rather tired of him before long, and +was more anxious than he was to cut short their interview. + +A chance word from Mrs. Ross had brought the hot blood to her cheeks. +They were looking on at a football match, and Mr. Oates had just left +her side to obey a summons from the doctor. Mrs. Ross turned to one of +the other masters with a little laugh. + +"That effort will fail; it is like separating a needle from a magnet. +If I were the doctor, I would not show my hand so soon, for I am sure +it will die a natural death. Mr. Oates is such a very impressionable +youth." + +Audrey had moved away, controlling her indignation. Now, as she was +crossing the square to the doctor's house, she wondered if she was to +be rebuked for her intimacy with him. + +Her lip curled in scorn at it. + +"Life in a boys' school is petty," she said to herself. + +And it was in this frame of mind that she greeted the doctor. + +As he drew forward a chair for her close to the fire, she seemed to see +herself in that same chair on the occasion of her first interview with +him; the remembrance of her humiliation then brought an aggressive note +into her tone. + +"I was told you wished to see me," she said. + +Dr. Vernon smiled as he seated himself opposite to her. + +"I assure you it is not an unusual thing for me to wish to see any one +of my staff. As a matter-of-fact, I always like the heads of the houses +to come and report themselves once a month; it gives us an opportunity +of talking over any difficulties that may have occurred. My sister +tells me she did mention this to you." + +"I believe she did," said Audrey, a little ashamed of herself. "But +really, I have nothing to say. I have had no difficulties. Life seems +almost too easy for me now." + +He glanced at her, and could hardly believe that this bright, radiant +girl was the same who had stood looking like a white wraith as she +defied him in that shabby little back parlour in London. + +"That was one of the things I wished to ask you," Dr. Vernon said, +"whether you like your work and are happy with us. You were to give it +a trial, you know." + +Audrey's face sobered. + +"Yes," she replied. "I like it. I suppose I ought to ask if I suit?" + +"I hear you manage everything admirably. Perhaps, if anything, your +reins are a little too slack?" + +Audrey looked up quickly. + +"Is that what Mrs. Bonar feels?" + +"It is what 'I' feel." + +The quick colour rushed into her cheeks. + +He went on: + +"Two of your small boys scaled the wall of my private garden yesterday +in play hours, and they invaded Jenkins's forcing-house. He discovered +them before they had abstracted any of his fruit, and let them off. How +was it they were not in their own playground? I think you generally +supervise their games?" + +"Yes," said Audrey, looking up at him frankly. "It was my fault. I +took a library book out into the playground. They were all kicking a +football about, and I did not miss the absentees till we were going in. +But I was told about it by the culprits themselves, and I think if you +heard me lecture them, you wouldn't think me so slack. Have you any +other instance of my loose reins?" + +"I was told you let two of your small boys walk into Bulton. I have had +to place it out of bounds—did you not know this?" + +"I did not think our house was included in that order." + +"You are included in every order. And in any case, your youngsters are +too small to go off alone." + +"I think," said Audrey meditatively, "that too much independence is +better for boys than too little. If they are restricted too much, they +will break out sooner or later." + +"But," said Dr. Vernon quickly and sharply, "as you are not the +principal of this college, your thoughts must not be put into action. +It is your place to obey school orders implicitly and unhesitatingly." + +"Oh, I know. Our little kingdom is absolutely an autocratic one." + +Her brows were knitted as she spoke—and there was absolute silence for +a moment. Then Dr. Vernon said in a different tone: + +"What do you think of our library? You are a great reader, are you +not? If I can be of any help to you about books, I shall be very glad. +Perhaps I could lend you some?" + +Audrey gave a quick glance at his well-stocked book-cases, and replied: + +"No, thank you. I haven't come nearly to an end yet in the library." + +Then she rose from her seat. + +"I see," Dr. Vernon said with a little smile, "that you will have +nothing to do with me at present. And perhaps you are acting wisely. +Only, may I make this request—that you treat all my masters as you +treat me? It will be best for all concerned if you do." + +Audrey's hot blood rushed into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed angrily. + +"Good afternoon," was all she said. + +But she left the room with the air of an offended queen, and Dr. Vernon +smiled again, and then sighed as the door closed upon her. + +And Audrey walked back to her house in a tumult of indignation. + +"I will not be dictated to by him! I am not a school-girl. His position +does not give him absolute power over my movements! Oh, how proud and +touchy I am! And, though I hate his rebukes, I have myself to thank for +it. I can't be too careful with these wretched young men! I declare I +feel inclined to cut and run from it all!" + +Naturally impulsive, she burst into the drawing-room, and found Miss +Vernon and Mrs. Bonar enjoying a chat together. Their sudden silence as +she entered made her say, with an embarrassed laugh: + +"I am sure you are talking about me." + +"Yes," said Miss Vernon, "we are. Have you just left the doctor?" + +"Yes. I have received his scolding and am trying to digest it." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Bonar, "I am sure that is one thing that the +doctor never does. He speaks out, of course, but the art of scolding is +not his." + +Miss Vernon immediately whipped out her pocketbook. + +"That's very good, Mrs. Bonar, and very true. Everard cannot scold. You +know, I am making notes about him now. I am coming to his biography. Of +course, this is quite between ourselves. He would be angry if he knew, +but the whole of my researches of the Vernon family is only leading +up to him. I always think I shall see Everard an archbishop before I +die. And any little characteristic that outsiders note in him will be +valuable to me. If you come to think of it—" here Miss Vernon leant +back in her chair, poising her pencil between her fingers and looking +across at Audrey with a thoughtful smile—"scolding or nagging is a lack +of concentration, and a sign of a weak nature. Women scold, men hardly +ever. They use a few decided words to express their displeasure, and +let the subject drop." + +"Then," said Audrey, laughing, "the doctor has expressed his +displeasure. And I came out of his room feeling very angry with him, +but now I feel rather angry with myself." + +"I never interfere with school matters," said Miss Vernon a little +loftily, "but I want you to come to tea with me to-morrow afternoon, +Miss Hume. I won't take a refusal, for I know you have no good excuse +to get out of it." + +"Why do you think I shall want to refuse?" + +"Because you have been less in our house than any other member of our +staff, and because you may be afraid of meeting my brother." + +"That I shall 'never' be." + +Audrey held her head high, and the light of battle was in her eyes. + +Miss Vernon laughed. + +"I used to have a hot temper when I was a girl, so I can sympathise +with you. It is in our family. Everard has it still. You will come, +then, to-morrow?" + +"Thank you, I will." + +Then Miss Vernon took her departure, and as she went out of the door, +she patted Audrey affectionately on the shoulder. + +"I am very fond of you, Miss Hume, so you must not mind my teasing. +And I do think I was born without that very feminine trait of +inquisitiveness, so I shall not want to know why the doctor offended +you, or anything about your interview. And I give you my word for +it that he will have forgotten all about it himself to-morrow. He +interviews so many every day. You are only a unit, after all. Good-bye, +my dear." + +"Only a unit," Audrey repeated to herself as she stood at her bedroom +window later that day, looking out upon a moonlit, frosty scene in the +garden below. "How big I seem to myself! And how very small to everyone +else! I'm just part of the school here—a bit of the machinery that +makes the wheels go round. Oh, why do I feel so dissatisfied to-night? +I will write to Pauline. That always makes me feel good." + + +Miss Vernon was entertaining some of the elder boys the next afternoon, +and one or two friends from the neighbourhood. Dr. Vernon did not +appear, but Miss Vernon kept Audrey after her guests had departed, and +it was then that he walked into the room. He shook hands with Audrey +rather absently, then turned to his sister: + +"Was Archie Wren with you this afternoon?" + +"Yes. He's a nice boy—one of my favourites." + +"I am very glad. I was afraid he was elsewhere." + +Miss Vernon did not ask him to explain himself, but Audrey knew that +several of the elder boys had lately been giving their principal +trouble by slipping off to Bulton, the neighbouring town. It had been +put out of bounds, owing to the misconduct of an unruly set who had had +friction with a grammar school there. But as the shops in it were a +great attraction to the boys, they resented being kept away from it. + +"You may be quite certain," said Miss Vernon, with one of her decided +little nods, "that Archie will do nothing to cause you anxiety. I'm a +pretty keen student of faces, and those particular grey eyes with dark +eyelashes and eyebrows always belong to a frank, fine nature. The only +other person with such eyes is Miss Hume, and if you look at them, +you are perfectly certain that you can trust her, and that honour, +frankness, and fearlessness are her chief characteristics." + +"Oh, Miss Vernon, spare my blushes," exclaimed Audrey, laughing. "You +quite take my breath away." + +Dr. Vernon smiled. + +"Your character won't suffer in my sister's hands." + +And just for a moment, he glanced at Audrey's expressive grey eyes. + +She rose to go, but Miss Vernon stopped her. + +"I have promised Mrs. Bonar an old-fashioned recipe for open wounds. +She would like it for her surgery. Wait a few minutes. It is in a book +of my mother's, upstairs." + +She left the room. Dr. Vernon stood on the hearth-rug warming himself +at the fire. Then he suddenly turned to Audrey. + +"I felt I had missed my opportunity yesterday. I am glad to have +another given me. Will you listen to me for a minute or two?" + +"Certainly," said Audrey gravely. + +Dr. Vernon was silent for a moment, then he spoke in a low, intense +tone. + +"I do not know much about you, Miss Hume, but I want you to do for +your small boys what your mother did for me. No one knows better than +a schoolmaster how important it is to have a good influence brought to +bear upon boys in their earliest years. You know the oft-repeated adage: + + "'Give me a child till seven years, and I will make the man.' + +"I don't doubt that your influence is on the side of right and honour. +But Miss Hume, I want something more than this—I want their young lives +to be brought into touch with God. Habits of prayer and faith and trust +are a man's safeguards through life. He may leave them for a time, but +they have a strong magnetic power, and will surely draw him back at +a later period. I would not dare to say that you could give them the +touch of life in their souls. This, we know, can only be done by God +alone. But you have your opportunities of teaching them, and winning +them, and—may I say?—of bringing them to the arms of the Saviour for +the blessing they need. I want the foundations of their creed to be +laid in the preparatory school before they come into the more public +atmosphere of schoolboy life. It is a grand work for anyone to put +their hand to, and I long that it should be thoroughly done. Will you +co-operate with me in this?" + +Audrey sat still with her hands clasped in her lap. She did not look up +or move, but her soul was stirred within her. + +And Miss Vernon's entrance kept her silent. + +She took the recipe, said good-bye, and departed. + +Dr. Vernon accompanied her to the hall door. + +Then, for an instant before she went down the broad steps, she looked +up at him. + +"I will give you my answer later," was all she said. + +She had little time for thinking till she went to bed that night. Mrs. +Bonar had insisted upon her having a small fire, as the weather had set +in very cold. So, wrapping her dressing-gown about her, she sat down to +enjoy the firelight. + +"What a shallow fool I am!" was her soliloquy. "What an ignorant, +self-satisfied, conceited creature! I have actually plumed myself +upon my capabilities as teacher and trainer to these children! I +have thought myself quite adequate to my position, and am perfectly +complacent and satisfied as to the way I work. And all the time I might +have known that I could never reach Dr. Vernon's ideal. I am utterly +unfit for the work he wishes me to do. I can't be a hypocrite. I can't +teach them what I have not grasped myself. I can only teach them the +form of religion, and what good will that do a boy? Yes, I can teach +them habits of prayer, I suppose, but unless I go farther than that of +what use am I? I always told Pauline I had not reached the kernel, only +touched the husk. What is my own creed, I wonder? What do I believe +with all my heart and soul?" + +Her head sank into her hands. For a moment, she was grappling alone +in the dark after the facts of eternity. And very soon a passionate, +desperate prayer rose from her lips and soul: + + "O God, teach me myself, that I may teach them. I know nothing of Thee +yet, and till to-night, I have known nothing of myself. Take me in +hand, and make me what I ought to be." + +For in the depths of her despair came the words that she had heard in +the doctor's sermon upon her first Sunday here: + + "Without Me ye can do nothing!" + +For the first time in her life, Audrey realised that she had been +weighed in the balance and found wanting, and that not only by Dr. +Vernon, but by her Creator and her God. + +It was past midnight when she roused herself and crept into bed. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +AN EMPTY SHRINE + + "A humble knowledge of thyself is a surer way to God than a deep search +after learning." + + "DEAR DR. VERNON, + + "I have been thinking over what you said to me last night, and I have +come to the conclusion that I am unfit for my position, so will you +release me from it? I cannot do what you ask me. You must get someone +else who will be able to carry out your wishes. I cannot pretend to be +what I am not, nor teach what I do not practise myself. + + "Yours truly, + + "AUDREY HUME." + +It was at luncheon time that Dr. Vernon received this note. He knitted +his brows after reading it, slipped it into his pocket, and went +through his daily routine of work as if he had not received it. + +Audrey waited all that day for his reply, but did not get it. She was +shy of a personal interview, and hoped he would write his answer. Her +work also occupied her. The weather was stormy and cold. After evening +preparation, the little boys were allowed half an hour's play before +going to bed. They were clamorous this evening for Audrey to join them +in a game of "blind man's buff," and, feeling restless and ill at ease, +she threw herself into the game with unusual zest. The clamour was at +its height, the schoolroom in darkness and confusion—and fourteen boys' +throats can make no slight noise when raised in excitement—when the +door suddenly opened and the doctor's voice was heard: + +"Is Miss Hume here?" + +The electric light was turned on, and Audrey, who was "blind man," tore +her bandage off in consternation. Her hair was most dishevelled, her +cheeks flaming, her skirt was tucked up high above her petticoat. Never +had she been taken so by surprise. + +"I am afraid I have interrupted some fun," said the doctor, smiling +at the small boys, who stood mute and awed at the appearance of their +headmaster. + +"Our time is just up," said Audrey, with an effort to speak calmly. +"Bobby and Frank, you must come to bed. Will you give me a few minutes' +grace, doctor? For these little wretches have been pulling me to +pieces." + +She left the room with the two smallest boys. + +Dr. Vernon sat down and began chatting in his easy, happy fashion to +the boys who remained. + + +When Audrey returned five minutes later, she found a little group +surrounding the doctor, listening with delighted faces to a stirring +story of adventure and experience of the doctor's boyhood. + +"Oh, Miss Hume, do listen!" exclaimed one of them. "You would love to +hear this; he was almost as bad as you and your brother used to be." + +"Shut up, you rotter!" was the whispered reproof of another. "The +doctor isn't a he!" + +Audrey and the doctor laughed in unison. Then he got up from his seat. + +"Can you give me a little of your time, Miss Hume? I came over after +dinner, as I thought these youngsters would be in bed, but I am a +little early." + +"I fancy we are a little late," said Audrey. "Will you come into the +drawing-room?" + +She led the way, feeling rather nervous of the prospect in front of +her. The room was empty. Dr. Vernon wasted no time. + +"I thought I would like to answer your note in person. It surprised me, +though I quite understand your point of view. Shall we sit down and +talk about it?" + +"I am afraid that is just what I cannot do," said Audrey in a very +subdued tone. "I only know that I cannot train your small boys in +the way that you desire. I wish I had known before I came what your +principles were. But you did not give me much chance of refusing." + +"Perhaps I did not. But, Miss Hume, I do not want to lose you. You are +not an irreligious girl, and I am sure you have thinking powers. Have +you no ideals yourself? Don't you expect to do good and lasting work as +you go through life? Are you one of those who are satisfied with second +best? I want you to use your opportunities. If you do not, you will +assuredly look back to this time with bitter remorse and regret. Half +the world is reaching out or waiting for opportunities that will never +come. The other half have the opportunities, but are not using them. +Why can't you seize yours, and make the best of them?" + +"Why?" said Audrey slowly. "Because you must know before you can teach." + +"Is it faith that is lacking? Or disinclination to use the faith that +is in you?" + +"Oh, I don't know—that I have any at all," said Audrey, looking up +sadly. + +All her usual vivacity and sparkle had disappeared. There was a +pathetic droop to her figure that reminded him of the time he saw her +in London. + +"May I ask you if you believe in the existence of the Trinity?" + +Audrey was silent for a moment, then she said: + +"Yes—with my head I believe in the Trinity. I believe my Bible. I read +it every night, but it does not make any practical difference in my +life. I asked myself last night whether I should live any differently +if I were convinced there was no God—and I really am afraid I should +not." + +"You are so little concerned in One Who is so wonderfully concerned in +you?" + +"I am only a unit," said Audrey, remembering Miss Vernon's words and +applying it to her case. + +"But the whole teaching of the New Testament is to show that Christ +deals with units." + +There was a pause. Then Dr. Vernon suddenly pointed to a picture on the +wall. It was called "The Empty Shrine," and depicted a little roadway +scene in Brittany, where a group of disappointed peasant pilgrims are +gathered round a shrine which is tenantless. + +"I always think that that is a picture of ourselves before we realise +our purpose in this world. We are not containing what we should, and +are a bitter disappointment to those who look to us for help. We fail +when others need us." + +"Oh, I know—I know," said Audrey passionately. "I have thought it all +out. I am a failure—a dead certain failure. And, being so, I will stay +here no longer." + +"But do you mean to continue one?" said Dr. Vernon. "Why should you not +bring success into your life? Do you always wish to be an empty shrine?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"May I give you a simple illustration that I heard a clergyman use +once? It just describes the work of the Trinity as far as we ourselves +are concerned. + + "Three men were walking up a street. + + "The first one came to a corner house. + + "'That is my house,' he said with a nod of possession." + + "The second man passed the house. + + "'That is "my" house,' he said. + + "The third one came up to it. + + "'That is "my" house,' he said emphatically—and he went into it." + +"What a funny illustration! I don't understand it one bit," said Audrey. + +"May I add the explanation? + + "The first man said, 'That is "my" house, for I built it.' + + "The second said, 'That is "my" house, for I bought it.' + + "The third man said, 'That is "my" house, for I live in it.' + + "God the Father says of your soul, 'That is My soul, for I made it.' + + "God the Son says, 'That is My soul, for I redeemed it.' + + "God the Holy Ghost says, 'That is My soul, for I have the right to +live in it.'" + +Audrey made no response for a few moments, then she said slowly: + +"You have hit the nail on the head, Dr. Vernon. I am an empty shrine, +and I never knew or realised it so deeply as I do now." + +"Well," said Dr. Vernon, rising and speaking more briskly, "you must +forgive me if I don't accept your notice to leave me. In any case, you +must stay out this term. By the time Christmas comes, you may think +very differently from what you do now. Work the subject out with your +Bible before you, and you will find light. Only don't be content with +half measures. And look up, Miss Hume." + +He left her. And for a moment, Audrey felt dazed. + +"He takes my breath away!" she exclaimed to herself. "Oh, what an +illustration! Made, and bought to live in, and yet I know I am +tenantless. What a failure I am!" + + +She searched her Bible that night as she had never searched it before. +Her whole soul was stirred and alive with passionate unrest and +yearning. But light and comfort did not seem to come. Her perplexities +and despondency rather increased, and as days went by, her voice lost a +little of its merry ring, and her lighthearted gaiety and enthusiastic +fervour seemed to be fading away. + +Mr. Oates was still pertinacious in his attendance upon her, and at +last, one afternoon, when he sauntered across the playing fields to +her, she turned upon him. + +"Look here, Mr. Oates, I am very sorry, but I would rather you kept +away. It's very ridiculous, of course, but I find that even in a boys' +school tongues will wag. I have my province, and you have yours. I have +to walk very warily." + +"It is indeed ridiculous," he said indignantly, "that we cannot have a +little conversation together. I have brought you this new book. Have +you read it? It is by a new author. It isn't a library book. The doctor +is a little old-fashioned in his notions of books, but, of course, he +has boys to consider. I saw this advertised, and bought it. You know +what a temptation new books are to me." + +Audrey took it into her hand and looked at it rather absently. The +title, "Life from My Outlook," attracted her. + +"Thank you," she said. "I shall like to look at it, and I will return +it as soon as I have done with it. No, don't say you will come and +fetch it, for that is just what you mustn't do." + +"Neither you nor I need be in such bondage!" he said hotly. "Who has +been talking? You don't care for women's spite, do you?" + +Audrey shook her head at him. + +"I am not my own mistress," she said, "and my work here demands my +constant and undivided attention. Look at those imps! What are they +doing?" + +She darted forward to extricate the smallest boy from a medley of arms +and legs in a writhing mass on the muddy ground. Six bigger boys were +trying to wrest a football from him, and he was decidedly the worse for +their efforts. + +Mr. Oates shrugged his shoulders and walked away. + +But he did not heed her warning, and Audrey soon began to dread the +sight of him. + + +As time passed and the Christmas holidays drew near, she began to +wonder where she could go. The school was virtually going to be closed. +Dr. Vernon and his sister were going up to Scotland to spend Christmas +with some relations. The Tates were going to London. Mr. and Mrs. Ross +were the only ones left, and they had one or two Indian boarders who +wanted a home. Mrs. Bonar was going to her married daughter. + +Audrey asked what would become of two of their small boys who had no +home to which they could go. + +"Well," said Mrs. Bonar, "the doctor was speaking to me about them +the other day. He said, of course, you would be wanting to go to your +friends. But he will arrange for Mrs. Ross to take them into her house +and look after them." + +"Hadn't I better stay?" + +"Oh, no, my dear. Why should you? I don't think the doctor would like +to leave you alone here. You are very young, you know." + +"I don't feel so," said Audrey, laughing. + +But she was perplexed and troubled at the prospect in front of her. Her +old home was still let. Lodgings in London did not sound attractive +after her recent experience there. She was too proud to hint to Pauline +in her frequent letters to her that she was wanting a home. + +And then one morning came a letter from Mrs. Daventry. + + "MY DEAR AUDREY, + + "I am sure it is nearly holiday time. Now, will you come to me and +cheer me up this Christmastide? All your old friends are wanting to see +you. I shall be very quiet, for I have no guests coming to me. But I +don't want to lose touch with you, and letters are a poor substitute +for your fresh young voice and eager personality. + + "Tell me what day to expect you, and I shall give you a warm +welcome.—Your affectionate old friend,— + + "MYRA DAVENTRY." + +Audrey thankfully and gratefully accepted this invitation. She had an +intense longing to revisit her old "backwater," and the prospect of +long talks with Pauline filled her heart with content. She went about +with such a bright air that Dr. Vernon, meeting her in the quadrangle +one day, said, smiling: + +"Your school time will soon be over now. I suppose you, like the rest +of us, are going to enjoy your time of leisure?" + +"I don't think I am very fond of leisure at present," said Audrey, +sobering at once. "Of course, I am glad to see old friends again. But I +love a busy life. I hate idleness." + +Then she added, with a world of wistfulness in her grey eyes: + +"I may not come back, you know. I have not forgotten our talk." + +"But you must not fail me if you can help it," Dr. Vernon said +earnestly. "Be what you are meant to be, and what you profess to be. I +only want sincerity in my workers. You are a Christian by profession; +don't rest till you are a genuine one." + +"But," said Audrey impatiently, "you might as well tell one of your +boys to be the Prime Minister. I can't make myself a genuine Christian." + +"No, but you know that simple little verse I often repeat to the boys: + + "'Without Me ye can do nothing.' + +"That is the locked gate. The key that opens it is: + + "'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.'" + +He said no more, but Audrey sighed deeply when he left her. + +"I can't get hold of it," she said mournfully. + +And it was in this spirit that she left the college and went to Mrs. +Daventry. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +CONFIDENCES + + "Souls that carry on a blest exchange + Of joys they meet with in their heavenly range, + And, with a fearless confidence, make known + The sorrows Sympathy esteems its own— + Daily derive increasing light and force + From such communion in their pleasant course." + COWPER. + +"AND now, dear Mrs. Daventry, tell me all the news." + +Audrey was sitting with her old friend in the drawing-room after +dinner. It was a cosy, comfortable room, with an ingle nook by the +fire, and it was a delicious experience to Audrey to be in such +luxurious surroundings. + +She laughingly said as much to her hostess. + +"I'm not accustomed to laze. I never could do it when dear father was +alive, and since then, I have been tossed up and down, and buffeted +by thorough westerly gales. Do you remember our gates? I never have +forgotten them. I'm sure I shall have squalls all my life." + +"But, my dear, you are happy and comfortable at Horsborough College, +are you not?" + +"Yes, but I do not think I am going to stay there, and it is a very +busy life, Mrs. Daventry. I have no chance to be lazy." + +"Then you will appreciate this resting time all the more." + +"I do." + +And then Audrey asked for the news of the neighbourhood. + +"There is not much to tell you. Amabel is away visiting her 'fiancé's' +people. She is to be married in January, and go to India with her +husband." + +"The poor Osbornes! How will they bear the parting?" + +"As cheerfully as they do everything else. Then Mr. Broughton has +imported an organist who is a gentleman. He is somewhat of a character. +He has private means of his own, and has furnished two rooms over the +village post office in rather a sumptuous way. He lectures on a variety +of topics, and is a very good speaker. He goes about the country a +good deal, delivering parish lectures on astronomy, hygiene, health, +temperance, and Church history. He is quite a nice man, about forty, +and very wiry and keen over his lectures. He reads the lessons in the +church sometimes, besides playing the organ, and we all enjoy his music +immensely." + +"He will be an amateur curate, perhaps," said Audrey. "I shall like to +know him. His advent must have fluttered the whole district. How is +Pauline?" + +"Dear Pauline. I won't pity her—somehow one cannot. She is so sweetly +cheerful and contented with her lot, and yet what a monotonous, trying +life it is! I know you will be off to her the first thing to-morrow +morning, won't you?" + +"I have missed Pauline more than anyone else," said Audrey earnestly. +"And has Honor been heard of? Is she never coming home?" + +"Yes; she is coming back for ten days. She will spend Christmas +here. It will be pleasant for you girls to meet again and compare +experiences." + +"I have learnt that I am a failure in life," said Audrey quickly. + +Mrs. Daventry looked at her keenly. + +"I was thinking that a little bit of the old Audrey is lacking." + +"Which bit?" + +"The bright, audacious bit." + +"The self-satisfied, bragging, self-opinionated bit, I hope. But it's +underneath, ready to pop up again, Mrs. Daventry, only it has been +terribly battered about and crushed." + +Audrey smiled, but it was a rather a sad smile, and then she sat back +in her chair and was silent. + +Mrs. Daventry did not press for her confidence. She knew she would have +it before long. And when she began to question her about her daily life +at the college, Audrey grew quite animated again over her small charges. + + +The next morning, after breakfast was over, Mrs. Daventry said: + +"Now I have a good many letters to write this morning, so will leave +you to your own devices. If you would like to walk over to Pauline, +will you take her some grapes for her mother?" + +"You know I shall be delighted," was the quick response. + +And soon Audrey was swinging along the road at a good pace. It was +a frosty morning, the hedges and trees were still covered with +hoar-frost, and the road hard and dry as iron underfoot. + +Audrey felt exhilarated. And when Pauline met her at the cottage porch, +she thought she had never seen her look happier. + +"Oh, Pauline, how delicious to see you! May I pour out? I'm aching to +tell you all about myself. But first, how is your mother? And you're +looking fagged and white, except your eyes. Do you know, they always +seem to me as if they must set light to whatever they rest upon!" + +Pauline laughed, and linked her arm in hers affectionately. "Come along +in. Mother is sleeping. The morning is my free time at present. We have +all missed you, Audrey dear. Our backwater is very smooth and still +when you are away." + +"But, do you know, I am actually glad to get back to it again? There is +nothing like the place in which one has grown-up and lived, after all. +I feel no one cares about me or takes any interest in me elsewhere. +I have made no real heart-to-heart friends since I have been away, +Pauline. And now may I tell you all from the very beginning since I +left here? I couldn't write it, but I can tell you everything, because +I know you are safe to keep it to yourself. Now, first I will tell you +about my father's letter." + +Audrey sat down by the small fire in Pauline's sitting-room and plunged +headlong into her recital. Not a detail did she miss. Pauline had +all the terrible time in London, and as she listened, work in hand, +her work dropped from her fingers in the interest which she felt. +Audrey hid nothing from her, and concluded by repeating her recent +conversation with the doctor when she was asked to do what she felt was +impossible. And then, with a little unhappy sigh, Audrey continued: + +"So, you see, Pauline, as I said to Mrs. Daventry last night, I am a +failure. I have been crushed and humiliated in every way, and I begin +to feel that I needed it. I started away from home with too big ideas +of myself and my capacities for work. I was full of enthusiasm and +energy. And then my time in London showed me my deficiencies as nothing +else could have done. Yet when I got a fresh start at the college, and +seemed to be doing so well, I patted myself on the head again, and said: + +"'They are finding out your worth. They have never had anyone so +thoroughly capable as yourself, or so popular with the small boys.' + +"And I felt that Dr. Vernon must be thankful for my services. Then, you +see, I had to be suppressed again, and this time the deep things of +life were touched upon. It seems to me now as if God's hand has been +on it all. The westerly gales have beaten me flat, and I cannot rise +up again. I am a humbug at religion, Pauline; and, somehow or other, I +can't put myself right, or, as Dr. Vernon said, let God do it for me. +You see, I have been reading a great deal, and I'm a little unsettled +in my own mind about these things. The last book I read seemed to open +up fields of thought and conjecture which I have never touched before. +I am miserable—it all seems doubt and confusion, and no light comes. +And the worst of it all is that unless I can get right spiritually, +I won't go back to the college—and that's a noble incentive to get +right with God! I despise myself when I think that I must become +truly religious in order to keep my situation, which means my daily +bread! And yet this is the fact, and the knowledge of it stings me and +prevents me from making such a mockery of it." + +"But, Audrey dear, apart from your school life, don't you feel a +craving after the real truth? God may be causing your circumstances +to make you draw near to Him. If He has shown you that you are not as +infallible as you once thought yourself, does not that pave the way to +come to Him for His strength?" + +"It ought to. But I have so many doubts. I am beginning to disbelieve +in everything, even—even God Himself." + +Pauline did not look shocked. She had a wisdom beyond her years, and +she knew the intoxication of new knowledge to a girl of Audrey's +calibre. + +"You have been reading a great deal, have you not? And in your reading +you have imbibed the doubts and scepticism of other minds. You have +been drinking subtle poison without an antidote." + +"That sounds narrow, Pauline, and it is not only other minds—it is my +own mind. I am working things out—mentally, I mean. I am seeing how +many sides of truth there are, and what diversities of opinions, and +how everyone thinks that they must be right and others wrong. Yet when +I hear Dr. Vernon preach, everything seems swept away, and I come home +with a fresh, firm grip upon the things I was brought up to believe, +until I remind myself that this is only the result of eloquence and a +strong personality. I am in a very gulf of raging doubt and unbelief. +Help me! I want to be helped." + +"Tell me some of the books you have been reading." + +"There are so many—Emerson, Carlyle, Richter, Strauss, Swedenborg, +Huxley, Herbert Spencer, and a multitude of others." + +"And you have not been able to sift the good from the bad?" + +"I don't think I have." + +"You see, you have been reading and believing men rather than reading +and believing God." + +"Oh, I have been reading my Bible, too, but I'm in a muddle." + +"If you're fond of reading—and I know you are—you must read thinkers +who are quite as clever as those you mention, but who take their stand +on the Word of God and never move from it. Paley is an old-fashioned +writer, but he is a very good one, and I could give you half a dozen +more—or Mr. Broughton would, if you asked him. Long ago, I did have a +bad time myself with some books that were lent me. But, Audrey, dear, +if you read attacks against our faith, you must read the defence." + +"But these don't attack; they are most of them very good men. I haven't +been reading infidel works, Pauline—I have only been dipping into +philosophy." + +"You have been reading men's explanation of God. It is best to read +God's explanation of Himself." + +"You mean the Bible? I do read it, but I feel rather astray in it." + +"What part have you been reading?" + +"The Psalms, chiefly." + +"I think," said Pauline slowly, "that if you want to realise God's +omnipotence and power you should read the prophets; if you want to +realise His love, you should read the gospels; and if you want to know +His doctrines, and the practical outcome of them in our daily life, +read the epistles. I am quite certain that no book convinces like the +Bible, and the more you study it, the stronger your faith will become." + +Audrey was silent for a moment. + +"Honestly, I don't know which I want most, Pauline—to go on with my +work at the college or to be a sincere Christian. I wish one did not +depend upon the other. Don't you think it is very difficult for me?" + +"Yes, I think it is." + +"And I cannot get that illustration Dr. Vernon gave me out of my head. +I told you about it—the house and the three owners. If it is all +true, what a failure I must be in the sight of God! And I think, in +the bottom of my heart, I am not a doubter; it is like going across +stepping-stones in the dark. I believe they are there, but I can't +place my foot on them. Well, I've had a delicious time with you, and +now I must be going back, or I shall be late for lunch." + +She got up to go, then kissed Pauline warmly. + +"You're a proof of the genuineness of Christianity. Tell me, are you +'always' happy?" + +"No," said Pauline promptly. "I shan't be happy now till you are." + +"But is your happiness made up entirely of other people's concerns?" + +"Chiefly, I think. My own are so very commonplace. Good-bye, dear. Let +me see you again soon. Put the college out of your head. 'Seek ye first +the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.'" + +Pauline stood in the porch watching her friend go. + +And as Audrey turned at the gate, a gleam of winter sunshine slanted +down and caught the golden coils of Pauline's hair, crowning her with a +halo of light. + +"Ah!" said Audrey, with a long-drawn breath. "If she were in my place, +what a trainer she would make for the doctor's small boys! That is the +kind of woman he wants—not somebody like me!" + + +That afternoon, she drove out with Mrs. Daventry. They paid some calls, +and met the new organist—a Mr. Danby. + +Mrs. Daventry asked him to dinner that same evening, and he accepted +the invitation. + +He was a thin, keen, grey-haired man, with a boyish way of speaking +that attracted Audrey at once. + +"He must be quite an acquisition," she said. "How can he be content to +be down here if he is clever? There must be some mystery about him, +because he strikes one as being a gentleman." + +"I don't think there is a mystery," said Mrs. Daventry. "He told me he +had no belongings. He was an only son, and was brought up in India, +where his parents died. His father was a judge in the Civil Service. +I think he tries to use his talents; he says country people want more +knowledge than town ones, as their opportunities of hearing are so much +fewer." + +"I should like to hear him speak. I do enjoy lectures don't you? We +have some at the college—for outsiders as well as the boys. There is a +Mr. Oates there—he is a very clever lecturer. He has been giving some +English literature lectures, and I have been enjoying them quite as +much as the elder boys. I knew I was very ignorant, but never realised +I was quite so bad until I saw how much the boys were taught. I wish +you knew Dr. Vernon, Mrs. Daventry; you would like him." + +"Schoolmasters frighten me," said Mrs. Daventry, smiling. "They look at +life in such a scholastic way that I always fight shy of them. But I +have heard that Dr. Vernon is an exceptionally nice man, as well as an +able one." + + +When Mr. Danby arrived that evening, he was in very good spirits. + +"I've had a ripping practice this afternoon. We're going to astonish +you with an anthem on Christmas Day, Mrs. Daventry. Hope you don't +object. Believe some people in the country do." + +"You have very raw material to work upon, have you not?" said Audrey. +"When Miss Broughton went away, I was organist 'pro tem.' But I found +it very hard work." + +"Perhaps you were lacking in enthusiasm," Mr. Danby said. "That carries +you a long way. I hope I shan't lose mine. Most people do before they +come to my age." + +"I think I'm just beginning to lose mine," said Audrey meditatively. + +"Ah! Don't you do it. Hope is the forerunner of enthusiasm, and you're +too young to lose that." + +"She is not going to, I am sure," said Mrs. Daventry quickly. "Are you +going to give us another lecture soon, Mr. Danby?" + +"I have promised to give one on Boxing night. The Rector wants me to +keep some of the men out of the public-house that night. Now, if you +revelled in strong drink, Miss Hume, what subject would be strong +enough to keep you from it for a couple of hours?" + +"It requires thinking out," said Audrey. "I don't think a temperance +lecture would." + +"Quite right! Just what I said to the Rector. My bait must be gilded. +I had thoughts of 'Wives and How to Manage Them.' What do you think of +that? Being a bachelor is a disadvantage, to be sure. But I don't think +it would tell against me in their eyes. 'My Pocket' is another title. +Do you know Miss Erskine?" + +He turned to Audrey with a sudden change of tone. + +"She is my greatest friend," said Audrey warmly. + +"Of course she is, if you know her. She's an awfully good sort, +and what a regal grace she has! She and I are getting chummy; she +told me of one or two points I missed in my last lecture. A clever +woman—very—and a real good one—not the sort you would expect to find +hidden away in a rural village." + +Mrs. Daventry laughed. + +"We're not all aborigines, Mr. Danby. The country holds a good many +such, I hope." + +"Oh, no, Mrs. Daventry," said Audrey eagerly. "There can be only one +Pauline." + +She enjoyed Mr. Danby's lighthearted conversation. He played to them +after dinner, and, once at the piano, his vivacity left him—his music +was exquisite—and his mood changed from gay to grave immediately. From +rather a solemn prelude, he grew more and more pensive and sad, and at +last, Audrey felt the tears creep into her eyes against her will. + +When his last note died away, he jumped up and said good-night. + +"I can't talk," he said. "I'm possessed with my tyrannical muse." + +He was off and out of the house before Audrey could exclaim: + +"Is he a genius or a crank, Mrs. Daventry?" she said, laughing. + +"A little of both, perhaps. I told you he was a character." + +"He is a real musician. How fortunate Mr. Broughton is to have got hold +of him! Does Pauline like him as much as he likes her?" + +"I think she likes him," said Mrs. Daventry, smiling. "We all do. He is +almost a Mark Tapley." + +"I don't like people who are always cheerful," said Audrey. "It is so +monotonous. Of course, Pauline is; but she gets grave and sympathetic +in a moment. Now, this Mr. Danby has a set smile. I don't care for men +who smile." + +"You are graver than you used to be," said Mrs. Daventry. + +"I feel grave. Life has different turns in it from what I thought it +would have. At least, my life has. And at present, Mrs. Daventry, +I can't detach myself from my own life as Pauline does. I'm quite +absorbed in it." + +"You haven't got to Pauline's stage yet: + + "'A heart at leisure from itself + To soothe and sympathise.'" + +"No, indeed, I haven't. I'm a seething sea of unrest and riot. Mrs. +Daventry, have you been good all your life?" + +"Good? I can't claim to be that, but I know what you mean. I have had a +great many ups and downs, Audrey, dear—more than I hope you will ever +have." + +"Have you ever had a time when you doubted everything, when everything +seemed going from you?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Daventry slowly and gravely. "I have had that." + +"And how did you come through? Get past it?" Audrey's tone was eager. + +Mrs. Daventry was silent for a moment, then she said slowly: "I think +we get like that when we follow afar off. You must remember the +spiritual part of us must be kept supplied with its rightful food, or +it withers and dies." + +"Yes—but I've—I've never got the real thing yet, and it seems +impossible to believe about it all." + +"Tell me a little more." + +Audrey told her old friend pretty much what she had told Pauline, +adding when she had done: + +"I'm sure I ought not to be an unbeliever, as all the people I admire +and like best in the world are real saints, and live like them. I +suppose it is the books I have been reading, but knowledge can't be +wrong. I have a dreadful feeling that religion may be only for fools +and weak people who have little intellect or understanding. And yet I +know that this is utterly wrong." + +"My dear child, everyone has their turn at that. Don't think your +thoughts peculiar, for they are not, and many before you have trodden +the path you are treading. But believe an old woman when I say to +you that Christianity satisfies the cleverest and clearest brains in +creation, as well as the most ignorant. And don't be afraid that God's +laws and truths won't bear testing or examining, as far as our poor +finite intellects can test them. We cannot understand everything, I +own, and faith is not faith unless it is stretched to breaking-point +and doesn't break. But men's objections in the present day to God's +revelation are so paltry and small, and so inefficient—if I may use +such a word—that there is no fear at all to any cultured and earnest +student that he will not be able to refute such attacks." + +"Please go on—I love to hear you." + +"I don't think it always answers to treat the difficulties that may +occur, and do occur to many of us, as being too presumptuous to be +discussed. It is much better to recognise the doubts that assail one, +and by prayer and by study overcome them. What works have you been +reading lately?" + +"A Mr. Oates has been lending me a good many; and the last one, by a +modern writer and thinker, has, I confess, unsettled me. It is called +'Life from My Outlook,' and is very cleverly written." + +"The Bible gives us God's outlook," said Mrs. Daventry. "It is rather +different from man's." + +"Yes; that is what Pauline says." + +And then Audrey determinedly changed the subject. + +She knew she would have to wrestle out these questions with herself. + + +And as she sat, Bible in hand, over her fire that night, the verse +again rang in her ears: + + "Without Me ye can do nothing." + +Looking up, she cried in the fullness of her heart: + + "Come to me, Lord, into my heart, and do it all. Make a clearance of my +doubts, fill me with faith in Thee." + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +BATTLING TOWARDS THE SHORE + + "I see but cannot reach, the height + That lies for ever in the light; + And yet for ever, and for ever + When seeming just within my grasp, + I feel my feeble hands unclasp + And sink discouraged into night!" + LONGFELLOW. + +HONOR'S return was the next event. She came, feeling a rush of +affection for everyone and everything that made her home, and was +disappointed to receive several small checks. In the first place, she +found that Miss Paton, who had gone to visit her mother, had taken her +old bedroom, preferring it to the one allotted to her. If there was +anything that Honor loved and prized in the way of possessions, it was +her books and the various knick-knacks that were scattered about in her +room, most of which were mementoes of friends and places. These were no +longer there, but distributed promiscuously through the house, and some +of her childish books had been given to the village library. + +"I feel as if I had died and come to life again," she said passionately +to her stepmother. "Do you never expect me to step into my place again +at home?" + +"You are making a fuss about nothing," said Mrs. Broughton +indifferently. "Anna took your room as she found it nearest to the +children, and more convenient in many ways. You are not leaving Mrs. +Montmorency, are you? And for the time you are here, you can collect +all your own things round you and be happy. I thought we had managed it +all beautifully, but nothing that I ever do pleases you. I miss Anna +dreadfully, and only let her go because we thought that you and she +might clash together. You are so very difficult to deal with." + +So Honor said no more, and the warm, clinging grasp of her little +sisters, and their enthusiastic reception of her, more than compensated +for the momentary bitterness. Her father, too, brightened up, and +showed his quiet appreciation of her in many ways. + +"But, oh, Pauline," Honor confided, as she was sitting with her one +afternoon, "if you only saw the state of the linen cupboard and the +children's clothes! Miss Paton hates mending, and it is all given to +our poor little housemaid, who has no time for sewing, and so it goes +undone. The drawers and cupboards in the house are in chaos. But no one +seems to mind, and life goes on just the same. They get on just as well +without me." + +"Would you like to come home again?" Pauline asked. + +Honor's eyes filled with tears. + +"It is the children. I miss then every day of my life. And I have a +horrid jealous feeling about this Anna Paton who is usurping my place. +My stepmother quotes her on every occasion against me. And she said +this morning that you were very fond of her, and that she adores you." + +Pauline laughed. + +"Oh, Honor, dear, don't make yourself out a smaller nature than you +are. You are not vexed because I am friendly with her?" + +"No, I don't think I am." + +Honor spoke reluctantly. + +"She is a girl I pity very much," Pauline said seriously. "She has had +hard bits in her life, and she has got soured in consequence. But she +told me the other day she was going to tackle disagreeables instead +of edging round them, so let us hope that she may tackle the mending +before your next visit home." + +"You make everyone want to be better," said Honor with a wistful smile. +"I wish, I wish I had a sunshiny temperament like yours; or even like +Audrey, who has no home now, and is working for her living. She is +bubbling over with life and spirits. I haven't laughed so much for a +long time as I did yesterday when she was telling me about her small +boys." + +"Audrey has her grey days as well as you," said Pauline. "Tell me about +your life in Scotland." + +"I like it better than London. Mrs. Montmorency is not coming to +England till the spring. It is a very quiet, monotonous life, but I +like some of the people about. There is an old lady who is blind living +close to us, and she has three brothers all living with her; one is +lame, the other is deaf, and there is only one with his faculties +sound. But they are all quite happy and cheerful; the deaf one is +a great fisherman, and the lame one drives a motor; and the strong +one is a great gardener and sportsman. I go and read to the old lady +sometimes when I can be spared. Then I like the young clergyman and his +wife, though they are quite of the farming class. But they are simple +and good. Isn't it strange? There isn't a child in the neighbourhood. +Everyone is very old, or else they have no family." + +"I suppose if you found a child to befriend, you would be quite happy." + +"No child could be like my own small sisters." And then eagerly she +began to repeat some of their quaint sayings. + +And Pauline wondered when she left her, if she would ever taste the +joys of motherhood, or if her natural shyness and unattractiveness +would be bars in the way. + + +When the two boys came home from school, Honor's time was fully +occupied. She threw herself into church matters with a heartiness that +was not usual, and talked with such animation and pleasure to Mr. Danby +that Audrey laughingly remarked to Mrs. Daventry that a match might +come off between them. + +"It would be the making of Honor; she really would make any man's home +comfortable; she has all the qualities for it. And he would be such a +nice, cheerful little husband." + +"You seemed to think the other day that he liked Pauline too well." + +"But he isn't half good enough for her. Now Honor is quite different." + +"Poor Honor!" said Mrs. Daventry, with pity in her tone. "She is not +one of the world's favourites, but I can't help thinking that she may +astonish us all one day." + +"Would you like to see us all married?" Audrey asked a little +mischievously. + +"I think I am old-fashioned enough to do so," was the response, "if +I could be assured that your marriages would be happy ones. But a +disastrous marriage is worse than death, to my mind." + +"I am nearly certain that I shall never marry," said Audrey decidedly. +"As one gets older, one has higher ideals for a husband. Most men would +bore me after a few months of them." + +"Don't lower your ideals," said Mrs. Daventry earnestly, "and never +think of a man who will not help you heavenwards." + +Something in her tone kept Audrey silent. + + +It was a quiet Christmas, but a happy one. And on Christmas Day, +Pauline, at her mother's request, accepted Mrs. Daventry's invitation +to dinner. + +Mr. Danby dined with them, too, and Mrs. Daventry did not know which of +the girls she admired most—Pauline in an old brown velvet gown, which, +with some real lace and some violets at her breast, gave her a regal +appearance, or Audrey in her black gown and Christmas roses, which +formed such an admirable background to her sparkling, animated face. + +For the time being, Audrey had laid aside her anxious thoughts, and was +the life of the party. A nephew of Mrs. Daventry's, a London barrister, +had unexpectedly turned up, and being a music lover, and possessing +a very mellow tenor voice, the piano was in great requisition after +dinner. He asked his aunt afterwards how she had managed to produce two +such charming women. + +"I'm in love with them both," he said. "I only wish I had not to return +to town to-morrow. The golden-haired one is superb—she inspires one! +And the grey-eyed, bewitching Audrey makes me long to carry her off to +church and marry her straight away!" + +"They are both too good for you," responded his aunt. "Life is not the +playtime to either of them that it is to you." + +Her nephew laughed and shrugged his shoulders. + +"At all events, they cloak their earnestness with a good bit of +sweetness and gaiety. And I am getting old and grey, aunt. I shall soon +be wanting an arm-chair by a fireside, and a home and a wife." + + +As Pauline and Audrey separated that night, Pauline said: + +"Are things going better with you, Audrey, dear?" + +"They are, and they aren't," said Audrey, looking into Pauline's +shining eyes with steady frankness. "I'm slowly getting a firmer +hold of God's reality and omnipotence, and a surer belief in the +Bible itself, but at the same time a sinking conviction of my own +worthlessness, which is not exhilarating. Have I been very frivolous +to-night? It is so pleasant to be able to be oneself, and not to have +a consciousness that one is a teacher and trainer, and must be always +minding the proprieties! Oh, dear! Pauline, I wish the time was not +flying so fast! I feel I would like this visit of mine to last for +ever." + +Pauline went home to brighten her mother's sick-room with an account of +her evening. + +Mr. Danby walked home with her, and Mrs. Erskine, hearing it, said +rather sharply: + +"I hope you are not getting to care for that little man, Pauline. He +seems to be always hovering about you." + +"Why, mother, dear, he is not at all that sort, I assure you. We are +simply acquaintances. I don't think he has a thought beyond his music +and his lectures." + +"Well, don't take too much interest in his hobbies, for he is only an +organist, and ought to be kept in his place." + +"He is a gentleman, mother. You would know that at once if you were to +speak to him." + +"That I shall never do," said Mrs. Erskine, a little bitterly; "my +society now is entirely limited to doctors, whom, as a race, I despise." + +Pauline did not see Audrey again for some time. Mrs. Erskine was not so +well, and Pauline was confined to the house altogether. + + +The New Year came in; Honor went back to Scotland, and Audrey at last +came to Pauline in desperation as the holidays were nearly over. + +"What am I to do? I lie awake at night wondering what will happen. I +can't go back as I am, Pauline. I won't be there training and teaching +those boys when I am so unsettled in my own mind." + +"Write to Dr. Vernon; tell him exactly what you feel, and let him +decide." + +And this is what Audrey did. She received a reply by return of post. + + "MY DEAR MISS HUME, + + "You must come back to us. I am quite sure that you will do as well for +the small boys this term as you did last. I did not mean to frighten +you. I'm only covetous that my teachers should be one and all able to +train for eternity as well as for this life. You say you are anxious +for more light. It will be given you. Some of us grow slowly, and it is +generally deeper and surer work when such is the case. Let me know your +train on Thursday.—Yours truly,— + + "E. VERNON." + +"I said I wouldn't come back," mused Audrey. "But he always gets his +way. It is easiest for me to return. I wish—I wish I was more like him. +He is so strong and so sure!" + +She left Mrs. Daventry with mixed feelings of regret and content. + +The "backwater," as she still called it, was very dear to her in many +ways. But the still, quiet days chafed her active spirit. + +And when she returned to the busy, cheery work of school life, she +realised afresh how much she loved it. The beginning of a term was +always an extra busy time for the doctor, and Audrey did not see him to +speak to alone for some weeks. + + +Then one day, she was getting a book out of the library when he came +in. He did not notice her for some minutes as he was too much engrossed +in looking up a book of reference himself. But when he did, he said +pleasantly: + +"You are a great reader, Miss Hume, are you not?" + +"Yes; I love it," said Audrey quickly. "I have always longed for books +more than anything else, and I have been kept so short of them all my +life." + +"Do you read without discrimination?" + +"I hope not." + +"I try," said Dr. Vernon slowly, gazing round at the book-lined walls, +"to give my pupils information of the right sort. I suppose you realise +you can have the other? There are many minds in the world and many +books. As the man thinks and lives, so he writes, and some books have +caused more misery in young lives than the worst of companions could +do. I found a book on the cricket ground the other day that I would +be sorry to see in my library. I fancy you know it. 'Life from My +Outlook.'" + +"How did you know it was I who left it there?" asked Audrey, +astonished. "It was lent to me, but it was very careless of me to leave +it about." + +"Very careless," said the doctor gravely. "Unlabelled poison is always +dangerous." + +"It's rather clever," said Audrey dubiously. + +"To the would-be sceptic, perhaps. I happen to know the man who wrote +it, and his life had been in accordance with his teaching. Once grant +that the ego within us is as powerful as God Himself—nay, that it is +God—then any form of vice or selfish gratification can be indulged in +with impunity." + +"I don't like the book," said Audrey thoughtfully, "but it is humorous +and discerning, and the writer expresses what one thinks, and yet what +one cannot put into words." + +"It's clever trash," said the doctor shortly. + +Then he turned to Audrey earnestly. + +"Don't feed your soul on such stuff as that. And if you have imbibed +the poison, let me recommend an antidote—" + +"Is it poison?" + +"Well, we will call it a dangerous drug. I dabbled once with medicine, +and there are certain drugs that first soothe, then partially paralyse +if continued in. Have you read many such books?" + +"No, frankly, I have not. I read that last term, but turned up a +passage in it again. I don't like it; but I love knowledge of all +sorts. It is fascinating." + +"Does such reading feed the spiritual part of you?" + +"It perplexes me. I was very troubled last term, but I see things +clearer now, only when I think I am getting a clearer grasp of things, +a torrent of doubts assails me. I am, as the Bible puts it, like 'a +wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.'" + +"If you want an intellectual grasp of Christianity, I have a good many +books in my private library that might suit you. I believe in both head +and heart being satisfied. Come across now, and I will lend you a few." + +Audrey followed him. + +"I wish," he said abruptly, "that when people take to reading all the +objections against our faith, they would, with all fairness, read the +defence of it. They never get as far as that. I have some very good +little volumes of the recent Bampton lectures. Have you ever read any +of them?" + +"No," said Audrey, "I am afraid I am so ignorant that I do not know +what they are. They are lectures delivered at Oxford, are they not?" + +"Yes. John Bampton endowed them for the purpose, in the words of his +will, 'of confirming and establishing the Christian Faith.' Eight +lectures are delivered every year, and printed afterwards, and some of +them are splendid." + +He took her into his study. + +"These will strengthen your faith intellectually," he said. "But you +will find that the satisfaction of your intellect is not sufficient." + +He gave her half a dozen books written by modern exponents of the +doctrine and truth of Christianity. And Audrey took them gratefully and +departed. + + +For the next week or two she read and digested them; and her uneasy +questionings were answered and satisfied. When she eventually took them +back to him, she said: + +"It has been cold, hard conviction, Dr. Vernon, but I suppose it is +good to have a firm foundation. It has left me where I was. I love the +thought that is brought out in nearly all the books, the knowledge +of a personal God, and the union with Him. But I cannot seem to get +into touch with God. I worship Him, I pray to Him, but He is to me my +Creator and the Sovereign Ruler of the World." + +Audrey spoke earnestly, and for one moment Dr. Vernon looked at her +without speaking. Then he opened a small, well-worn Bible which always +lay on the corner of his writing-table. + +He opened it and asked her to read a certain verse to which he pointed +her. + +Audrey read it: + + "'As many as received Him to them gave He power to become the sons +of God.'" + +"That is what you need," he said. "Leave all your doubtful points of +doctrine and theology, and open your heart simply and unreservedly to +the One—the only One—who has the power to give you what you need. He +will explain Himself and His love. You want to take your place as a +child—a daughter of God. The reception of the Saviour is the condition. +That will give you the power to become one, and when you are in His +family, the knowledge of your Father, and your Father's will, will +grow deeper and stronger every day. Remember! 'Without Me ye can +do nothing.' The death of Christ was necessary for your redemption +and forgiveness, it was also necessary for perfect union. It is an +invisible union, but ask those who have walked longest with God whether +it is not a very real and a happy one." + +Audrey said nothing, but as she walked across the quadrangle by +herself, she determined that she would not rest till she had satisfied +her heart as well as her head. And as she mused upon Pauline's advice, +and then Mrs. Daventry's, and now Dr. Vernon's, she wondered at the +similarity of it all. They all urged her to take the Bible as her +standpoint, and to seek to know God herself without taking men's views, +or men's doctrines. + +"God must be a personal God to me," was her inward cry, and she went +back to study her Bible afresh. She took the verse which Dr. Vernon +pointed out, and with the help of her Concordance, she looked out all +the passages about receiving Christ. When she came to the third chapter +of Revelation and the twentieth verse,— + + "'Behold, I stand at the door, and knock,'" + +she went down on her knees, and this was how she prayed: + + "O Lord, I am an utter failure; I have doubted Thee and Thy Word. +I want the peace of forgiven sin. I want Thy death on the cross to mean +all the world to me. Come into my heart and cleanse it, and abide with +me, and teach me how to know Thee better, and believe in Thy love." + +In after years, Audrey looked back to that prayer as the turning-point +in her life. But at the time, she hardly realised any difference in her +feelings. It was very slow and gradual work with her, here a little and +there a little, but unconsciously, she began to grip hold, and keep +hold of some of the facts of eternity. + +She tried not to be continually dissecting herself. And Pauline was +delighted to receive the following letter from her: + + "MY DEAREST PAULINE, + + "I know you are longing for a letter, and I have no excuse, for my +evenings are practically my own. But I have been spending them lately +with books, books, books. Dr. Vernon has lent me some, and they have +done me real, solid, and I hope lasting good, for they are replies +to the scepticism of the present day. I like them because they are +all modern, and deal with modern topics, and they are not too heavy +and long, like 'Paley.' I read them and believe what they say; their +evidence is so strong, but—religion wants heart knowledge as well +as head. You have all told me so. And this I am trying to get. A +Christian's life is an anomaly without Christ within. I have come to +see this. That simple verse still rings on in my ears, 'Without Me ye +can do nothing.' + + "I feel as if I am preaching a sermon—but I'm so interested and anxious +about it all, that I must write it to you. From one point to another +I got led to, 'Behold, I stand at the door, and knock.' And then, +Pauline, I felt He was still outside my life, but not so far away as I +had thought. He was on the very edge of it, and it was He who wanted to +come to me. He was not waiting for me to come to Him. It was a tense +moment. And I think, I hope I opened the door of my heart. + + "I have a few rare moments of bliss now, when I almost realise the +house is tenanted at last by its rightful Owner. But then, again, the +feeling goes. And I am still being more or less tossed by the waves, +or, as the Bible puts it, 'a wave of the sea driven with the wind and +tossed.' Yet I have a firm conviction that my tossing is not taking me +out to sea, but to a certain, sure harbour, and when I land and 'know' +I am safe, I will be sure to let you know. Until then, pray for me. + + "My small boys still engross much of my time. I have lost two of my +favourites this term. They have gone into the junior school. You would +laugh to see their embarrassment when they pass me in the playing +fields in company with their new chums. They get scarlet, either cap +me abruptly, and go on talking fast and furiously—or they pretend they +don't see me. It's almost as if I were a family nurse, which is a being +that is, of course, beneath contempt in a schoolboy's eyes! + + "How is your mother? And your dear self? + + "Write to me soon. + + "Your loving, + + "AUDREY." + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A FATHER AND CHILD + + "My soul blesses the Great Father every day that He has gladdened the +earth with little children."—MARY HOWITT. + +IT was a wonderfully mild and bright day towards the end of February. +Mrs. Montmorency had gone away to dine and sleep with a friend in +Edinburgh. Honor was left alone. She had plenty to do, and was not +dull. All the morning, she had been busy doing little things for Mrs. +Montmorency; they had had an early lunch, and Honor had accompanied +her to the station directly afterwards in the brougham. Now on her way +back, a sudden longing seized her, as she passed a wild bit of moor, +to get out and walk. She stopped the coachman and told him to drive on +without her, and then she found herself treading the dead heather and +bracken underfoot, and inhaling the sweet fresh air with a keen sense +of enjoyment. + +Presently, she came to a little hollow surrounded by gorse bushes. It +was a very desolate spot, so that she was startled to hear a small +child's voice proceeding from it. + +"And so you see, my dear, this is little England, a tiny weeny, little +island in a big world!" + +She bent forward eagerly. A child's voice was music in her ears; and +this voice was a lisping, babyish one, but perfectly refined in tone. + +A small girl was busily scooping out the sand in the bottom, entirely +engrossed in her game. She was dressed in a little rough blue serge +coat and cap. Her flaxen curls were flying in the breeze. + +"Hallo!" Honor called out. "May I come down and play with you? I +thought you must be a fairy at first, all away from everybody." + +The child looked up at her with big blue eyes. Honor might be shy and +unattractive to grown-up people. She was never so to children. There +seemed a kind of understanding between them at once. + +"That's exactly what I am—a fairy, only I'm called Fay by daddy. Do you +know what this place is called?" + +Honor slipped down the side of the hollow and sat down by the child's +side. + +"I should think it is Fairy's Hollow." + +"You're wrong. It's the world, and I'm just making it fresh like God +did once upon a time, and I'm making tiny little England first. It's +got to have water round it, you know, to make it an island. Do you know +if there is any sea round the corner, where I can get some?" + +"I'm afraid we have no sea here. Where do you come from? Have you +dropped from the clouds? Who told you that England was a tiny little +place?" + +"Daddy. He maked it in the sand once, but I'm going to make the whole +big, big world, just wherever daddy goes his journeys." + +"Where is daddy?" + +"I specs he's smoking his pipe, and saying, 'Thank goodness that child +is off my hands!'" + +She burst into a merry peal of laughter as she mimicked her father's +bass voice. + +"But, darling, it will soon be getting dark. Where is your home? Do you +live alone with your father?" + +"I lives over there somewhere," she said, waving her small hand in an +airy fashion over the part of the moor which Honor was going to cross. +"I forgets exactly where it is; we only comed yesterday, and I found +this lovely sand all by myself." + +Then, sitting down by her sand heap, she clasped her hands together and +looked up at Honor with grave sweetness. + +"I had a muvver once—I really did." + +"Did you? How nice! Has she gone to heaven?" + +"Yes; she wented when I was a very little girl. She was just like you." + +Here she solemnly studied Honor's face with her two big eyes. + +"She had a mouf, and chin, and nose, and two eyes, and kontities of +curls, just like you." + +Honor's brown hair was flying round her face. She put her hand +instinctively to it. + +"Will you walk back with me? I think I must be going rather near your +home." + +"I must make France first—that's where frogs live, you know; it's +bigger than England, but it isn't so good." + +She set to work with her sand again, and Honor racked her brains to +think where her house could possibly be. She knew most of the houses +round, and was only about a mile from Mrs. Montmorency's house. She +felt that she could not leave this child by herself, and yet was +doubtful if she could move her at present. + +At last, she said with a smile: + +"Can you smell tea and hot buttered toast? Is it yours or mine, I +wonder? It's very near tea-time." + +Fay jumped up and tore out of the hollow as fast as her legs could +carry her. + +"Mrs. Maciver did promise me a hot apple for my tea." + +She had given Honor the clue. Mrs. Maciver kept the village inn, and +very often let some of her rooms to lodgers. She was a very quiet, +respectable woman, had been a cook in one of the big houses in the +neighbourhood, and had, as often is the case, married the butler, who +had taken possession of the inn and drunk himself to death in three +years' time. + +"I know Mrs. Maciver. Wait for me. I can't run as fast as you can, and +you're going the wrong way." + +Fay stopped irresolutely. + +"I rather like getting losted. I'm always doing it. Isn't it funny that +I can't never remember in a new country where I comed from? Daddy says +dogs is much cleverer than me. I s'pose you know this isn't England. +It's Scotland, where men wear frocks and socks, and everybody eats +porridge. I saw a man with socks yesterday, but only some of them are +dressed like that." She took hold of Honor's hand and chatted on. + +The tiny, hot, grubby little hand brought a lump to Honor's throat. She +could have thought she was walking with one of her little sisters. + +Presently a tall, thin man came striding towards them. Fay at once hid +herself behind Honor. + +"Don't tell him nothing!" she whispered shrilly. "We'll purtend I isn't +here." + +As the father came near, Honor saw that he had a thin, nervous face, +very dark eyes, and closely cut brown hair. He was dressed in a tweed +suit and knickerbockers, and had a pipe in his mouth, which he removed +as he took off his cap and accosted Honor. + +"I am so much obliged. I have just come out to hunt for my vagabond. +She has been absent for two hours." + +Fay peeped out mischievously, then sprang with a gleeful laugh into her +father's arms. + +"I've just been making the world," she said, "and I haven't got it +nearly done. But we thought we smelted my hot apple for tea, so I comed +along; and this is Madam Pilgrim, for she was pilgriming along the +grass when she found me, just like you do, daddy, with your head in the +air and your eyes away." + +Honor smiled shyly as the man's gaze for one second stayed upon her. + +"I am fond of children," she said; "and I thought she might be lost, so +I brought her along with me." + +"A thousand thanks. What a God-forsaken place this is in winter! I +haven't seen it for twenty years, and I can't conceive how educated +people can exist in such surroundings." + +"I haven't been here many months," said Honor quietly, "but I like it +better than London." + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"Know Knockaburn? That was my home for twenty-five years." + +Honor looked at him with interest. Knockaburn was an old Scottish +property, only two miles away from Mrs. Montmorency's. At present, +there was a Sir Thomas Dodd living there, but his wife found it too +lonely, and they were for the most part of the year away from it. + +"It is a dear old house," she said. + +"A dear old grave," he said sharply; "it buries all who live in +it. Think of it! I spent my boyhood and youth there without one +single day's change. I beat my wings against my cage for twenty-five +years. I look back with amazement now to my powers of endurance and +self-control, but when my chains were snapped, I walked out of it +into freedom and liberty, and became from choice one of the world's +wanderers." + +"You let it, I suppose?" + +"Good heavens, no! I sold it outright. I have no association with it +but of ceaseless gnawing discontent and misery." + +"And yet you come to see it again?" + +Honor spoke her thought involuntarily. + +"I came—" He paused, then glanced down at his child. "Run on, Fay, and +tell Mrs. Maciver you're found. I left her wringing her hands." + +The child instantly obeyed. + +Honor was too interested in this man and his little daughter to heed +conventionality. Though she was a perfect stranger to him, he was +already laying bare his heart, and it did not seem to her in the least +peculiar that he should do so. + +"That's what brought me," he said with a nod at the little figure in +front of them. + +"It was just my luck to be obliged to drag a woman child after me +everywhere! She's the plague of my life, and sticks to me like a +limpet. I gave her the slip once in London, and thought I'd fixed her +up with a decent sort of woman. I was called over by a cablegram from +America, and found her at the point of death. She had fretted herself +into a fever, and I just arrived in time to prevent her being sent to +the workhouse. The woman couldn't be bothered with her, and thought I +had left her for good and all on her hands." + +"She's a darling child!" said Honor enthusiastically. + +"So," he continued dryly, "I bethought me of an old family nurse, and +came up here to find her, and yesterday I was told she had died five +years ago." + +Honor was silent. She hardly knew what to say. + +"And now you know my history," he said with a little bitter laugh. "Why +wasn't I given a boy, who could have been shipped off to sea?" + +"But not at such an age," said Honor. "Your little girl is a mere baby. +Surely there must be some school or home where she would be received?" + +He stopped still, took off his hat, and raised his head as if to inhale +the fresh, breezy air around them. + +"I'm not a good man," he said slowly, "but I have vowed that I shall +never curb and restrain a nature in the criminal fashion that they +restrained mine. She shall not be caged anywhere, least of all in any +school. I'm not bad enough to wish my child a fate like mine. And she +would die in a month if she were confined in any way. She inherits my +love of freedom to her finger-tips. Is this your road? Many thanks for +your kindness." + +He raised his hat, and strode away into the village inn, and Honor +went on home as if in a dream. If her body were in Mrs. Montmorency's +well-ordered house for the rest of that day, her heart was with the +wandering father and his charming child. + +When she slept that night, they mingled in her dreams, and were present +in her waking thoughts. + + +The next afternoon, she was sitting with Mrs. Montmorency in the +drawing-room. The latter had just returned from her visit, and was in +an unusually good temper. She had learned to like the quiet, useful +girl, who had so little regard for her own comfort and convenience, and +was so extremely conscientious in the discharge of her duties. Honor +was now busy making a lace cap and listening to the account of the +visit. + +"I assure you, she weighs two stone more than I do, and looks twice my +age. We were girls together, and she is two years younger than myself. +But she has given way to sloth and self-indulgence, and now her body is +an unwieldy encumbrance. I told her that if she had led the active life +that I have, she would now be a graceful woman." + +"I am always sorry for stout people," said Honor, "but I would rather +see a woman stout than a man. Mrs. Montmorency, do you know Knockaburn +well? Who used to live there?" + +"The Selkirks. Of course, I know the family. We were boys and girls +together. Who has been gossiping to you about them?" + +"I don't know whether he wishes it known, but I came across a little +child yesterday away on the moor playing, and I was bringing her back +to the village inn when I met father. He told me Knockaburn used to be +his home, and spoke rather bitterly about it." + +"That must be Alick. How extraordinary! What is he doing in this +part of the world? A thorough ne'er-do-weel, I am afraid. His sister +Margaret was my playfellow. He was much younger. I remember we nearly +drowned him in a water-butt once." + +Mrs. Montmorency smiled at her childish reminiscences. Then she +questioned Honor rather closely upon her experience, and finally told +her the history of the man. + +"His mother was left a widow early in life. She had five daughters, and +then this boy, and she ruled her household with a rod of iron. I have +heard my father say she was soulless and heartless, and a steel machine +in her interior sent the blood with mechanical regularity through her +veins! Three of her daughters—high-spirited girls they were—rebelled +against her and eloped with the husbands of their choice. Susy, the +gentlest of them all, was hurried into her grave by her mother's +severity, and Margaret—well, she had grit and purpose, and a will like +her mother, and a self-control everyone envied. She was the only one +who lived to comfort and care for her mother in her old age. + +"Alick was simply villainously brought up. She would never let him go +to school—was afraid of trusting him out of her sight. She had tutors +for him, and kept him tight to his lessons and her apron-strings till +he came of age. He made a desperate struggle to escape from home then, +but she circumvented him. She got rid of the bailiff, and forced him +to steep himself in the business of the estate. She separated him from +the girl he loved, because she foresaw that she would never bend to her +rule. She kept the purse. Her husband had left everything to her for +life—a most extraordinary will, and, of course, it was her doing—so +that Alick was absolutely under her thumb. She died when he was about +five-and-twenty, and then he broke loose with a vengeance. + +"The place was not entailed, and the next thing we heard was that +he had put it up for sale. I know he hated it. He turned his sister +adrift—I believe it nearly broke her heart, but her mother had settled +a certain income upon her—and then he went off to foreign lands, and +we have never seen or heard of him since. I was told he had married. +Dear me! I wonder if he has qualms now? Is his child a boy or a girl, +do you say? A girl? That's a pity. She will be no incentive to him. I +wonder whom he married. He was a dreamy boy—with smouldering fires, we +always said, but he kept them well out of sight. I should like to see +him again." + +"I don't know," said Honor hesitatingly, "whether he would like me to +have told you." + +"Tuts! Who are you to be made his confidante? And his old friends all +around him! I shall walk over to the inn to-morrow. I want to get some +honey from Mrs. Maciver. She is always so successful with her bees." + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +WANTED + + "Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, + Shall win my love." + SHAKESPEARE. + +MRS. MONTMORENCY went to see Mr. Selkirk, and found him perfectly +courteous, but quite emphatic in his refusal to accept her hospitality. + +"I am here 'incog.,'" he said. "Don't give me away to the +neighbourhood. I shall be off to America very soon. I'm going to have a +little duck-shooting with old MacDuff. He recognised me yesterday. If +you would have my small girl up to your house while I am shooting, it +would be a kindness." + +Mrs. Montmorency stiffened at once, till she remembered Honor. She very +much disliked children herself, but now she smiled, and graciously +turned to Fay. + +"You shall come and spend a long day with us to-morrow." + +But Fay shook her curly head. + +"I shan't do nuffin' like that," she said. "I spends my days myself. +I'm going to look for Madam Pilgrim, and we'll have some new games I've +just made up." + +"Who does she mean?" asked Mrs. Montmorency with a little frown upon +her brow. + +"Oh, it's some young lady who brought her home to me the other day when +she had strayed away. A nice sort of girl—lives about here, I believe." + +"It must be Miss Broughton, who lives with me. She is my companion." + +Her tone was dignity itself. + +"Ah, well!" said Mr. Selkirk indifferently. "If you send her over to +fetch my small daughter, she'll go fast enough. Otherwise, nothing will +move her. She is not fond of strangers—seen too many fresh faces, poor +little beggar!" + +"I will see if I can spare Miss Broughton," said Mrs. Montmorency, and +then she departed. + +When she came home, she was in irritable spirits. + +"I can't think what possessed me to say I would have the child," she +said to Honor. "You must just keep her out of my way. I am going to +lunch with Miss Buchanan, so will be out most of the day." + +Honor could not hide her delight. She went to fetch Fay directly she +had had her breakfast, and the child—who was trying to climb on a +cart-horse's back outside the inn door—flew into her arms with a scream +of delight. + +She dragged her into her sitting-room, where Mr. Selkirk was cleaning +his gun. + +"She's come, daddy! She's come!" + +Mr. Selkirk shook hands with Honor. + +"Hope you'll enjoy her company all day," he said. "It's more than I do +sometimes." + +"Daddy is so tarsome," said Fay, clinging hold of Honor's hand and +jumping up and down in sheer exuberance of spirits. "He won't b'lieve +that I saw a fairy walk on my window-ledge when I was in bed last +night. It was a little teeny lady, and she was dressed in green moss +and a little red hat, and she told me if I'd find a hollow tree, she'd +take me through to fairyland." + +"We have a lovely hollow tree in our garden," said Honor, "and there's +a walnut tree with lovely seats up in it." + +Fay clasped her hands in ecstasy. + +"I'll come at once. 'Do' you think we could make a nest up there just +for you and me? I always fought I'd like to live in a nest—it would be +so warm and comfy. And I'd 'love' to make it." + +"We'll see," said Honor. + +Mr. Selkirk laughed. + +"Wise woman! Don't commit yourself. Fay's demands are no light matter. +So you live with Mrs. Montmorency? Why did you not tell me so?" + +"Why should I?" said Honor simply. "It would not strike me as +interesting information." + +She felt his eyes searching her through and through, and disliked this +trait of his. + +"Are you in bondage?" he asked suddenly. + +Honor's cheeks grew hot as she replied steadily: + +"I am earning my living. That is not bondage." Then something induced +her to add: "I have a home of my own in England." + +"That's a pity," he said slowly, withdrawing his gaze from her and +bending over his gun again. + +Fay broke in impetuously: "Come on, Madam Pilgrim. I don't like daddy +with his gun. It's wicked to kill the dear ducks, and I shall cry if I +think about it." + +So Honor retreated with her, and they spent a blissful day together. +Fay astonished her with the vast and varied information she possessed. +And Honor rightly concluded that it was the constant companionship of +her father that gave her it. + +"Daddy and I like pilgriming, and so does you," she asserted in the +course of the day. They had just finished a journey round the garden, +in which by turns they had represented Arabs, brigands, and slaves. + +"I think when we go pilgriming again, you must come with us." + +"I'm afraid I can't do that. Where are you going?" + +"Well, you see, we haven't made up our minds. I say I'd like the jungle +in India, on the back of a effelunt you know, because we shouldn't +be cold there, and I don't like to be cold. My knees was quite blue +yesterday. I tored my stocking, and so the cold came through, and Mrs. +Maciver said she'd no time to mend me. So daddy and me sewed it up, but +it's very lumpy!" + +She pulled up her frock, and the mend in the knee was indeed what she +said. + +"You poor little soul!" said Honor. "I should like to mend your +clothes." + +"So you shall, then," said Fay cheerfully. "I'll take you to my +drawers; they're in a shockin' mess. Daddy will be so glad. He always +says: 'Oh, the burden of children! Why has it been cast upon me?'" + + +In the days that ensued, Honor saw a great deal of Fay and of her +father. Mrs. Montmorency was very fond of going about, and was +constantly going to Edinburgh, sometimes staying for three or four +days. She made no objection to Honor's taking the child for walks; and +somehow or other, Mr. Selkirk generally met them, and, in his lazy, +humorous fashion, talked a good deal to Honor. + +She had been so little accustomed in her busy life at home to receive +attentions from anyone that it did not enter her head that Mr. Selkirk +was not a man to spend so much of his time walking about the lanes and +moor with his child. + +Honor had a very humble opinion of herself, and had no idea how bright +her eyes and smile were when with children. Mr. Selkirk saw her at +her best, and strangely enough, Honor never felt shy of him. She was +quiet, but perfectly natural, and was really interested in the things +he talked about. Perhaps her life of constant repression with Mrs. +Montmorency and the realisation that she was never supposed to speak +unless she were spoken to in the society of that lady's friends, made +her appreciate more the perfectly frank and confidential way in which +Mr. Selkirk spoke to her. And, woman-like, she felt sorry for him. He +was a restless wanderer on the face of the earth, and his child was a +heavy clog to his movements. Yet he did not seem in a hurry to part +with her. The affection between father and child was very touching and +real. And Fay herself was perfectly oblivious that her father at times +would rather be without her. + +"Have you never been abroad?" Mr. Selkirk asked Honor one day. + +"Never. Till this last year, I have never lived outside our village at +home." + +"What stagnation!" + +"So Audrey Hume used to say." + +"Who was she?" + +"A friend of mine. She's so clever and bright, too clever to lead that +quiet life for long. Now she has gone away." + +"I detest clever women." + +"Do you? I wonder why?" + +"Women," said Mr. Selkirk, puffing moodily at his pipe, "ought to bring +an atmosphere of rest and peace with them wherever they go. Chattering +women are as bad as monkeys—you long to throw a brick at their heads. +Ah! You've never seen a grove of trees alive with monkeys. You'd +understand how they get on your nerves if you had!" + +"But clever people are not necessarily chatterers." + +"Woman," said Mr. Selkirk solemnly, taking his pipe out of his mouth +and looking straight at Honor, "ought to be man's companion and +comforter; she ought to have a fount of ready sympathy and patience, +and 'never' lose her temper. That child's mother was a woman of that +sort, and I only had her for four years!" + +If Audrey had been there, she would have reminded this antiquated man +that woman had a life and a soul of her own, and was not meant to +have the monopoly of all the virtues. But Honor only turned her soft, +pitying eyes upon the speaker and murmured: + +"I am so sorry for you." + +"And that is the woman I want Fay to grow up into," Mr. Selkirk +resumed. Then with a little laugh, he added: + +"But for the life of me, I can't train her in that direction. I'm +afraid she has more of her father's nature than her mother's. I wish +you'd try your hand at her, Miss Broughton." + +"But it is too short a time to influence her. You say you are leaving +in another fortnight." + +"I suppose we are." + +Shadows gathered upon his face. + +"I want to take a trip over to the States. I have a little business +there that I put money into; but I dread the voyage with the child, and +still more so, when I arrive out there." + +"I am sure," Honor said earnestly, "that you could leave her with +someone who would be kind to her." + +"I should like to leave her with you." + +He laughed at Honor's astonished look. + +"Oh!" she said breathlessly. "If I could only have her. But it's quite, +quite impossible." + +"I suppose so." + +Silence fell between them. + +Then Honor said, a little timidly: + +"Haven't you a sister?" + +He turned upon her fiercely. + +"Never, so help me God, shall my child be left to her tender mercies! +Her training would be the same as—as was meted out to me; I would +rather see Fay dead in her coffin than live and endure what I endured +as a boy." + +Honor knew then how deeply he felt and remembered his own childhood. + + +Another day he said to her: + +"Aren't you pretty tired of your life here? Are you going to be tacked +on to Mrs. Montmorency for the rest of your life?" + +"I hope not," said Honor quietly. "I am always hoping they will want me +home again." + +"I thought your stepmother didn't make it over-pleasant for you?" + +"I have my father and two brothers at school, and three darling little +sisters—children like Fay here." + +"Oh, they don't want you," he said impatiently. + +"So Mrs. Montmorency says. She is convinced that she wants me more." + +He laughed contemptuously. + +"She ought to wait upon herself," he said; "and I would like to see her +doing it! What would she say if someone stepped in and married you?" + +"Oh, that would never happen," said Honor with a little laugh. "I know +I shall be a single woman to the end of my life. So many girls are +nowadays," she added seriously. "It is only the rich and beautiful or +very attractive ones who marry." + +He relapsed into silence, and Fay broke it. + +"I'm going to marry a sailor," she said, "and we'll live on ships +always. We'll just go out to dinner one day to little England, and +we'll have tea in Scotland, and then we'll have supper in 'Merica, and +go to bed in India. Our ship will always be rushing round and round the +world. It will be lovely!" + + +And then one day, when there was talk of their going away, Mr. Selkirk +suddenly turned to Honor and electrified her. She had just brought Fay +back from a ramble over the moor, and Mr. Selkirk came out from the inn +to meet them. He sent Fay into the house, and asked Honor if he might +walk back with her. + +She agreed quite simply, for she felt it relieved him of the strain of +bitterness in his heart to talk things over with anyone. + +"I don't expect I shall see you again," Honor said. "Fay has promised +to come over and wish me good-bye to-morrow afternoon. Mrs. Montmorency +said I could have her to tea. But you won't come to the house?" + +"No; I never was fond of Kate Montmorency. I am hoping to see a great +deal of you." + +Honor stared at him. + +And then it was that he whirled round upon her and spoke sharply and +abruptly: + +"I want you to leave your old woman and come off to the States with Fay +and me." + +"As—as governess?" stammered Honor. + +"As wife. I hate the whole crew of governesses." + +Honor was literally dumbfounded. The suddenness and the abruptness of +the proposal almost seemed to stun her. She had never contemplated such +a result of her acquaintance; and she almost felt inclined to laugh at +the absurdity of the notion. And yet the next moment, the blood rushed +to her cheeks and her heart throbbed quickly, for the idea was not +repugnant to her. + +"How can you ask me such a thing?" she ventured to say. "When you have +only known me for the inside of a month?" + +"It doesn't take me long to make up my mind," he replied gravely, still +standing in front of her with a kindly light in his dark eyes. "I'm a +pretty keen observer of human nature, and so is Fay. We are agreed upon +this point: we both want you." + +"Oh!" said Honor, speaking in a distressed voice. "I don't know; it is +so unexpected, so sudden. I think—I know I could make Fay happy, but I +don't know about you." + +It was characteristic of her that there was no question of her own +happiness. She gave much and took little. His voice was very courteous +and tender as he returned: + +"I have no doubt about that. You are the kind of woman that makes a +restless man want a quiet home. I haven't much to offer you as far as +worldly wealth goes, but I have enough to keep us all in comfort. I +have little bits of property in various parts of the world, which will +grow more valuable in time. And I'm getting pretty tired of wandering. +I want to settle down." + +"Where?" asked Honor dreamily. + +"Not here," he said with his short laugh. "But if you want an English +home, you shall have it; only we must take our trip to the States +first." + +Silence fell between them. + +"Well?" he asked at last. + +"I should like time to think about it. I can't—I really can't decide +to-day." + +"Why not? I offer you a happier life than that old woman does. You told +me the other day your place was filled up at home. You have a chance of +seeing life with me. You're made for a wife, though you may not think +it. You have all the qualities that a man looks for; and I would—I know +I could—make you happy!" + +So he pleaded, without one word of love or sentiment, and, strangely +enough, Honor liked him the better for it. + +"I will give you an answer to-morrow." + +"Then I will try to be patient. Let Fay bring me the answer I want." + +He walked on with her, then came to a standstill at her gate. + +"You are not going abroad as soon as you intended?" Honor asked. + +"I will postpone it till a week later. But I must leave this place at +the end of this week. I want you to come over the moor with me, and +we'll get ourselves married at a little church I know of. The parson is +a friend of mine. Then we'll go straight off to Liverpool and catch the +first liner sailing for the States." + +"But," gasped Honor, "you don't expect me to marry you straight off +like this, without telling my parents or anyone? Oh, I couldn't do it. +It would be so underhand! You take my breath away!" + +"Think it out," he said coolly. "It's the only way and the best way. +Do you think I could stand a village wedding with gaping rustics, and +orange flowers and rice and all the rest of it? A man never wants that +twice in his life. I know it is asking a good deal of you. You will +have to take me on trust and put up with the unconventionality of a +quiet marriage. My business won't let me wait beyond a week later than +this. It must be either at once or never with me. But if you have any +liking or pity for me and my child, decide quickly, and we'll have no +trouble or fuss about it." + +Honor was white to the lips as she held out her hand to him. + +"You are asking a great deal of me," she said. "Good-bye. I will send +an answer to-morrow." + +Mr. Selkirk grasped her hand tightly, and for just a moment his voice +was husky with emotion. "If you fail me," he said, "I will never put my +trust in a woman again." + +Honor passed through the gate and up the drive without another word. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A TURN FROM THE EAST + + "I said, 'These painful shoes, I cannot see + Why any longer they should cumber me.' + So left I them behind, and for a while + The change seemed pleasant, and did me beguile." + ROSE'S DIARY. + +SHE sat huddled up in a shawl over the dying embers of her fire. It was +past midnight, but Honor did not attempt to go to bed. For over two +hours she had been revolving things in her mind, and she was unsettled +and doubtful still. All the instincts of her early training warned +her against taking this sudden and precipitate step. She was a deeply +religious girl at heart, and through all her troubles and difficulties +had had an unswerving trust in God. But life had been becoming more +difficult to her of late. She never could get over the bitterness of +her short time at home, when she realised how quickly her place had +been filled up. Even her father seemed too delighted and engrossed +with the new organist to take much notice of his eldest daughter. His +farewell words still rang in her ears: + +"Well, good-bye, my dear. It is wonderful how well everything has +turned out, hasn't it? The money you send home is a real help; and +now we have Mr. Danby, I really feel as if I have a curate. He is so +willing and capable in all parish matters, and his music is actually +bringing strangers to the church. He manages the choir so well; and, +of course, a man has a great advantage over a woman for that kind of +thing." + +"Yes," said Honor bravely; "I don't think you have missed me at all." + +"Oh, well, we did at first, when Miss Paton was new to everything; +but now she is my wife's right hand, and the children are getting +accustomed to her. Write and tell us how you are getting on. It is +a matter of thankfulness to me that you are in such comfortable +surroundings." + +"They don't want me back," she thought; "no one wants me or cares about +me. Mrs. Montmorency could get fifty girls to do for her as well and +better than I do. And now my chance seems to have come, and I know if +I miss it, I shall not have another. I shall be a paid companion to +the end of my days, and every day will be greyer and more miserable +than the one before it. I am not the kind of girl that men would like +to marry. And this makes it all the more wonderful that Mr. Selkirk +should want me. He does, or he would have gone away and said nothing. +And I should love to have a home of my own and feel I had people +depending on me for comfort and help. Fay is simply a darling! I would +go anywhere—to the other end of the world—for her sake alone! And if I +had a home, I could have the children by turn to stay with me. Emily +would be delighted, I know; and how they would love it! It is a great +temptation. I like him, too, quite as much as I have ever liked any +man; and it is wonderful that he should like me." + +Then Honor's conscience began to speak. + +"The real reason against it is the way he wants to do it. It is +underhand, as if we were ashamed of doing it; it wouldn't be acting +rightly towards Mrs. Montmorency to leave her so suddenly in the lurch. +Then what will father say? And I'm very much afraid that Mr. Selkirk +does not care for religious things. He told me he did not often go to +church, and I know—the Bible tells me—that it is wrong to be joined +to an unbeliever. Yet he isn't that. He must talk to Fay about good +things, as she knows such a lot about them, and he told me his first +wife was deeply religious. More than once he has spoken of woman's +influence, and what a lot it can do for a man. And if I could help +him in that way, how splendid it would be! I partly understand how +he shrinks from the publicity of the usual wedding. I should hate it +myself. It is so much more simple and real to walk quietly into a +little empty church, and with ourselves only be married in the sight of +God. + +"How I wish I knew what to do! I have to decide so quickly. If I had +Pauline here, I would get her to advise me. But as it is, I can consult +no one. I feel it is my one chance of being married; I know I shall +never get another. It is the secrecy of it and the quickness of it that +makes it seem wrong." + +She got up from her chair and paced the room. She felt it was a crisis +in her life. Yet when she knelt to pray, no words would come. Until at +last she cried out: + + "O God, I want to do it! I want to do it! Make it right for me to do +it!" + +And that was all the prayer she made before going to bed. + +Through her half-waking hours, the words rang in her ears: + + "How can two walk together, except they be agreed?" + +And when she arose the next morning, her heart was still in a troubled +turmoil. She thought of her Eastern outlook through life, for her mind +perpetually dwelt upon Mrs. Daventry's quaint fancy, and she seemed to +see before her more sunshine than she had ever experienced in her life, +and a cessation of the bitter cutting blasts which had been her portion +for so long. + +Perhaps that day, if Mrs. Montmorency had been in one of her cheerful, +good-tempered moods, the course of Honor's life would have been +changed. But she was unusually irritable and exacting, and Honor's +absence of mind in one or two small matters drew from her scathing +reproof. + +"I really never saw anyone so stupid, Miss Broughton! I ought to have +the patience of Job to live with you! I am not feeling well to-day, +and you seem to do your utmost to try my nerves! I wish sometimes that +I had never engaged you. You are a most depressing companion, and so +awkward and clumsy in your movements." + +She had often been as angry and unjust before, but Honor knew her +captious moods never lasted. To-day, however, her words seemed to burn +and sting with unusual force. + +"I never shall please her; she will be glad to get rid of me." And +Honor moved about with compressed lips and flashing eyes. + +When she reminded Mrs. Montmorency of Fay's invitation to tea, she said: + +"I am thankful they are leaving to-morrow. I believe half the cause of +your inattention to your duties has arisen through your infatuation +for that tiresome child. And as for her father, he is a thorough +ne'er-do-weel, and ought to be ashamed of himself to shake off his +responsibilities and wander round the world in the fashion he does! It +is ruination to the child!" + +Not a word did Honor say. Every speech that Mrs. Montmorency made +seemed to strengthen her resolve. She steadily shut her eyes to all the +unadvisabilities of the step she proposed to take. + +When Fay flung her arms round her neck in her impulsive, childish +fashion, Honor felt she could not live without her. She chatted to her +brightly, but Fay seemed ill at ease. Every now and then she stopped in +the midst of her play and heaved a deep sigh. At last, Honor asked her +if she was not feeling well. + +"I've got somefin' heavy on my chest," the child replied, "and I want +it to go." + +"Is it a pain?" + +"No. I'm not to tell you till it's time to go. There! Now you know! +What a stupid I am! It's a secret, and I can't keep secrets; and I +promised daddy I would. It's dreffully heavy on me." + +"We won't talk about it," said Honor, a little flush coming to her +cheeks as she guessed what that secret might be. + +And then an hour later, Fay crept into her arms, and with her soft +little cheek laid against hers and her lips against her ear she +whispered: + +"Madam Pilgrim is coming across the sea with daddy and me, and I knewed +she would, and I'm so happy. And that's why I calls her Madam Pilgrim, +'cause daddy is the big pilgrim and I'm the little one, and you come +atween us!" + +And a rush of tears came to Honor's eyes as she whispered back: + +"Yes, I'm coming darling; I can't stay here when you're gone. And I'm +going to give you a little note to give to your father." + +So Fay went away and put into her father's hand the words he wanted, +though he frowned a little at the way they were written: + + "DEAR MR. SELKIRK, + + "I will come if you let me know your arrangements. I seem as if I +cannot help myself, and I feel as if I'm sinning against my conscience +to agree to what you propose. But having given my word, I will not go +back from it. If my own mother had lived, I would not have acted so. +But no one seems to want me, and you say you do. I hope neither you nor +I will live to regret the step we have taken in such a hurry. + + "Yours truly, + + "HONOR BROUGHTON." + +It was a strange note for any girl to write to the man she was about to +marry. + +But there was no mention of the word "love" in their intercourse. + +And that night, Honor sobbed herself to sleep. + +"I shall be disgraced in everybody's eyes by what I am going to do, and +yet I can't go back!" + +It was a grey still morning. The promise of spring seemed in the air, +though on that bleak Scotch upland the black bare trees and hedges +showed no signs of awakening from their winter sleep. But the air +brought a subtle scent of life and freshness; lambs bleated in the +distance, and yellow catkins were bursting into feathery foliage in +the sheltered ditches that bordered the moor. Honor walked steadily +and firmly across the moor in the early hours of that March morning. +Though, she was unaware of it at the time, everything she passed was +being photographed on her brain to the very smallest minutiæ. Years +afterwards, she saw again the fain yellow streaks across the horizon, +she felt the keen moor breeze play upon her hair and face, and heard +the crisp crackle of the dead bracken and heather under her feet. + +As she faced the sunrising, she said to herself: + +"Surely this ought to augur well. My path to this church is due east. +Oh, I wonder, I wonder, if Pauline were to see me now, whether she +would try to draw me back?" + +She had arranged everything with methodical simplicity, even to packing +her trunk and labelling it for the Liverpool docks. She had left a +note for Mrs. Montmorency on her dressing-table, and she had written a +letter to her father. + +The note to Mrs. Montmorency was a short one: + + "DEAR MRS. MONTMORENCY, + + "I fear you will be angry when I tell you that I left your house this +morning to be married to Mr. Selkirk at St. Anthony's Church on the +moor. Please forgive me for the inconvenience I may cause. He wished me +to be married to him quietly, without anyone's knowing, or I would have +told you. We are sailing for America immediately. May I trouble you to +send my box to the address on the label? I have only taken a hand-bag +with me. + + "Yours sincerely, + + "HONOR BROUGHTON. + + "P.S.—I am sure you will get someone who will suit you much better +than I did. Thank you for all your kindness. I am not ungrateful, but Mr. +Selkirk seems to want me more than anyone else does." + +Now, as she walked on to her destination, a sudden wild panic seized +her, and the quiet, matter-of-fact girl stood for one moment with +palpitating heart, ready to fly back in terror to the conventional +groove into which she had been fitted. + +And then, as if he had suddenly risen from the moor, Mr. Selkirk stood +by her side and took her hand in his. + +"You look quite frightened. Did you think I would fail you? We are +close to the church now. This way. Take my arm." + +Honor was trembling visibly, but the frightened look died out of her +eyes. + +"I believe I was going to run away back," she said; "I wonder if it is +as much to you as it is to me?" + +He soothed her. + +"It is a shame of me to ask you to do anything so unconventional. But +you are a plucky, unselfish girl, and you will go through with it for +my sake, won't you—and for Fay's? Poor mite! She is eagerly waiting for +us at the station. Mrs. Maciver has driven her there with our luggage, +and has lent me a trap to take you straight away to the station +directly the service is over." + +Honor could not speak, but in the little stone porch, before she +entered the church, she turned and confronted her future husband with +tragic eyes. + +"Mr. Selkirk, promise me now that this will not be the last time that +you will enter a church door. You know what my faith is. Promise me +that you will not try to shake it, that you will help me in all good +ways and not hinder me." + +"We will help each other," he said very gently. "I know you are a good +woman, and I'm far from being what I ought; but you'll improve me, and +I'm willing to meet you in the church way. You must remember I have led +a roving life, and had no god influence since my child's mother died. +You'll have your opportunities of making me a better man, I assure you." + +Honor heaved a sigh, but said no more. And the quiet little service +that followed, the signing in the registry book afterwards, and the +drive to the station in a farmer's trap, all seemed to be so many +pictures in a dream which flashed past her, but in which she herself +took no part. + +But when, a little later, she was comfortably established in a railway +carriage with Fay in her lap and the child's clinging arms round her +neck, she turned towards her husband with an apologetic, quivering +smile. + +"Forgive me for being so stupid. I can't realise at all what we have +done." + +He smiled back at her. + +"You make me feel a brute; but I'll leave Fay to entertain you." + +He opened out a newspaper and wisely left her to herself till she was +able to talk in her usual quiet, happy way. + +And so Honor tried to take a turn in her Eastern path, and for the time +she felt nothing but sunshine, for her blighting wind had disappeared. +Once, as the trio stood on the great American liner watching the shores +of England recede and vanish from their sight, Mr. Selkirk looked at +her and saw that the tears were running down her face. + +Fay noticed it too. + +"Look, daddy, Madam Pilgrim is crying! Quick, get your hanky and wipe +it all away!" + +She produced a grimy little ball out of her pocket and pushed it into +her father's hand. + +"You can reach her better, 'cause you're taller than me. It isn't very +clean, 'cause I wiped that lovely dog's dirty paws with it over there. +Don't cry, Madam Pilgrim. Why do you cry?" + +Honor smiled bravely through her tears. + +"It's because I've never been out of England before," she said. "I +feel as if I shall be lost myself now I have lost my country. And new, +strange things and places always frighten me." + +"But we are not new or strange," said her husband; "and you are with +us." + +"And we're very happy peoples, daddy and me," said Fay, nodding wisely. +"We never cries much at all—not when we're pilgriming; it's only when +we stay still, and it rains, and we mustn't go out, nor touch the +norny-ments on the mantelshelf, that we cries." + +And then Honor put her arms round her and kissed her passionately, +whilst her husband looked on, half touched and half amused. + +Presently, he strolled away to smoke his pipe with other men, and the +little child—not the father—was Honor's comforter. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE HELPER + + "Those who bring sunshine into the lives of others cannot + keep it from themselves." + +"IT is so exceedingly selfish of her. As if her mother could want +her more than I do! And I more than half believe that it is Pauline +Erskine's doing. I have noticed that ever since Anna and she have been +such thick friends, there has been this crank in Anna's mind about her +mother wanting her. If Mrs. Paton is ill, she is surrounded by people +who can wait upon her. Mother and daughter never could get on together, +and I am sure Anna is not wanted." + +Mrs. Broughton was in her husband's study nearly crying with annoyance +and worry because Miss Paton was at last packing up her boxes to go to +her mother. + +Mrs. Paton had been ailing for some time, and Anna Paton had told +her friend plainly that unless she got better, she must go to the +boarding-house and nurse her. + +"I'm not going to have strangers do for her when she has a daughter +living. Mother well and mother ill are two very different people. My +conscience has been pricking me a long time about her. When I see Miss +Erskine so happy and bright, and contrast her mother with mine, I'm +ashamed of myself. And I've come to the conclusion with her that we're +not made to leave the stony paths untrodden." + +Mrs. Broughton had flounced away from her friend in pettish fury at +this. And she was now pouring her griefs into her husband's ears. + +"It is most inconsiderate and—and hateful of Anna. I have given her +such a good time here, and introduced her to all my friends and treated +her as a sister. And all her gratitude comes to this! I don't believe +she cares twopence about me. Cook gave me warning this morning, and +Chatty is in bed with a heavy cold. I am feeling bad myself and ought +to be in bed—I know I ought." + +"We must have Honor back," said Mr. Broughton, with relief and decision +in his tone, as he thought of the one way of escape from all his wife's +complaints. "I will write to her at once, my dear. Mrs. Montmorency +will quite understand that the claims of her own family must come +first." + +"Oh, I am sick of that expression," said Mrs. Broughton impatiently; +"that's what Anna keeps saying. I suppose we must have Honor back. I +only hope her stay away has improved her temper. Tell her she must come +at once. I'm feeling very far from well, and when Anna leaves, I know I +shall collapse. It is too much for anyone's nerves!" + +So Mr. Broughton wrote an affectionate letter to Honor, which was +returned to him in two days' time with a very angry one from Mrs. +Montmorency. + +And Honor's letter to her father arrived by the same post. + + "MY DEAREST FATHER, + + "I hardly know how to write to you, but since I have been up here, +I have met with someone who wishes to marry me. He is a widower, of good +Scotch birth, and has one darling little girl who has no one to care +for her or look after her. He is bound to go back almost immediately to +America, and has persuaded me to marry him at once and accompany him +out there. I would not do it if I thought you wanted me home. But Emily +told me very distinctly at Christmas time that you had all been very +much happier without me. I am sorry that she and I do not pull better +together. But I am comforted by feeling that my place has been filled +up by someone who suits you all better than I do. I am afraid you will +miss the part of my salary which I send home. But I have no doubt +that Mrs. Montmorency will send you my last quarter's money, which is +due now. Please tell her that I wish it. And from what I gather Mr. +Selkirk—the one I am going to marry—has plenty of means of his own, and +I may be able to help you better as a married woman than I did before. + + "Dear father, wish me happiness and pray for me, and tell the little +ones that I shall never forget them, and when I have a home in England +I shall hope to see them again.—Your loving daughter. + + "HONOR." + +Pauline also received that morning a hasty note from the runaway, and +she sat gazing at it in perfect bewilderment until the sudden entrance +of Amabel Osborne roused her. + +"My dear Pauline, have you heard the news? The whole village is full of +it. There have been awful scenes at the Rectory, I believe, and Mrs. +Broughton has retired to bed in hysterics. I had to go to the church +with the flowers, and I met Mr. Broughton looking quite aged. As you +know, they were expecting to have Honor back this week. Miss Paton has +left them, and Honor is married and on her way to America." + +"I have heard," said Pauline slowly. "Poor Honor! I only hope she has +not taken the step too hastily." + +She looked again at the pathetic little note lying in her lap. + + "DEAREST PAULINE, + + "You will be the only one who will really care. The others don't want +me. I am already frightened and dazed, and if you were here with me, I +would go away with you anywhere, till I was sure what would be best. +Now I have to think it out and decide alone. And it is now or never, +for he says so, and he means what he says. And, Pauline, I am tired of +doing for people who don't like me. Is it wicked? I never include my +father or the children in this; but you don't know what a temptation +a home is to me. And I am wanted, really wanted, to mother a darling +child who loves me, and to be a real help to an embittered, restless +man. He has said that he wants the companionship of a good woman. I +am not good—even now I am planning and deceiving and acting like an +unprincipled girl would do—but he thinks I am, and he wants me, and so +I am going to marry him. It can't be wrong, Pauline; tell me it can't. +It seems as if it is the only thing I can do. I know you will want to +know if he is the right man for a Christian girl to marry. You were +always so strong on that point when you talked about such things. But +he wants help, and no one has given it to him for many years. And I +think—I am praying that I can. Good-bye. And when I am sure of our next +address, will you write me an answer to this? You will hear from me +again.—Yours very affectionately, + + "HONOR BROUGHTON. + + "P.S.—Is it wrong to try to alter one's path a little? I have been +meeting East winds so long that I have been tempted to escape them for +a time. I am going to enjoy warmth and sunshine now. Ask Mrs. Daventry +what happens to the pilgrims of the Eastern gate when they do as I am +doing." + +"I am sorry for the Rector," Pauline said, folding her letter up. + +"Do say you're not sorry for Mrs. Broughton. I am not; I can imagine +how angry she is. Well, Honor is the last girl on earth who I should +have thought would have married on the quiet and gone away without a +word to her people. Why, Pauline, if I had done such a thing, I should +have broken my parents' hearts!" + +"Ah! It is different for you. Poor Honor had a miserable time when she +came home at Christmas, and I think she is essentially a woman who +needs a home to make her happy. I wish we knew about Mr. Selkirk. I +hope he will make her happy. That side never seems to strike her. She +is one of the unselfish ones in the world." + +"Yes," said Amabel, her sunny eyes shadowing a little; "and I'm one of +the selfish ones. I always seem to get what I want without any trouble. +Did I tell you, Pauline? I heard from Frank yesterday that he is going +out to India next month, and he wants to take me with him. I never +thought father would let me go, but he and mother say of course I must +do so, and they're making everything so easy for me. I think I am the +happiest girl alive. And yet it came across me this morning when I was +in bed that really good, unselfish daughters would refuse to marry and +leave their parents in their old age." + +"Not in your case," said Pauline, sniffing, "because it is your +parents' desire and delight to see you happily married, not because +they want to get rid of you, but because they want you to have the same +happiness that they have had themselves." + +"Oh, yes," said Amabel, laughing; "you don't think I would leave them +if they did not want me to? I couldn't! I simply couldn't! But now +to come back to Honor: do you think Mrs. Broughton would like the +children, or one of them, taken off her hands for a few days? I'm sure +mother would let me have one, though I shall be dreadfully busy. A +month is so soon to get my Indian outfit, and we must make most of it +at home. We can't afford to buy." + +"I think I will go up to the Rectory this afternoon and see what I can +do," said Pauline. "I wish Miss Paton's mother had not been ill, but it +was clearly her duty to go to her." + +She went. And Mrs. Broughton received her with such a storm of +reproaches for having persuaded Anna Paton to leave her, and such +abuse of her stepdaughter, that Pauline needed all her patience and +self-control to keep civil. But her natural sympathy for people in +trouble came at once to the surface. And with her wonderful tact and +magnetic personality, she soothed the distracted little woman. + +"It must be dreadful for you—dreadful! But now, do let us see what +we can do. I heard of a girl the other day through my cousin Bertha +in London, who would thankfully accept any work in exchange for a +comfortable home. May I write to her? She is a clergyman's daughter, +left absolutely alone in the world. She would understand parish work, +and might soon be quite as capable as Miss Paton. I am so glad I have +thought of her. I believe she would suit you admirably." + +Mrs. Broughton looked up hopefully through her tears. + +"We can but try her. Do write at once. I suppose you don't know of a +cook? I feel quite distracted between the servants and the children, +who are quite beyond me." + +"No. I should advertise at once in the local paper." + +"It is so abominably wicked of Honor. How shall we get on without her +money? 'She' to marry, of all people, with her ugly face and awkward +manners! I suppose he is some Scotch tradesman. She is sure to disgrace +her family if she can! I always knew she would!" + +Pauline departed, but had the satisfaction before many days were over, +of establishing another nursery governess or mother's help at the +Rectory. + +She felt unhappy about Honor. As she read her letter again, she +realised that it was force of circumstances, and not real love, that +drove her into this hasty marriage, and she dreaded her awakening. + + +On the day of Amabel's wedding, Pauline received a post card only from +Honor, giving her the name of the small hotel at which she was staying. + +And after all the festivities were over, and Amabel had departed—a +happy, blushing bride—to spend her honeymoon at a country house on the +Lakes lent for the occasion, Pauline came back, and in her mother's +sick-room sat down in the window and by the waning light wrote Honor +one of her warm, loving letters. + +That same evening Mr. Danby came to lend her a book, and stayed +chatting to her downstairs over the events of the day. + +"I'm sick of the conventional Wedding March," he began. "I'll write +a new one myself before long. There's plenty in the theme to make it +worth one's while. But people are such slaves to habit and custom that +they would refuse to receive it." + +"I like the old one best—I suppose from association." + +"Now, come, Miss Erskine, you can't have many associations with it. In +this rural village, weddings are scarce—at least, amongst the upper +class. And I'm sure you don't attend the villagers' weddings." + +"Sometimes I do. I have not lived here all my life, Mr. Danby." + +"You have lived here a great deal too long for your own good," he +responded quickly. "And yet I don't know," he added. "You seem a bit +of the soil. I don't know what we should do without you. Have you ever +thought over the execrable unevenness of fate? Here is one, hurried and +bustled through his years, joy, despair, affluence, poverty, changes +of homes, friends, possessions—all one continuous stream dashing him +up, dashing him down, until he feels he has lived a hundred lives in +perhaps half a century. And another—the years creep on, and he never +moves from the round or square hole in which he was placed at first. He +seems to have grown to a certain point and then come to a standstill. +Summer, winter, spring, and autumn find him just the same, and he +always seems waiting for what will never come." + +"I hope this last is not a description of me," said Pauline, laughing. +"If I have learnt anything, I think I have learnt to rest and not wait. +Waiting is a depressing, disheartening, wearing occupation, because +you are always expecting your waiting time to come to an end. If you +have learnt to be content with your life, you lose the sense of waiting +expectancy. Don't you think you do?" + +"I have never learnt anything in life," said Mr. Danby. "I'm just a +fritterer; you're a philosopher. I expect you do a lot of thinking, +don't you?" + +"There's such a lot to think about. But I have more time than most to +do it." + +Pauline's eyes kindled as she spoke. Then they began to talk over the +wedding again. + +"Marriage is mostly a failure," said Mr. Danby; "people can't get mated +suitably nowadays. We English are on the down grade. Everyone is made +after the same pattern. Look at the girls and the boys. Instead of +bringing them up utterly different, you can't tell which sex they are, +as far as education and tastes go! A man likes to find his wife a fresh +thing of surprises; that is what holds her in his heart. But now women +are built so on the pattern of the men that they're deadly monotonous, +and so their husbands weary of their company and seek entertainment +elsewhere. It's like being married to a double self. Good heavens, what +torture!" + +"Oh! Don't belittle marriage," said Pauline, smiling. "The one we have +seen to-day will be a happy one, I venture to say. Amabel is very +feminine, and her husband a thoroughly manly young fellow. So they will +not prove monotonous to each other." + +"I'm tired of life to-day," said Mr. Danby abruptly. "It is all tedious +and unedifying, waiting to see one's powers decay and one's body become +a burden to one." + +Pauline looked at him sympathetically. She guessed that the wedding had +aroused some of his bitter memories which were best left in oblivion. + +"You are not near the end of your powers," she said; "tell me about +your lecture next week. What is the subject?" + +Mr. Danby rose to the bait. He plunged into his subject of infectious +complaints and how to keep them from spreading, and talked himself back +into his usual cheerful mood. + +But when he left the house, he said: + +"Tell me I am not wasting my years, Miss Erskine; I feel sometimes my +pursuits are toys. What do you think?" + +"You have a tremendous chance of influencing others for good," said +Pauline seriously. "People will listen to a layman sometimes when they +become restive under a sermon. I should see to it, if I were you, that +your lectures contain some grains of the pure, genuine wheat which will +spring up and bear a hundredfold later on. Then your time and talents +will not be wasted, will they?" + +"I believe if I talked much to you, you would end by sending me bang +into the Church. Do you know what keeps me out of it?" + +"What?" + +"The black cloth suit! Couldn't fit myself into it. Would as soon go +about in grave-clothes. Gives me the shudders. Good-night. Good-night." + +Pauline smiled and sighed as he left her. She knew underneath his +flippancy, there was real feeling, and she had a genuine regard for +him. But she also knew at heart, he was a dissatisfied man and cloaked +himself with extra cheerfulness to hide it. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +NEGLECTED DUTY + + "It is often very profitable, to keep us more humble, that others + know and rebuke our faults." + +"CAN I see the doctor, Miss Vernon?" + +"My dear, what is the matter? Is your house on fire?" + +"No; I want to speak to him quickly about one of the boys." + +"One of your lambs?" + +"It is Roland Gibbons; he was moved away from me last term." + +"Then you have nothing on earth to do with him now." + +Miss Vernon spoke sharply. + +"Everard has been at it all day; there is some rumpus, but I never +ask any questions. He has had no lunch; one of the masters kept him +closeted in his study for nearly two hours. He went off to his classes +after a hasty gulp of soup, and has this minute come in for a quiet +cup of tea and, I hope, a little rest. Do for pity's sake leave him in +peace." + +"I must see him, I am afraid." + +Audrey looked anxious and rather agitated. She was in Miss Vernon's +drawing-room, and that good lady gave a little pitying smile as she +looked at her. + +"Oh, you are like all the rest. I am the only one in our community +who can keep detached from the school affairs. No boy is worth making +yourself so hot and eager over him. But I suppose I must let you have +your way. Do you think you can get your business over in ten minutes?" + +"It depends upon the doctor," said Audrey with relief in her tones as +she followed Miss Vernon into the doctor's study. + +He was leaning back in his chair shielding his eyes with his hand. +Audrey saw him for the first time looking tired and dispirited. He +looked up in surprise when he saw her, but he rose immediately and +offered her a chair. + +"Are you in difficulties of any sort?" he said. + +"I have just heard of the raid on White's shop," said Audrey quickly. +"I hear you are going to cane the six, Roland Gibbons amongst them, and +I came to tell you—to ask you to let him off. I am positive he is not +in the affair; he is shielding somebody else." + +Dr. Vernon smiled. + +"I am afraid you must trust your boys to me when they come into my +school. Roland has left you for nearly two terms." + +"But I know the boy better than you do," Audrey persisted. "In the +first place, he has never been struck in his life, except on one +occasion. He is a peculiar child, with a most violent, uncontrolled +temper. A nurse once boxed his ears—his mother told me this—and though +he was only five years old, he nearly killed her. He simply goes mad if +anyone lays a hand upon him." + +"I don't think that would deter me from acting as I thought right," +said Dr. Vernon sternly. + +"But he is so small. He is only just ten, and I am quite sure he is not +one of the genuine culprits." + +"Do you bring me any proofs?" + +"I met the boy just now and spoke to him. I asked him to tell me the +truth, and he said, 'Honour bright, I wasn't in it!' And I believed +him. He never tells lies." + +Dr. Vernon knitted his brows. He had some lawless spirits in the junior +school, and a small pastrycook's close to the school gates had been +raided in the dusk of an afternoon. It was kept by an old man, and at +the time, he was suffering from a sharp attack of rheumatism. + +Six of the boys were identified by old Tom White, and Roland Gibbons +was amongst them. None of them denied it, and they were now awaiting +their summons to the doctor's study. + +"I will give him another chance," he said, "to acquit himself. If he +does not take it, he must bear his punishment with the rest." + +"I wish you would let him off and not press the point." + +"That I cannot do." + +"Oh, how hard a man can be!" + +Audrey spoke with flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks. + +Dr. Vernon rose and very courteously opened his door. + +"Thank you for your information," he said with cold dignity. "Good +afternoon." + +"I hate him!" Audrey muttered passionately to herself. "He is an +autocrat! The class of schoolmaster is most objectionable!" + +Miss Vernon put her hand on her shoulder as she left the house. + +"Don't you interfere with the doctor, my dear. Shut your eyes and ears, +as I do, to anything outside your special province." + +"I hate injustice!" said Audrey hotly. + +She was appeased when she heard that a more searching inquiry had +discovered the real culprit, and for the time Roland escaped. But he +was a daring spirit, and a few weeks later met with the chastisement +that was due to him. + +Audrey could not lose interest in her boys; she dreaded the effect +of corporal punishment on a boy of Roland's calibre. But to her +astonishment, she found that from that date Roland almost worshipped +the doctor. She never knew exactly what took place in that private +interview, but she saw the good results of it, and marvelled, as she +often did, at the doctor's personal influence over his boys. + + +One spring day, the whole school had an outing. It was a yearly visit +to the patron of the school, an old general who lived in his big, +lonely country house about fifteen miles away. He had a liking for +all boys, and the whole school turned out to spend his birthday with +him. There was fishing for the bigger lads, with impromptu sports and +a hockey match in one of his fields, and his woods and grounds were +thrown open to all. + +They started in brakes at nine o'clock, and did not generally return +till dark. + +Audrey and Mrs. Bonar had a brake to themselves and their boys. It was +a typical spring day, with hot sun and a fresh breeze, and the drive +along the primrosed lanes delighted Audrey's soul. She had her hands +full when she got there, for Mrs. Bonar was not actively inclined, +and the small boys were in riotous spirits. Later in the day, she +was in a wood with them, when Mr. Oates once more followed her and +pertinaciously attached himself to her. + +"This is my last term," he said. "I've had enough of boys. I'm trying +to get a post as lecturer; meanwhile, I'm going to America to widen my +mind." + +"I heard that you were leaving," Audrey said quietly. + +She had heard through Mrs. Ross that Dr. Vernon was parting with him +owing to his slackness in his work. But she never believed the whole of +that little lady's statements. + +"Yes," Mr. Oates went on. "This is too narrow a sphere for me; and the +doctor—if it is not treason to say so—is old-fashioned and behind the +age. Miss Hume, I want to say something to you before I go. May I say +it now?" + +"Oh, please," said Audrey, nervously anticipating what was coming, "I +think you had better not." + +"But I must. You have fought shy of me all this term. I know you have +thought it right to do so, and I respect you for it. But—but you must +know what my feelings are towards you. I believe we are kindred souls. +You, like myself, are chafing at our proscribed circle here. Together +we could live our lives in freedom and happiness. We—" + +"Are you asking me to marry you?" asked Audrey very quickly. + +"I'm afraid marriage at present is a long way off, but if you will +wait." + +"I am very, very sorry," said Audrey, "but neither now nor at any +other time could I do what you wish. I had no idea you felt anything +more towards me than a mere friendly interest. Please forgive me for +speaking quite frankly, but it is best for us both. And thank you very +much." + +Then, rather nervously, she added: + +"I'm sure it is time I was collecting my boys. We were to start at six +from the house, and it is now half-past five." + +Mr. Oates would not be dismissed so quickly. He began to plead his +cause again. And even when Audrey was marching her boys back, he +still kept close to her side. + +When they came to the house, one of the boys was missing. The doctor +was marshalling the brakes off. He looked up a little impatiently as +Mr. Oates and Audrey came into sight together. Mrs. Bonar was already +seated in the brake, and the boys were clambering in. + +"Oates, your boys are waiting for you over there." Dr. Vernon's voice +was sharp and peremptory. + +"Miss Hume has missed one of her boys," said Mr. Oates. + +"That is her affair—not yours. Miss Hume is responsible for her boys." + +Never had Audrey heard the doctor speak more sharply. Her cheeks +burned. She dashed back into the path that led to the wood, and +determined she would never speak to Mr. Oates again. And she began to +reproach herself for her carelessness. Little Herbert Renton was one +of the smallest of her flock; she had thought that he had run on in +front. And if Mr. Oates had not been worrying her so, she would have +discovered before that he was not with the others. + +"I am not fit to be a schoolmistress," she said, as she began to call +for the missing boy. "If I stay here all night, I won't venture back +without him." + +It was already beginning to get dusk. She made the wood echo with her +shouts, and once she thought she heard a muffled cry. But there seemed +no sight or sound of the child. + +"Someone else might have turned back to help me," she thought bitterly. +"Sometimes I dislike the doctor; he is such a disciplinarian—all head, +no heart, and not an atom of softness or sympathy in his composition. +It is a shame to leave me alone! It would be just like him to drive +off and take all the others with him, and leave me to find my way home +alone. It's not like a gentleman to behave so!" + +A step behind her made her start. She hardly knew whether she was vexed +or relieved to find it was the doctor. + +"Well, can't you find him?" + +His tone was still curt, but Audrey was meekness itself. "I'm very +sorry. I thought he was on in front of me, but he could never have +followed us." + +"Are you sure he was here?" + +"Yes; they were all having a game of hide-and-seek." + +The doctor shouted, and then stopped to listen. He had sharper ears +than Audrey, for he heard a faint answering shout. + +"He is here somewhere," he said. "It sounds as if he were hurt. This is +the direction." + +[Illustration: THE DOCTOR SHOUTED, AND AUDREY AND HE STOPPED TO LISTEN. +HE HEARD A FAINT ANSWERING SHOUT.] + +Audrey followed him along a path which was much overgrown with brambles +and briers. They presently came to a clearance, where there was a +group of old oaks, and now distinctly from one of these they heard the +muffled cry for help. + +"Where are you?" called the doctor. "Up a tree?" + +"Inside, and I'm dying. Help!—Help!" + +"It's hollow; he has fallen into it!" cried Audrey. + +And her conjecture proved right. Dr. Vernon threw off his coat and +climbed the old tree like a schoolboy. Herbert was at first too low +down to be reached, until the doctor lowered his coat and told him to +catch hold of the sleeve of it. Then he drew him up carefully, and in +another moment, Audrey had her arms around the breathless, dishevelled, +frightened child. He clung hold of her and sobbed aloud. + +"I cried and cried and cried, and I thought I was going to be starved +and buried there!" + +Then Audrey saw the soft side of Dr. Vernon. He hoisted the boy into +his arms and carried him along, talking to him more like a tender +father than a schoolmaster. She followed them in silence. In the drive +that led to the house, they met some gardeners coming off to help them +in their search. + +General Tennant was pacing the terrace in some perturbation of mind. He +was greatly relieved when he saw them. + +"Now you really must stay to dinner," he said, laying his hand on Dr. +Vernon's arm. "All your flock are safely driving home, and this young +lady can make herself comfortable in my housekeeper's room, if she +likes, with the boy. Mrs. Green is a good soul and a most superior +woman. Then you can drive them home later; or send them off in your +dogcart now, and I'll have the brougham out to take you home." + +Audrey's head was raised and a heightened colour was in her cheeks as +she passed the old general. She knew that in his old-fashioned eyes, +she was just a governess, to be ranked with his upper servants, and her +pride rose in arms at once. But she did not say a word. Herbert was +scratched and bruised with his fall, and sadly wanted a good wash and +tidying up. So she went up to the housekeeper's room with him, and for +the next quarter of an hour occupied herself with his toilet. + +Then a message came up to her from the doctor, asking her if she were +ready to start, and going downstairs she found the doctor's dogcart at +the door. + +He had declined to stay to dinner, and Audrey was thankful to feel that +they were returning home at once. + +He wrapped his thick rug round her carefully; Herbert snuggled in +between them, and was so tired that he fell fast asleep with Audrey's +arm around him before they had driven a mile. + +"Are you cold?" Dr. Vernon asked presently. + +"Not at all, thank you." + +"What did the general say as he wished you good-bye?" + +Audrey gave her low laugh as she answered, with a bit of mimicry in her +tone: + +"'Let me advise you, young woman, to look after your pupils in a more +trustworthy manner. The doctor is sadly inconvenienced by the delay you +have caused.' + +"And I nearly made him a curtsy and said, 'Yes, sir; I'm sorry, sir.'" + +"I think his advice was good," said the doctor quietly. + +"I know it was," said Audrey, checking her mirth, "but I never can +remember my position in life, and I don't like being treated like an +inferior being." + +"Your work is the same as mine," said the doctor. "I don't feel that +teaching is a degrading position." + +"Ah! The general would make a distinction between us," said Audrey; +"and, of course, there is one. I think I am too big for my shoes. I am +always being told so by Mrs. Bonar. I keep reminding myself that I am +nearly penniless and am earning my living, but I cannot be servile to +my superiors. I think I feel that anyone who earns their living is on +the same level. There are officers in the army and navy who only live +on their pay, and judges and ministers of state, and bishops, and all +the big government officials simply earn their living as I do. I say +that we are quits!" + +Audrey was talking at random. She was feeling nervous of the long drive +and "tête-à-tête" conversation with the doctor, and she dreaded that he +should allude to her being in Mr. Oates' company. + +But Dr. Vernon talked very pleasantly to her on various topics outside +the school, and then suddenly said: + +"You have returned me all the books I have lent you. Have they helped +you?" + +"Yes, they have." + +Audrey spoke gravely now. She was always rather shy of talking about +her spiritual difficulties. + +"Do you want any more?" + +"No, thank you. They have led me to my Bible. I am finding out my +ignorance of it. And there is such a warmth and life in it! The other +books are cold, and hard, though convincing, but the Bible is—well, I +can't explain; it gives life and it sustains it, and I hope I shall +never get away from it." + +"You have learnt a good deal if you have learnt that," said Dr. Vernon. +Then his voice grew tense and earnest as he added: + +"Be real and sincere, Miss Hume; never put up with the second best. +Don't forget the empty shrine. Let the glory of your womanhood circle +round the One Who owns you. And with Him in your heart and life, you +will be a burning power for good amongst those small boys who are in +your charge." + +Audrey bent over Herbert's curly head resting contentedly on her +shoulder. + +"I feel I'm only the smoking flax at present," she said. "I hope the +flame will come." + +And then for the rest of the drive they were silent. When she and +Herbert were deposited at her door, she looked up at the doctor with +penitent eyes. + +"Please forgive me for my carelessness, and thank you for coming back +to help me. I shudder when I think what the plight of this poor child +might have been had we left him." + +His tone was inscrutable as he replied: + +"Let the charge of your boys be your first consideration." + +"There spoke the schoolmaster," said Audrey to herself as she turned +away. "I like him best when he forgets his vocation." + + +And Dr. Vernon, as he sat eating his belated dinner that evening, was +haunted by a pair of grey eyes looking up into his—the grey eyes of +which his sister had said: "If you look at them, you are perfectly +certain that you can trust her, and that honour, frankness, and +fearlessness are her chief characteristics." + +The result of his cogitations was the emphatic comment to himself: + +"I am glad this is Oates' last term." + +In which he showed himself a man as well as a schoolmaster. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE HOLIDAYS + + "Oh Gift of God, a perfect day, + Whereon let no man work, but play + Whereon it is enough for me, + Not to be doing, but to be." + LONGFELLOW. + +THE Easter holidays found Audrey still at Horsborough College. Neither +she nor Mrs. Bonar left their post, as they had several small boys +spending their holidays with them. But as the summer came on, Audrey +again began to wonder where she should go when school broke up. A +letter from Mr. Blunt saying that his sister-in-law was going abroad +with her husband again, and so leaving her house, and also reminding +her that her lease of her old home would be up on Michaelmas Day, +decided her to take lodgings in the village. And she wrote to Pauline +about finding her cheap rooms near her. She had just posted her letter +when Miss Vernon called upon her. + +"Well," she remarked in her abrupt way, "are you, like the rest of +us, going to shake off this scholastic veneer which is making us so +objectionably priggish? What are your plans? Every term I am hoping +that Everard, may be offered some deanery. He has been here too long." + +"Oh!" cried Audrey. "He is not old enough or feeble enough to retire +into a deanery." + +"Stuff, my dear! He ought to be a dean or a bishop before long, and I'm +expecting to end my days in an ecclesiastical palace: I am hinting at +it already in my biography of him. We don't want decrepit bishops, and +I think the authorities are waking up to that fact. But we won't talk +about Everard. I have to come to ask you if you would care to join me +in a small tour through Switzerland? I should like to have you with me, +and I ask you as my guest." + +Audrey's eyes sparkled. + +"How good of you! I have never been abroad in my life. But I should +prefer it if you would let me share expenses. Would it be a very +expensive trip?" + +"My dear, the expense will be mine. I want a companion. Everard may be +with us for a part of the time, but he is going to Germany first, and I +have declined to accompany him there. I don't like the Germans. I never +did. You and I will try to imagine for the first time, whilst we are +away, that there is no such thing as a boy, or football, or exam., in +the world! I am getting heartily sick of the whole crew!" + +"The only thing is," said Audrey hesitatingly, "that I must go down and +make arrangements for the sale of the furniture of my old home. When do +you start?" + +"I shall be a fortnight in London first. Will that give you time?" + +"I think so. Oh, Miss Vernon, how can I thank you? I've never had such +a treat! I can hardly believe I am going." + +Miss Vernon laughed. + +"Ah, well, I'm more selfish than you think. All my life I have dreaded +getting old and prosy, and I want someone to keep me young, or make me +feel so, at all events. You will be very good company. I am assured of +that." + +So Audrey wrote a second letter to Pauline, telling her of her good +fortune, and a shadow fell across Pauline's sunny eyes as she read. She +was fonder of Audrey than of anyone else, and the thought of having her +near her for the summer holidays had been real and keen delight. But, +as usual, she suppressed her own feelings and wrote back a warm, loving +letter. + + "It will be splendid for you in every way," she wrote. "I shall look +forward to your letters, for if you write as descriptively as you do +about the school, I shall imagine myself with you in it all. And your +fortnight here first will be a real joy to me." + +"Poor Pauline!" mused Audrey. "Why should the good things of life +always pass her by? I used to think myself the most ill-used of human +beings, but I can't say that now. And yet, compared with Pauline, I am +not nearly so happy as she is. What a wonderful nature she must have, +to live year in and year out in a sick-room and yet keep that glad, +joyous nature of hers! She finds as much pleasure in a sunny day, and +in the flowers and the birds, as I would in a foreign tour. She faces +north, and never flinches from it." + + +Pauline found her rooms in the village. It was an empty time. No +tourists came to stay at Criscombe, for there was nothing to draw +them—neither sea nor moor, and no good fishing within reach. + +Mr. Broughton and family had just gone for a month to the seaside. A +locum tenens from the neighbouring town rode over every Sunday to take +the services. + +Mrs. Daventry was abroad. Even the Blunts had gone away for their +summer outing, and Mr. Danby was the only one who still came and went +in his erratic fashion. Just now, he had started a caravan to take +him about the country for his lectures. Pauline had asked him why he +preferred such a slow mode of locomotion to that of a motor. His answer +was characteristic of himself: + +"Miss Erskine, pace is the curse of our age! If I give out, I must take +in; and food does you no good if gobbled. Can I lecture on the beauties +and lessons of Nature, which is my next subject, if I rush through the +air, besmattering and befouling the sweet country lanes with fumes of +petrol and clouds of dust? I am going to learn before I teach, and my +caravan will aid me to do so." + +Pauline met Audrey at the station upon a sweet evening towards the end +of July. + +Audrey was shocked at her looks. + +"Pauline, how thin you are! What have you been doing to yourself? Oh! +My dear, you're killing yourself, and no one can help you." + +"Not at all. I am very well. I have felt the heat this summer, and my +mother has not been so well this last month or so. You are looking +radiant, Audrey. Now tell me your plans." + +"About my furniture? I am going to sell it. I shall pack up a few +treasured possessions and get Sands, in Gadsborough, to store them for +me. The rest, he must sell. Then I shall be homeless indeed. But I have +not the money to keep a room going when I should be in it so seldom." + +"I wish our cottage was a little bigger," said Pauline wistfully. + +"My dear Pauline, your house, if you had a mansion, would never be big +enough for your heart." + +Audrey made arrangements for her luggage to be sent up after her, and, +linking her arm in Pauline's, she walked to the village, talking hard +as she went. + +"Can't you have a change, Pauline? Tell me when you left your mother +last." + +"Oh, I never leave her. We went up to town, you know, not so very long +ago." + +"But you really ought to have a thorough rest. I shall speak to Mrs. +Erskine about it. Don't shake your head at me. Outsiders can do what +insiders can't!" + +"I am afraid my mother will not be well enough to see you. Now I must +leave you, Audrey dear. Do you think you could run in and see me this +evening after eight o'clock? I have settled mother for the night by +that time, and I have two hours before I go up to her." + +"I shall love to. Of course I'll come." + + +In the dusky summer evening, they sat and talked together. + +Pauline said, after a time: + +"Audrey, there's a happy ring in your voice that used not to be there. +I think you have come through your difficulties, haven't you?" + +Audrey's bright face softened at once. + +She clasped her hands round her knees and looked up at her friend a +little wistfully. + +"Oh, I hope—I hope I'm settled; but I'm such a slow, such a stupid +learner! I'm happy, Pauline; I know I'm on firm ground, and when I +compare myself now with myself a year ago, I really do thank God for +teaching me to know and love Him. I can't talk well about myself, but +as I came to you with my difficulties, it is only fair I should tell +you when they're gone. I realise now what it is to be in personal +touch with Christ. Dr. Vernon's favourite verse, 'Without Me ye can do +nothing,' is my continual reminder and comfort. And I long now to get +my small boys to see what a power and what a delight the truth of that +verse is. + +"I think when you see your need and open your heart, all the rest +follows, does it not?—forgiveness, justification, and sanctification; +I'm only on the threshold of this last. But it comforts me to think of +Nature, which is so slow—so much growth underground—before the result +is seen. When I wake every morning, I think: A fresh day to test my +faith and prove the faithfulness of my Redeemer." + +Pauline's eyes shone, but she was silent for some minutes. Then she +said emphatically: + +"'If we believe not, yet He abideth faithful.'" + +"Yes, that's it; that's the comfort. We may waver and fall and fail, +but He never changes; and I believe in Him and love Him with all my +heart and soul." + +They talked on till the dusk deepened into night. + +And then when the clock struck ten, Audrey slipped away to her lodgings. + +But she was determined to speak to Mrs. Erskine if she could, for her +landlady told her that the "village" considered that Pauline's long +confinement to her mother's sick-room was wearing her to death. They +all loved Pauline. + +"She have such a royal way of walkin' with her head up and her eyes +so shinin', but many's passed the remark that her body be not half so +strong as her sperrit, and her cheeks be fallin' in wonderful!" + + +So when, a day or two later, Mrs. Erskine of her own accord said she +would like to see Audrey, the latter responded willingly, and told +Pauline that she was to make herself scarce during her visit. + +Mrs. Erskine had taken some interest in Audrey since her father's +death. Now she looked at the girl critically. + +"Well, your work seems to suit you," she said. "You are fortunate in +being with friends. It must make a difference." + +"I don't know that it does much," said Audrey, smiling. "The doctor +is always official, you know. I keep my distance, and look up to him +with the necessary deference and awe. And he regards me as one of his +staff—a young woman who must be kept in her place." + +"Have you seen Mr. Danby yet?" Mrs. Erskine asked impatiently. + +"No; he is away for a fortnight, so I shall miss him." + +"I am glad he is away." + +Mrs. Erskine moved her hands restlessly, then continued with a little +catch in her breath: + +"I wish you would find out—you and Pauline are such friends—whether +there is anything between them; he is always here." + +Audrey looked genuinely astonished. + +"My dear Mrs. Erskine, you don't think Pauline would look at a little, +erratic man like that! He isn't fit to tie her shoe-strings." + +"I don't know what she might not do," said Mrs. Erskine fretfully. +"Girls will do anything to get a home, but I don't mean to die yet. I +have wonderful vitality—all the doctors tell me that. I wish Mr. Danby +had never come to the village. He must be an odious little creature, +from all accounts!" + +"Oh, he isn't that. He is a character, of course. But he isn't fit for +Pauline. I'm sure she wouldn't dream of such a thing. Don't you want +her to marry, Mrs. Erskine?" + +"And leave me?" + +Such a frightened, anxious look came over the invalid that Audrey +hastened to soothe her. + +"No; I don't believe Pauline would ever do that, and there is no one +marriageable in these parts, Mrs. Erskine. Marriage would never take +Pauline from you, the only thing that might—" + +"Well? Speak out." + +"Illness might," said Audrey firmly. "Pauline is looking very ill. +Haven't you noticed it? She ought to have a change of air and scene. +You would not like her to break down, would you?" + +"Pauline break down!" + +Mrs. Erskine gave a little sceptical laugh. "Pauline is as strong as +a horse. She has a most wonderful constitution, but then her quiet +life has not tried it in any way. I wish I had had half her strength +to fight this disease which is killing me by inches. I don't think you +need be at all troubled about Pauline." + +"But I am; and so is everybody who cares for her," said Audrey warmly. +Then on the impulse of the moment she said: "Wouldn't you let me do +things for you and allow Pauline to go away for a week? If it was only +for a week, it would do her good." + +"Has she suggested such a thing?" + +Angry spots of colour showed on Mrs. Erskine's cheeks. + +"No, indeed! Would she be likely to? You know Pauline. The last thing +she thinks of is herself." + +"I did not know waiting upon a sick mother was such a hardship," said +Mrs. Erskine bitterly. "She won't have me much longer. If she chooses +to leave me, she can. But I will go on with Mary. I will not be +dependent on outside friends to do what a daughter is weary of doing." + +Audrey bit her lips to keep back the impatient words that were on her +tongue. + +"I am so glad you think you could manage with Mary for a little. I +am sure you will be able to persuade Pauline to go. And I will come +in every morning and see how you are getting on. I have ten days +longer here before I leave for Switzerland. But Pauline will need your +persuasion. She does not realise how badly she wants the change. I will +tell her what we have arranged together." + +Audrey sped downstairs, determined to strike while the iron was hot. +She told Pauline of the conversation, and got angry when Pauline shook +her head. + +"My dear Audrey! You do not understand my mother in the least." + +"Oh, don't be so obstinate! Go up at once, 'at once,' whilst I am here, +and keep her to her word. Pauline, I will never try to help you again +if you won't lift your little finger to help yourself." + +Pauline did not reply, but went upstairs. + +Audrey waited in the sitting-room below, and was rather dismayed to +hear Mrs. Erskine's voice raised in shrill, hysterical cries and sobs. + +"What an awfully selfish, hard-hearted brute of a woman!" she exclaimed +hotly. "She wouldn't care if Pauline were dying before her eyes!" + +It was a long time before Pauline came down, and when she did so, she +looked white and weary. + +"Audrey dear, it is of no use. You did it with the best intentions, but +my mother has had a very bad half-hour in consequence. I can never, +never leave her. She is half frantic at the very idea." + +"I don't see why she should try to kill you," said Audrey impatiently. +"I think she ought to be made to do without you. What would she have +done if you had married?" + +Pauline smiled. + +"Don't you see that this is my life's work, the only natural course for +any single daughter to take?" + +"I am not objecting to your nursing your mother, but to your never +getting a rest from it." + +"I am very strong. Every back is suited to its burden." + +"I don't believe that. Numbers are done to death by overwork." + +"Can you and I not trust ourselves to God? I have left my life in His +hand, and He arranges for me. Of this I am positively certain. Don't +let us spoil your visit by over-anxiety about my concerns. I will try +and get out a little more whilst you are here. That will do me more +good than anything. One of my biggest mercies is living in the country. +Imagine our life in a town, mother and I, where it would be simply +impossible to enjoy pure air and all the delights of the country! Do +you know that I have two tame linnets who visit me regularly? They have +their dining-parlour under the old medlar tree, and they wait for me +twice every day. You don't know what dainties I take them." + +"Oh, I don't care a rap for linnets; I only care for you!" cried +Audrey, and tears of vexation and disappointment filled her eyes. "No +wonder we gave you the Northern gate. I was wanting to turn you from it +for a little." + +"Ah! Don't try to do that. I fear poor Honor turned away from hers, and +I'm dreading the result." + +"Have you heard from her?" + +"Such short, unsatisfactory letters! She seems moving about so much +that it is difficult to write to her." + +They began to talk of Honor, and then of the Rectory household; and for +the time Pauline's affairs were forgotten. + + +But Audrey's visit did her good; and though she had failed in getting +her to go away, she did manage to get her out for a whole day just +before she left. + +They hired a village trap and drove to a famous hill about nine miles +away. And on the way there, they met Mr. Danby jogging along in his +caravan. He was delighted to see them, and wanted them to drive on with +him. He showed them over his caravan, and informed them that he had had +a most successful audience the night before on the village green. + +"My lecture was 'Country or Town?' I showed them a thing or two, and +was in the midst of politics before I knew it! Miss Erskine, do try +my lounge chair on my 'upper deck,' as I call it. I can sit under my +awning, smoke a pipe, and read a book whilst I am driving." + +"What a lot of the country you must see!" said Pauline, laughing. + +"I want company to enjoy the country with me," said Mr. Danby +dolefully. "I do wish conventionality wouldn't prevent you from coming +with me." + +"It would be rather slow," said Audrey meditatively, then corrected +herself with a laugh. "I don't mean your society, but the progress." + +"Miss Erskine and I like the slow, sweet march of time," said Mr. +Danby; "and, by the by, I met a man the other day who knew you, Miss +Erskine. He's going to do a small tour with me in the west of England +for the benefit of some charity in which he is interested. We are going +to sandwich 'Bush Aborigines' and 'Man's Highest Development.' He's a +traveller; do you remember him—Justin Pembroke?" + +"Yes," said Pauline very quietly. "I met him not so very long ago." + +"A nice chap—fond of music, too. He thinks me somewhat of a freak. I +got into a church, and he was blower. Told me that if he could play as +I did, he wouldn't tack so many other things on to it. He's a man of +one idea. I'm a man of many." + +They chatted on, and then separated. + +For a time they drove on in silence. + +Then Audrey said: + +"Who is Justin Pembroke? Don't tell me if you would rather not." + +Her quick eyes had seen that Pauline's extreme quietness and attention +when his name was mentioned showed that he was no chance acquaintance +to her. + +"I met him some years ago," said Pauline; "and then he came down to +this part, and I saw him again. Don't look so interested, Audrey. There +is nothing remarkable about our acquaintance." + +"I wish someone would meet you and carry you off." + +"Not from my mother?" + +Audrey was silent; then she said abruptly: + +"Pauline, do you ever look forward to the time when—when you will not +have your mother?" + +"I try not to do so." + +"But if the doctors are right, it may come soon. Have you any plans?" + +"How can I? I do not even know what my mother's income is. And she +may be spared for several years yet, Audrey. She has been wonderfully +better this year on the whole. Last year she seemed rapidly getting +worse. One can never tell. I hope she may live longer than the doctors +think." + +"I don't believe you care what becomes of you," said Audrey. "You're a +marvel!" + +"I cannot imagine life for me without my mother," said Pauline; and +then they dropped the subject. + +The rest of the day was spent in enjoying Nature at its best. + +As Audrey parted with Pauline at her gate that evening, the latter +said, with much feeling: + +"How small the petty trials of life seem after a day in the open air! I +feel so much stronger, mentally and physically, for my day out, as if +nothing will ever trouble me again." + +Audrey kissed her warmly. + +"You're a dear! And if Nature has done you good, you have done me good. +I will write long letters to cheer you up when I'm abroad. Not that you +will want that, but I know you like letters. Oh, how I wish you were +going with me!" + +And in her heart, Pauline echoed that wish. + + +Audrey departed, and soon wrote glowing descriptions of her first sight +of Swiss mountains. Miss Vernon was a good traveller. She took her to +Grindelwald for a fortnight, then to Interlaken and Thun, and then +across the Simmenthal by railway down to the Lake of Geneva, where they +met Dr. Vernon. And then all three went to Zermatt, where Audrey had +her first experience of glacier climbing. + +The last fortnight there was a dream of delight to her. Dr. Vernon laid +aside his stern gravity and showed himself a genial spirit. + +He and Audrey were the best of friends, and learnt to know each other +in a very different way from what they would have done at Horsborough +College. And Miss Vernon, with her private notebooks and humorous views +of human nature, was a general favourite in the hotel. + + "I never thought," wrote Audrey to Pauline, "that I should ever get +to like Dr. Vernon as I do now. I almost hated him at first, then I got +to respect and admire him, now I have learnt to like him for himself. +He is very masterful, and, of course, gets a little spoilt by his +position, but underneath all his determination and iron will, there is +wonderful tenderness and consideration. One of the guides got hurt the +other day, and had to be taken to hospital. He went to break the news +to his wife, and Miss Vernon and I found him with her youngest baby on +his knee, talking to her and comforting her like a woman. And though he +is full of fun and humour, there is always the streak of real goodness +running side by side with it. He is never ashamed of his religion; it +comes out spontaneously; it is his very life. Yesterday, he preached +for the chaplain here, and I never heard him preach better. He took for +his text: + + "'I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it +more abundantly.' + + "And when he spoke of the 'more abundant' life each Christian was meant +to have on earth, he thrilled one through and through. Life is getting +fuller and deeper to me, Pauline. I feel I am walking through Ezekiel's +river, but I think I am not much more than ankle deep at present." + +As she read this letter, Pauline lifted her blue eyes in all their +shining serenity to the sky above her and murmured: + + "'Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or +think.'" + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +HOMELESS + + "For the way is often dreary, + And the feet are often weary, + And the heart is very sad. + There is heavy burden bearing, + When it seems that none are caring, + And we half forget that ever we were glad." + +IT was a year later. Spring was on its way; but in London, fog reigned +supreme, blotting out all light and sunshine, and filling people's +lungs with its stinging, choking fumes. + +In a dingy private hotel in Bloomsbury, a little face was pressed +against the panes of the shabby drawing-room window eagerly watching +for someone. At last, with a joyful cry, the child sprang from her post +and flung herself into the arms of the woman who entered. + +"Oh, mummie, I thought you was lost. Do you think it's the Judgment Day +coming? I'm getting so frightened." + +"No, darling, it's only a London fog." + +Honor sat down heavily on a chair and Fay crept to her side. + +"I'm sorry you're so tired. I don't like London. Where are we going to +live?" + +Honor gave a little bitter laugh. + +"'How' are we going to live is the question, Fay. I heard from your +father this morning; he did not send the money he promised. He can't do +it at present." + +"But, mummie, you said weeks ago we were going into the country when +father's letter came. Aren't we going?" + +"Don't worry me, child! I must write a letter." + +Then, ashamed of her momentary petulance, Honor caught the child to her. + +"Oh, Fay, darling, I don't want to be cross, but I'm feeling ill, and +very, 'very' anxious about you!" + +Poor Honor! Step by step of her way had been clouded and bestrewn with +thorns. Perhaps the happiest time had been on the big liner, when her +husband was cheery and optimistic, and the little home they would +eventually have together was discussed and planned. + +When they landed at New York and he was met by several old friends, she +discovered that her husband had a side to his character with which she +was not acquainted. He established her and Fay in a boarding-house, and +gradually was more and more away from them. Honor took his absence very +quietly. She never expected that she would have sufficient attraction +in herself to keep a man perpetually by her side. All she wanted was to +be useful and helpful to him. And Fay was her daily and hourly delight. +She mended and made her clothes, she taught her and she played with +her, and she was happy and content. + +Then Alick took them both with him for a trip to the West Indies, where +he had a share in a sugar plantation. And Honor had a few happy months +there. The strange, new scenes in which she found herself drew out all +her powers. She grew more self-assured, and lost her shy shrinking +manner. Alick and she, if not a demonstrative couple, were content with +each other's society. And if he found it unnecessary to give much, +Honor gave abundantly, and required very little from him. But when they +again accompanied him back to the States, Alick grew a little restive. +His money seemed to be failing him; he told Honor she must economise +and live in a cheaper way. And when she found a couple of rooms in a +poor part of Philadelphia, he told her he must take a trip down to +Chili to look after a bit of property he had there. + +"I can't take a woman and child with me," he said; "you'll stay here +like a good little woman till I return, and then we'll think about +going back to England and settling down." + +He left her with a little money, and from time to time sent her +additional small sums. But if Honor had not bestirred herself, and +managed to earn something by plain needlework, she and Fay would have +fared badly. As it was, her straitened means brought an anxious pucker +to her brows and hollows under her eyes. They were always hoping, +always expecting, the wanderer's return. And at last, one day he +came—but only to tell Honor that she had better return to England with +Fay. + +"You will do better in your own country, near your own people, get +some quiet country lodgings somewhere. I have been offered a post with +a surveying party going up towards Alaska, and I shall be gone some +months. I'll manage to scrape up enough money for your return passage, +and will send you what I can. You're such a clever little woman in +making both ends meet that I'm sure you will help me. I am in low water +at present, but the tide is bound to turn." + +"I cannot go to my own people," said Honor quietly, a heavy weight +descending on her spirits at the prospect before her and of her coming +motherhood. "Alick, are you regretting your marriage?" + +"Never," he assented emphatically. "Look how you have relieved me of +the care of Fay. Cheer up! We shall have happy days yet when my ship +comes in. And I dare say, I shall make a good deal by this trip. We are +going to be in touch with the goldfields, and who knows what may befall +us there? You had better take the steamer the end of this week, wait in +London till you get my next remittance, and then settle yourself in a +quiet country cottage somewhere." + +So Honor had acquiesced. She had waited in London for three weeks for +the expected remittance, and had now received the following letter from +her husband: + + "MY DEAREST HONOR, + + "I'm afraid I can't send you anything this mail. In fact, until I get +my quarter's salary from this railway company, I have hardly a shilling +to call my own. You had better go to your people. Surely, as you have +a home, they will be delighted to receive you. If you can't do this, +you could try my sister, if you like. She lives near Exeter. I enclose +address. I wouldn't leave Fay alone to her tender mercies, but with +you, it is a different matter. Margaret is comfortably off, but is a +hard nut to crack. Still, I think you and Fay would be equal to it. My +love to my darling. You are so sensible and clever that you will get +along all right, I feel sure. And I will send you money as soon as ever +I can. + + "Your affectionate husband, + + "ALICK." + +As Honor read this letter and thought of the one five-pound note left +in her purse, and most of that due for their rooms, a wave of despair +seemed to overwhelm her. It was true she had even in London found a +woman who could supply her with needlework, but it was not sufficient +to support her. She knew how impossible it would be for her to go to +her stepmother with an empty purse and an anxious time in front of her. +So she steadily put her feelings into the background and sat down to +write to Miss Selkirk. Presently, she tossed her pen away. + +"Fay, I can't do it! I can't stay here waiting for an answer to my +letter which may never come. We'll go down to Exeter to-morrow." + +Fay clapped her hands. + +"To the country, out of this black London? And, mummie, we'll picnic +in the woods. You know there's so much to eat in the country without +paying—nuts and blackberries and mushrooms. We'll begin to be happy +again, won't we?" + +"My darling, I ought to be able to make you happy now. I'm afraid I'm +getting grumpy." + +Her mind once made up, Honor lost no time in action. She settled +accounts with her landlady, and early the next morning had started +from Waterloo for the west country. Looking out at the English country +again, Honor felt strangely stirred. The lambs in the meadows, the +hedges of white hawthorn, and the early primroses in the sheltered +nooks and dells, all spoke to her of peace and rest. She lifted her +heart up in passionate prayer that she and the child by her side might +find favour in the sight of her husband's sister. Her pride rebelled +against the step she was taking. She felt that it was unfair upon any +single woman to appear in such a manner without any previous warning. +And yet she felt she could plead her own cause better by word of mouth +than by letter. + + +It was between two and three o'clock in the afternoon when they reached +Exeter, and then upon inquiry Honor found she would have a drive of +about three miles to Miss Selkirk's house. She hired a cab at the +station, and as they jogged along through the lower part of the town +and then up a steep hill into the fresh, green country Honor felt a +sudden panic seize her. + +"How little I thought that I would be reduced to begging from a +stranger! If it wasn't for Fay, nothing would drag me here. And if she +won't have anything to say to us, I shall have to go to the workhouse +infirmary." + +With such thoughts as these, she gazed out of the window, whilst Fay +was ecstatic at all she saw. The road wound downhill again, passing +a little hamlet of cottages and then a stretch of fir plantation on +rising ground. Presently they passed two small cottages, and then drew +up at a pretty-looking rustic lodge and a big iron gate. A tidy-looking +woman opened it for them, the drive wound uphill with sloping +pasture-land on either side, then they took a sharp turn and came in +sight of a low, quaint, yellow-washed house, overshadowed by a group of +old elms. + +In another moment, they were at the hall door, and Honor felt sick and +faint with dread of the coming interview. + +The door was opened by an old-fashioned, elderly maid. + +"Is Miss Selkirk at home?" + +Honor's white lips framed the words with difficulty. + +"Yes, ma'am. What name, please?" + +"Mrs. Alick Selkirk." + +Well trained as she was, the maid gave a furtive glance at Honor, then +opened the drawing-room door. It was a quaint, prettily furnished room, +the open fireplace with its iron basket of blazing logs gave a look of +cosy warmth, on a low window-sill were pots of hyacinths and freesias. +And Honor sank into an old-fashioned chintz chair with a feeling of +envy towards the owner. + +Then the door opened, and a tall, angular woman entered, dressed in a +severely made black gown with a gold watch chain hanging from a large +pebble brooch. Her dark hair, streaked with grey, was parted in the +middle and drawn down smoothly on each side of her face. She had rather +fine brown eyes, but a wide and grimly set mouth gave an expression +of great severity to her rugged face. She stood gazing at Honor for a +moment in silence. Then as she shook hands in a limp fashion, she said, +abruptly: + +"I was told that Alick's wife was dead." + +"I married him about eighteen months ago," said Honor quietly, and with +a certain amount of dignity. + +"Unfortunate young woman!" + +The tone of pity, almost contempt, brought the blood with a rush into +Honor's cheeks. + +But she could not contradict the statement, under her circumstances. + +She drew Fay forward. + +"This is his little girl." + +Then, glancing into the garden, which was lying bathed in the yellow +afternoon sunshine, she said: + +"May she run out into the garden whilst I tell you why I have come to +see you?" + +Fay had advanced, putting up her face to be kissed, but Miss Selkirk +did not kiss her. + +"I'll be most dreffully good," she assured her, "but I'd like to smell +the little daisies coming up on the grass." + +She was dismissed. + +And then Honor plucked up courage, and Miss Selkirk sat down on a chair +opposite her on the other side of the fireplace. + +"My husband has been obliged to go to Alaska for some months. We have +been out in America a good deal, and he has sent us home till he can +come to us." + +"Well?" + +The word was uttered sternly. + +For a moment Honor paused, then she moistened her dry lips and +continued: + +"We have been waiting in London for money, which he hoped to send us, +but he is unfortunately unable to send it yet. He suggested my coming +down to you. I thought of getting some cheap lodging in the country, +if—if you could advise—or recommend me one." + +There was dead silence. Then Miss Selkirk said: "And what money have +you to pay for it?" + +Honor drew out her purse impulsively and placed it in Miss Selkirk's +hand. + +"I am too desperate to be anything else but truthful," she said. "You +will find I have exactly nine shillings and fivepence there. The cab +here was more than I thought it would be." + +"Have you sent it away?" + +"Yes. If you cannot help us, I shall walk back to Exeter." + +"Go on with Alick's plans for you. You were to come here and ask me to +get you lodgings, knowing that the expense of it must fall upon me. +What else?" + +Honor's eyes filled with tears, but she made a brave effort to hide +them. + +"Miss Selkirk," she said, "I know how it must look to you, but Alick +will send money later—he must, he is bound to do so. I would repay you +every penny you lend me. Or if you knew any farmhouse where they would +take us in and trust us for a month, I think I should be able to earn +some money. I have done so in London. I came across such a nice woman +keeping a baby-linen shop—I am good at plain sewing, and before I came +away, she told me she thought she could supply me with some by post. I +don't come to you as an unprincipled beggar—" + +"It's a pity you did not stay in London if you could get work there." + +"I should have done so, but the rooms were so expensive, and Fay is +never well in town." + +"You look like a lady and speak like one," said Miss Selkirk in the +dry, severe tone she was adopting. "If you are an Englishwoman by +birth, I conclude you have some relations of your own. They are the +ones who should receive and advise you—not I." + +"Oh! I know how it must seem. I don't know what to do. May I tell you +about myself?" + +Miss Selkirk gave a stiff little bow, and Honor slowly began. + +"My father is Rector of a small country living. I have two young +brothers, a stepmother, and three little stepsisters. I left home +partly to help them by my salary, partly because my stepmother and I do +not hit it off together. But it was not my wish to leave. I loved the +parish and my father and all the children. I went to be a companion to +a Mrs. Montmorency, and we were staying in Scotland—" + +For the first time, a flicker of light flashed into Miss Selkirk's +sombre brown eyes. + +"Kate Montmorency—I have not heard of her for years. Then you were +staying close to Knockaburn?" + +"Yes," said Honor softly, as she recalled what Mrs. Montmorency had +told her about Margaret Selkirk; "and Alick came up to see his old +nurse. He wanted her to take charge of Fay; but she was dead, and—" + +"Oh, I can guess the rest," said Miss Selkirk grimly; "he came across +you, and thought you would answer his purpose instead." + +"He was lonely and bitter and miserable," said Honor in her calm, even +voice, "and he asked me to take pity on him and his child. And I felt I +could be a help and comfort to them, and so we married and went over to +the States." + +"And now he finds you a greater incubus than he bargained for, and +ships you and the child off to me. Oh, I know Alick well; he has not +altered with time!" + +"He wanted me to go to my people, but I cannot. My stepmother would +never receive me, and my poor old father would be ill with the worry +of it. I mean to be independent. It is only just now—just for a short +time—that I hoped you might see your way to advance me a little for +lodgings." + +"You would rather beg from a stranger than from your own father." + +Despair filled Honor's heart. She was past resenting Miss Selkirk's +tone. Wearily, she rose from her seat. + +"I am sorry," she said. "I thought I could but try to see you; I know I +have no claim upon you. Thank you for listening to me. We will go back +to Exeter." + +"And what will you do there?" demanded Miss Selkirk indignantly. +"Disgrace our name by begging from some other strangers?" + +A little flash of spirit shot into Honor's tired eyes. + +"No," she said; "what my husband's sister has refused to lend me, I +will take from no one else." + +The two women stood facing each other, and then the critical situation +was interrupted by the drawing-room door opening and Fay's rosy face +appearing. + +"Please, mummie, may I speak to my Aunt Marget?" Then, catching hold of +Miss Selkirk's dress, Fay lifted an excited little face to her. + +"Do you know, it's a most 'strordinally thing? Out there, under a tree, +is an old blind mole, quite dead, poor thing! And by his side is a +little dead mouse. Do you fink they was friends? And which died of the +broken heart last? Do you fink the mole did? I wish you'd come and see +them, Aunt Marget. Or do you really fink it would be from fighting each +other that they died? I do wish daddy was here to tell me." + +Not a muscle moved in the rigid, determined face looking down upon the +eager child. But drawing her gown out of the little clasp, she turned +to Honor: + +"Sit down, Mrs.—Mrs. Selkirk. I have not doubted your story; this child +is too like her father for that. I will come back in a few minutes." + +She left the room. + +Honor took Fay's hand in hers. + +"Fay, we must walk back into Exeter. My head feels so tired that I am +not sure what we shall do when we get there. But perhaps, after all, I +must write or wire to my father. I don't know how he'll manage, but he +may be able to send me something—I must do something—I wish I did not +feel so faint. It is this room—the warmth—I shall be better in the open +air." + +She leant back against the cushion behind her, and turned so white that +Fay looked frightened. But she had seen Honor faint more than once +lately, and was strangely old in some ways. + +"Never mind, mummie, you'll be better soon; I'll fan you with this +newspaper. It's becorse you made me eat all your sandwiches! There! +Don't you feel better? Shall I get some water?" + +Honor pulled herself together with considerable effort. + +"I think I shall be better in a minute, darling. Don't fan quite so +quickly. You make me giddy." + +"It's a most lovely garden, mummie. And there's a big room the other +side of a yard, and I looked inside, and it was full of boxes of straw, +and then there's a door in a wall, and if you peep frough the crack, +you see a most beautiful big garden with great walls all round it." + +She stopped short, for Miss Selkirk had returned. + +"Look here, Mrs. Selkirk. I have been talking with my old servant. I +live here in a very quiet way, and at present have no visitors coming +to stay with me. I have quite made up my mind that I will not lend you +any money. That I would never do on principle, but for the present, I +will take you in as a guest, you and the child." + +Honor could hardly believe her ears. "But do you realise," she said, +"what a burden I may be? I never—believe me, thought that you would—" + +Again, a deadly faintness seized her. + +Fay sprang forward. + +"Sit down, mummie dear. I'm sure it's your sandwiches which I ate. You +always do die away when you won't eat!" + +Honor reseated herself and looked appealingly up at Miss Selkirk. + +"I realise everything," that lady said a little bitterly, "more than +you do yourself, I expect. Christine is lighting the fire in the spare +room, and I think you had better come straight away to bed. There is a +little dressing-room where the child can sleep. Have you no luggage?" + +"I left it all in the cloakroom at the station," said poor Honor, +feeling hardly sure whether this was a dream or not. + +"I will send my groom for it. Come this way. The child had better stay +here." + +"Or in the garden?" suggested Fay cheerfully. "I'm so 'strordinally +int'ested in that little mole and mouse. May I bury them? And I promise +you I won't make a noise about it, or beat a drum for the 'Dead March' +like daddy and me does sometimes when I bury blackbeetles." + +"You can run out into the garden for the present," said Miss Selkirk, +leading the way upstairs. + +"I am only a little tired," said Honor apologetically. + +But Miss Selkirk made no reply, only ushered her into a comfortable +room with a fire beginning to burn, and Christine busy putting clean +sheets into a big four-post bed. + +She left her there. + +And when Honor turned to the old servant, saying, "I'm afraid I am +giving you a lot of trouble," Christine suddenly turned and stood very +upright before her. + +"I kenned Mr. Alick, mem, when he were a boy. I'm proud to wait on his +lady. And if bairns' voices ring about this hoos, it'll be a glad day +for the mistress and us a'." + +A sob came into Honor's voice. + +"Oh, it is good of you!" + +She could say no more. She was worn out by the strain of the last +twenty-four hours. A short time after, she was lying between the +lavender-scented sheets, and Christine was holding a basin of strong +soup upon a tray before her. Miss Selkirk did not do things by halves, +and she had seen with her keen eyes that Honor's exhaustion was chiefly +owing to lack of food as well as fatigue. + +As Honor lay sipping her soup, she felt new strength and life come back +to her. The flickering of the fire, the cooing of some wood-pigeons +outside, and the distant bleating of young lambs in the meadows soothed +and comforted her. She felt no anxiety about Fay, because she knew she +would win her way with anyone, and soon, tired and almost happy, she +fell asleep. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +MOTHERHOOD + + "'Lo! At the couch where infant beauty sleeps, + Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; + She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, + Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes, + And weaves a song of melancholy joy— + 'Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy; + No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine; + No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine; + Bright as his manly sire the son shall be + In form and soul; but ah! more blest than he! + Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love at last + Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past— + With many a smile my solitude repay, + And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away.'" + CAMPBELL. + +MEANWHILE, downstairs Fay was having tea in the drawing-room with her +aunt. She came in from the garden when she was called, rubbing her wet +little red hands with her handkerchief. + +"I'm quite tidy still," she informed Miss Selkirk in her cheerful +little voice; "I muddied my hands over the grave, and then, I washed +them in a lovely tank of water outside the stable. Is mummie better?" + +"Your mother is in bed. You must sit still on that chair and not make +any crumbs." + +Fay was most anxious to oblige. She handled her bread and butter most +carefully, but her tongue could not keep silent. + +"I do like this house very much," she said. "Are we going to sleep here +many nights? I was finking I could show you how to play cat's-cradle +after tea—if you was dull, I mean. Would you like to try? It's very +easy. Daddy and me does it wonderful." + +"How long has your father left you?" + +"He put us on the ship, you know. He didn't leave us. We lefted him. +Poor daddy! It's a drefful sad fing for him to be left without his +little girl! And mummie too—that's a dreffuller thing. I used to live +alone with him once upon a time, you know, before we knowed mummie. It +was rather uncomfable, 'cause daddy couldn't mend my stockings, and my +curls was so tangly him and me used to give up the comb and take to +the brush, and that mummie says is very bad for a child's head. Poor +mummie! She does miss daddy so much, and so do I. But, you see, I've +got her, and she's got nobody." + +A pause, then: + +"Do you know, Aunt Marget, I fink if you was to ask me, I could say +'Yes' to that nice currant cake." + +It says much for Miss Selkirk's imperturbability of spirits that +never a smile came to her lips as her small niece chatted on. Fay was +perfectly oblivious of the gravity of her aunt. She enjoyed her tea +thoroughly. And then getting off her chair, remarked: + +"I fink I had better go to mummie. I know she's rather troubled about +us. And I'll tell her to go to sleep, and I'll say 'God bless you,' +like she does me. You're quite sure we shan't have to go away before +to-morrow?" + +"If you are a very good little girl," said Miss Selkirk, "you shall +stay some weeks with me, and your mother too." + +"I fink I'm good nearly always," said Fay, balancing on one foot and +looking up into her aunt's face thoughtfully, "but the devil seeks me +pretty often, you know. The Bible says so, and when he roars at me to +run and hide when I'm out of doors, and mummie calls me—well then I do +it! He's so tarsome when he roars!" + +She pattered out of the room after this speech. + +And Miss Selkirk sat and looked into her fire, for she knew that she +had undertaken no light charge when she had offered Honor and Fay a +home, and she could not yet get accustomed to the ways of such a child +as Fay. + + +After a long night's rest, Honor was wonderfully refreshed and rested. +Old Christine's kindness had comforted her much. + +And when she came downstairs the next morning, and Miss Selkirk +expressed surprise at seeing her down to breakfast, she said: + +"I do not give way as a rule. It is not often I feel so done for as I +did yesterday." + +After breakfast, as it was a bright morning, Fay was turned loose in +the garden again. She was already the greatest friends with all the +servants. She had invaded the kitchen and shaken hands with the old +cook and the young housemaid, informing them that she meant to have a +kitchen of her own when she grew up and cook all day long. She had been +taken by Isaacs the groom to see the fat grey pony in the stable, and +the Irish terrier, who loved the pony better than anyone else in the +world. And now that she was well out of the way, and Honor employed +with the needlework that was seldom out of her hand, Miss Selkirk began +to talk about her brother. + +She pointed to the picture of Knockaburn which hung on the drawing-room +wall over her davenport. + +"He sold the old place," she said bitterly, "which had been ours for +eight generations, and he sold it as he might an old coat—glad to get +rid of it at any price." + +"He was not happy there," said Honor; "he had had an unhappy boyhood, +and that is a thing that one never forgets. He said it had been a +prison to him." + +"He was not a true Selkirk; he had some of the flighty blood of our +father's mother, who was French. My mother tried so hard to train him +up into a sober, stolid Scotsman. But she felt, poor thing! before she +died, what a failure she had made of it. Alick will never do anything +all his life but please himself. Easy, happy-go-lucky, and thriftless +he will always be. He killed his first wife by neglect. I heard that +much from people who knew them. When he wanted to get rid of Fay, he +married you to look after her. Now that you are not able to go round +with him and wait on him hand and foot, he ships you off for someone +else to look after. By and by, if it suits him, he will come back to +you again. If it does not, he will stay away. And if you are not able +to support yourself independently of him, it will be a bad outlook for +you." + +"Oh," cried Honor, "you are hard—hard! He has never said one unkind +word to me. He and his child are devoted to each other. I own he is +thoughtless. He seems to have no idea of money, or of what it costs to +live; but he is a good father, and he has been a good husband to me. If +he did choose me to be a mother to his child, rather than to be a wife +to himself, I do not complain. I feel the time will come when he will +want a home, and will come back to me for it. He is absolutely faithful +to me. He never looks or cares for the friendship of women. He is +bitten with the mania for speculating in a variety of investments all +over the world, and he loves travelling and men's society. You may have +seen his worst side as an impatient, restless young man, but I have +seen his better side, and I know that as time goes on, he will want a +woman's sympathy and tenderness to help him through life." + +"And his child will grow up like him," said Miss Selkirk bitterly. "She +has his flighty, restless ways." + +"No, no," cried Honor hotly. "Fay is a darling. I will not give her +the training her father had. That was his ruin—suppression on every +side. I shall train Fay up in fearless freedom if I can. She is a +warm, tenderhearted child, unselfish, and clever and original. I have +studied her, and I know her, for I love children. She is the joy of +her father's heart, and I am sure she is of mine. Wait a little, Miss +Selkirk, and you will find yourself losing your heart to her before +long." + +"I never understand children, and never shall." + +Miss Selkirk set her lips grimly as she spoke. If she did not care for +Fay, she certainly began to like Honor. + +Honor's extreme quietness and unselfishness could not but be +appreciated by the rugged Scotswoman. Though Miss Selkirk rarely +smiled, her tone became milder and more sympathetic when she addressed +her sister-in-law, and Honor learnt to understand that her severe +demeanour sometimes hid a kind heart. + +That day Honor wrote to her father and to Pauline. Pride had prevented +her from doing this before when her purse was empty and she was +homeless. + + +And on the following day, her baby was born. The quiet household of +Miss Selkirk was much excited over the event. + +Fay wondered much over the strange nurse and doctor who came to the +house, and when eventually Miss Selkirk told her the news, the child +stared at her with open mouth and eyes. + +"A little baby brother! Who gived him to me?" + +"God has given him to your mother. You must be a good girl, and give +no trouble. No, you cannot go up to your mother. She must not be +disturbed." + +"Is he a tiny little baby? Do tell me. How did he come? I finked last +night I heard a baby cry outside the windows, only Christine telled me +it was owls. I 'spect it was him, poor little fing, flying round and +tapping at the windows to get in, and then mummie opened hers. He did +come down from heaven, didn't he? Oh, I want to see him dreffully." + +"You will see him to-morrow, if you are good." + +Poor Fay found it hard to be patient. She missed Honor intensely; and +Miss Selkirk did not know how to talk to children. But she did her +best, even to going to visit Fay after she was in bed, which Honor +invariably did. + +"Are you asleep, Fay?" Miss Selkirk asked, seeing only the top of a +curly golden head above the bedclothes. + +With a wriggle and a sigh, Fay raised herself in bed. + +"Come here, Aunt Marget. Put your finger on my pillow here—just +here—now what do you feel?" + +Fay's tone was solemn and mysterious. + +"I feel nothing," said Miss Selkirk; "it is a hot little pillow, and a +trifle damp." + +"Yes," said Fay, nodding her head with an important, rather pleased +smile on her face; "it's a tear place. I've been dropping kontities of +tears, Aunt Marget, quite quietly, but they comed out of me because I +can't see mummie and I feel so alone." + +"You must learn to do without your mother," said Miss Selkirk gravely. +"You are not a baby, and she will not be able to give you so much +attention now as she has done. Your little brother will take up all her +time." + +"But she might let me see her just to say good-night and God bless you." + +A little sob was rising in Fay's throat. + +"I'll send Christine to you," said Miss Selkirk hastily, dreading a +scene, and she left the room. + +Christine came and took the child in her arms. + +"There, my bonny bairn, go ye to sleep. Your mither will be seein' ye +in the morn. She's verra weak and ill, dearie; that's why she canna see +ye the night. But 'tis a mercy she came through so weel. An' the baby +is healthy tho' sma'." + +"Is mummie ill? Nobody telled me that. I'll go to sleep, Christine. I +wouldn't disturb her for all the world." + +And Fay turned over and laid her head upon her pillow, relieved to find +that it was not neglect but illness which kept Honor away from her. + + +She crept into Honor's room on tiptoe the next morning. + +"Are you really better, mummie dear? You're sure I didn't make you ill +by eating your sandwiches in the train?" + +Honor smiled, and put her hand on Fay's curls. + +"No, darling," she whispered. "I shall soon be well, I hope. Be a good +girl, and now look at baby." + +She pulled down a bit of the sheet, and Fay looked in awe at the tiny, +red, puckered face of the new arrival. + +"He's like a doll. Oh, mummie, I really fink I can take care of him for +you—may I? I should like to carry him." + +But the nurse came forward and told her she must go out of the room, +and Fay obediently went. The event was so unexpected and so strange +that it quite bewildered her. + +And Honor lay weak and happy and grateful beyond words to Miss Selkirk +for taking her in at such a time. + +In a few days, she was able to talk about the future, which began to +press heavily upon her. + +"I must write to Alick," she said. + +"You need not," was Miss Selkirk's quick reply. "I have done so myself. +I want him clearly to understand that I will not relieve him of his +responsibilities towards wife and children. So I have told him that I +am only keeping you till you get strong again." + +"Yes," assented Honor quietly. "I quite understand that. But, Miss +Selkirk—" + +"You had better call me Margaret." + +"I will. I am wondering if you would mind finding me cheap country +lodgings near here. Of course, if you would rather I was not in your +neighbourhood, I can go elsewhere. But I have always heard that +Devonshire is cheap for living, and I should not then have the expense +of travelling. I will get some work from that woman in town. It seemed +so strange the way I went in. I saw a baby's nightdress in the window, +and I was making mine. I saw that my waist was too low down, and I +just stepped in to ask the woman if she would let me measure mine by +it. That was the beginning. She admired my work, and then told me +that a sister of hers who had always helped her with her orders had +just married and left her. And somehow or other I told her how I was +circumstanced. She gave me some work at once, and I believe she would +always keep me busy, for she has continual orders for layettes. Don't +you think I may be able to support myself and the children till I hear +from Alick?" + +Honor looked so white and frail, and yet so eager, that Miss Selkirk +was touched. + +"You needn't worry over lodgings or work at present." + +"But I cannot let you have the expense of the nurse and the doctor. It +is very good of you to do as much as you are doing. I really mean to +repay you if I can." + +"We will let Alick do that." + + +The news of Honor's return and the birth of her boy came with startling +force to the Rectory. Pauline met the Rector in the afternoon of the +same day in which he had received the account. + +"My poor girl!" he said. "We ought to have had her home, but my wife's +nerves are so bad that it would have been difficult. And, as she says, +we really have not room. Dear me! To think of me being a grandfather! +It is nice for Honor being with her husband's sister. She is no doubt +very comfortable there." + +Pauline wondered if Honor was so comfortable. Her little note to her +had been blotted and tear-stained. + + "Pray for me, Pauline. I may not live through it. I can't come home. +And I am grateful to Miss Selkirk for receiving me. The future looks +dull and hopeless, and my outlook is east, east, east! I can't bear up +against it. But God has not forsaken me. I don't deserve His care, but +He raised up help for me in London, and now again here—so I will trust +Him. If it was not for Fay, I think the best thing would be for me to +die." + +Pauline answered this lovingly and tenderly. She was rejoiced when she +heard again a fortnight later. + + "I am sitting up and so comfortable and happy. Oh, Pauline! How can I +describe my boy? I feel as if I have never lived till now. I have never +thought that I should ever have a little child of my own. I feel strung +up to do and dare and endure, for I have him to live for. Miss Selkirk +is a good, true friend, but of the rigid Scotch school, and cannot +understand our little Fay. I have a dream of a workman's cottage, and +of having the two children by myself. How happy I should be! But it is +a question of money. Oh, Pauline, do you ever wish for the superfluous +gold of the rich in our land? If only—But I won't complain. I wish +travelling were cheaper—I should like to see you so. But I have quite +come to the conclusion that I could not take a cottage near my home. + + "And, Pauline, I know you can keep a secret. I must earn money. If +you know of any way, tell it to me. But I cannot leave the children. +Needlework seems the only thing that I can do. How I should like to +show you my baby! They say he is small, but he is healthy, and has such +deep blue eyes, and a sweet, solemn little smile. As he lies in my lap +and looks up at me, he seems to say, 'I'm sorry for you, but it will be +my turn to help you by and by,' and I know and believe he will." + +So Pauline knew that Honor was happy in her baby, and though she felt +anxious at the apparent lack of money, she did not know the exact +circumstances, and had no idea that Honor was absolutely penniless. It +was well she did not know, for it was out of her power to help. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A BABY'S LIFEWORK + + "And was it meet, thou tender flower, on thy young life to lay + Such burden, pledging thee to vows thou never canst unsay? + What if thou bear the Cross within, all aching and decay? + And 'twas I that laid it on thee—what if thou fall away? + Such is Love's deep misgiving when, stronger far than Faith, + She brings her earthly darlings to the Cross for Life and Death." + KEBLE. + +IT was a sweet morning in early June. + +Honor sat in Miss Selkirk's drawing-room by the open window. Her +baby was in her lap, but she was stitching busily. Miss Selkirk was +gardening outside, and Fay was pretending to help her by carrying away +the weeds that she was rooting up from her rose beds. + +Honor heard their voices, and smiled at Miss Selkirk's grave, +matter-of-fact replies to Fay's erratic remarks. + +"I'm not putting the weedses on the bonfire, you know. I'm poking them +down a deep hole with their heads topsy-turvy, 'acause I don't want to +hurt the poor fings, and they will grow down to New Zealand, perhaps, +and then they'll come out the right way up, and I dessay there's many +poor children will be glad of some weeds in their gardings where they +haven't any grass. Do you know, Aunt Marget, there's places where daddy +has been that never grows no weeds nor nuffin'? It's all sand and sand +and sand." + +"That is desert," announced Miss Selkirk. "New Zealand has quite as +much grass as England." + +"Has it? I like sand better than earth, don't you? 'Acause it never +muddies you. And in Heaven, you know, the paths are made of sugar, no +sand or muddy earth at all. At least, I fink it is Heaven, or else it's +Fairyland. And now I'll go and help dear Isaacs to clean his harness. +Garding is tarsome when I feels so hot." + +She was off in a minute. Miss Selkirk looked in at the drawing-room +window. + +"There speaks her father," she said with her little bitter smile. +"Alick would never continue doing anything that was irksome to him." + +"Fay is very young yet," said Honor apologetically. + +"Not too young to be trained in habits of steadfastness of purpose and +self-denial." + +Honor made no answer. + +Then Miss Selkirk continued at her rose beds. And when her task was +finished, she came into the drawing-room and stood looking down upon +the sleeping baby in silence. + +"Do you mean him to be a second Alick?" she asked. + +"I shall not train him as Alick was trained," said Honor firmly. "Will +you never make allowances for him, Margaret?" + +"I know you think me hard, but he made my mother suffer, and I can +never forget that our old home is in the hands of strangers. There +was no need to sell it. Mother saved all her life, and denied herself +and us many pleasures, so that Alick should come into his inheritance +unencumbered by debt. And that is how he repaid her! Sold every bit of +it, with some of our priceless pictures and china, and has squandered +the money away on himself and his pleasures." + +Honor looked down upon her boy very thoughtfully. Then a pink flush +came into her cheeks, making her look almost pretty. She looked up at +Miss Selkirk with a sudden inspiration. + +"And his son, Margaret, shall buy that inheritance back. I mean it. +God willing, I will train him and teach him towards that end. It will +be his lifework. He shall bring back the old home to the Selkirks, and +you and I shall live to see it. I was thinking over his name—I want +to call him Victor. There is so much in a name; it will give him hope +from the beginning. And that is everything. If a child is taught from +his infancy that with God's help he can overcome, if he feels that he +is meant to be a victor over adverse circumstances, over trials, over +temptations, he will have courage and energy and hope, which is half +the battle." + +Miss Selkirk was astonished at the enthusiasm in the quiet Honor's +voice, but she was touched to the depths of her soul. She placed her +hand gently on the baby's head. + +"If he succeeds in righting what his father has done, he will have my +blessing now. Name him Victor, if you like. His father will not object, +I know. There was one Victor in our family many years ago." + +"I know. It is the name of one of the miniatures over the mantelpiece," +said Honor, pointing to them. "That is what made me think of it. I +think of so much as I sit and work here. I have all my life been so +fond of children that I can hardly believe I have now actually one of +my own. I want to make no mistakes in his training. I shall give him to +God, and I believe God will take him. His dedication will be no light +matter to me. I shall surround him with love, but from the first, I +shall make a strong point of self-denial, even self-sacrifice; only +I shall hope that love to God and love for his fellow-creatures will +be his motive power. He is a boy—not a girl. I want him to grow up an +upright, steadfast, courteous gentleman, in the true sense of the word. +And he shall reclaim his inheritance, if he works hard all his life to +do it." + +Honor spoke as if she were inspired, and Miss Selkirk's cold face +kindled and quickened at her words. + +"I shall hold you to your vow," she said; "and I will do all in my +power to help you in such a purpose." + +The two women looked down upon the child then in silence. The first +gleam of hope dawned in the rugged Scotswoman's eyes. Both she and +the mother let their thoughts run on to the future, when this atom of +humanity would be a power for good in the world. Miss Selkirk saw her +old home redeemed. Farther than that her thoughts did not go. Honor +saw a strong, honourable man influencing many for good, and using his +hardly earned inheritance as a trust from God. + +And the baby boy slept on, unconscious of the part which he was +ordained to play. + + +As the spring deepened into summer, Honor regained her health and +strength. She insisted upon taking the needlework with which her friend +in London supplied her. When Alick's remittance came at last, it was +only twenty pounds, and he did not say when he could send her any more. + +She wrote and told him of the birth of her boy. But he was not a good +correspondent, and it was a long time before she heard. Then his letter +was affectionate but vague. + + "I am glad you are near Margaret. She will look after you, but I quite +see with you that you ought to be in a home of your own. Get a cheap +furnished cottage. There are plenty of them; and then, when I can, I'll +join you. Don't expect too much from me. Several of my speculations +have failed. I'm an unfortunate beggar. Hope your son has been born +under a lucky star; his father wasn't. Kiss my girlie for me, and tell +her that I had a sledge ride yesterday drawn by six Eskimo dogs. I'll +send you a ten-pound note next time I write, but don't know when that +will be." + +Honor read this with a smile and a sigh. Miss Selkirk did not ask to +see it, but when Honor handed her the twenty pounds, she refused to +take a penny. + +"It will just clothe you and the children. What a foolish girl you were +to marry him!" + +She would not hear of her leaving her. + +"No; we have fitted in together very well. I was getting morose and +selfish. I like to have you with me. I know it is bad for Alick, but I +cannot help that. I don't think he would send you any more if you were +starving." + + +It was in June that Honor received a letter from her father, saying +that his wife was going away for three weeks to visit a cousin, and +she had suggested that Honor should come to the Rectory and look after +things while she was away. He told her that Mrs. Broughton would +arrange for the nursery governess to have her holiday at the same time. +Honor's eyes brightened. The thought of seeing her father and small +sisters in such a way filled her with delight. + +Miss Selkirk marvelled at her. She had heard a good deal about the +Rectory household. + +"Do you realise," she said, "that you have now two children of your own +to look after? How can you take charge of that household without the +governess or your stepmother to help you?" + +Honor laughed. + +"I shall find it nothing—nothing at all! Love makes all things easy, +Margaret." + +"They only ask you when they want to make use of you," said Miss +Selkirk. + +But she made no further objections, and saw Honor comfortably off in +the train from Exeter. + +It was a very happy home-going to Honor, as happy as her former visit +had been miserable. Her three little sisters welcomed Fay warmly, but +insisted upon her prefixing "Aunt" to their respective names. They +adored the baby, and clung round Honor's skirts as of old. Fay was at +first a little jealous. + +"She's my mother, and belongs to me. You talk me down, and I don't like +it." + +"She belongs to us; we knewed her before you was born," argued Chatty. + +"She's our sister," said Minnie; "that's much more close than a +stepmother." + +"Hush! Hush!" cried Honor. "I won't have quarrelling. We all belong to +each other." + + +It was not long before Pauline came round to see her. She found her in +the Rectory garden, surrounded by the children. + +"Why, Honor, this is like old times!" said Pauline as she kissed her +affectionately. + +"Yes, isn't it? We are going to have tea out here. Father will be in +directly. He is visiting a sick parishioner. Now, Pauline, look at my +boy." + +The young mother held out her baby, and Pauline took it into her arms +with tender, adoring eyes. As she stood there in the sunlight in her +white linen gown, looking down upon the infant, Honor said earnestly: + +"Oh, Pauline! If an artist could paint you! You look—well, almost like +the Virgin and Child. Oh! You ought to be a mother! You are more fit +for it than I!" + +"The same Honor as ever!" said Pauline, smiling at her. "Always +underrating yourself. Has your marriage not taught you differently?" + +Victor began to whimper. Honor took him back, then reseated herself +under an old chestnut tree, and pulled forward a chair for Pauline. + +"Talk to me," she said. "I seem to have had no one to whom I could +confide for years. I have longed for you so much, Pauline! No; I'm +not fit to be a mother. When my boy grows up, he'll think nothing of +me—no one does. I don't often think of myself, but I've been doing it +to-day. Even father said this morning, when Lady Marion Burke wrote a +note saying she was coming to see him to-morrow to talk over the school +treat and prizes: + +"'Dear, dear! I wish Emily was at home. I don't know how we shall +manage. She generally stays to tea, and I'm always glad of a woman to +discuss things with her.' + +"I suggested I should be here, and he said: + +"'Yes, yes, I know, my dear; but you never could entertain like +Emily—you haven't the manner.' + +"I suppose it is manner that I want. But all my life I have been so +accustomed to be considered a nonentity that I shall never be anything +else." + +"You are a married woman now," said Pauline brightly. + +"I know, but I don't feel I have the position of one—no home, my +husband away, and no money. There, Pauline! I'm telling you what I can +tell no one else! I'm simply a dependent on Miss Selkirk at present. +Alick is very badly off. It is very strange, but when I married him I +never thought I should have money troubles again. I took it for granted +that he had plenty. He hasn't enough to give us a home; and it is not +only myself that has to be provided for, but two children. Sometimes my +heart sinks within me. Why are things so different from what we expect?" + +Pauline was silent, and Honor continued: + +"I look back now and see the mistake I made. God moved too slowly for +me, and I thought I would manage better. Wasn't it strange? But at the +very time I was making up my mind that they had filled up my place at +home, and would never want me any more, Miss Paton was just leaving, +and father was writing me a letter to tell me they wanted me back +again. Pauline, if I had got that letter a day sooner, I should not +have married." + +"You told me you were trying to alter your eastern path a little," said +Pauline slowly. "I did feel for you so much, but I think if you had +waited, you would have had more sunshine." + +"I have been waiting for sunshine all my life," said Honor, a hint +of passion in her tone. "I know now that I shall never get it—only +gleams—and it is always, 'always' tempered with east wind." + +Then, after a pause, she added: + +"I must speak out to you, Pauline; you don't know the infinite relief +of it. I am so bitterly disappointed that I can influence my husband +so little. It was my one hope. He really did want me, and I thought +that perhaps I could lead him to value heavenly things more and earthly +things less. Instead of which, I seem to have lost a good deal of my +own faith and trust in God, and he has not changed in the least. I have +not the personal or spiritual power to influence a man for good. I see +it now. It's all so different—so very different—from what I thought." + +"Well, Honor dear, remember Christian in the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' He +took a by-path, and got into the clutches of Giant Despair, but he +found his way back to the right path again, and you can follow his +example." + +"Yes," said Honor, softly; "I have come back, but there are some things +that one cannot undo. There is my baby, Pauline. How will he grow up? +Why should I think he will be different from his father? Why should I +hope that I can train him for heaven when his father may wish to train +him for earth? It is true I have prayed—I have dedicated him to God—but +I have had terrible doubts lately that perhaps God will use him to be +my punishment. + +"And now, when I am with you, I begin to feel that perhaps the vow +I made about making him win back the inheritance which his father +has sold may be wrong. I ought to be training him for his heavenly +inheritance instead. May I tell you about it, and about Miss Selkirk?" + +Poor Honor! Always naturally morbid and over-conscientious, she was +pouring out to Pauline now all the doubts and fears of her timid heart. +Pauline listened to the story of Knockaburn, of Alick's youth and +manhood, and she did not know which she pitied most—the sister or the +brother. When Honor had finished speaking, she said gently: + +"Honor, dear, you say you have learnt not to go in front of God. Leave +the future—even the matter of Knockaburn. Personally, I feel that it +would give a boy an impetus for work and self-denial that would be +good for him; but he is a baby at present. Train him to serve and love +God first of all—that is all you have to think about at present. If +your life is right with God, I think you are bound unconsciously to +influence your husband and children for good. Why should God use your +child to punish you?" + +"Oh!" cried Honor. "God used Absalom to punish David, and Jacob's sons +to punish him. I went against God like Balaam when I married—I know I +did." + +"But if you did, walk humbly now, and trust God as your loving Father, +remembering that— + + "'All things work together for good to them that love God.' + +"Whatever comes to you will come from a Father's hand. And I don't +think that hand will be ever too heavily laid upon you." + +Tears welled up in Honor's eyes. + +"Oh! I like to think of a parent's love now I have a child of my own. +You have done me a lot of good, Pauline. I have a great deal to thank +God for. And don't think that my husband is unkind or neglectful of +me. He is not that. He has never said one cross word since we have +been married. I think I can bear the separation better than most women +could. You see, a child is all in all to me—more than fifty husbands. +I am not the girl to attract and keep men's attentions and affections. +I mean, they like me more for what I do than what I am. You understand +the difference, don't you? I know my husband has a sincere regard for +me, and he is faithful to me. He never would be otherwise. But, as I +told his sister, men's society is more to him than women's, and I know +his Bohemian love of wandering will keep him away from me the greater +part of our lives. If I had a little home of my own, I should be +content and happy, but then that would be too much of a southern aspect +for me—wouldn't it?" + +She ended up with a little laugh, but Pauline felt near to tears, the +pathos of it touched her so. + +"I'm sure," Honor persisted, "I thrive best in a cutting wind, and, +as you say, I do get the sun with it. Now tell me about our southern +pilgrim. Where is she?" + +"Amabel? She had her baby a month or two ago. She writes very happily, +but her husband tells her mother that the doctor advises her coming +home for a year, and he is going to try and send her with the child +this coming autumn." + +"I should like to see her again. She is such a sunny-hearted creature +that I wonder how she will bear the separation from her husband." + +"She will feel it, but the joy of being with her parents will be +compensation. I'm afraid I must be going, Honor, dear. Will you come +round and see me if you can? Perhaps it is selfish to ask it, for you +must have your hands full." + +"I love managing a house," said Honor. "Of course I will. There does +not seem half so much to do as there used to be. This Mr. Danby seems +to do all the outside work. I hear he has started a village cricket +club." + +"Yes; he is very keen about it. It is the thin edge of the wedge to +establish a workmen's club before next winter sets in. He is a great +favourite with the villagers." + +"I should think so. Old Mary White came up to see me this morning. +I gave her some of baby's clothes to wash, and she said: 'We do be +hopin' Mr. Danby will be getting a wife soon. There be only one woman +good enough for him hereabouts, and he do see her pretty constant.' I +thought I must tell you." + +Pauline laughed merrily. + +"He is a pleasant acquaintance," she said. "He has brightened up some +of my dull days for me." + +"I should have thought from your face that you never could have a dull +day," said Honor. + +"Ah! This is one of my brightest days. Good-bye, dear. I haven't seen +your little stepdaughter. She is so engrossed in her play." + +Honor called Fay, who was busy at the other end of the lawn with +her little sisters, having a dolls' tea-party in a very earwiggy, +tumbledown summer-house. + +She came flying across the grass. + +"Yes, mummie, do tell me what you fink. Won't black tea make my +children see ghosteses? Daddy always says it will." + +"Shake hands with this lady, darling. She is my greatest friend, and +loves little children." + +Fay put out her hand and looked up a little shyly through her tangle of +golden curls into Pauline's smiling face. She was kissed at once. + +"Will you be friends with me?" asked Pauline. + +"Oh, yes; I isn't not friends with no one except the devil, and God +tells me to have nuffin' to do with him at all." + +"Then you must come and see me in my little house one day when mother +has time to bring you." + +Fay lifted up her face and spoke in a penetrating whisper. + +"And we'll leave those chillen behind," pointing to Honor's little +sisters. "They rather crowd me about, you know. I feel too full of them +when they're round me. And fancy! Isn't it 'strordinally? They don't +know anything 'bout the world. I telled them little England was just a +speck outside the land on the water. That's what it looks like to God +or to anybody standing at the top o' the world. Daddy 'splained it to +me, and Minnie said that England was the biggest country on earth. It's +rubbis' and nonsense, and so we kicked each other, but we're very dear +friends now." + +As she bounded away, Pauline looked at Honor with sparkling eyes. + +"There's a streak of sunshine you have with you perpetually, Honor!" + +"Yes, indeed; but, Pauline, she was my temptation. I would never have +married if it had not been for her." + +Pauline walked home wondering if Honor's rash step was going to cost +her dear, or whether it would ennoble and strengthen her character. She +saw a great deal of her during her visit home. + +And when the last days came, and Honor was bidding her good-bye, she +said to her: + +"Keep up your heart, Honor. I believe, if you will trust and not be +afraid, God has some good things in store for you." + +"When I look at you and realise what your life is and yet how happy and +courageous you are, I determine to follow your example," said Honor. "I +am going back to Miss Selkirk's stronger in every way for seeing you. +But, oh, Pauline I—don't laugh—you must marry and have children of your +own!" + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL + + "This fond attachment to the well-known place + Whence first we started into life's long race + Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, + We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day." + COWPER. + +THE little boys were in bed. Audrey was alone in the drawing-room +reading. Mrs. Bonar was dining with the Tates. + +It was about nine o'clock, and the long summer evening was only now +beginning to draw in. Audrey was just laying down her book, and +was leaning out of the window to inhale the scent of some climbing +heliotrope outside, when the maid appeared at the door. + +"A gentleman to see you, ma'am." + +Audrey rose, looking a little scared at seeing a tall, rather +feeble-looking man in a long overcoat standing on the threshold of the +door and staring at her in perfect silence. + +"I don't think I know who it is," she said, holding out her hand. + +"I suppose not. I should not have known you. Have you any recollection +of a brother?" + +"Bernard! Surely it cannot be Bernard?" + +"It is." + +Audrey darted forward impulsively, and held out both her hands. + +"How did you find me out? When did you come home? Why have you never +written to us? We thought you were dead." + +"I have been down home. I hoped I might find my mother alive; it was +rather a shock to find both the parents gone. I got your address from +old Blunt. I'm afraid you have been left badly off." + +"Very, but I am earning my own living, and very happy in the doing of +it. Tell me about yourself. Why did you never write us?" + +"I determined I would not till I had made my fortune. Foolish, perhaps, +but you get out of the way of writing after a bit. I always meant to +come home a millionaire, but I am not one yet, and am driven back by +illness. I have had rheumatic fever and am crippled in my limbs. They +say a course of baths will put me right again, but I don't know." + +"You are not married?" + +"Good heavens, no! I've been working too hard for that." + +"And you have been successful? Mother always said you would be. She +always believed in you." + +Her brother smiled, and his smile quite transformed him. + +"It was the thought of that and of her that kept me straight as a +youngster. No, I've kept clear of womankind, but I've a fancy to be +with them now. I've got a comfortable income. You will have to come and +keep house for me, Audrey." + +Audrey drew a long breath. Could she? She wondered, and then was +dismayed at her hesitation. + +"You're a stranger to me," she said at length, looking up into the big, +brown-bearded man's face, striving to reconcile him with the boy she +had quarrelled and played with in former years. "Suppose that we do not +pull together? I am my own mistress now, and accustomed to act freely +and independently." + +"Are you?" he said, a little sceptically. "I was told you were a +governess in a boys' school. I thought the sooner you were out of such +bondage the better." + +"Yes," said Audrey, half laughing; "I am a governess, but rather an +independent one, I consider. Oh, Bernard dear, forgive me for my +hesitation. You don't know how gladly I welcome you. But to have one's +whole life upset in a moment is rather a blow. Where are you staying? +Can I offer you some refreshment?" + +"No, none. I'm at the hotel in the neighbouring town. I'm walking back. +It's good for me, though I feel a veritable cripple. Well, we'll talk +over things to-morrow. You must get a day off and come over to me. I +have a lot of questions to ask, but it's getting late. I only arrived +about two hours ago, had some food and walked straight over." + +"I will come to you, then, to-morrow. There is much I want to say to +you. I'll walk a bit of the way with you now." + +A few minutes afterwards, Audrey was walking along the lane that ran +outside the schoolhouse, her arm linked affectionately in his. But +her heart was in a tumult. She did not want to go and live with this +strange brother. She loved her work and was happy in it. Why should +she be dragged away to another life which might not be a pleasant one? +Wives were bound to live with their husbands, but sisters were not +bound to brothers. And if he had lived all these years without her, why +should he demand her now? But she did not let him see her thoughts. As +they walked on in the dusk, Mrs. Ross met and passed them, and one or +two of the masters. They all said good-night, and looked with curiosity +at the tall figure beside her. + +At last, she turned. + +"I must go back, Bernard. I will come and see you to-morrow. What a lot +I shall have to tell you!" + +"And make arrangements to come to town with me as soon as you can. I'm +going to buy a small place somewhere in the country and settle down. +I've done my share of work, I consider, and am entitled to a bit of a +rest, and I shall never be an active man again, I fear." + +Audrey returned to the house feeling as if she were in a dream. + +"If Bernard had come home just after father's death, how thankful I +should have been! And, of course, his need of me is just the same, +though mine is not." + +She was so full of perplexity and doubt about it all that she felt +disinclined to talk it over with Mrs. Bonar, and retired to bed before +she came in. + + +The next morning, she told her of her brother's arrival, and Mrs. Bonar +promised to take her place and let her have a free day. + +So Audrey set off for the town, and spent a very pleasant day with her +brother, talking over old times and hearing his account of himself +abroad. + +They settled that Bernard should go to town and see a specialist about +himself. Then, if he was advised to do so, he was either to go to +Harrogate or some of the baths abroad, and Audrey was to join him as +soon as she could. + +"The summer holidays will be here in another six weeks. I will come +with you anywhere then. And that will be time enough to discuss our +future plans and whether I am to break with my work. Who knows? You may +pick up with a wife somewhere, and then you will not want me." + +This was Audrey's final word. And she returned to her work feeling that +for the present no definite decision need be made. + + +The next morning, she was in the playing-field with her small boys, +when Dr. Vernon came striding across to her. + +"I should like a few minutes' conversation with you, Miss Hume," he +said. + +Audrey looked up. She saw he was ruffled and wondered at the cause. + +"Come into the pavilion," he added peremptorily; "it is empty at +present." + +Audrey followed him in silence. + +Then he turned to her and spoke hotly. + +"I must ask you again, Miss Hume, to be more discreet in your +behaviour. I cannot bear, and will not have, the paltry, ill-natured +gossip that travels round in our community. This is not the first time +I have had to speak to you. I wish every member of my working staff to +be above and beyond reproach. You have a certain position here, and a +certain dignity to maintain. And when I hear it said that you wander +about in the lane after ten o'clock with your arm linked in an unknown +man's, I can only rejoin that you must be exceedingly careless and +thoughtless about appearances, or else quite unfit to be one of the +heads of my houses." + +Audrey's passionate temper rose at once. Dr. Vernon was quick-tempered, +and so was she. + +"I consider," she said, "that you have grossly insulted me. I suppose +I have to thank Mrs. Ross for this outburst. If you choose to ask Mrs. +Bonar about it, she will tell you who the unknown man was. I shall not +do so. But this has quite decided me to tell you now that I shall not +be returning here after the summer holidays. It is indeed bondage, and +bondage which I shall be glad to break. If you cannot trust me, and are +ready to believe the worst at once of everything you hear about me, +then the sooner I leave you, the better. I will say no more." + +She marched out of the pavilion with hot cheeks and angry eyes, feeling +she was leaving a crestfallen and discomfited man behind her. And yet, +when she got into the house, and was in the privacy of her bedroom, she +burst into a passion of tears. + +"I hate him! I don't want to go! It's a shame! But I have burnt my +boats. And I shall never alter my mind." + +It was not long before a written apology was brought her from the +doctor: + + "MY DEAR MISS HUME, + + "I ask your pardon, but why on earth didn't you tell me that it was +your brother? I had been vexed beyond measure by the way people were +talking of you, but I did not believe that you were in the wrong. I +hoped you would justify yourself at once. My hot temper prevented that, +I see. Please let us have a quiet talk together before you decide to +leave me. Can you come in this afternoon after four?—Yours sincerely, + + "E. VERNON." + +Then Audrey did what she regretted afterwards. She felt hurt and angry +still, and perhaps had a presentiment that a personal interview would +shake her present determination. So she wrote as follows: + + "DEAR DR. VERNON, + + "I accept your apology, but my decision still remains the same, and I +do not think we can better matters by discussion. The fact is that my +brother wishes me to make my home with him, and I have promised him +that I will do so. I join him directly school breaks up. I hope my +successor will be more discreet than I have been.—Yours sincerely, + + "AUDREY HUME." + +The next thing was that Miss Vernon came over to see her. + +"Now, you wicked young woman, why have you been wrangling with the +doctor? Have you not got over your fit of temper yet? This is the first +time I have ever interfered in school matters, but your note was a +distinctly nasty one to him, and unworthy of you. If you accepted his +apology, why did you twit him with your 'indiscretion'? Was not that +what he apologised for?" + +Audrey looked ashamed of herself. + +"He spoke to me as no gentleman ought to speak. I can't forget it." + +"Tuts! He has apologised. Both of you have fiery tempers, and yours is +the worst." + +"I believe it is," said Audrey; "for it lasts longer. I am very sorry, +Miss Vernon. I hate to leave for many reasons, but my brother wants me, +and I must go to him." + +"You will regret leaving us. Though I talk against our scholastic +atmosphere, it is a bright and breezy one, and you are too active by +nature to settle down contentedly with an invalid brother. Hasn't he a +wife? Is he too much of a crock to get one?" + +"He hopes to be cured by treatment, but it will take time. I dare say I +shall wish myself back, but for all that I am going, and I don't think +the doctor will be sorry. He doesn't trust me." + +Miss Vernon adjusted her glasses and looked keenly into Audrey's +flushed, quivering face. + +"That's the sting, is it? 'Faithful are the wounds of a friend.' You +are very fond of my brother." + +With which astounding statement, Miss Vernon marched out of the room, +and left Audrey feeling decidedly the worse for the encounter. + +She did not meet the doctor for some time after that. And when she did, +he said a few coldly pleasant words and passed by. + + +She wrote very often to her brother, who was now going through a course +of electric massage in town, and as the days began to slip by, Audrey +felt more and more unhappy. She loved her small boys, she loved her +work. + +And when the last day came, and she was packing up for good and all and +dismantling her pretty bedroom of its knick-knacks and pictures, she +was strongly inclined to sit down and cry. + +In the afternoon, in fear and trembling she went over to wish Miss +Vernon good-bye. And then came her final interview with the doctor in +his study. + +He was very grave and quiet, and Audrey diffident and nervous. + +"I wish you well in your new life," he said, after they had discussed +various business matters; "and I hope you will not find you have made +a mistake. Not that I am the one to keep you from your brother, for I +don't know what I should do without my sister. But after many years +in the Colonies, a man does not easily settle down to a quiet English +life. May I thank you now for the good services you have rendered to +the college? I venture to hope that up to recent events you have been +very happy with us?" + +"I have learnt as well as taught," said Audrey in a low voice, feeling +indignant with herself because tears would spring to her eyes. "Yes, I +have been very happy." + +"And we are parting friends?" + +Audrey looked up and met the doctor's wonderful smile. + +"Oh, yes! I was hasty—I own it—and I ought not to have shown such +temper, but that did not affect my resolve." + +"No; we must let you go your own way. But one day you will come back to +us." + +He said it with steady assurance. + +Audrey's eyes fell. "I don't think that is likely," she said. + +Dr. Vernon smiled again, then he gripped her hand. + +"God bless you, Miss Hume. Never get out of touch with One Who is +guiding you. 'Without Me ye can do nothing.' Good-bye." + +Audrey murmured the conventional words. + +But when she was driving to the station, her tears fell fast and +unrestrainedly. + + +She joined her brother in a quiet family hotel in London, and strove +that first evening to be her lighthearted self. + +"I have had two experiences of London now," she said, after the first +day was over. "My first one was so dreadful that I never wanted to be +in London again. Now I really think I shall enjoy it. Oh, Bernard, what +a blessing money is! As I walk through the streets, and see so many +pale, anxious faces, all engaged in the struggle to live, I wish I was +a millionaire so that I could place them beyond all trouble and worry." + +"They're a poor lot, as a rule—those millionaires," said Bernard +thoughtfully. "I've knocked up against a few. They're as hard as nails, +suspicious, and in many cases unprincipled. I've seen men work on till +they drop, when they have already enough to keep them in comfort, but +their ambitions were stronger than their bodies, and their aim was to +bank millions instead of thousands." + +"Money brings care, I suppose." + +"Rather! Women are really best off—if they only knew it—when they have +not the fingering of it." + +"Like myself," laughed Audrey. "But I loved quarter-day at Horsborough +College." + + +They stayed in London for a couple of months. And then Bernard felt so +much better that he began to talk of buying his country house. After a +great deal of discussion over climate and soil, he fixed upon a sandy, +bracing part of Hampshire, and then house-hunting began. Audrey, with +her usual keenness, threw herself into the subject with whole-hearted +vigour and energy. She interviewed agents, builders, and architects. +Finally, Bernard decided upon an old-fashioned farmhouse residence with +modern improvements. Audrey had at first imagined they would live in a +humble cottage on a comparatively small income. But when he informed +her he meant to get a motor, and after a good deal of inspection chose +a most powerful and luxurious one, she remonstrated. + +"Can you afford it, Bernard?" + +He laughed. + +"Yes, I mean to be comfortable. I always cut my coat according to my +cloth. You need not be afraid." + +"I am delighted. You will be able to take me down to see my +friends—Pauline and Honor and others." + +Audrey was only a young girl still. This phase of life gripped her and +held her. She had all her life had to go without pretty things, and +without the comforts of the wealthy. She began to ask herself soon +whether she would be growing lazy and self-indulgent, and she said +something of this sort to her brother one evening after dinner. + +"You see, Bernard, I have been seeing life so differently lately. I +will be quite frank with you. I was in religious doubt and difficulty +for a long time, and now I have been brought through it. I want to be +a true follower of Christ, and I have a horror of sitting down and +enjoying life in a selfish fashion." + +"You are like our mother." + +Mrs. Hume was still enshrined in her son's heart as the ideal Christian +woman. + +"Oh, I wish I was! But I must try to do some good wherever we go. I +won't use that expression, for I don't like it. I want to help others +to be truly happy." + +"Well, I give you leave to do that," said Bernard, with a +laugh—"beginning with me. And if you have conscientious scruples about +anything, speak out, and I'll respect them. Perhaps, like mother, you +will be demanding a tenth of my income for missions and charity. Do you +remember how she would set aside her tenth of the housekeeping, as she +could not get my father to see with her?" + +"How well you remember things!" exclaimed Audrey. "I think it would +be splendid if you did! There is such a lot of misery in the world to +relieve." + +She was touched to find how her mother's saintly life had influenced +her brother and impressed him all through his wanderings. And she began +to find, after several talks, that Bernard was not only interested in +the religious questions of the day, but deep down in his heart had a +reverence and love for his mother's God. + +The busy time of house-furnishing that followed filled her time and +thoughts. But on Sunday, Bernard kept to the old-fashioned way of +spending it at home quietly, going to church, and refusing even to use +his motor. Audrey was very thankful for this, and began to see that her +energy and strength and talents could all be employed for good in her +new life. She would be required to do nothing by her brother that would +be against her principles. But, in spite of her busy, pleasant life, +her thoughts and heart were still in Horsborough College. The very +sight of a schoolboy brought a lump to her throat. + +"Happy I am, and happy I mean to be," she said to herself. "I can't +think why I hanker so to be back. I must try to forget it all, as a bit +of my life that is over and done with." + +Yet that bit of her life remained with her and haunted her day and +night. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +TWO LETTERS + + "One last long sigh to love and thee, + Then back to busy life again." + BYRON. + +VERY gradually, but surely, Mrs. Erskine grew worse, so gradually that +Pauline hardly realised the decline day by day. She left her mother +less and less, for Mrs. Erskine became restless and irritable, and +never seemed comfortable if Pauline were out of the room. The doctor +strongly advised a nurse, but this Mrs. Erskine resisted as long as she +had strength to do so. + +"You are killing your daughter," the doctor said to her one day. "It is +against human nature to go without sleep. She gets no rest by day or +night." + +"If you come up to my room to fight me, I will not have you visit me at +all," said the sick woman. + +But as her strength waned, she grew gentler, and when the nurse was at +last established, she hardly noticed her. She became unconscious, and +only had short intervals when she knew her daughter. One of these—the +last one—was a very precious one to Pauline. + +"Pauline," she murmured, "are you there?" + +In an instant, Pauline was bending over her. + +"I thought I saw your father in the room." + +"Did you, mother dear?" + +"I think—I feel—very ill. You have been a good daughter. There's one +thing I'm sorry for—but I can't remember what it is. It comes to me in +the night. You are in it—but I only know I'm sorry." + +Pauline had never heard the expression "I'm sorry" on her mother's lips +before. + +She bent and kissed her tenderly. + +"It is all right, mother dear; don't think about it. Are you +comfortable? Shall I read you a few verses from the Bible?" + +"Yes, at once." + +Mrs. Erskine's eyes looked up pathetically into her daughter's. She was +fast slipping away into the silent land, and seemed to know it. + +Pauline took her mother's Bible which usually lay on the little table +near the bed. + +Mrs. Erskine's religion had always been a silent, reserved one, but +she never failed to have a portion from her Bible read to her when she +could not read it herself. Pauline began to read the hundred and third +Psalm. When she came to the verse,— + + "He hath not dealt with us after our sins,—" + +Mrs. Erskine put up her hand. + +"That's enough," she said. "Ask Him to make that true." + +Her voice was so low that Pauline bent her ear to catch the words. She +lay partly sleeping after that, and was never conscious again. + +For three days and nights Pauline and the nurse took it in turn to watch +by her bed. + +And then, the end came quietly and peacefully about five o'clock in the +morning. She just slept away, and Pauline could hardly realise that it +was all over. The tending and nursing and watching had been so continuous +for so many years that now she looked up into the nurse's face and said +blankly: + +"But can I do nothing? What can I do with myself?" + +"Go to bed and to sleep," said the nurse; "and you will find there is +plenty to do when you wake. I will see to everything at present. You +look worn out." + +Pauline went to her bed with a stunned feeling in her head. But sleep +came to her, and though she only slept for three or four hours, she +woke feeling ready for all that was before her. + + +Her mother's lawyer came down from London, and practically did all +business matters for her. Everyone was very kind. Mrs. Daventry tried +to take her away from the cottage, but she would not go. The Rector +called several times, and Mr. Danby sent her a characteristic note: + + "MY DEAR MISS ERSKINE, + + "Well, the silver cord is loosed, and the golden bowl is broken, and +your head is bowed over the doing of it. What can I say? As well may +an oil lamp tell the sun how to shine as I try to comfort you with +the platitudes of consolation! I will not make the attempt; you are +high enough up from our earthly atmosphere to be in touch with the +heavenly, and you will get your comfort from above, not below. Why +should I assure you of my sympathy? What good can it do you? But if I +can do anything practically to show my friendship for you, give me the +pleasure of doing it. + + "Yours to command in sorrow as well as in joy, + + "FRANK DANBY." + +Just a few of Pauline's friends gathered with her round her mother's +grave. Audrey and her brother, Mr. Danby, Mrs. Daventry, the doctor and +lawyer; but there were many of the village people there, for little as +they had known Mrs. Erskine, her daughter had won their respect and +love. + +And after it was over, Pauline went back to the empty house, there to +talk over money matters with the lawyer, who was her mother's executor, +and face her future. + +"You will be able to count upon having about three hundred a year," he +told her. + +And Pauline gave a sigh of relief. At least she would be saved from +want. + +"Have you no relations?" he asked her presently. + +"Only a cousin in London. She was unable to come to the funeral, but +she asks me to go up to her and stay with her for a little." + +"I should if I were you, and then take my advice—get rid of the +cottage. It is in a damp, cheerless spot. You have been tied here so +long, why not go abroad for a bit? It would do you a world of good. Get +some bright companion to go with you." + +"I cannot decide anything in a hurry," Pauline told him. "I feel like a +rudderless boat adrift in the open sea." + +"You have my address. Let me know if I can do anything for you. +Meanwhile, let us tackle some of your mother's business papers. I think +you will find them all in order." + +They had a busy couple of hours together. Then he left her, and Pauline +went up to her mother's room to look through her private davenport that +always stood in the window. It was sad work. + +As she sat down, she started more than once, expecting to hear +the usual call from the bed behind her. She unearthed many little +treasures—a miniature of her father when a boy, a photograph of herself +as a baby in long clothes, a packet of letters when her father was +courting her mother, some faded flowers, and two or three old ball +programmes belonging to her mother as a girl. Then, in a little locked +drawer, she came upon two letters which drove every vestige of blood +from her face and made her heart almost stand still. + +The envelope that first stared her in the face was addressed to +herself. And when she opened it, with fear and trembling, she found +it was a proposal of marriage, to herself from Justin Pembroke. The +ink was yellow and faded; it was dated about twelve years previously, +almost directly after that eventful visit of hers to London, and +immediately after her father's death. + +Mechanically, she unfolded the other letter. It was in the same +handwriting and addressed to her mother, but dated about a fortnight +later. This was the letter: + + "DEAR MRS. ERSKINE, + + "I feel I must write a line to you, as from what you told me, your +daughter does not wish me to communicate with her at all. I am sorry +for her ill-health, but I hoped—oh, how I hoped!—she would have let me +try to comfort her. I sail for South Africa next week. If before that +time, you see any signs of her change of mind—girls do not always know +their own minds at once—may I beg you to let me have a line? + + "It was a bitter disappointment to me not to see her when I came down +the other day. But I could do no other than accept the explanation +you gave me and respect her wish. I feel, if she would only see me +personally, I should perhaps be able to persuade her to listen to me. +I know it is soon to worry her after her father's death. I would not +have obtruded myself so soon into her presence, but I have such a short +time left before I leave England, and I did think in town that I had a +chance of winning her. I am not one who changes with time. She has made +such a deep impression upon me that I am convinced no other woman will +ever take her place in my heart.—Believe me, yours sincerely, + + "JUSTIN PEMBROKE." + +Pauline bowed her face in her hands. It was a bitter, crushing +revelation to her. + +The mother, now cold in the grave, had cruelly deceived and defrauded +her of the most precious thing in a woman's life. Her lover had spoken, +had written to her, and she had purposely been kept in ignorance of +it. She looked back to that dreary time after her father's death. She +remembered a sick headache confining her to bed one whole day, and she +could only conclude that Justin had arrived on that day, determining +to follow his letter, and discover why she had not answered it. Her +mother always had the letters taken to her room the first thing in +the morning. She must have abstracted his first letter, perhaps from +curiosity, perhaps from suspicion, and deliberately read it and kept it +from her daughter. + +"Oh, mother! How could you? How could you treat me so?" + +It was a heart-breaking cry—not so much because it had spoilt her +life, as because her mother's character had suffered so much by the +transaction. + +Pauline was the soul of honour herself. She had known her mother do +many unkind, selfish acts, but never a dishonourable one. Then she +tried to make excuses for her. + +"I suppose she was desperate at the thought of my being taken away +from her as well as my father. Her mind must have been unhinged by his +death. She never could bear to be alone. A lonely life—the very thought +of it would be terrible to her. She could not have meant to spoil my +whole life by such an act; she did not realise what she was doing. Yet +why has she kept this from me all these years? She might have told me +afterwards. I wonder if she remembered what she had done? I wish she +had not kept these letters. If only I had been kept in ignorance, it +would have been better. And yet—and yet—oh, Justin, you stole my heart, +and I thought you had played with it! What injustice I have done you!" + +Passionate tears fell; the serene, courageous Pauline for once lost +her self-control. The very depth of her feelings about most things +proved in this matter to overwhelm her. Twelve years had slipped away +since her first dream of love had visited her, for fully half that +time, she had striven to crush what she considered immodest thoughts, +and suppress the love that had risen in her heart for one who had not +returned or claimed it. Gradually, time had helped her to be resigned, +but never entirely to forget. And the sudden and fleeting glimpse she +had of him at Lady Marion Burke's "at home" had roused and quickened +again the old pain. + +"Of course," she argued with herself, "it has been all for the best. I +could not have left my mother, and it would not have been fair to keep +him waiting all this time. But it does seem bitterly hard that I should +have been kept in ignorance of his letter and visit all these years." + +Pauline was no stoic. She suffered acutely as she sat in her mother's +room, and for a moment rebelled against her fate. Then her strong faith +and trust in the One Who had her in His loving keeping sent her to her +knees, and brought her out of that room an hour later with shining eyes. + +She had a great deal to do and arrange, but every now and then, from +the habit of long years, would find herself starting and listening for +her mother's call to her. Old Mary added her persuasions to that of the +lawyer. + +"You must get out of this cottage, miss. I'll come with you anywhere if +you'll have me. I know I'm not so young as I was, but there's work left +in me yet." + +"I couldn't live without you, Mary," said Pauline tenderly. "And I +think I may be able to have a small girl to help you in the housework. +But where to settle I know not. I think I must run up to town and talk +over things with Cousin Bertha." + +Mary put her hand on her arm. + +"Miss Pauline, take care! She'll be wanting you to live with her, and +then it will be all the nursing and tending over again. You have had +too much of it. You must have a bit of ease and pleasantness in your +life now. You aren't very old, the youth has been quenched out of you. +Don't you go near Mrs. Repton. Who wouldn't want to have you and keep +you, I'd like to know?" + +"Oh, you ridiculous old woman! I'm not so valuable a treasure as that. +Mrs. Repton has her own circle of friends and relatives independent of +me. She is only a distant cousin, remember!" + +Mary shook her head and said no more. + + +A fortnight afterwards, Pauline left her in charge of the cottage, +and went to London. There she stayed three weeks, feeling rather like +a recluse would do were she suddenly plunged into the gay world. Her +cousin was very good to her, but was a little intolerant of her deep +mourning. Mrs. Repton's house was full of visitors from morning to +night, as she was both hospitable and popular. She was disappointed +that Pauline would not go out into society, for she was proud of her +beautiful young cousin, but no word was said about prolonging her visit +when the three weeks were over. + +"You must come to me again, my dear, when you are out of mourning. +People do not stay in for very long now. And then I will take you out +and about. And we will brighten you up a little, and give you a wee +bit more style. Oh! You have perfect manners and movements and all +that, but you bear the stamp of the country. You cannot help it. I +only marvel that you can hold your own amongst us as you do. Your life +for the last ten years must have been spent in a prison. Where are you +going to live? Why not come up to town and have a tiny flat? There are +some to be had quite cheap. You were fond of art once. Why not go in +for painting again? A woman with a hobby is quite the fashion nowadays." + +"No," said Pauline, with firm conviction; "a town life will not suit +me. I must have my small home in the country." + +"But not in the winter, surely? Come to town for this winter. If you do +not like to be too gay, there is plenty of quiet amusement for you in +town." + +"I believe," said Pauline, laughing, "I am too old for this present +age. I feel I don't want to be amused. I have got past it." + +She returned home one fine autumn afternoon. The glowing tints of trees +and hedgerows delighted her as she walked from the station, and meeting +Mr. Danby, she cried exultantly: + +"Oh! Isn't nature rich and sweet after town? It gives me quite a throb +of joy to be in it again!" + +"You are not in love with town?" + +"No," she said gravely; "I have seen, of course, only the light side of +life. My cousin is what people call a thorough little 'society woman,' +and her society makes me feel a prig. I am not comfortable in it. I +told her I was too old for it. It all seems to me so empty, so mundane, +so childish. The fault is in myself, I expect. I am like a fish out of +water." + +"My dear Miss Hume, it's like a swallow being condemned to live the +life of a snail—your soul is up and beyond it all." + +"That sounds like one of their speeches," said Pauline, with twinkling +eyes. "Everyone pays compliments, but it isn't like you, Mr. Danby. I +hope my soul will never be above my surroundings unless they are sinful +ones. I have a horror of people who are up in the clouds all day." + +"I am rebuked. But the country will have you and not the town? For that +I give hearty thanks! And now, where are you going to settle? We are +all determined that you shall not leave this neighbourhood, if we have +to build you a house here." + +"Oh, I don't like new houses. Mrs. Daventry wrote to me the other +day telling me of a small farmhouse that was empty. I don't know, of +course, whether the rent would be within my means." + +"I know it. John Dodds died the other day. It belongs to Mrs. Daventry." + +"Yes; she says the farmer close by would take over some of the farm +buildings and the land, as he wants to enlarge his farm. I am going +over to look at it with Mrs. Daventry to-morrow." + +"But you won't live there alone?" + +"Why not? I am alone in life. I must have a home." + +[Illustration: "BUT YOU WON'T LIVE ALONE," SAID MR. DANBY. "WHY NOT?" +REPLIED PAULINE; "I MUST HAVE A HOME."] + +"Oh!" said Mr. Danby, wheeling round upon her with intense, earnest +gaze. "Have a home with me. Don't recoil with horror from me! I know +I'm not fit to black your shoes. You have been my queen, my lady with +the starry eyes, my divinity, since the first day I saw you! I went +into church this morning and played my heart out on the organ. I knew +you were returning this evening. Will you—could you—be content with the +passionate devotion of an eccentric musician and a Jack-of-all-trades?" + +Pauline was utterly dumbfounded. She was tired, and tears rose to her +eyes. + +"Dear Mr. Danby, I am so very, very sorry, but it can never be. I +grieve to pain you. I thought our friendship was so sure and steadfast +that nothing like this would spoil it. Be my friend still. I have so +few of them. Let us treat your words as unsaid. I would not make you +happy—you want a younger, brighter wife. You think too well of me; I am +only a commonplace young woman, not fit to be the wife of a genius, but +very proud to be his friend." + +Mr. Danby's whole figure drooped with disappointment. + +"Forgive me. I ought to have known it would be impossible. It was the +sons of God that mated with the daughters of men—was it not?—not the +daughters of God with the sons of men. Well, Miss Erskine, I can bear +blows like a man—and this is a heavy one, for I'm always a hopeful +fool. I will say no more. Good-night. God bless you." + +He wheeled round and was gone. + +Pauline walked into her cottage, depressed and weary. + +"I shall have lost him now. It is very well to talk of being friends +still. It will never be the same again. He is so genuine, so good, and +yet so utterly apart from me myself. I shall live and die a single +woman. I know I shall." + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +COME BACK + + "She is so conjunctive to my life and soul + That as the star moves not but in his sphere + I could not, but by her." + SHAKESPEARE. + +PAULINE took the small farmhouse and moved her furniture into it. + +When Audrey motored down and stayed a couple of nights with her, she +was delighted with it. There was an oak staircase, and the rooms were +large, with quaint window seats and corners. + +"But," said Audrey, "it seems too big for you, Pauline. I don't like to +think of you upon the dreary winter days wandering about here in the +dusk alone." + +"Do you know what I want to do?" + +"Something philanthropic, I am sure." + +"Not at all. I want to have Honor and her children here for a part of +the winter. I have even planned out their rooms." + +"That would be delightful, but are you sure you can afford it?" + +"I think so. We shall live very simply. And the small girl I have to +help Mary is as strong as a pony and very willing. We shall want no +extra help. Honor tells me she takes entire charge of her baby; she has +no nurse." + +"But perhaps her sister-in-law won't let her come." + +"That is the very point. Miss Selkirk has been accustomed to spend +two or three months away at Torquay in the winter-time. Honor told me +privately she would like to get a little cottage somewhere for that +time. But I know at present she cannot afford it. You see, Audrey dear, +you cannot expect me to sit down and do nothing in this house. I cannot +tell you what a blank there is in my life. I have not become accustomed +to my leisure. I have taken the house, as I must have a home and a +place for my furniture, and I thought about Honor when I did it. I want +to have guests, and she will be my first one." + +"Oh!" cried Audrey impulsively. "What a dear you are! And if I were the +poor governess again, I should come here for all my holidays—shouldn't +I? I lose a lot by Bernard's money." + +"You can do a lot of good with it." + +"I am getting tired of my leisure," said Audrey, with a sigh. "Like +you, I don't care for it. I love a busy life, and I haven't got it. +Bernard isn't well enough to lead anything but a quiet life. We are too +peaceful. I can hardly believe I am marching westward. My storms have +disappeared. I think—if I may say so under my breath—I rather enjoyed +them. The whole time I was at the college, there were continual breezes +of some sort or another. There was always something happening to call +forth one's powers. I declare, if I were over sixty, with a flagging +step and fading sight, I would suit Bernard just as well. I could still +look after his comforts and mend his socks and read the papers to him." + +"I am afraid you are discontented." + +If Pauline's words were a rebuke, her smile was not. + +"Yes; I have a discontented nature unless I am filled to the brim with +work, and then I am happy. I think I am at present like a lamp nearly +empty of oil—I have the capacity for being filled and consequently +giving more light. Oh, I am a conceited wretch! Don't make me talk any +more about myself. Every day I pray to be kept humble. I do rise up so +aggressively whenever I get a chance! I shall come down and see Honor +when you get her here. What a happy little party you will be! Don't +laugh at me—but living alone with one man is very dull!" + +"Oh, Audrey, for shame! What would you do if you were married?" + +"Help my husband with his work. I would never marry an idle man like +Bernard, though he is a dear, and I am simply longing for him to get a +nice wife." + + +When Pauline's invitation arrived for Honor, Miss Selkirk looked rather +glum. She was vexed at the lighting of Honor's face and the eagerness +with which she told her about it. + +"Isn't it good of Pauline? And it will be so convenient for you. I was +dreading lest we should prevent you going to Torquay. I know you always +shut up your house, do you not?" + +"Oh, I dare say it will work in very well," said Miss Selkirk, in her +short, abrupt fashion. + +Honor's face fell. She did not know why the plan was distasteful to her +sister-in-law. + +Christine enlightened her. + +"Ye see, mem, the mistress likes you and the bairns so well, she's in +muckle fear lest your friends should tak' ye awa' from her." + +"But, Christine, it is very good of her; I always felt we must be a +burden. Fay's chatter and noise are a constant irritation to her." + +"Aye, so the mistress would say. But I ken her the best, and I ken +that she hasna been so blithe or so content in her life as she is at +present. She loves the lot of ye, though she wadna say so for the whole +world!" + +Honor's face flushed with pleasure. She had not been accustomed to +affection or even appreciation, and could not even now get over her +girlish diffidence. + +"It's very nice of you to tell me this, Christine; it makes it easier +for me to stay here. I love being here myself, but this visit will be +good for all of us. I shall come back if Miss Selkirk will have me." + +Not a word of regret at their departure did Miss Selkirk make. She +wished them good-bye with a stolid, expressionless face. Not even Fay's +parting words brought a glimmer of a smile to her lips: + +"Please, Aunt Marget, be kind to those two very nice snails I tolded +you about yest'day. And if you could make a little sand wall round them +like I begun, I should fink they wouldn't run away till I comes back. +One of them is so sweet, and makes such lovely slime wherever she goes." + + +So Honor and her children came to bring brightness into Pauline's life, +and the farmhouse rang with children's voices and laughter. + +Audrey longed to be with them, and was not long before she brought her +brother down for a day to see them. He was delighted with the household. + +And when Audrey returned home, she wrote as follows to Pauline: + +"Tell Honor she has made a conquest of Bernard. What a pity she is +married! He told me if I could find a facsimile of her anywhere, he +would marry at once. Isn't it strange? Because she is not exactly +pretty. He said she was such a thoroughly feminine woman and the kind +to make a man happy all his life. What a selfish outlook even the best +of men can have! If she had still been living at the Rectory, I am sure +she would have become my sister-in-law." + +Pauline read some of this out to Honor. First she laughed, then she +looked up into Pauline's face rather sadly. + +"And if I had not taken my way instead of God's way, perhaps that was +what was in store for me. How little we know! And my baby might have +had comfort and ease, instead of poverty and struggle in front of him." + +Then she smiled through misty eyes. + +"But then I shouldn't have had Fay—and she has brought such brightness +into my life. And Alick and I will be happy together one day, I hope." + + * * * * * * * * + +It was a gloomy November afternoon, a drizzling rain was falling, and +Audrey in macintosh and umbrella was splashing along Regent Street +engaged in shopping. She had motored up to town without her brother, +but under the care of their chauffeur, and was hastening along to the +hotel in Hanover Square at which they usually put up. + +Just as she turned a corner, she collided rather violently with another +foot passenger, and looking up full of apologies found herself face to +face with Dr. Vernon. + +Their greeting was a warm one. + +"It isn't a fit afternoon for you to be out," he said. "May I walk with +you to your hotel?" + +"If it is not taking you out of your way. Do tell me about everyone—and +my dear boys. Oh, how long it seems since I was with you!" + +He gave her all the school news he could think of. + +"And now about yourself. How is your brother? Is he in town?" + +"No, I am thankful he is not, for this wet weather always tries him. +He is very much better. He and I are leading a fat, lazy life, and I'm +aching to my very finger-tips for work." + +"But I always thought work could be had 'ad libitum' wherever one is." + +"I can't get hold of any, except visiting a few poor people, and making +warm garments to give them at Christmas." + +"Get him married, and come back to us," said the doctor in a firm, +decided tone. "We want you." + +"I believe," said Audrey meditatively, "he means to marry. There is +someone abroad he has mentioned to me lately. He is so delighted at his +health coming back that he even talks of returning to Australia. Men +are very strange." + +"I told you he was too young a man to settle down to a quiet English +life," said the doctor, a hint of triumph in his tone. + +"Oh! Well, there is nothing settled. He would be angry at my mentioning +such a possibility. He has only been hinting at it now and then." + +"Are you returning to-night? Surely you will have a most unpleasant +journey. Is your car a closed one?" + +"It has a hood." A fierce onslaught of wind and rain beat in their +faces. Audrey gave a little shudder. "I don't altogether like motors. I +should be much more comfortable in the train, but of course I shouldn't +use that." + +They had come to the hotel. He accompanied her up the steps, and the +porter handed Audrey a telegram. + +She opened it as Dr. Vernon stood waiting to wish her good-bye. + +"This is from my brother," she said. "He tells me to stop the night in +town. Very thoughtful of him." + +Dr. Vernon's face brightened. + +"Will you come round and dine with my sister and myself? We came up +yesterday to say good-bye to some old friends returning to India. We +are at the Grosvenor. My sister would be so pleased to see you." + +"Thank you very much. I shall be delighted, but you must take me as I +am. I really don't know how I shall manage as it is. Men never think of +ladies' requirements for a night." + +"My sister may be able to help you. Shall we hire a taxi, and go +straight back to her?" + +"I must see our chauffeur. Perhaps you had better not wait." + +But Dr. Vernon did wait, and presently they were both driving along +together. + +"This rather reminds me," said Audrey impulsively, "of the way you +drove me off to Victoria Station that time when you took possession of +me. How terrified I was of you, and how impotently angry!" + +Then Dr. Vernon leaned towards her. + +"I want to take possession of you again," he said in a low, vibrating +voice. "Will you come?" + +Audrey gave a little start. + +"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion. + +"I want you to come back to Horsborough College as my wife," he said. +"I want you with all my heart and soul. Will you come?" + +Now, long ago Audrey had girlishly imagined this possibility, and +she had determinedly vowed within herself that then would be the +opportunity to make him suffer as he had made her suffer in that first +interview. But now, her breath came quick and fast; she felt that she +was an utterly different girl in thoughts and feelings and purposes +from that hot-headed, passionate young creature who plunged into the +heart of London seeking to forget the one who had so humiliated her, +and resolving never to come into his life again. + +She was absolutely silent. The roar of the London streets was around +them, but as far as she was concerned, she was only conscious of +herself and him in the universe. + +"Audrey, you know what I am—a quick-tempered, faulty man, but my heart +is yours, and has been for a long time. I have waited, because I felt +that you ought to have a chance of trying another atmosphere. I cannot +give you ease and luxury; it will be a strenuous life of work for both +of us, but if I can make it a happy life, I will. Dear, look up; only +one word—'Yes' or 'No.' Don't keep me in suspense." + +Still silence, and then Audrey's head drooped, but not before the +whispered word caught the doctor's ear, and it was "Yes." + + +When they joined Miss Vernon later, there was nothing in their manner +to tell her what had happened. She was unfeignedly glad to see Audrey +again. + +"Your successor is such an estimable woman," she said with the merry +twinkle in her eyes that came there so often. "She is so fitted for her +sphere that I am certain she was a teacher in another life. + +"'Imparting knowledge,' she said to me, 'is the cream of life; and +though I have not as much teaching as I could wish, I can do a great +deal in a tactful way during the hours of recreation.' + +"She is supremely tactful. I am perfectly certain there will be no +breezes now between her and her chief." + +"What a blessing!" murmured Audrey. + +They chatted upon different subjects through dinner, but Audrey +was quieter and gentler than usual, and though she showed no +self-consciousness, she was aware that Dr. Vernon's eyes hardly ever +left her face. She was looking her very best that evening; the outlines +of her face had softened wonderfully, and a pink colour was in her +cheeks. + +Before long, Miss Vernon's sharp eyes began to suspect, and when dinner +was over and they were in a cosy corner of the big drawing-room, she +came to the point. + +"Did you two settle to meet each other to-day?" she asked. + +"Dear Miss Vernon!" exclaimed Audrey. "I should think not. It was just +a coincidence." + +"A very remarkable one. Am I to be given any information?" + +Dr. Vernon smiled. + +"Shall I tell her, Audrey?" he asked. + +The use of her Christian name deepened her blushes. + +Miss Vernon drew a breath. + +"No need to," she said abruptly. "I always knew this moment would come, +and I'm not sure that it is a very pleasant one to me." + +"Oh, please," said Audrey, putting her hand out and laying it +affectionately on Miss Vernon's arm, "please say something nice to me. +I feel quite frightened. I cannot hope you will approve, for I am not +fit in any way to be his wife. But if he thinks I am—" + +She stopped. + +Miss Vernon gave her a little reassuring nod. + +"You're the only one I could tolerate at all," she said; "I always felt +that. Do you think I should have taken you to Switzerland, and let you +and him be so much together, if I hadn't wanted to bring this about? I +wondered it didn't come off then. Well, my dear, joking apart, make him +a good wife; that is my one desire." + +"And have you nothing to say to me?" asked Dr. Vernon. "Am I not to try +to make her a good husband? I am getting an old fogy, and have nothing +but hard work to offer her. Don't you think my luck is wonderful?" + +"You always get what you want," said Miss Vernon coolly, "and I +won't tell her how long you wanted her. I knew it before you knew it +yourself. Now, to be selfish, what will become of me?" + +"You must still live with us!" cried Audrey, and Dr. Vernon reiterated +the statement. + +"I shall please myself about that, but I will stipulate that you +always keep a room for me, whether in a college or in a deanery or in +a bishop's palace; and it is not to be the spare room. Then I can come +and go as I like. How thankful I am I have had the breadth and strength +of mind to resist incorporating myself with the school. I shall not be +missed. I shall have time to visit my friends and gather gleanings for +my lifework." + +She was reassured at once about her room. Then, rising from her seat, +she said: + +"Of course, I'm 'de trop.' I'll leave you together, but I must speak to +you alone, my dear Audrey, before you leave." + +"Certainly. I must not be late," said Audrey. + +She felt almost nervous when Miss Vernon had left them, but that +feeling soon disappeared. And though they were not alone, and it was in +a public drawing-room, the doctor and she found plenty to say to each +other. Perhaps of the two the doctor was the greater talker. Audrey was +content to be the listener. + +When she at length went to Miss Vernon, the old lady drew her into her +bedroom, and, laying her hand on her shoulder, said in a mysterious +voice: + +"My dear, you must kindly supply me with a few notes about your +family and pedigree. Are you the same family as the Humes or Homes of +Scotland? And are you any relative of Hume the historian? And may I ask +who your mother was? You must excuse me asking these questions, but of +course, I must have a page about your origin." + +Audrey could not help it. She burst into a rippling peal of laughter. + +"Oh, Miss Vernon, it takes a brave woman to be your brother's wife! The +honour of it is too much for me!" + +Miss Vernon joined her in her laugh. + +"Ah, well, you know what I think of him! And he knows what I think of +you! And now go along. It's getting late. I suppose the wedding day is +not fixed yet?" + +"That may not be for years," said Audrey seriously. "I have told your +brother that I cannot leave Bernard at present." + +She went back to her hotel, and hardly closed her eyes all night, for +the suddenness of it almost overwhelmed her. + +And then the next day, she motored home and told her brother all about +it. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +SUMMONED TO PART + + "What matter if I stand alone? + I wait with joy the coming years; + My heart shall reap where it has sown + And garner up its fruit of tears. + + "The stars come nightly to the sky; + The tidal wave into the sea. + Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, + Can keep my own away from me." + JOHN BURROUGHS. + +HONOR had not been with Pauline very long before Amabel came over to +see them with her baby. She had arrived from India with an ayah, who +was the cause of much awe and interest to the villagers. Amabel herself +looked white and frail, but was as happy and lighthearted as ever. + +Of course, as mothers, she and Honor compared notes about their babies, +and Pauline listened to them with much amusement. + +"I do love India so," said Amabel, "but I am afraid it does not love +me. I seem to get so much fever. You see, I have some shadows, Honor; I +know you think I have none." + +"Oh, I don't say that," said Honor; "the separation from your husband +must be a big one." + +"Yes; and he feels it so much that he wants to get an exchange, but I +won't have that. I am a soldier's wife, and don't want him or myself +to shirk the hardships that come to us. I don't want him ever to be +able to say, 'I could have got my promotion quicker if I had been an +unmarried man.'" + +"I quite agree," said Pauline, with kindling eyes. + +"So, you see," went on Amabel in her cheerful voice, "I must be +separated from him for a little. When I get quite strong again, I shall +go back to him. And meanwhile, baby and ayah and I are turning our +house topsy-turvy, but mother and father say they enjoy it, and I am +sure I do." + +She chatted away, telling them of her first experiences of native +servants, and making them laugh at her blunders. + +When she had left them, Honor said: + +"It isn't only Amabel's circumstances that make her so sunny; it is her +nature. She will go through life taking everything the same way." + +"Yes, I think she will. Even big sorrows that may come to her will fall +upon her softly. She will see the Love behind them." + +"She will have no big sorrows—she travels south." + +"Oh, well," said Pauline, laughing, "that is only a fancy of ours. And, +remember, storms come from every quarter." + + +It was only the next morning that Pauline came to breakfast and found +Honor, who had come down before her, reading a foreign letter, with a +stunned, despairing face. + +To herself Pauline thought, "That wretched husband again!" + +Then she asked if she had had good news. Honor sat down at the table, +and, putting her face down into her hands, began to cry. + +"What is the matter, dear? Is your husband not well?" + +"Oh, I can't believe it! It's the most awful news! Alick has had the +most dreadful accident. I can't understand particulars. He was jammed +between some logs near a rapid; he was in a canoe, and it was caught +between them and crushed to pieces. That's what this man says—it isn't +Alick himself. And they've had to amputate one of his legs above the +knee. He'll be a cripple for life; he will never be able to ride. And +this man says one of his arms is also injured." + +"But his life is not in danger?" + +"No, he says not. But he says he is coming home." + +"Oh, Honor, are you not glad?" + +"How can I be glad when I know how he will hate it? He is a restless +man, and loves an open air life, and walking or riding is essential to +him. Oh, Pauline, it has just come to me! I have been praying that he +may be brought to England and settle down here; I have been praying so +earnestly, and now my prayer is answered in this terrible way!" + +"My dear Honor, do you know that you make out God to be a hard and +cruel tyrant?" + +"Oh, no; don't say that. But it will be such an awful return! And if he +cannot travel any more, how can I hope to make him content and happy? +And how shall we be able to live? Oh, Pauline, forgive me! Here comes +Fay. Give her her breakfast; I will run upstairs to baby. I feel as if +food will choke me." + +Honor disappeared. It did seem as if she had one trouble upon the top +of another, and for the time, the shock had utterly unnerved her. + +Yet later in the day, she was able to break the news to Fay with brave, +smiling lips. + +To the child the thought of her father's return was more than his hurt. + +And Honor began to plan in her own mind how she could make life still +bearable to him. This news made her leave Pauline sooner than she would +otherwise have done, for Miss Selkirk hastened home and asked her to +join her. + +"Do you think Miss Selkirk will want your husband to make his home with +her?" Pauline asked. + +"Why, no! I should think not! Alick would rather be in a hovel, I +believe, than go to her! I don't know what we shall do. Perhaps I shall +hear his plans next mail, unless he has started for England already?" + +And the next mail did bring her a letter from her husband. + + "MY DEAREST WIFE, + + "You have heard of my smash up! With good luck, for once, only one leg +has suffered, and my left arm will be useless for a time. But as I am +such a crock, I am coming home to be nursed. What will Fay say to a +one-legged father? You must meet me in London, and then we'll settle +what we shall do. Meantime, you can be hunting up any small place in +the country. I've been jotting up my investments this morning, and +find that I can be sure of about £400 a year, so you must get a house +in proportion to our means. Shall we buy a caravan and live in it? I'm +sure that would suit our requirements. No more for now. It does my +heart good to think I have a wife and child ready to welcome me. I'm +afraid I've kept you on short commons, but it hasn't hurt Margaret to +dispose of some of her hoarded wealth. I forget I have a boy. How is +he? Expect me by the Star Line. I'll wire name of boat. + + "Your affectionate husband,— + + "ALICK." + + +Honor did not read the whole of this letter to Miss Selkirk, but she +did tell her of the income her husband had. + +And she was bitterly indignant with him in consequence. + +"He has been spending all that upon himself, and keeping you and his +children without a penny! How on earth can he do it?" + +"He is very generous," faltered Honor; "he helps his friends a lot. Men +don't think. It is an immense relief to me, for I was wondering how we +should live. We shall be kept from want, and shall be able to live on +that in comfort." + +Miss Selkirk gave an angry snort. + +"Alick will be Alick still to the end of his life. Can't I see your +household? He living on the fat of the land, and having the best of +everything; you and the children suffering from absence of actual +necessaries." + +"I see myself happy, if I can make him so," said Honor. + +And Miss Selkirk walked away silenced, but marvelling at her. + + +The next morning to this came a letter from Pauline. And as Honor read, +she again took herself to task for her want of trust and faith in God. + + "I am going to ask you," Pauline wrote, "if you would like the loan +of my farmhouse for a time? It would be a kindness to me if you kept +it aired. And if Mr. Selkirk likes to pay me rent for it, I will let +it for fifteen shillings a week during the winter-time. The fact is, +I want to pay some visits. And I am thinking of doing a little parish +work in a small village about twenty miles from here. I find, Honor, +that I have too much idle time on my hands. I must do something, as I +do not want to rust. Mr. Danby mentioned this village to me long ago. +He went there to lecture, and what he told me interested me greatly. +The living is only worth about £130 a year. The old clergyman and his +wife are real old saints, who stint themselves of their last penny if +any of their parishioners need help. But they are getting feeble; their +village population is increasing, as a paper mill has been set up about +a mile away, and they are not equal to the demands made upon them. + + "Mr. Danby told me he would like to have helped them, but there was +much that, as a man, he could not do. And it has struck me that I could +take rooms in the village and do what little I could to help them. He +gave me a most pathetic account of their efforts at hospitality when he +stayed a night with them. They seem like an old Darby and Joan—and real +old gentle-people. I have written to them, and have had a most kind +letter in return, and, if I can let my farmhouse, I will go to them at +once. It all seems to fit in, doesn't it? You would be near your home +and within touch of your father and little sisters, and it would be +a quiet country spot for a convalescent. Write and tell me what you +think. I do hope you will take it, if only for a time—and Mary would +be a great comfort to you. I would not take her with me, not unless I +settled down there eventually and had my furniture with me." + +"It's just the place for us," said Honor to Miss Selkirk. "If I had +gone all over England, I could not have found any other place I should +have liked so well." + +She wrote and accepted Pauline's offer gratefully. + + +Pauline did not let the grass grow beneath her feet. She packed up what +she intended to take with her. The rest she had had since her mother's +death had given her back much of her former strength and vigour, and +she was almost feverishly eager to be at work again. + +Mrs. Daventry at first tried to dissuade her from the step she was +about to take: + +"We can't afford to lose you. You will only be overworking yourself. +I can't tell you how I long that someone should take care of you. You +have always been taking care of others. Will you not come to me for a +long visit?" + +But Pauline shook her head. + +"I have done so little all my life in the way of helping my outside +neighbours that I am longing to begin now. If I want a rest, may I come +to you? That would be so delightful!" + + +Just two days before her departure, she was packing up some books in +her sitting-room when Mr. Danby was announced. + +She turned round, feeling rather relieved to think that he was perhaps +going to be on the old friendly terms with her again. But when she saw +his face, she was struck by its extreme gravity. + +He shook hands with her in silence, then Pauline said gently: + +"I am afraid you are in trouble, are you not?" + +"Yes, I am," he said abruptly; "and I have come to drag you into it, +too. At least, I am presuming that you will do what I want." + +"If I can help you at all, I shall be glad." + +He paused. Then as she asked him to sit down, he did so. + +"You know I can't beat about the bush. There's someone—a friend of +mine—who is ill. He can't get better, and he wants to see you. Will you +come?" + +"Who is it?" + +Pauline's lips whitened as she asked the question. + +"He's been murmuring your name—there aren't many Paulines in the world. +I never knew he was a friend of yours, though he was always keen on +hearing me talk about you, but I expect he is—" + +"Is it Mr. Pembroke?" + +"Ah, then my surmise is true! You know, I've seen a lot of him lately, +and last week in protecting a child, he was knocked down by a motor in +town. They took him to the hospital, and thought he was doing well, but +there are internal complications. He is in a nursing home now in Harley +Street. I've been with him. He seems rather a lonely chap, though he +has plenty of acquaintances. I asked him last night if he would like to +see you, and his look made me rush down the first thing this morning." + +"I will come," said Pauline steadily. "Can we catch a train this +afternoon?" + +"Yes, if you are quick. I have a cab outside. I would have wired, only +I did not know—I wasn't sure whether you would understand." + +Pauline had disappeared. In five minutes, she was back again. Her very +quietness and absence of fussiness and the tragic look in her sweet +blue eyes told Mr. Danby that he had been right in summoning her. + +She asked for a few details during the journey to town, but they did +not speak much. As Pauline sat back, resting her throbbing head against +the hard railway carriage cushions, one sentence was burning itself +into her brain: + +"He can't get better." + + +It was late in the evening when they reached Harley Street. A nurse +came into the sitting-room and greeted Pauline very kindly. + +"I am so glad you could come. He is quite conscious now, though very +weak. It will not be very long, the doctor thinks. But you must have a +cup of tea or coffee before you go up to him." + +"I would rather not." + +"Then I will have one ready for you when you leave him. This way. +I think, Mr. Danby, it would be best for you not to see him again +to-night if this lady does." + +Mr. Danby bowed assent meekly, quite willing to relinquish his place to +Pauline. + +"I will be here the first thing in the morning," he said. + +And then Pauline, always ready to consider everyone before herself, +turned to him and held out her hand with a sweet smile: + +"Good-night, Mr. Danby. I will thank you later for your goodness +in fetching me. Please say if you specially want to see him again +to-night. I do not want to usurp your place." + +"I am glad you can see him," said Mr. Danby gruffly. And then he went, +for the sorrow of Pauline and Justin seemed greater than his own. + +Every detail of that little house in Harley Street stamped itself upon +Pauline's brain: the red felt stair carpets as she trod upon them, +the photographs on the staircase of groups of nurses and doctors, the +landing with the inevitable table outside the sick-rooms, and the quiet +bustle that there seemed everywhere—nurses passing to and fro, a sound +of whisking of eggs, the slight rattle of crockery, and a smell of +disinfectants throughout the whole. + +And as she stood outside the door, she said to herself, with a mixture +of joy and pain in her heart: + +"He wants me. He has not forgotten me." + +Then, a moment after, she stood looking down upon the narrow bed. +Suffering had already left its mark on Justin; his face looked wan and +pale, his eyes seemed sunken, and there were blue lines about them and +his lips. + +It was no time to stand on ceremony. Pauline sank on her knees by the +bedside and took his hand in hers. The nurse slipped out of the room. + +"I am here—Pauline is here," she said softly but distinctly. + +Justin opened his eyes, and then a slow, bright smile spread over his +face. + +"Pauline," he whispered, "how did you know?" + +"Mr. Danby has brought me." + +"I was hoping—hoping to come down to you. Would you have listened to +me?" + +He spoke with difficulty. + +Pauline choked down a little sob. + +"Justin, dear, there is so little time—I should like you to know—I have +always loved you. My mother never gave me your letter. I did not know +you had called. That is many years ago, and I thought you had forgotten +me. Don't look sorrowful, dear. In any case, I could not have left my +mother." + +"Take off your hat. Put your head down on the pillow beside me. I am a +dying man. They say I can't last long." + +Quietly, Pauline did as he wished. If her lips were quivering and her +heart nearly breaking, she did not let her feelings get the better of +her. + +Justin took her face between his two hands, then kissed her slowly upon +her lips. + +"My heart has always held you," he said simply. + +They were silent for a moment. With death hovering so near, there +seemed no need for any explanations or protestations of love. + +Again he spoke. + +"I am so glad you always cared. I wish I had known. The years seem +wasted." + +"No," said Pauline, with a serene light in her eyes; "doing and bearing +God's will is never waste of time." + +He smiled. + +"We shall have eternity together in any case; we have been kept apart +for some wise purpose. Will you read to me? Your voice is such music." + +It was too dark to read, but from memory Pauline began to repeat: + + "'Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God, believe also in +Me.'" + +Verse after verse of that beautiful chapter did she say, and her lover +lay there smiling, waiting for the messenger who still delayed. + +Presently the nurse returned, and Pauline was told she must go. + +For a moment her spirit rebelled. And the nurse, after a searching look +at the patient, called her out of the room. + +"If he is dying," said Pauline to her, "why should not I stay to the +end?" + +"He seems to have rallied wonderfully," the nurse said thoughtfully. +"If we can give him nourishment and get him to sleep, he may linger +longer than we thought this morning." + +"And you think he has a better chance if I am away from him?" + +"There will be less temptation for him to make an effort to speak." + +Pauline went back to the bed. + +"Justin," she said in her low, clear voice, "I am leaving you now. Rest +and sleep, and I will see you, I hope, in the morning." + +She bent and kissed him on the forehead. He seemed already to be +slipping into unconsciousness. + +And then, in a sitting-room below, Pauline spent the night pacing up +and down, her lips moving in prayer. The anguish of that night brought +silver threads amongst her golden hair. She seemed, like David of old, +to say,— + + "'Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me?'" + +And she had the realisation that death itself was stayed, whilst the +ear of God was bent in love to listen to one of His children. + +She had acquiesced the day before in patient submission to what she +believed was God's will. Now, she was earnestly pleading and wrestling +for the life that seemed to be slipping away, and yet through it all +she cried: + + "Not against Thy will, O God, but let it be Thy will." + +When morning dawned, the nurse came to her. + +"I hardly dare give you hope, but the doctor has been and is +astonished. We thought last night it was the last rally, but the +improvement and strength are maintained." + +And so it was continued all day. Pauline took a room at the nearest +hotel. + +Before a week was over, the doctors were able to state that recovery +was more than possible, it was probable. And Pauline lived day by day +hugging the new-born hope to her heart and thanking God for His mercy. + + +When she eventually returned home, her life seemed to be a strange +confusion. + +Justin's recovery would be slow, and the doctors had told him that +there would be no more travelling or exploring for him. He would have +to lead a very quiet life, though not necessarily that of an invalid. +If they married soon, Pauline would be more of a nurse than a wife, and +Justin was not a rich man. + +The outlook would not have been rosy to any but Pauline. + +Yet she confided to Mrs. Daventry that her cup was so full that she +could hardly bear it. + +"Do you think," she said, "my path has taken a twist and is facing +south at last?" + +"I think," said Mrs. Daventry slowly, "that your northern journey will +be shared by one who, with yourself, has enough sunshine within to +compensate for the lack of it without." + +"You mean we shall have to contend with small means? But I have never +had much of this world's wealth. And I am afraid I am like any romantic +girl—with Justin by my side, I fear nothing." + +"What about your farmhouse? Will you not want it for yourself?" + +"Not at present. Justin and I want to go together to my village and +help the old clergyman and his wife. We mean to start in rooms first, +and if we can find a small cottage later on, we may take it. Justin +will be able to help in many ways, and it will give him interest +outside himself. Don't shake your head, dear Mrs. Daventry. I know what +is in front of me, and I am glorying in it all." + +What could Mrs. Daventry say? + +She only kissed Pauline affectionately, and rejoiced in her happiness. +She knew that no clouds would ever bow her head, no troubles, however +great, would crush her spirit; and this gleam of sunlight upon her path +was surely the reward of much patient waiting. + + +But when others heard her news, they were much more ecstatic than Mrs. +Daventry. Audrey and Honor were too delighted for words. + +"Oh!" said Audrey, hugging her. "What a wife you will make! Fortunate +man! Is he worthy of you? Oh, Pauline, Pauline! To think that you +should be like the rest of us! And isn't it extraordinary that we four +shall all marry? A year or two ago and we thought we should live and +die old maids." + +"I knew something good would come to you one day," said Honor. "And you +richly deserve the very best man who walks the face of the earth!" + +Mrs. Daventry was seated once again upon her lawn with her four young +friends around her. It was the last opportunity they had of gathering +together, as upon the following day Amabel was returning to her husband +in India. Honor and her husband were comfortably settled in Pauline's +farmhouse. She had left Fay to entertain her father for this afternoon. +Audrey had motored down from her brother's for the occasion. And +Pauline was Mrs. Daventry's guest. She had insisted upon having her, +and was going to keep her till she married. Justin was fast recovering +in the nursing home, and directly he was convalescent, he was also +coming to stay with Mrs. Daventry. + +The girls had been talking over old times. A little shadow seemed to +lie on Honor's face. Perhaps her experience gave her voice a tinge of +melancholy as she said: + +"Well, it is strange that none of us should remain single women, but +I don't think marriage changes one's aspect. It isn't as it is in +story-books; and it does not follow that Pauline's path will turn +from the north because she is going to marry. I used to believe that +a marriage was the beginning of living happily ever after, but it +seems to me that it is just the beginning of responsibilities and +difficulties, and of experiencing the depths in life, instead of the +rippling surface." + +Audrey looked sober; but not a shadow came into Pauline's beautiful +eyes. + +"Life is good at all times," she said simply; "and deep water is better +than shallow for swimmers, Honor. We don't want to stagnate." + +"Do you remember when you first talked to us about our gates?" said +Audrey, turning to Mrs. Daventry. "We said something about meeting in +a year's time and comparing notes. We never did. How we have scattered +in these few years! It has been a general break-up. And I used to think +that nothing would ever change!" + +"We always think that when we are young," said Mrs. Daventry, with +rather a wistful smile. + +"Let us compare notes at once," cried Amabel enthusiastically. "May I +begin?" + +Assent was upon everyone's lips, but a shadow of gravity stole over the +sunshiny face of the girl as she said: + +"I suppose I am still treading south. I know I have a happy southern +aspect, and life, as yet, has brought me no heavy troubles. But I pray +God every day to make me what He wants me to be, and that is where I +fail. A gardener expects so much more from a plant that is grown in a +sunny, sheltered position. And though one faces south, it isn't always +free from breezes—is it Mrs. Daventry? May I tell you all a lovely +little thing that I discovered in my Bible quite lately? It is in +Joshua, where Caleb's daughter comes to her father, and says, when he +asks her what she wants: + + "'Give me a blessing; for thou hast given me a south land; give me also +springs of water.' + +"That is my prayer every day now. I don't want to get parched by easy +circumstances." + +Amabel was sitting next to Mrs. Daventry, and the old lady put her +withered hand gently over her young one. + +"Your south gate will not spoil you," she said softly, and tears were +in her eyes as she spoke. + +"Now, Honor," said Audrey, "what is your experience?" + +Honor was silent for a moment. Then she said: + +"I have learnt this: + + "'He stayeth His rough wind in the day of the east wind' (Isaiah xxvii. +8). + +"It is never too strong for me." + +She bore the impress upon her face that her words were true. The old +fretful, discontented lines had disappeared. Great quietness and peace +had settled upon her; the storm and stress of life which still buffeted +and cut her was rounding her corners and shaping her into patient, +steadfast womanhood. + +"Ah!" said Audrey with a quick-caught sigh. "I am far behind you all. +I don't believe these years have taught me anything except to discover +how little I know. But—" here her grey eyes kindled and flashed with +sudden feeling—"I came across a verse the other day which fits me: + + "'The Lord turned a mighty strong west wind, which took away the +locusts' (Exod. x. 19). + +"And I need a strong wind to take away all my locusts. So I daren't +complain. Storms are good for me—and I have got far more sunshine than +I deserve." + +"And now, Pauline?" + +Mrs. Daventry looked tenderly at the beautiful girl, with her quiet, +glad face and shining eyes. + +"What can I say?" said Pauline, with a smile. "Audrey has just given +us a quaint text. May I give another? It is in Zechariah vi., and is +speaking about the chariots and horses driving northwards: + + "'Behold, these that go toward the north country have quieted my spirit +in the north country.' + +"And I feel that I am not journeying alone, and so my spirit is +quieted." + +"The horses and chariots of the Lord," murmured Mrs. Daventry. "After +all, girls, what does it matter about your aspect, north or south, +east or west, so long as your goal is the right one? The beginning and +the middle of our journey is not worth consideration in comparison to +the end of it. Shall I repeat the promise that always brings a little +thrill to my heart as I read it? + + "'And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with +songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and +gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.'" (Isaiah xxxv. 10). + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78742 *** diff --git a/78742-h/78742-h.htm b/78742-h/78742-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fe1e5b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-h/78742-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12170 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Four Gates: The Different Outlook on Life of Four Young Women │ Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/image001.jpg" type="image/cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size:12.0pt; + font-family:"Verdana"; +} + +p {text-indent: 2em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +h2 {font-size: 1.17em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.w100 { + width: auto + } + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 125%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t2 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t3 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t3b { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center + } + +p.t4 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center + } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.poem { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + padding: 20px 0; + text-align: left; + width: 555px; + } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 5em ; + text-align: center } + + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78742 ***</div> + + +<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001"> +</figure> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"><a id="Image002"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002"></a></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>DR. VERNER TURNED FURIOUSLY TO AUDREY. "I DECLINE THE</b><br> +<b>HONOUR. THAT IS MY REPLY TO THAT ASTONISHING LETTER."</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t1"> +<em>"...On the north three gates; on the south</em><br> +<br> +<em>three gates; and on the west three gates."</em><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h1>FOUR GATES</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t1"> +THE DIFFERENT OUTLOOK ON<br> +<br> +LIFE OF FOUR YOUNG WOMEN<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t1"> +AMY LE FEUVRE<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +Author of "Probable Sons," "Herself and Her Boy," etc.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image003" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image003.jpg" alt="image003"> +</figure> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +PICKERING & INGLIS<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +LONDON  GLASGOW  EDINBURGH<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<pre> + LONDON • • 14 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.4 + GLASGOW • • 229 BOTHWELL STREET, C.2 + EDINBURGH • 29 GEORGE IV BRIDGE, 1 + NEW YORK • LOIZEAUX BROS., 19 WEST 21ST ST. + + + GOLDEN CROWN LIBRARY + + OF STORIES BY AUTHORS OF HIGH REPUTE + + 1 HERSELF AND HER BOY AMY LE FEUVRE + 3 HER HUSBAND'S HOME E. EVERETT GREEN + 4 PEPPER & CO ESTHER E. ENOCK + 5 ELDWYTH'S CHOICE L. A. BARTER SNOW + 6 MARTYRLAND ROBERT SIMPSON + 7 ANDY MAN AMY LE FEUVRE + 9 FOUR GATES AMY LE FEUVRE + 11 A MADCAP FAMILY AMY LE FEUVRE + 12 NORAH'S VICTORY L. A. BARTER SNOW + 13 JOAN'S HANDFUL AMY LE FEUVRE + 14 CORAL CHARLOTTE MURRAY + 15 SOME BUILDERS AMY LE FEUVRE + 16 AGNES DEWSBURY L. A. BARTER SNOW + 17 MARGARET'S STORY MARJORIE DOUGLAS + 18 'TWIXT ALTAR AND PLOUGH L. A. BARTER SNOW + 19 TRUE TO THE LAST E. EVERETT GREEN + 20 MY LADY'S GOLDEN FOOTPRINTS E. E. ENOCK + 21 NORAH: A GIRL OF GRIT BETH J. C. HARRIS + 22 HER LITTLE KINGDOM L. A. BARTER SNOW + 23 BRAVE BROTHERS E. M. STOOKE + 24 A COUNTRY CORNER AMY LE FEUVRE + 25 THE HOME OF THE AYLMERS MARJORIE DOUGLAS + 26 O CARRY ME BACK! E. A. BLAND + 27 MONICA'S CHOICE FLORA E. BERRY + 28 A STUDY IN GOLD GRACE PETTMAN + + + Made and Printed in Great Britain +</pre> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> +CONTENTS<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>CHAPTER</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_1">I. FOUR LIVES</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_2">II. FACING WEST</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_3">III. FACING NORTH AND EAST</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_4">IV. FACING SOUTH</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_5">V. AN UNFORTUNATE INTERVIEW</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_6">VI. UNSUCCESSFUL EFFORT</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_7">VII. BEATEN</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_8">VIII. A FRESH SPHERE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_9">IX. AN INVALID'S WHIM</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_10">X. OLDER AND WISER</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_11">XI. AN IDEAL TEACHER</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_12">XII. AN EMPTY SHRINE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_13">XIII. CONFIDENCES</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_14">XIV. BATTLING TOWARDS THE SHORE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_15">XV. A FATHER AND CHILD</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_16">XVI. WANTED</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_17">XVII. A TURN FROM THE EAST</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_18">XVIII. THE HELPER</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_19">XIX. NEGLECTED DUTY</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_20">XX. THE HOLIDAYS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_21">XXI. HOMELESS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_22">XXII. MOTHERHOOD</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_23">XXIII. A BABY'S LIFEWORK</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_24">XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_25">XXV. TWO LETTERS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_26">XXVI. COME BACK</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_27">XXVII. SUMMONED TO PART</a></p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> +ILLUSTRATIONS<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p><a href="#Image002">DR. VERNON TURNED FURIOUSLY TO AUDREY. <em>Frontispiece</em></a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image004">"I HAVE A FANCY," SAID MRS. DAVENTRY, "THAT EACH ONE OF US<br> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">MAY BE ENTERING THAT CITY THROUGH DIFFERENT GATES."</span></a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image005">PAULINE'S TONE WAS DESPERATE. "WE THINK MOTHER IS GETTING<br> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">WORSE. IS SHE?"</span></a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image006">THE DOCTOR SHOUTED, AND AUDREY AND HE STOPPED TO LISTEN.</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image007">"BUT YOU WON'T LIVE ALONE," SAID MR. DANBY.<br> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">"WHY NOT?" REPLIED PAULINE.</span></a></p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t2"> +<b>Four Gates</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_1">CHAPTER I</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>FOUR LIVES</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"Who would be planted chooseth not the soil,<br> + Or here or there,<br> + Or loam or peat,<br> + Wherein he best may grow,<br> + And bring forth guerdon of the planter's toil.<br> + <br> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">"Lord, even so</span><br> + I ask one prayer,<br> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">The which if it be granted—</span><br> + It skills not where<br> + Thou plantest me—<br> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Only—I would be planted."</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;">T. E. BROWN.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"PAULINE, do you honestly like being in a backwater?"</p> + +<p>"Backwaters have their uses."</p> + +<p>"That is not an answer."</p> + +<p>"I think I regard it as a halting-place—a wayside station on life's +railroad."</p> + +<p>"But that is just what it isn't. It comes from nowhere, and leads to +nowhere. And I stamp and I fume at the stagnation!"</p> + +<p>"You are an impetuous spirit! Perhaps, later on, you will look back to +these quiet sweet days, and long to experience them again."</p> + +<p>"I don't say that I shouldn't enjoy it at the end of my life, when I +have been in all the stir and rush; when I have had my good time and +can sit in an easy-chair and look back at it all."</p> + +<p>"Then you should have sympathy with your father."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have. From his point of view, his lines have fallen to him in +pleasant places. But I am at the beginning of my life. I think everyone +ought to be in towns when they are young, and retire into the country +when they are old. Of course, it is delightful when you have money; +then you can have both in your life. But with a small purse, if you +live the first half of your life in the country, and only get release +from it when you are old, then you are too old to enjoy your liberty. +Opportunities are gone; your talents are rusted, your ignorance of the +world is ridiculous!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Audrey, dear, you are getting quite excited!"</p> + +<p>"I am—I feel so. Do say you agree with me. You must if you think it +out. Look at us in this village. Here are four young women, not poor +enough to earn their living, but not rich enough to satisfy their +mental needs. One, Pauline Erskine, devotes herself to an invalid +mother, and never leaves home for a single night. Don't interrupt me. +She might, as your old Mary would say, 'grace a castle,' with her +dignity and beauty. She once had a longing for an artistic life, but +it has been stifled. She did go to London for three weeks when she was +quite young, and she has lived on the memory of it ever since. She +pretends her life satisfies her, but I know it doesn't.</p> + +<p>"Then there is Honor Broughton, who is nursery governess to her three +small stepsisters. Her whole world is centred in this backwater. +She can never talk of anyone but her immediate neighbours, and the +iniquities of her mother's servants.</p> + +<p>"Amabel Osborne is a most dutiful daughter, of course, and is always +the picture of happy content. But she confesses that reading a +newspaper to her father is the most uninteresting part of her day's +work. She has never worked her brains, and never will. Picking flowers +in the garden, and listening to a lark's song, and roaming across +buttercup meadows are her highest pleasures."</p> + +<p>"And Audrey Hume—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's just another, with a passion for reading, but can get no +books worth the name of books, and a passion for novelty and change, +and has never been twelve miles out of this backwater all her life. +Talk about the revolt of women, and the era of independent women—what +do we understand by such terms? There are no stronger chains than those +of affection and blood, and we are all tied to those who are old and +weak and helpless, and who are our beloved belongings!"</p> + +<p>Quick tears sprang to the young girl's eyes as she turned to her friend +for sympathy.</p> + +<p>Pauline looked at her, then gazed over the peaceful landscape in front +of them with a wistful smile.</p> + +<p>They were both leaning over a gate as they talked. It was a buttercup +meadow in front of them, and young lambs were at play in it. The soft +spring air, with the thrill of youth and expectancy in it, had got +into Audrey's veins. She was quivering all over with excitement and +feeling, and her dark grey eyes were flashing with a thousand lights +and sparkles. Slim and of the average height, with a broad low brow, +and soft dusky hair, and a face that owed all its beauty to its variety +of expression, she was a marked contrast to the tall fair girl beside +her.</p> + +<p>Pauline was a woman who attracted all who knew her, and yet was utterly +unconscious of her power. Her dignified serenity, the deep earnest +vibration in her tone, and her slow, bewildering smile that seemed to +caress the one upon whom she smiled—all helped to add to her charms. +But her power was in her wide outlook, and deep love and sympathy for +everyone who came across her path. Audrey often called her a "Viking's +daughter." Her deep blue eyes, fair complexion, and coils of golden +hair, with her tall and beautifully proportioned figure, certainly +claimed a Northern ancestry.</p> + +<p>Audrey glanced at her now, and Pauline met her gaze with the words:</p> + +<p>"We must be going on, or we shall be late for tea, and Mrs. Daventry +will be disappointed."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Audrey, with a quick sigh, which she turned to +laughter. "We always have to be doing things we do not like for fear +of disappointing people. I can so rarely get you to myself, and I am +bubbling over with thoughts that I want to pass on to you."</p> + +<p>"We can walk and talk at the same time, can't we?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but the house is already in sight. Walk very slowly, Pauline, +there's a dear. I've been thinking out this question about single +women, and I find it infinitely pathetic. They are the least considered +and the most heroic—now, don't laugh at me! But isn't it true that by +devoting themselves to the old people, they lose the chance of ever +getting, in their turn, the devotion of the young? In broad plain +language, they are prevented from meeting men whom they might marry by +attending to their home ties and duties. I'm not thinking of myself at +all—it isn't a personal grievance; I am looking out from this small +village upon the world at large—the world I hear about, and read +about, and think about. Why should the generation of daughters be more +self-sacrificing than the parents? The single daughters look forward +to a lonely old age, to poverty perhaps, to a time when they will be +in the way of their friends, only tolerated as far as they can prove +themselves useful, and spoken of with contemptuous pity by the young. +And some of them are the noblest and best in creation!"</p> + +<p>"They will have their reward," said Pauline gently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are so good, and I am so wicked!"</p> + +<p>Then Audrey laughed, and her laugh was an infectious one.</p> + +<p>"I won't moralise any more. I am going to enjoy myself this afternoon. +I love Mrs. Daventry. I wish she were my aunt or grandmother."</p> + +<p>They had reached a small lodge, and went through some handsome iron +gates up the drive that led to Barford Towers.</p> + +<p>The park stretched away on either side of them; the chestnut avenue +brought a sense of refreshment and peace after their rather hot and +dusty walk along the high road.</p> + +<p>Just in front of the old Tudor house was a green lawn, and under a +cluster of beech trees was a group of people about to enjoy their +afternoon tea together. Mrs. Daventry was the centre of the group, and +she rose to receive the two girls with her usual smiling welcome. She +was a very handsome old lady, with snow-white hair that was rolled +back in French fashion under a filmy handkerchief of Mechlin lace. Her +figure was still as erect, her eyes still as bright, as when, fifty +years before, she had come to her beautiful home a happy bride.</p> + +<p>The group around her were only young girls, but they all adored her; +she was their queen, and they her court, as they often laughingly told +her. And Mrs. Daventry loved every one of them.</p> + +<p>The childless widow had taken to her heart the young maidens who +lived outside her gates; she had seen the world as they had not. She +remembered her own youth, and had boundless sympathy for any of them in +a difficulty.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Pauline, sit by me," the old lady said, drawing a lounge +chair a little nearer her own; "and Audrey, sit where I can see your +bright face. Here is Honor declaring you would not be coming. Now, I +really think the Tabby's Tea-party has commenced."</p> + +<p>Four girls and an old lady can keep the art of conversation up to the +mark. There was no shyness amongst any of them. Pauline was perhaps the +most silent, and Audrey the most talkative; Amabel laughed most; Honor +was the most appreciative, though she had a most melancholy cast of +countenance.</p> + +<p>When tea was over, Audrey said:</p> + +<p>"Now, Mrs. Daventry, let us talk about life—our lives; that's the most +interesting thing in the world to us. Make us feel that a good time is +coming to us. Inspire us with some of your thoughts. We are all more or +less discontented, though I'm the only honest one who owns up."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry shook her head at Audrey, with her silvery laugh.</p> + +<p>"I see no signs of discontent upon your faces," she said.</p> + +<p>"No," said Honor quickly, "but that is because we are so close to our +sun that we must reflect her rays!"</p> + +<p>"I've never heard that the sun was a female before," said Mrs. +Daventry, smiling. "Do you know what I always think when I look +upon your young, fresh faces? I thank God that His works are always +beautiful to start with. And then I muse upon the bundle of charms that +you each possess, and which, if properly used, will make your world +fair and beautiful."</p> + +<p>"I have no charms," murmured Honor.</p> + +<p>And, certainly, as far as outward charm went, she had not, for no one +could call her anything but plain to look at. She had a broad mouth, +snub nose, and small, short-sighted, blue eyes; yet when she talked, no +one could call her uninteresting.</p> + +<p>"Tell us our charms," said Audrey. "It's very nice to hear of our +graces."</p> + +<p>"I won't put beauty first, though it is one of them, and when I speak +of beauty, I mean more than faultless features and good complexions. +You have youth, health, strength, a boundless hope, enthusiasm, +good spirits, and vivacity. You have innocence and freshness, and +unembittered views of life."</p> + +<p>"And we are all stagnating in a backwater," said Audrey mischievously.</p> + +<p>"There is no such thing as stagnation in a human life. We either +deteriorate or improve."</p> + +<p>The old lady's voice was grave.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," she went on cheerfully, "that I had a good deal of +thought to-day over my lodges? You know the names of them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Amabel. "They are called North, South, East, and West +Lodges, because you have one on each of the four sides of the Park."</p> + +<p>"And do you know this about the City we all hope to enter one day:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'On the East three gates; on the North three gates; on the South +three gates; and on the West three gates'?"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The four girls looked at her expectantly.</p> + +<p>"I have a fancy—" and here Mrs. Daventry's dark eyes became soft and +dreamy as she looked away to some distant hills on the horizon—"that +each one of us may be entering that City through different gates; we +may be journeying out to it with our faces towards the North, South, +East, or West. Think it out, will you? It may explain the different +winds we face through life. When once we get inside, we shall +acknowledge that whatever road led us to our destination was the right +one for us, and thank our Guide for having enabled us to face our wind."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image004" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"><a id="Image004"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image004.jpg" alt="image004"></a></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>"I HAVE A FANCY," SAID MRS. DAVENTRY, "THAT EACH ONE OF US</b><br> +<b>MAY BE ENTERING THAT CITY THROUGH DIFFERENT GATES."</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Audrey's eyes sparkled.</p> + +<p>"I like that," she said. "I'll find out which is my gate before +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I know which is mine," said Honor. "I have faced East all my life. My +wind is always sharp and cutting, and I have to be for ever bracing up +myself to meet it without a whimper."</p> + +<p>No one answered. Each girl was reflecting, and when Mrs. Daventry rose +from her seat and took all of them into the house to see some wonderful +needlework of hers, the subject was dropped.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>An hour later, the four girls left the house together, and chatted +gaily as they walked along.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, we are really going up to London for a month soon," said +Amabel. "I have an aunt who has lived in Paris most of her life, but +since my uncle's death, she has taken a house in town, and she has +invited my parents and me. Won't it be delicious? She has a motor and +any amount of money, so we shall be in the lap of luxury."</p> + +<p>"What a lucky girl you are!" sighed Honor. "It was only a short time +ago that you went a lovely driving tour. Things like that never come to +me. It's just as I said. I shall face the East always, and hardly ever +see the sun."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Audrey, laughing; "and all of us know that Amabel's road +faces due South. She will go through life in the blazing sunshine of +prosperity."</p> + +<p>"Then my soul will get very parched."</p> + +<p>Amabel's tone was light, but there was a glimmer of seriousness in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>Audrey glanced at her reflectively.</p> + +<p>She was a pretty, childish little creature, with soft, playful ways and +a ringing laugh that could not easily be suppressed.</p> + +<p>"I dare say facing South always would be very enervating," Audrey said +slowly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course it will be, and you must make allowances accordingly +for a Southerner. Pray, what gate is your destination, Audrey?"</p> + +<p>"I think it must be West, because such storms crop up in a moment. +Pauline, can your gate be the Northern one? I pity you if it is, for +not a gleam of sunshine will you get as you go along. But it will +suit you, for you will step along serenely, and in your eyes will be +steadfast purpose. I believe your hidden fires will keep your Northern +outlook from freezing you."</p> + +<p>Pauline looked at her friend with her sweet, grave smile, then her blue +eyes kindled with deep feeling as she said:</p> + +<p>"Remember, if my face is towards the North, my back will be towards the +sun. I may not see it, but I shall feel it, and I shall be kept warm."</p> + +<p>Honor linked her arm in Pauline's.</p> + +<p>"And what hope do you give me if I am to be perpetually meeting the +most cutting and cruel wind of all?"</p> + +<p>"There's a rush of thought over facing East, but don't you like this, +'And they journeyed towards the sunrising'? Can you wish for anything +better than that?"</p> + +<p>"It wants thinking out," said Honor slowly.</p> + +<p>"We shall all get some sunshine," said Audrey, with knitted brow. "I +really think it will be very interesting making out our different ways +and fitting all our circumstances into them. I vote we meet each other +in a year's time to mark progress and note past events."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said Amabel gaily, "we may not all be here. Sometimes a year +brings great changes."</p> + +<p>"I feel in my bones it will bring no change to me," said Audrey. "'As +it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be—' don't look shocked, +Pauline! I don't mean to be frivolous, but things come into my head so! +And now here we part, for this is my turning."</p> + +<p>They parted, but each took with them the thought that had been given +them by their old friend that day, and shaped it into their lives.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_2">CHAPTER II</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>FACING WEST</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + + "For the work to God the dearest<br> + + Is the duty lying nearest."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"WELL, 'I' think summer very depressing—given a small house, a treeless +garden, and an incompetent domestic. What is there in it to please? All +the morning I have been stripping gooseberry bushes in the blazing sun, +scratching and tearing the flesh off my hands; and all the afternoon +I've been topping and tailing these same gooseberries and standing over +a scorching fire seeing them bubble and squeal and subside into sticky +jam. And now you want me to pelt along the high road in the dust and +heat, carrying your heavy parcel to the tailor's; and it is a good mile +and a half each way. Of course, I'll do it. Fanny says she's feeling +the heat too much. I'm sure I am. But as I'm not in service, I can't +object. You mustn't mind this grumble. It cools me to discharge my +feeling."</p> + +<p>"I wish, my dear Audrey, you would curb your tongue a little. It is +most unpleasant and disturbing. I think I must have my chair moved into +the porch; it will be cooler, and I may be able to have a nap when +you are gone, for there will be quiet in the house. You keep it in a +perpetual ferment when you are in it."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Audrey, with an impatient laugh, "I must let myself go +sometimes, father! It will take years to extricate all the gas inside +me. There—now I have arranged your chair in the coolest corner. Here +are your specs and your newspaper. Anything else? Oh, your hat! You +must have left it in the garden. You had it when you were weeding the +gooseberries. I'll fetch it."</p> + +<p>With a half-smothered sigh, Audrey sped along the neat gravel path that +surrounded their small back garden. Her father's failing memory and +aptitude for losing his belongings took up a good deal of her time. +Mr. Hume was a tall, fine-looking old man, but was stiff and crippled +with rheumatism. He had held a Civil appointment in India for many +years, and was now living on his pension. He was a man without a hobby, +and was consequently very dependent on his daughter for interest and +occupation. He read a little, but beyond his daily newspaper, only the +works of the lightest fiction did he care about. He wrote occasional +letters, and every now and then, when much stirred by any topical +subject, would write a letter to the Press. He gardened, but that was +more superintendence than actual work, and the rest of the day he spent +dozing and sleeping in his arm-chair, varied by short walks along the +high road.</p> + +<p>The house was one of three in a terrace. On one side of them lived +a doctor and his wife, both rather sleepy, middle-aged people; on +the other, a solicitor, with his two sisters. No other houses were +near, and it was unfortunate that Audrey was not a favourite with her +neighbours. They liked to give advice, she disliked receiving it. They +invariably took her father's views of life and strongly disapproved of +emancipated young women. Audrey loved shocking them, and was intolerant +of their narrow views of life. Especially was this the case with the +Misses Blunt, who were thin, angular women, with a humble adoration for +their only brother, and a rigid primness of conduct and speech.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hume was not particularly fond of these good ladies, but he quoted +them when annoyed by his daughter, and occasionally made appeal to them +when Audrey rebelled against his authority. To do her justice, she was +a very dutiful daughter, though from her speech one would hardly credit +it. Mr. Hume was irritable and impulsive; periodically, he would have +storms of sudden passion which swept through his small household like +a tornado. His will was law, and he would never stand the slightest +opposition. Audrey had not learnt to bear these storms with serenity; +too often she would add fuel to the flames by inopportune remarks. +But she struggled to be patient and calm, and sometimes succeeded in +pacifying him before he lost entire control of himself.</p> + +<p>As she sped along the road to the small country town, with aching head +and weary feet, she felt tired of it all.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said impatiently to herself. "I am just a beast of burden, +and have no other outlook. I shall get old and grey cooking jam, +carrying parcels, and making talk for old people. But—" here a flash of +humour lightened up her depression—"never will I screw my hair into a +tight little knot or my mouth into a creasy button, like Miss Julia and +Miss Grace Blunt!"</p> + +<p>Then she raised her eyes, and over the range of sloping meadows in +front of her was the setting sun in all its splendour. The radiant +colouring and beautiful cloud effect appealed to her artistic soul.</p> + +<p>She watched it in breathless delight.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she said. "I hope I shall enter my West gate through such a +sunset."</p> + +<p>And then deep, serious thought settled down upon her—thought that +stamped itself upon eyes and brow, and made the remaining distance but +nothing to her unconscious feet.</p> + +<p>She left her parcel and returned home with a bright and smiling face.</p> + +<p>Her father looked at her as she helped him back to his sitting-room and +lit the lamp to disperse the gathering dusk.</p> + +<p>"Did you enjoy your walk?"</p> + +<p>"I think I did—the return part of it, at any rate."</p> + +<p>She stood at the window, looking up into the sky, her hand raised to +pull down the blind. Then she turned quickly to her father.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't you think—don't you wish sometimes that the earth would give +itself a little shake and begin to go round the other way? It would be +such a revolutionary change. The very thought of it is delicious!"</p> + +<p>"You talk a great deal of nonsense," said Mr. Hume testily. "Change! +Change! Who wants change? Let well alone. It comes too fast for most of +us."</p> + +<p>"Not for me," said Audrey, lowering the blind, and sitting down in an +easy-chair opposite her father. "I feel I am becoming petrified. What +kind of an old age shall I have, father? Your pension will die with +you. I shall be left penniless, and there is not a craft or trade that +I can work at."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hume moved uneasily in his chair.</p> + +<p>"You are talking very strangely, Audrey. We are a long-lived race, and +I may outlive you. In any case, I am putting by a little every year for +you. It will be a nice little nest-egg one day. There is no occasion +for you to be discussing your future after my death—"</p> + +<p>"No," said Audrey, with a funny little smile, as her thoughts went to +her father's bank-book, which he often showed her, and the five pounds +at the most that he saved out of his income every year. "One must live +like the grasshoppers—that is the best way."</p> + +<p>Then she fetched her work-basket, with her mending in it, and hummed +under her breath:</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"Say what shall be our sport to-day?<br> + There's nothing on earth, in sea or air,<br> + Too bright, too bold, too high, too gay<br> + For spirits like mine to dare!"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Her father fidgeted his paper.</p> + +<p>"And if you do outlive me," he said abruptly, "you will marry as your +mother did before you."</p> + +<p>Audrey laughed deliciously. Her friends always said that the sound of +her laugh was intoxicating.</p> + +<p>"Whom shall I marry, father? Will a prince come driving up in a coach +and four? He will have to fall from the skies, for a young man in our +village is an unheard-of article. I don't believe—" here Audrey dropped +her mending and leant forward, nursing her chin in her hands—"I don't +believe that I have ever spoken to a young man since I was a girl of +fourteen at school and one of the boarders' brothers came to see her. +Mr. Broughton is strong enough and wise enough to have no curates—there +are too many single young women about to make such a venture. No, +father, marriage for penniless, commonplace girls is an impossibility."</p> + +<p>Her father made no reply, but seemed absorbed in thought. After a time, +he said in a slow, musing tone:</p> + +<p>"We do not know for certain about Bernard."</p> + +<p>Audrey sat up with a little start. It was years since her father had +mentioned that name.</p> + +<p>Fifteen years had passed since a hot, passionate quarrel had taken +place between father and son. There had been a hasty departure, and, +beyond a letter to his mother announcing his arrival at Sydney, no +other news had come of the absent one. For years, they had tried to +trace his whereabouts, but had failed. And for a long time now, they +had looked upon him as dead.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Audrey, a little pity stealing into her voice, "you +are always hoping that the prodigal will return with bags of gold, +having made his fortune. But I rather fancy the Bible version is truer +to life, and though I have still a sisterly affection for him, I do not +know that I would welcome rapturously a broken-down, needy man who, +failing to support himself, has returned to be supported by those who +can ill afford to do so."</p> + +<p>"Your mother had faith in him to the last."</p> + +<p>Sudden tears filled Audrey's eyes. Her heart was softer than her +tongue, and the deeper she felt about things, the more she tried to +hide it. She could never forget, as a girl of fifteen, her gentle +mother's death-bed and her pathetic yearning for her absent son.</p> + +<p>"Bernard is not bad, only hot-tempered. He will make a good man—my +heart tells me that he will," she had said to her husband over and over +again.</p> + +<p>Silence fell between father and daughter. Audrey took up her mending +rather fiercely, whilst she brushed away her tears with an impatient +hand.</p> + +<p>And then in a few minutes her father spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember Everard Vernon? I have lost sight of him for many +years, but I consider he is deeply in my debt."</p> + +<p>"What! Does he owe you money? I don't remember him. He was the man that +lived with you out in India, wasn't he? Mother used to talk about him."</p> + +<p>"Money is not the one and only thing you can owe," Mr. Hume said +testily. "Of course you don't remember him."</p> + +<p>He took up his newspaper, and did not speak again until he retired +to his room for the night. Then, as Audrey accompanied him upstairs, +candle in hand, and stooped to give him her usual good-night kiss, he +murmured almost under his breath:</p> + +<p>"Deeply in my debt! I shall not forget it."</p> + +<p>Audrey sped downstairs, going into the kitchen first to have a few +words with their young maidservant, and then going the round of the +house to see that all locks and bolts were securely fastened for the +night. When she came to the front door, she opened it and stood in the +porch, delighting in the cool, fresh evening air.</p> + +<p>And then, raising her face to the starlit sky, she murmured to herself:</p> + +<p>"It is easy to portion out our roads and gates, but am I perfectly +certain that Heaven is my goal and destination? Pauline is; she is as +sure and steadfast as a rock. But I seem tossed about, sometimes with +such high ideals, sometimes with such carnal, earthly ones, and then +something whirls up inside me and carries me off my feet, until I do +not know where I am. I suppose this hot temper is our hereditary curse. +Why did I not take after my mother, who was an angel of sweetness? +Father, I, and poor Bernard, spitting and spluttering out words best +forgotten, and never learning wisdom with age. Ah, poor Bernard! I +don't believe he is in this world at all."</p> + +<p>A heavy sigh escaped her.</p> + +<p>"Well, after all, am I doing better with my life than he? What will +my record be of these quiet years? Impatience of control, rebellion +against circumstances, distrust of God or of His dealings with us? I +keep a house going, I have a Sunday class, and I grumble and chafe +incessantly at my narrow life. Unlovable, unsympathetic, and bad +tempered—that is my character. I wonder if I was born to be different? +Perhaps I was meant to do small things all my life. But if I was, who +am I panting so for a wider sphere and for greater knowledge? I am so +ignorant, and yet I want to learn; I want to have my mind expanded, to +be for a time in the rush of life! Why should what I consider my best +longings be thwarted and denied?"</p> + +<p>Looking into the still infinity above her, Audrey breathed this prayer:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Oh, God, shape me into something that will bring Thee credit, +something that will leave its mark for good upon the world before I +die!"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>And then she locked the door in front of her and went to bed.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The following morning she was shopping in the village when she met +Pauline.</p> + +<p>Audrey greeted her enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"I must talk to you. Can you wait till I have been to the butcher's, +and let me walk home with you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I am going to the post office."</p> + +<p>They parted, then met again a few minutes later, and turned up a lane +at the end of the village which led to Pauline's cottage home.</p> + +<p>"You are looking tired, Pauline. What have you been doing?" Audrey +asked affectionately, as she linked her arm in that of her friend and +insisted on carrying her basket.</p> + +<p>"Mother had a bad night; I was up with her."</p> + +<p>"I wonder how often you get a good night's rest?"</p> + +<p>"I am very strong," said Pauline, smiling. "Now, tell me how you are +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Still fermenting inside. I would give anything for your splendid calm. +You're like a ship sailing in smooth waters—no, that simile is not +good, for I know your waters are rough."</p> + +<p>"Some people say I am stoical," said Pauline. "Sometimes I wonder if I +am."</p> + +<p>"Never. But you've got the secret of happy living, and I haven't. And +do you know, Pauline, the worst of it is, I don't want to have it. +I don't want to settle down and be content with my life. It doesn't +satisfy my soul, and it never will; it's too small, and I can't cut +myself small enough to fit it."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I understand, dear," said Pauline cheerfully. "I have felt like +it myself. But fretting against the inevitable is very wearing to other +people as well as to oneself. Don't kick the dust and stones up as you +walk, but tread them under. You really will find that the best plan."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is one of your nice sayings. I'll remember it. The fact +is, you are really good, and I am not. And at home, if I am not in +a bad humour, father is; it is a kind of see-saw arrangement with +us. Last night, I went to bed in quite a religious frame of mind. +This morning, nothing would please father. He had one of his letters +returned him from the 'Times,' and that put him out; then he wanted +Mr. Blunt to call and see him upon business. I know he can have no +business to transact, and I told him it was wasting his money to pay +for a gossiping visit from the old man. Then he flew into one of his +passions, and blew me up sky high, and said if I was a pauper after he +died, without a roof to cover me, it would be my own fault. Now, what +can he mean by that? I know I shall be a pauper—unless some unknown +rich relation dies and leaves me some money, I shall have absolutely +nothing to live upon when I am left alone. And I puzzle my head again +and again trying to solve the problem. I feel I ought to be fitting +myself for such an emergency. But what can I do? I have a certain +amount of time, but no talent to cultivate. Now, you have talents and +no time. I am only half educated, and can get no books to educate +myself."</p> + +<p>"Earn some money, and subscribe to a London library."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pauline! How can I earn anything? And if I did, we want every +penny we can get to help us to live."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Pauline slowly, "I have known people in very difficult +circumstances earn something. It wants originality—I suppose that is +the battle."</p> + +<p>"Father wouldn't hear of my raising flowers or fruit for sale," said +Audrey meditatively; "and really, between attending to his wants and +those of the house, it takes me all my time. Ah, well! Don't let us +talk of me any more! Here we are! I wish I lived in such a picturesque +setting as you do. I think it would help me to take the ruffles of life +with calmness."</p> + +<p>Pauline's home was certainly picturesque. A low, thatched cottage in an +old-fashioned garden, opening into the lane by a tiny white gate. Yet, +as they stood and looked at it, the thick foliage of the overhanging +trees and shrubs seemed to cast a gloom over it. And though it was a +sunny morning, the cottage was entirely in the shade.</p> + +<p>"We face North," said Pauline, smiling. "I suppose you thought of that +when you suggested that my journey was Northwards."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I did," said Audrey lightly, "but I know it won't hurt you. No +kind of life would. My life is hurting me, and I am getting more and +more bitter and irritable and hopeless. If I am in the refining-pot, I +shall melt away gradually in the process, for there nothing in me but +dross—no gold at on. You see, I can't keep off myself. And now I must +hurry home. Do you want me to come in? I would rather not to-day, but +if you'll have me to tea to-morrow, I think I can manage it."</p> + +<p>"Do come, then! And cheer up! Life is pretty well what we make it, +after all."</p> + +<p>Pauline kissed her affectionately, then for a moment let her hand rest +lightly on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You are made to be a joyous creature, Audrey. Cultivate gladness, if +you can. Do you remember it says: 'Because thou servedst not the Lord +thy God with joyfulness, and with gladness of heart for the abundance +of all things, therefore shalt thou serve thine enemies'?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I have abundance. None of us have."</p> + +<p>"Yet Mrs. Daventry seemed to envy us for our possessions."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Oh I know I am all wrong. I really sometimes doubt if I am +serving God at all. I fancy it is only head knowledge of Him that I +have, and not heart."</p> + +<p>She turned away with a little laugh and wave of her hand.</p> + +<p>Pauline's eyes followed her retreating figure rather sadly; and then +she opened the small gate and went into the cottage.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_3">CHAPTER III</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>FACING NORTH AND EAST</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"God help us through the common days,<br> + The level stretches white with dust,<br> + When thought is tired, and hands upraise<br> + Their burden feebly, since they must.<br> + In days of overwhelming care<br> + Then most we need the strength of prayer."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"OH, miss, I'm glad to see you back! I could do nothing with the +mistress. She insisted on getting up, and is now turning out her +writing-table. She's looking like death, and hasn't touched her +beef-tea!"</p> + +<p>It was the usual formula that greeted Pauline when she returned from +any errand or outing.</p> + +<p>She smiled into her old servant's anxious face.</p> + +<p>"I will go up at once. She must have taken a turn for the better."</p> + +<p>Pauline stepped lightly up the narrow stairs, and opened the door of +her mother's room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine turned round from her davenport at the sound of her +footsteps, and hastily pushed some papers into it and locked it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother dear, ought you to be up? You had such a bad night."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine sat down rather heavily in a chair, and spoke irritably:</p> + +<p>"I told you that it was that soup last night which disagreed with me. +If you will go out when I am wanting you to write my letters, you need +not be surprised to see me making the effort to do it myself."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine was a tall, imposing-looking woman; and though illness had +brought a stoop to her shoulders and hollows under her eyes, she was +still a very striking personality. She had always ruled her household +with a firm and masterful hand. People said she had ruled her husband +with the same rigid hand as she now exercised over her daughter.</p> + +<p>Pauline was not her mother's confidante. Mrs. Erskine still kept all +their money affairs in her own hands, and her daughter had little idea +of the amount of their income. She was never allowed to draw a cheque +or see her mother's bank-book. For over two years, Mrs. Erskine had +been confined to her room, and it was against her doctor's orders that +she ever left her bed. Pauline noted the trembling of her hands and the +shortness of her breath. She wasted no time in remonstrance, but gently +helped her back to bed, and then persuaded her to take the discarded +beef-tea which Mary again presented.</p> + +<p>"I will write for you at once, mother, if you like," she said, when +Mrs. Erskine seemed composed again.</p> + +<p>"I do not want you to. I have done what I wished myself. The letter is +there. See that it goes by this afternoon's post. It is to tell Doctor +Mann that I do not require his services any longer."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! Why?"</p> + +<p>"It is not my habit to give you my reasons for doing things. He does +not suit me. His medicines do me no good."</p> + +<p>"But whom can we have instead of him? You have left Dr. Arbuthnot, and +Mr. Thorne—"</p> + +<p>"I will have no doctor. They all tell me I shall never get any better. +I dislike these country practitioners extremely."</p> + +<p>Pauline stood by the bedside with a perplexed look in her eyes, then +she spoke very gently:</p> + +<p>"Won't you let this letter wait till to-morrow? You may have one of +your sharp attacks of pain again, and then you must have something to +relieve it. I was going to send to the surgery this evening for some +more of your medicine. The bottle is nearly empty."</p> + +<p>"I will have no more of it. Leave me now; I want to try to sleep. And +see that my letter goes this afternoon."</p> + +<p>Pauline withdrew, but downstairs she held counsel with Mary.</p> + +<p>"She has tried every doctor in the neighbourhood, Mary, and now she +will not have Dr. Mann any more. I do not know what to do."</p> + +<p>"Let it be, miss, till the pain comes on, and then she'll be tractable +again. Can't you explain to the doctor. He'll understand an invalid's +whims and fancies."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mary, I think he will. I will send a little note to him myself +and enclose my mother's in it."</p> + +<p>Pauline's face was serene again.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, she was seated with some needlework in her mother's +room. Mrs. Erskine had dropped off into a troubled sleep. Pauline's +thoughts, as her needle flew backwards and forwards, were soon far +away. The scent of some mignonette that came in through the open window +from the little flower-bed below, took her back to a summer morning ten +years previously. It was in London. She had left her father and mother +to attend the School of Art in Kensington. They had just settled down +in this quiet cottage, and her father, who had always believed in her +talent, had persuaded his wife to let her go up to town and lodge with +an old cousin of his.</p> + +<p>Pauline had gone; her future to her was full of golden promise and +sunshine. She plunged into her work with enthusiasm. And then in London +at her cousin's house, she met a clever, cultured man—Justin Pembroke. +He was a relation of her cousin, and had just returned from some +researches in Egypt in connection with the Royal Geographical Society, +of which he was a member. Both of them were busy during the day, but +not an evening passed without their being together. He took her to +places of amusement and interest, or talked to her in her cousin's +drawing-room as no man had ever talked to her before.</p> + +<p>The last morning before the summons home had come was now as fresh as +ever in her memory. He brought her a bunch of mignonette, and paid her +the first compliment that had passed his lips.</p> + +<p>"It is as cool and sweet and refreshing as your presence has been," he +said. "Mignonette to me is associated with country gardens and Nature +in all its purity and freshness. It is my favourite flower. Will you +wear some when you come to the R.G.S.'s soirée this evening?"</p> + +<p>And with a smile, she had assented.</p> + +<p>Alas! She did wear it on her breast—in an express train, answering the +urgent summons of her mother:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Come at once. Your father died this morning from heart failure."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>A dark time ensued then for Pauline. Her mother's health suddenly +failed; she became a querulous, self-centred invalid, and required +her daughter's services night and day. With the loss of her father, +Pauline lost the only one who had shown her love and sympathy. But from +a little child, her faith and trust in God had influenced her life; +and she took her place by her mother's bedside with calm and cheerful +courage. Sometimes she would wonder why Justin Pembroke had passed so +suddenly out of her life. Her heart had told her that he was not one to +trifle with women. And though in those three weeks he had said nothing +definite, she knew that he had cared for her.</p> + +<p>It was a long time before she could think calmly of him. But ten years +softens memories, and it was only, as now, when the sudden scent of the +mignonette was wafted in the air that she felt again the pain of that +broken time of happiness.</p> + +<p>"It is a good thing it came to nothing," she said resolutely to +herself. "I could never have left my mother."</p> + +<p>Then she, too, like Audrey, began to dwell on her old friend's words.</p> + +<p>"I am quite content to journey North, even though my path is to be a +sunless one. Thank God for the sunshine that He gives within. I pray +that I may always reflect a little of it on others."</p> + +<p>She was startled by someone calling her from the garden below. Looking +out, she saw Honor Broughton.</p> + +<p>"Pauline, do come down to me."</p> + +<p>"Hush! I will come if you wait."</p> + +<p>She gave a glance towards her mother's sleeping form, then softly +slipped down the narrow cottage stairs and greeted her friend in the +porch.</p> + +<p>"I want you to advise me," began Honor breathlessly. "Oh, dear! I have +been so worried to-day! I've brought the children out, and they're +picking bluebells in the copse close by. Can you leave your mother for +a little?"</p> + +<p>"I think so—if I tell Mary. Wait a moment."</p> + +<p>She disappeared, then returned with a chair and some cushions.</p> + +<p>"You look so warm, Honor dear. Let us sit in this shady nook under the +medlar tree. Now we can tall, without being disturbed. I have told Mary +to ring for me if I am wanted. Would you like a glass of lemonade or +milk?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! It is merely temper, my stepmother would tell you. Oh, +Pauline, I feel as if I cannot stand my life! I must break away from +it, and my chance has come at last."</p> + +<p>Honor's sallow cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had lost their usual +rather melancholy look.</p> + +<p>"Tell me about it," said Pauline.</p> + +<p>"Father had a letter this morning from an old friend of his. Do you +remember her? A widow? Mrs. Bulwer, her name is. She stayed with us for +a week about four years ago. She wrote asking father if he knew of any +nice, useful girl who would act as a companion to a friend of hers. She +would have a good salary and a comfortable home, and then Mrs. Bulwer +said she wrote because she had thought of me. She said her friend +didn't want any of these pretty, flighty girls whose heads were only +filled with dress and lovers!"</p> + +<p>"But, Honor dear, you could never be spared from home?"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't I? Can't you see my stepmother?</p> + +<p>"Her eyes glistened at once. 'My dear Edward, if Honor's salary would +be sufficient to pay a resident governess for the children, the change +would be advantageous for us all!'</p> + +<p>"Then I boiled over. Why should I be her goods and chattel? I said, +'Perhaps I might not find it convenient to spare any of my salary!'</p> + +<p>"And then—well, we said some biting things to each other, and father +slipped away to his study, and I felt ashamed of myself, and the +subject was dropped. What shall I do, Pauline? Tell me."</p> + +<p>"It does not sound attractive," said Pauline musingly. "Your home +duties are, after all, a labour of love. I don't see the advantage of +looking after a stranger when your own people need you so much."</p> + +<p>"Do they? I think my stepmother is right when she says a governess for +the children would suit her better if I could provide the money for it. +She and I will never get on together, Pauline; we are too near each +other in age. You know how sharp and stinging her tongue is! Well, mine +is getting quite as bad. I jog along every day feeling so hopeless over +it all! I am not like Audrey. I should never have the energy to get +out of my groove unless I was poked out of it. But this has seemed to +come at a time when my patience is almost at an end. Everything I do +is wrong, and this hot weather makes me very slack. The boys will be +coming home from school soon, and I haven't the energy for all that +falls upon me."</p> + +<p>Pauline was silent for a moment. Honor Broughton was the daughter of +the Rector. She had lost her own mother when her two young brothers +were still in the nursery and she was a girl of sixteen. She came home +from school at once, and for two years managed the household and helped +her father in the parish in a thoroughly happy and capable manner. Then +a widow and her daughter came to reside in the village. The daughter +was delicate; she attended every church service, and was continually +appealing to the Rector for help and counsel. Mr. Broughton was a +gentle and kindly disposed man, not very strong-minded, and susceptible +to a woman's influence.</p> + +<p>But it was a tremendous shock to Honor when her father announced to her +his intention of marrying Emily Fenton. And when Emily came as a bride +to the Rectory, she revealed herself as a very irritable and selfish +young woman with a great many fancied ailments. She spent her time in +reading novels and in dressing herself in the latest fashion. From the +very first, Honor and she had mutually disliked each other. But for +the sake of her father, and from a certain pride of her own, Honor had +quietly taken the second place, and supplied the deficiencies of her +stepmother's rule.</p> + +<p>Emily was no housekeeper; she soon handed over that province to Honor. +She did not love parish work; she never sewed. And when little ones +began to appear, she adopted a semi-invalid life.</p> + +<p>Honor was nurse, lady's maid, and housekeeper in one. But she loved +the babies, and they learnt to love her. As time went on, Emily's +irritability increased. She vented it entirely on the quiet girl who +was the drudge of the family. Nothing that she did was right, and when +the countless little difficulties of a poor clergyman's household +occurred, Honor was made responsible for them all. It brought wrinkles +to her brow and a hopeless look into her blue eyes. She was always +tired in body and in soul, and lately had felt that her patience and +forbearance were waning. Only her friends realised what her life was, +and Pauline's heart ached for her.</p> + +<p>"Don't take a fresh step in life rashly, dear. Do you know at all what +kind of person this lady is who wants you? A companion is very often a +mere drudge. No governess would be to the children what you are, and +then there is your father. He said to me the other day when I met him:</p> + +<p>"'Ah! I am not getting younger. I wish I could afford a curate, but +with a daughter like Honor, I ought not to want one.'"</p> + +<p>"Did he say that? Dear old father! I should hate leaving home; and, +after all, as you say, I might be quite as miserable away. But Emily +has set her heart on my going. And she expects that every penny of my +salary will come to her. What does she expect me to dress upon, or +how are my thousand and one little expenses to be paid if I am away +from home? It is this that has annoyed me so. I only exist to ease her +circumstances. If it were not for father, I would leave home to-morrow +and keep every penny I receive for myself."</p> + +<p>A defiant light shot into her eyes as she spoke. Then her shoulders +drooped a little, and she sighed.</p> + +<p>"But I haven't the spirit. It is only to you that I talk like this. +East wind is meant to be invigorating and bracing, is it not? It +depresses me to death. I have been thinking over my Eastern outlook, +and I'm tired, quite tired, of meeting nothing but bitter blasts."</p> + +<p>"'They journeyed towards the sunrising,'" quoted Pauline softly, whilst +a bright smile came to her lips. "Oh, Honor dear, your path leads to +the sun. Look on and up, and you will see it rise—"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Honor, rising from her seat, "I must be off, for I have to +take the choir practice at four. I shall let Emily settle my fate. It +is the only thing to be done. You have done me good, Pauline. I will +look up. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>She hastened away, calling to her three little sisters.</p> + +<p>And Pauline once again mounted the stairs to her mother's room.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that the complete change would not be good for her," she +mused. "Honor has never left home for a day for the last three or four +years. When her father and stepmother go for a holiday, she has always +to stay at home. It is an unnatural life for a girl; she is too old for +her age—too careworn."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Honor did not look very careworn as she joined her small sisters. +They were three flaxen-headed mites of five, six, and seven years +respectively—too small to require much teaching at present, though for +two hours every morning Honor sat in the old schoolroom with them, +and mingled reading and writing with the joys of various kindergarten +studies. Daisy, the eldest, could read; Minnie was still struggling +with words of one syllable; and the baby, Chatty, as she was called, +barely knew her alphabet.</p> + +<p>Now they were running and dancing through the field path to the +Rectory, Honor apparently as lighthearted and gay as the little ones.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" she cried. "It is nearly four o'clock, and I must be in the +church sharp at four."</p> + +<p>"Let's purtend it isn't four," suggested Minnie with guile.</p> + +<p>But her suggestion was set aside with scorn by Daisy.</p> + +<p>"You can't purtend anything about father's church. It's wicked."</p> + +<p>As they reached the Rectory door, they were met by the young housemaid, +who looked rather perturbed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Honor, we've a lot of company. Lady Marion, with some ladies +from London. And me and cook has to hurry in tea as fast as ever we +can. And missis says will you send the children into the drawin'-room +in their best frocks, as Lady Marion has asked to see them."</p> + +<p>Honor looked at the hot, dirty little hands and faces and untidy heads +with dismay.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! I shall be late. We ought not to have stayed out so long. +Come along, chicks!"</p> + +<p>She flew upstairs, and the next ten minutes was a wild fight with time. +As she was ushering the three white-frocked little damsels downstairs, +Mr. Broughton came out into the hall. He was on his way to the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"Why, Honor, I thought you were at the practice! It is late."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I am sorry. I stayed out too long. Take the children in, father, +will you? I hope they will be good."</p> + +<p>She ran out along the path that led to the church, feeling tired and +heated. The choir boys were chasing each other round the churchyard, +and the two or three young women who also helped with their voices were +gossiping together in the porch.</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry I am late," Honor said, producing her key and unlocking +the church door. "Now, boys, quietly, please!"</p> + +<p>The church was cool and still. Honor loved music, and the singing of +the psalms and hymns for the following Sunday brought peace and comfort +to her heart. When she returned to the house an hour later, her mind +was rested—if her body was not.</p> + +<p>She went into the drawing-room, which was now a scene of confusion. The +visitors had gone, but the children were still there with their mother. +Chatty was crying; she had overturned some milk upon the carpet, and +Mrs. Broughton was scolding her sharply as she tried to wipe up the +spilt milk with her handkerchief. Minnie was jumping up and down on +the sofa, and Daisy was helping herself to some cake on the table. +The untidy tea-table, chairs pulled about in all directions, and the +fretful tones of her stepmother did much to dispel Honor's peace of +mind.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there you are! What a time you have been! Do, for goodness' sake, +take these children away. They have had their tea with us, but I will +never let them do it again. Get off that sofa at once, Minnie, you +naughty child! And here's a mess on our new carpet! I have rung the +bell three times for Ellen to come."</p> + +<p>"I expect she is at her tea. I will get a cloth from the pantry."</p> + +<p>By the time Honor had effaced the milk-stains and tidied the room, the +children had sobered down. Mrs. Broughton lay down upon the sofa as if +quite exhausted.</p> + +<p>"I am completely worn out," she said. "Lady Marion paid such a long +visit, and I thought Ellen would never bring the tea in! She is so +dreadfully slow! Do take the children away at once, and let me have a +little peace."</p> + +<p>"I want some tea myself, if there is any," said Honor, going to the +tea-tray.</p> + +<p>The tea was cold and bitter, but she poured herself out a cup and drank +it standing. No one would ever think of keeping hot tea for her, she +said to herself a little bitterly. She was never supposed to be tired +or thirsty. She collected the cups and saucers, which were scattered +all over the room, put them upon the tea-tray ready for Ellen to take +away, and then mounted the stairs again, the children keeping up a +vociferous chatter as they accompanied her. She did not leave them +again till they were all in bed. Then she changed her dress and went +down to supper with her father and mother.</p> + +<p>"Well," Mr. Broughton said a little nervously, as he looked at his +wife, "I—we have written to Mrs. Bulwer in answer to her letter this +morning, and I have told her that if this lady can give you £100 a +year, we will do our best to spare you, but not otherwise."</p> + +<p>"My dear father," said Honor, opening her eyes, "what an extraordinary +way to write! I should never expect such a salary as that; I—I am not +worth it. You write as if we are doing her a favour; she will look at +it in quite another light. I did not know you were going to answer so +quickly. We have not had time to talk it over."</p> + +<p>"Your father and I have had plenty of time," said Mrs. Broughton +sharply. "I could get a friend of mine to come and look after the +children if we could give her a small salary. And the extra amount +would be a godsend to us, when every penny has to be thought of."</p> + +<p>"If anyone would give me that handsome salary," said Honor +thoughtfully, "they would expect me to dress accordingly. You couldn't +expect to receive much from my first quarter's pay. At present, I have +not a dress fit to wear, and there are a thousand difficulties in the +way. Would your friend, Emily, be able and willing to do the things +that I do? It is not only the children to be thought about. There are +the Sunday-school, the club accounts, the choir practices, the visiting +in the village, the housekeeping. Most nursery governesses would not be +willing to do all this—and it must be done."</p> + +<p>"You have a wonderful faculty for extolling all your good deeds," +said Emily with a little sneer, "but I fail to discover them. You +are proverbially slow and stupid over everything you undertake, and +take twice the time in doing it that anyone else would do. If I were +stronger, I would make nothing of what you are always making such a hue +and cry about. I assure you, though you may not believe it, we should +get on just as well without you as with you—not to say better!"</p> + +<p>"We need not say any more now," her father said gently. "I dare say, +as Emily says, the change would be good for you, Honor. Of course, we +should miss you, but if it is for your good, I shall not try to keep +you. We will wait and hear what this lady says."</p> + +<p>Honor said no more. After supper, she went into her father's study, and +with him conned over some parish accounts.</p> + +<p>Then they went back to the drawing-room, and for the rest of the +evening she was busy with her mending-basket. Her thoughts were in +a tumult. Was her life going to be shaped differently so soon? She +evidently was to have no choice in it herself. She was a shy, diffident +girl, and had not Audrey's longing to see fresh scenes and be in a +wider sphere of action. Her life was full of her home duties and +interests, and her little sisters were her heart's joy and delight. +Though she had sometimes murmured and bewailed her lot, now that +there seemed a chance of altering it, she shrank from the unknown +possibilities before her.</p> + +<p>When she put her tired head down upon her pillow that night, she +murmured to herself:</p> + +<p>"I must not worry. No one would think of giving me £100 a year. I am +not worth it."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>FACING SOUTH</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"Am I wrong to be always so happy? This world is full of grief;<br> + Yet there is laughter of sunshine, to see the crisp green in the leaf.<br> + Daylight is ringing with song birds, and brooklets are crooning by<br> + night,<br> + And why should I make a shadow where God makes all so bright?<br> + Earth may be wicked and weary, yet cannot I help being glad;<br> + There is sunshine without and within me, and how should I mope<br> + or be sad?<br> + God would not flood me with blessings, meaning me only to pine<br> + Amid all the bounties and beauties He pours upon me and mine;<br> + Therefore will I be grateful, and therefore will I rejoice;<br> + My heart is singing within me! Sing on, O heart and voice!"<br> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">WALTER SMITH.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"OH, mother, isn't it delicious to be home again!"</p> + +<p>"I am sure, darling, you enjoyed London. You never seemed tired of +going about. I envied you your spirits. Towns always tire me."</p> + +<p>"And yet I could not drag you away from the shops," said Colonel +Osborne, laughing good-humouredly at his wife.</p> + +<p>They were sitting out on their lawn under the trees. Amabel presided at +the tea-table, and made a pretty picture in her white gown, with her +golden curls and radiant face. The Manor Cottage was half-way between +the town of Gadsborough and the village of Criscombe.</p> + +<p>Colonel Osborne had only his pension to live upon, and suffered a good +deal from his eyes, but was always cheery. His wife was a gentle, +placid woman whose one thought was how she could add to her husband's +and daughter's happiness, and Amabel was the sunshine of the house. +Everyone said that it was the happiest household in the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>Naughty Audrey would sometimes impatiently exclaim:</p> + +<p>"I believe if they were in an earthquake the colonel would say, 'A +pleasant break to our monotony!'"</p> + +<p>And certainly, if catastrophes did come, the Osbornes took them very +lightly. The visit to London had lengthened from one month into two, +and had been a great success.</p> + +<p>Amabel had been taken everywhere by her aunt, and had made a great many +fresh friends. Amongst them was a Captain Rutland, who had hardly ever +left her side, and who had almost invited himself to spend a week-end +with them very soon. Her father had assured him he would always be +welcome, and perhaps it was the thought of this impending visit that +had brought an added softness to Amabel's blue eyes and a deeper flush +to her cheeks. As she lay back now in her lounge wicker chair and +watched the shadows cross the bright flower-beds and dance across the +lawn, as she glanced at the creeper-covered cottage with its casement +windows and old-fashioned porch, the thought that rose uppermost in her +heart and almost shaped itself into speech by her lips was:</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope he will like it, I hope he will like it!"</p> + +<p>"I met Hume in the town to-day; he had driven in to get his hair cut," +said Colonel Osborne, who had been into Gadsborough for the same +purpose that morning. "What rages that fellow does put himself into! +He was fighting old Greene like an angry bull, and only because he had +sent him in a bill after it had been paid. A matter of nine shillings +and a penny, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Well, father," said Amabel, "you wouldn't have wanted to pay that +again, would you? I shouldn't."</p> + +<p>"No, but I think I should have taken old Greene's abject apology like +a gentleman. But Hume wasn't himself to-day. He tried to fight me over +this Licence Bill, but I wouldn't rise."</p> + +<p>"I think he is nearly always in pain, poor man," said Mrs. Osborne. +"You must make allowances. And he never sleeps well. Audrey has told me +that she hears him moving about in his room half the night."</p> + +<p>"I don't know which I pity most—Audrey or Pauline," said Amabel softly. +"Perhaps Pauline, because Mr. Hume's fits of temper are soon over; Mrs. +Erskine is always disagreeable. Audrey told me—"</p> + +<p>"Talk of the—hum—angel, and here she is!" said Colonel Osborne, turning +round in his seat as he heard the click of the gate.</p> + +<p>It was Audrey.</p> + +<p>"Welcome home!" she called out gaily. "Did you only arrive yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"Yesterday morning," said Amabel, jumping up and embracing her friend +warmly.</p> + +<p>Colonel Osborne got up from his seat and offered it to Audrey, whilst +Mrs. Osborne peeped into the teapot.</p> + +<p>"Amabel, you must make some fresh tea."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Amabel, seizing hold of the teapot and running into the +house; "the kettle is sure to be boiling in the kitchen."</p> + +<p>"There!" she said when she returned. "That is one of the charms of +home! I couldn't have done that at Aunt Margaret's; we should have had +to ring the bell and wait the butler's pleasure."</p> + +<p>"And I suppose you want to know the latest fashion in gowns, Miss +Audrey?" questioned the colonel with twinkling eyes.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. What else would have brought me to see you so soon?" +retorted Audrey. "I think you all have a London air about you. I'm sure +that is a Bond Street gown that Amabel is wearing, and Mrs. Osborne is +sitting on her chair as they do in the park."</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Mrs. Osborne, starting rather self-consciously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a kind of 'I am beyond your criticism myself, so I am going to +criticise you.'"</p> + +<p>They all laughed.</p> + +<p>"And what about me?" said the colonel.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you are smoking a London cigar and wearing a London tie."</p> + +<p>"I plead guilty to both those charges."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Audrey, taking her tea from Amabel's hand, "I'm sure we +have all missed you tremendously, and we're awfully glad to see you +back. I am on my way home from the town, and when I saw the smoke +coming out of your chimneys, I couldn't resist coming in."</p> + +<p>"Have you been in town all day?" asked Colonel Osborne. "I saw your +father this morning, but you were not with him."</p> + +<p>"No, I came in later with Honor Broughton; we have been shopping +together. Father drove home two hours ago, so I mustn't stop long, for +he will be expecting me. I knew you would give me one of your delicious +cups of tea, Mrs. Osborne. I do feel so much better for it. Was it very +hot in town? We are having a spell of hot weather here."</p> + +<p>"You don't feel the heat much in town," said Amabel, "not when you are +in the lap of luxury, and drive everywhere and have ice at every meal, +and servants on all sides to fetch and carry for you."</p> + +<p>"You make me green with envy!"</p> + +<p>Amabel laughed merrily at Audrey's comical grimace. "Ah, well, I like +this best," she said.</p> + +<p>"You have set the ball rolling," said Audrey. "Do you know who will be +the next to go up to town?"</p> + +<p>"No; who?"</p> + +<p>"Honor."</p> + +<p>"Never! How can she be spared? Who is going to take her?"</p> + +<p>Amabel looked genuinely astonished at the news.</p> + +<p>"She is going away from home for a time—to a Mrs. Montmorency. I +believe she is very well off, and has a country house in Scotland."</p> + +<p>"How delightful for Honor! Oh, I am so glad her good time is coming! Is +this lady a great friend of theirs? I have never heard of her."</p> + +<p>"She is a friend of that Mrs. Bulwer who stayed at the Rectory some +time ago and took such a fancy to Honor. But Honor is going as a paid +companion; she makes no secret of it, so I don't see why I shouldn't +tell you. I believe it is entirely her stepmother's doing."</p> + +<p>"But what a shame!"</p> + +<p>Amabel was righteously indignant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I think it is a very good step. They'll find out Honor's +worth when she is gone, and Honor will see a little more of life, and +get some money into the bargain. I wish myself in her shoes many times +a day."</p> + +<p>"But you wouldn't leave your father?"</p> + +<p>Audrey laughed.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I wouldn't, when it came to the point. But I like to think I +should, sometimes."</p> + +<p>"I really don't know how they can possibly get on without Honor at +the Rectory," said Mrs. Osborne, with a perplexed face. "She manages +everything in her quiet way—the parish as well as her home."</p> + +<p>Audrey made a little grimace.</p> + +<p>"She has shifted some of her duties on my shoulders. I have promised +to be organist, and that means choir practice and a good deal of +practising on my own account, I know. Pauline has been induced to take +the club accounts over—"</p> + +<p>"And what is going to be my share?" questioned Amabel. "I am the drone +amongst you. I haven't even a Sunday class."</p> + +<p>"I believe you're going to be asked to take charge of the village +library. Will you accept it?"</p> + +<p>"I really think I might. What do you say, mother?"</p> + +<p>"If it won't take you out in the evening, dear. You know that we always +like you home then."</p> + +<p>Audrey rose to go, and Amabel, linking her arm affectionately into +hers, walked down to the gate with her.</p> + +<p>"You don't know how nice it is to be home again. I sometimes longed for +you in London, Audrey. I knew you would enjoy it so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, shouldn't I! I could shake Honor! Here she is, with a big change +in her life, and she seems to have no spirit or hope for the future at +all. Why, I tell her anything may happen to her now! She may find a +husband, or the old lady may get so fond of her that she may make her +her heiress, or she may meet with the most charming of friends, and at +all events, she will get her mind enlarged by contact with the world. +That is what I want to do."</p> + +<p>"One does meet with fresh people," said Amabel softly.</p> + +<p>Audrey looked at her and smiled mischievously.</p> + +<p>"Have you met your fate?"</p> + +<p>The pink flush that rose in Amabel's cheeks, and the haste with +which she said good-bye to her friend, sent Audrey home with certain +conviction that her stray shot had told.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Honor was very busy getting ready for her departure. From +the time when the letter came saying that her salary would be what her +father suggested, Honor knew that her fate was sealed. She had only +three weeks before she was to go up to London and enter upon her new +duties. And the subject of dress perplexed her not a little. Her father +presented her with a £10 note, but told her she must expect no more. +And Honor, in company with the little village dressmaker, spent most +of her days in the old schoolroom stitching and machining, making new +dresses and renovating old ones.</p> + +<p>Audrey, being very clever with her ideas as well as her fingers, was +called into counsel. Honor told her laughingly one day that she could +not understand whence she got all her knowledge of the fashionable +world.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Honor, there are some things one knows by instinct. You +can't go into society without a proper evening dress, however simple it +may be."</p> + +<p>"But what I can't make you understand is that paid companions don't go +into society. They stay at home."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but they may have to appear at dinner any night, or every night," +retorted Audrey. "Dress in sober grey or black, if you like, but it +must be made properly."</p> + +<p>She spent a good deal of time in the schoolroom with Honor, and the two +girls learnt to know each other and like each other even better than +they had before.</p> + +<p>Honor's wardrobe, when finished, was a very simple one. A blue serge +skirt and coat for everyday wear, a grey suit for best, a black voile +for evening use, and a mauve one for grander occasions. White skirts +and three hats—a felt for rainy weather, a dark blue straw for common +use, and a grey straw to match her dress for best. With these, Honor +felt quite able to satisfy the most critical employer, and she told +Audrey that the sense of being properly dressed would give her more +confidence in herself.</p> + +<p>"Wait till you see the London gowns," said Audrey, with a wise nod +of her head. But she added hastily: "There is one thing, Honor: you +look what you are—a lady, and nothing can make you anything else! +Hold yourself up and step as if you own the whole world, and Mrs. +Montmorency will be congratulated upon her 'distinguée' companion!"</p> + +<p>The last days were painful ones. The children clung to their +stepsister as if they could not bear her out of their sight. Miss +Paton came and was initiated by Honor into her future duties. She was +a sharp-featured, chatty young woman, who was very demonstrative with +Mrs. Broughton, and was quite ready to humour and sympathise with +her as the occasion required. The children did not take to her, nor +apparently did she to them, and this was the chief anxiety in Honor's +mind. But she hoped that when once she was away, things would be better.</p> + +<p>Her father drove her to the station, and the poor girl found it +difficult to control her tears when the last moment came.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my child. You will be a comfort to Mrs. Montmorency, +I know. But if you are not happy, write us word, and we will have you +back again."</p> + +<p>"And tell me about the children when you write, father. And remember, +if you want me badly, I will come."</p> + +<p>The train steamed off, leaving a very dismal-hearted father behind, and +taking with it a shrinking, fearful girl.</p> + +<p>But the last words that Pauline whispered to her brought a smile to her +quivering lips:</p> + +<p>"Remember,—'They journeyed towards the sun-rising.'"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry had been away from home for a couple of months, so knew +nothing of Honor's departure till she returned. When Amabel informed +her of it, expecting some word of disapproval or regret, she was +surprised by the brightness of the old lady's face.</p> + +<p>"I am charmed—delighted. It will be a most delightful change in her +life. She was becoming too anxious and careworn, too deeply rooted in +her narrow groove. And she was the one who said that, whatever change +came into other people's lives, none would come into her own. How much +better God is to us than either we expect or deserve."</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Daventry added slowly:</p> + +<p>"I have sometimes wished to launch you all out in your little boats +away from this narrow creek down into the wider river of life, but I +always dread a human hand pushing before the Divine one. Disaster so +often follows in consequence."</p> + +<p>"But Honor has been sent away by her stepmother," said Amabel, with a +puzzled face. "Isn't that a human hand?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't mine," said Mrs. Daventry, smiling.</p> + +<p>And Amabel said no more.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>One evening, Pauline sat in her garden alone. She had been in her +mother's room all day, and had had rather a trying time. She stretched +herself out in a lounge chair with a delicious sense of rest and peace. +And soon, her eyelids closed and sleep came to her. She awoke with a +start to find Amabel standing in front of her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am sorry; I have disturbed you. We have all been having +tea with the Humes. Mr. Hume invited us himself, to celebrate his +seventy-seventh birthday, and he has been quite genial. Father and +mother are strolling home, but I felt I wanted to tell you something. +May I?"</p> + +<p>Pauline stood up and drew her to her with an almost motherly embrace.</p> + +<p>"I can guess it, dear. I saw Captain Rutland in church with you on +Sunday."</p> + +<p>"Then I need not tell you. I'm such a happy girl. He left us yesterday +evening. His leave is up, and he goes back to Woolwich. He has a staff +appointment there. I don't believe, Pauline, there is another man like +him in the world! And father and mother are so pleased. They like him +awfully. It all seems like a dream to me. But this makes me know it is +real."</p> + +<p>She held out her little white finger, on which glistened one solitary +diamond in a circle of gold. "It isn't a new ring. It is a family one. +His mother gave it to him when she knew he was coming down to see me. +He said it looked as if he were presuming too quickly that I would say +'Yes' to him. But you see, Pauline, we knew each other very well in +London, and I think it doesn't always want words, does it? Oh, I hope—I +hope I shall be worthy of him; he is so true, so straight, so good!"</p> + +<p>"My dear little Amabel, I am very glad for you; so thankful that it has +all run so smooth and easy for you, and that he has—has not left you +long in doubt."</p> + +<p>Amabel looked into Pauline's face inquiringly.</p> + +<p>And the elder girl, meeting that look, prayed passionately in her heart +that this young lover should never disappoint her or play her false.</p> + +<p>"I—I didn't say anything to Audrey about it," said Amabel. "I put my +ring into my pocket so that she should not see it. I wanted to tell you +first, because I knew you would be glad."</p> + +<p>"And so will Audrey be glad, dear. She is very warm-hearted."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but sometimes she laughs at me. I felt she would say something +about my Southern aspect. And when she talks, I feel I have no business +to be so much happier than other people."</p> + +<p>"How do you know you are?" asked Pauline, laughing.</p> + +<p>"I ought to be. I have no disagreeables or difficulties in my life. +Everything is delightful, and I love every hour of my days."</p> + +<p>"Some people can be happy with difficulties."</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'you' are. You don't know how I 'adore' you, Pauline. When you +stroke my hair as you do now you send a little thrill through me! And +I wonder—I wonder no one has swooped down and carried you off before +this. But he would have to be very princely and clever—a king amongst +men; and I suppose there isn't anyone good enough for you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you little duffer! Your head is full of lovers now. But life can +be very sweet and good without that kind of love, Amabel. I am sure I +find it so."</p> + +<p>Something in the proud poise of Pauline's head stopped Amabel from +pursuing the subject. She put up her face for a good-bye kiss.</p> + +<p>"I must run. There is one thing, I shall soon overtake the parents. +They are sauntering home arm-in-arm, like a regular Darby and Joan. +Good-bye, Pauline; and will you tell Audrey my news? I would rather she +heard it from you."</p> + +<p>Amabel's light footsteps died away, but Pauline sat on, looking up at +the fast-darkening sky and smiling to herself:</p> + +<p>"I am so glad for her, dear child! I wonder if there's any money on +his side? Her parents are so unworldly that they would never think of +future prospects. But Amabel would make a very good wife for a poor +man; she is happy with so little. It would be different with Audrey, +who is always stretching out her arms to the unattainable. What a good +thing it is that we are not all made alike!"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_5">CHAPTER V</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>AN UNFORTUNATE INTERVIEW</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death;<br> + Reproach more piercing than the pointed sword."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 24.5em;">Howe.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>AN autumn morning, grey and dreary; storms of hail lash against the +window panes; the wind howls round the houses and shrieks down the +chimneys. And Audrey stands looking out of the window with dazed eyes, +wondering if the events of the past two days are just a series of +nightmares from which she will wake, or whether they are hard, sad +facts.</p> + +<p>Only two days ago, her father and she were in this very room, Mr. Hume +apparently in his usual health. Now she was fatherless, and he lay +upstairs a still, silent form.</p> + +<p>He had wished her good-night, and retired to his room. The next +morning, he did not respond to her call. And when she had gone in, she +found him breathing heavily, but quite unconscious. The doctor came in +at once. He told her it was some sort of stroke.</p> + +<p>All that day and the following night she had watched by his bedside. +And then in the early hours, his eyes slowly opened, and he recognised +her. She had to bend her head to hear his dying words:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Blunt knows—Vernon—tell you—about—about—your future."</p> + +<p>That was all. A little sigh, and eternity received the spirit of +Audrey's father.</p> + +<p>A rush of tears came to her eyes now as she remembered afresh that +his last thought had been of her. Only two days; yet two years would +seem short to gather in their embrace all the agony, suspense, and the +tumult of thoughts that had passed through the girl's heart and soul.</p> + +<p>She seemed stupefied and benumbed, and when someone addressed her by +name, she turned and stared for a moment into Mr. Blunt's rugged face +with an expression of utter bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to intrude, my dear young lady, but there are things that +must be done. May I act for you?"</p> + +<p>"Do anything—everything—but leave me alone. What does anything matter +now? My world has stopped." She looked at him in a dazed fashion as she +spoke.</p> + +<p>He cleared his throat, then produced an envelope from his pocket and +held it out to her.</p> + +<p>"It is early to talk over business matters, but I promised your father +to give this to you directly—er—um—he was called away. I will leave it +with you. And as your father asked me to act as executor to his will in +union with this Dr. Vernon, there will be no difficulty in my relieving +you of a great deal of sad work."</p> + +<p>He bowed himself out of the room, and Audrey, with trembling hands, +broke the seal of the letter addressed to herself in her father's +handwriting.</p> + +<p>It was as follows:—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAR AUDREY,<br> +<br> + "I have asked Mr. Blunt to give you this after my death. It may be many +years before it will be necessary for him to do so, but I do not think +it will be. Though we have been a long-lived race, I am less strong +than those who have gone before me. I am not so utterly indifferent to +your future as you consider me, and I have at last made what I feel to +be a thoroughly satisfactory arrangement with my friend Everard Vernon +concerning you.<br> +<br> + "He will tell you what this arrangement is. But I wish you to deliver +personally into his hands the enclosure which I have written, and +abide by his counsel as to the steps you take about your future. And I +should like you to go to him without delay; Mr. Blunt will give you his +address. I feel relieved from all anxiety about you.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 16.5em;">"Your affectionate—</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 22.5em;">"FATHER."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Audrey read and reread this strange letter with puzzled bewilderment. +It seemed like a voice from the dead, and in her present state of mind, +only one sentence impressed itself upon her:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "I am not so utterly indifferent to your future as you +consider me."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Tears sprang to her eyes; the first she had shed since her father's +death.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she moaned, "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to upbraid him! I +was so hasty, so unkind, so full of myself, so impatient, and now he is +gone—so quickly and silently! How awful it is! I can never bring him +back. It is too late to ask his forgiveness! He has gone! How can I +bear it?"</p> + +<p>She thrust the letter into her pocket. At that juncture she could +not take in its contents. She had a morbid feeling that her craving +for change in her life had brought about her father's death. Yet her +practical common sense saved her from giving away to this grief for +long.</p> + +<p>And when later in the day, Pauline came round to comfort her, she found +her calm and self-controlled, arranging with Mr. Blunt all the sad +details that a death always brings. But when she saw her friend, she +held out her hands to her with agony in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"My wicked wish has been granted, Pauline, and my life has been turned +topsy-turvy. I wished for freedom and independence, and I have got it, +and I would cut off my right hand to have father sitting in his chair +as usual, and the old life back again!"</p> + +<p>"You poor child! Do you think God alters His plans for us to suit every +passing wish of ours? Why, Audrey, look up and trust."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I can. I am so miserable, and so bewildered. Do you +know that we have not a relation living to come to his funeral, except +Bernard?—And I expect he is dead, and I am the last of our family. I +haven't a soul belonging to me now."</p> + +<p>"But you have friends," said Pauline softly.</p> + +<p>And Audrey turned her face towards her with a smile flashing through +her tears.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have. I always feel I have you—a strong tower of refuge. But +it's father, my dear father, who is always in my thoughts. Where is +he now, Pauline? We have never opened our hearts to each other, but +do you know that he read my mother's pocket Bible regularly every +morning? He never would have it moved from his dressing-table. He was +not an irreligious man—I do believe. I can't help thinking that he has +joined her. But it seems such sudden, awful silence. Oh! I must not +stay talking to you. I have a lot to do. There's our dreadful little +dressmaker waiting for me."</p> + +<p>Pauline went, but her short visit did Audrey good. And as her time was +much occupied for the next few days, she spent no more of it in useless +repining and regret.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When the funeral was over, she went back to her empty home, and began +for the first time to think of her future. She took out her father's +letter and reread it many times, and then she held consultation with +Pauline.</p> + +<p>"I am bound to carry out his wishes," she said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Vernon is an old friend of father's, a clergyman, I believe he +is—D.D., I suppose, as he calls himself a doctor. You see, Pauline, +it is as I supposed. I am a pauper. Father insured his life for one +thousand pounds. That will bring me in about forty pounds a year. Can I +live on that? Will it keep me from starvation?"</p> + +<p>"It is better than nothing. But, Audrey dear—forgive me for asking—but +I thought you told me your father was putting by for you? He said +something of the sort to me once."</p> + +<p>Audrey smiled.</p> + +<p>"Poor father! He would put by one month, and draw it out the next. +There was exactly twenty pounds balance at his bank when he died."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, you must go to this Dr. Vernon. Your father wrote +that it will be a thoroughly satisfactory arrangement for you. He must +have known. Dr. Vernon is one of your father's executors, is he not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but Mr. Blunt is the acting one. I wish it had been anyone but +he; his sisters are so curious. And I do dislike them so! Yet they have +done me a good turn. A married Miss Blunt, who is home from Australia +with her husband, wants to come down near them, and they say they think +her husband would like to take this house off my hands at once. If I +could let it, that would bring me in a little ready money. I don't feel +a bit frightened at present about my future. I am young and strong; I +have backbone, I know, and there must be some way in which I can add to +my income. And this Dr. Vernon may have concocted a plan with my father +about getting me employment. I don't know, but I am going to 'trust and +not be afraid.' I think I have prayed more this last week, Pauline, +than I have ever done in my life."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad, because that means that you will be helped. I am certain +of it. But is it your intention to stay with this Dr. Vernon? Is he a +very old man? Has he a family? Do tell me what you know about him."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing—absolutely nothing—except that he lives in Sussex, +about two hours' journey from London. No, I shall go and see him and +return here, I suppose. I must take him father's enclosure; and the +sooner I go, the better."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>She started two days after she had held this conversation, and when she +was actually in the train, her naturally buoyant spirits rose to the +occasion. She took herself to task for her heartless elation at the +novelty and change of her position.</p> + +<p>"If father were alive, how I should enjoy this! Going into an +unknown country—passing through London. What a sense of freedom +and emancipation it gives one! But how can I enjoy it under the +circumstances? I ought to be bowed down with grief and woe. But +I'm not! I'll be honest with myself. The thorough change in my +circumstances is the only comfort I have. It is all most mysterious +and interesting—this visit to a stranger—and the unknown plan about my +future."</p> + +<p>She looked out of her train with bright eyes and a hopeful heart. +Every fresh sweep of country was delightful to her: the large stations +attracted her more than the small. Audrey was very fond of her +fellow-creatures, and she loved to note the variety of passengers by +the way. But when she arrived in London, the rush and crush around her +almost frightened her.</p> + +<p>"This is being in the stream with a vengeance!" she muttered to +herself. "I wonder what Honor thought of it when she came up? I little +knew how soon I would follow her!"</p> + +<p>She got a cab, and drove across to Victoria. And the drive itself was a +wonderful one to her.</p> + +<p>Her heart throbbed with excitement.</p> + +<p>"This is London. I have seen it at last. How I wish I could live in the +midst of it! Perhaps I may some day. I feel I have Dick Whittington +blood in my veins."</p> + +<p>The journey of two hours to her destination sobered her a little. She +took out her father's letter, which was much worn by constant reading, +and for the hundredth time she began to conjecture about the contents +of the enclosure she was taking to Dr. Vernon. It was getting dusk when +she left the train. The station was a quiet one, and when she asked +the way to Horsborough, she was told it was a good two miles away. At +first, she thought of walking. Then a porter suggested her getting a +conveyance from an inn close by, and to this, she agreed.</p> + +<p>"Is Horsborough a village?" she asked the driver. "I suppose Dr. Vernon +is the rector or vicar, is he not?"</p> + +<p>"Bless you, no, miss! Horsborough be the name of the young gentlemen's +college. It be quite half a mile from the town and that be called +Bulton."</p> + +<p>Audrey began to feel a little uncomfortable. She had imagined Dr. +Vernon as an elderly clergyman in a quiet country village. She did not +like to show the driver her ignorance of her friend's surroundings, so +for the rest of the drive she sat in silence. They drove along wooded +roads, then climbed a long hill, and turned in at some imposing iron +gates, and up a broad drive to a block of buildings, now shrouded in +dusky mist, but with rows of twinkling lights brightening the gloom.</p> + +<p>When Audrey was landed before a massive stone porch, she stood for a +moment irresolute before she raised the brass knocker of the oak door.</p> + +<p>"Shall I wait?" the driver inquired, eyeing Audrey's small brown bag.</p> + +<p>A few moments ago Audrey would have said "No," but now sudden fear +assailed her.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said briefly. "Wait; I may not be long."</p> + +<p>And, leaving her bag in the trap, she knocked and rang with no +uncertain hand.</p> + +<p>A manservant appeared, and led her through a broad, brightly lighted +hall. Once he turned.</p> + +<p>"It is Dr. Vernon you wish to see?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>In another moment, she was ushered into a spacious, comfortable study +lined with books, and with a large writing-table drawn across a bow +window. There was a cheerful fire burning.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Audrey began to laugh.</p> + +<p>"I declare it is every bit like a doctor's consulting-room! I wonder if +he is a clergyman, after all? I am getting quite nervous. I do wish he +would appear!"</p> + +<p>In another moment, the door was very briskly opened, and Dr. Vernon +stood before her.</p> + +<p>Audrey drew her breath in very sharply as she rose from her seat and +held out her hand.</p> + +<p>This was no elderly clergyman. A tall, broad-shouldered man who seemed +to make the room small by his presence; one whose massive forehead and +finely cut, intellectual face betokened power of brain as well as of +body. Keen, dark eyes, with thick eyebrows, so clean-shaven that the +determined curves in lips and chin were plainly discernible, dark hair +streaked slightly with grey, but crisply curling at the edges. As he +stood before her in the firelight, Audrey saw all this in a lightning +flash, and she saw, too, that this was a man to be feared as well as +liked.</p> + +<p>"You know who I am?" she said. "Mr. Blunt has written to you, I +believe."</p> + +<p>For a moment he looked at her uncomprehendingly, but when she mentioned +her name, he said, with a slight smile that seemed to transfigure his +face:</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course—you are the daughter of my old friend. Mr. Blunt said +you might be coming to see me, but I did not expect you to-day."</p> + +<p>"I asked him to mention the day," said Audrey a little stiffly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, perhaps he did. I am a busy man, Miss Hume, and have a very +large correspondence. Do sit down. My sister is out at present. Can I +offer you some tea?"</p> + +<p>He rang the bell without waiting for an answer, gave the order for tea, +and then looked expectantly at Audrey.</p> + +<p>She wasted no time in coming to the point.</p> + +<p>"I have brought you an enclosure from my father which he wished me to +deliver to you personally."</p> + +<p>He took it from her, saying:</p> + +<p>"I can only say again, as I wrote, that I sympathise very much with you +in your loss. I can never forget what I owe to your father. I have told +him so, many times, and your loss is to a great extent mine—"</p> + +<p>Then there was silence. Audrey sat back in her chair and waited, +feeling a tightening of her heart-strings as she watched him open the +envelope and begin to read her dead father's epistle. But she was +utterly unprepared for the effect it had upon the doctor.</p> + +<p>A dull red mounted to his cheeks, even to his forehead. His eyes +flashed, the very veins in his forehead seemed to swell out like +whipcords, and then sharp and stinging came the words:</p> + +<p>"Utterly preposterous! The man must have been mad!"</p> + +<p>Audrey rose from her chair.</p> + +<p>The passion of the moment overcame all Dr. Vernon's usual +self-restraint. He dashed the letter to the ground, and turned +furiously to Audrey:</p> + +<p>"I decline the honour. That is my reply to that astonishing and +impertinent letter. Your father's mind must have been failing. Fathers +do not generally sell their daughters in this time of refinement and +civilisation."</p> + +<p>It was Audrey's turn to flush now. She stooped and picked the letter +up, indignant at such discourteous language.</p> + +<p>"As I am utterly unaware of the contents of this letter, I must read it +to understand you," she said.</p> + +<p>But the words swam before her eyes. She doubted if she saw aright:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "DEAR VERNON,<br> +<br> + "When you get this I shall be gone, and my daughter left pretty well +penniless. I have tried to save, but have been unsuccessful. She +sometimes upbraids me because I have not fitted her to earn her living. +I tell her she must marry, that will be her salvation. I have not +corresponded much with you, but Blunt tells me you are still unmarried. +I have several letters in which you assure me that you wish to prove +your gratitude to me for the past. I did not do much, and won't refer +to it, except to say this. If you wish to do me a favour, marry my +daughter, and I'll venture to say you won't regret it.<br> +<br> + "I am sending her with this for you to see her. She is a handsome girl, +and a good one, and will make any man a capable wife. Her future will +be assured if you will grant this request of mine. And remember that it +is a dead man who claims this favour from you.—Yours,—<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 18.5em;">"ARTHUR HUME."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The storm of anger that rushed through Audrey's soul blotted out for +the moment the humiliation of her position. She had been so utterly +unprepared for such a scene, so entirely innocent of what kind of a +missive she was presenting.</p> + +<p>And her anger was not directed against the author of the outrage, but +against the man who dared to let her see his detestation of such an +outrage, and who dared to speak of her dead father in such bitter, +scathing terms.</p> + +<p>When she spoke, her lips were white with passion, her grey eyes like +burning coals of fire.</p> + +<p>"You need not waste your energy in such denunciation, for I assure you +I am not a party to this—extraordinary proposition. It is a greater +insult to me than it is to you. And I would hardly be likely to wish +to expose myself to such a reception as you have given me. I have +carried out my father's wish, and that is where the matter ends. You +will never see or hear of me again. Nothing will induce me to have any +communication with you in future. We have been strangers up to now; we +shall continue to be so, though I shall not soon forget your insolence +in showing such temper before one who is entirely innocent of offence +towards you!"</p> + +<p>She dashed the crumpled letter into the fire, and made a hurried and +undignified exit, almost knocking over the servant who met her in the +doorway with the tea-tray in his hands. She sped along the hall, and +in another moment was driving back to the station, feeling nothing and +realising nothing but one tumult of bitter anger and hatred against the +man whom she had been to see.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>UNSUCCESSFUL EFFORT</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "A bitter and perplexed 'What shall I do?'<br> + Is worse to man than worse necessity."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">COLERIDGE.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>AUDREY reached the station to find that there would not be a train back +to London for another hour. She went into the small waiting-room, which +was empty, then drawing a chair up to the table, rested her elbows upon +it, and with her hands over her eyes, tried to steady her throbbing +pulses and formulate in some way plans for her future. She did not know +till now how much she had been building upon that disastrous letter. +She had pictured returning to her home with employment of some sort in +connection with her father's friend. His very personality, the extreme +contrast he presented to what she had depicted him, was in itself a +shock to her.</p> + +<p>"Abide by his counsel," had been her father's advice to her. And she +gave a short laugh in the bitterness of her heart at the absurdity of +such a suggestion. No gentle dignitary of the Church with grey hairs, +who would introduce her to a like-minded wife—a motherly, capable +woman—ready to take a lonely girl into her home and heart. But a +strong, able man in the prime of life—and an unmarried man—had stood +before her. A man whom she earnestly and hotly prayed she might never +set eyes on again.</p> + +<p>"And now," she kept repeating to herself, "what am I to do? How shall +I live? And how shall I have the courage to go back and tell them all +that it was a mare's nest, and worse than that? How can I tell them the +truth? I will die rather than do it. Why, in the folly of my heart, I +thought my ideal clergyman and his wife would ask me to stay the night! +And here I am, with no bed in prospect at all. It is certain I cannot +reach home to-night!"</p> + +<p>She sat and thought. A less strong-minded girl might have succumbed to +her unfortunate circumstances. Not so Audrey. Now that her passion was +burning itself out, the pressing need of employment of some sort for +the future began to fill her brain.</p> + +<p>"I 'must' earn money. I am in London, or will be very soon. Why should +I go back, away from all the opportunities it may offer me? I won't do +it. I have ten pounds in my pocket untouched. I will get some quiet +lodgings, and hunt up some registries or employment bureaux, and I +will—I must—find work."</p> + +<p>Such a resolution fired her with hope and energy. When her train came +in, she sat back in her third-class carriage, weaving all kinds of +possible adventures, and buoying herself up with the certain prospect +of success.</p> + +<p>When Victoria was reached, she began to have qualms. She knew she +could not afford to go to an hotel. She also knew that there were +many pitfalls for ignorant country girls, and unknown lodging filled +her with dread. Was it by chance that her eyes fell on a card headed +"Travellers' Aid Society" hung up in the waiting-room in which she +found herself? Audrey put it down afterwards to Pauline's earnest +prayers for her that very evening.</p> + +<p>She was not long in making her way to the address at the foot of the +card, but found a very tired and uninterested woman in the office.</p> + +<p>"Very sorry. We have a boarding-house in connection with the society, +but it is full at this time. I can recommend you some respectable +lodgings, I think. How long will you be in town?"</p> + +<p>"Not long, I hope. I am looking for employment."</p> + +<p>The woman gave a weary smile.</p> + +<p>"It may be longer than you think. There—these rooms are over a +greengrocer's, but we know the woman to be honest and industrious, and +the street is a fairly quiet one. It turns out of King's Road, Chelsea. +A 'bus will put you down at the corner."</p> + +<p>Audrey thanked her gratefully and departed.</p> + +<p>A little later, she was standing in a small dingy bed-sitting-room +overlooking a paved yard and chimney-stacks, and a careworn, anxious +little woman with one baby in her arms and another clinging to her +skirt, was explaining her terms to her.</p> + +<p>"My young ladies generally feed out, except what they buy and bring +in themselves. I had a young lady who was a post office clerk for +four months—very quiet and respectable she were. But she were very +delicate—got a cold on her lungs, and died in Brompton 'Orspital two +weeks ago come this Thursday. I only arsks five shillin's for the room, +and it is nicely furnished, as you see."</p> + +<p>"It will do very nicely," said Audrey cheerfully, "but couldn't you +just this first night give me a cup of tea and cook me a chop? I will +mind your babies up here while you do it. I'm strange to London. +To-morrow, I shall learn its ways."</p> + +<p>A faint smile flickered across Mrs. Dutton's face.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she said. "I see you're strange to town ways. You're so fresh +and 'appy lookin'. I'll get you a bit o' supper. My man be in the shop +now. Thank you kindly. I've only these two children as yet, but they be +quite enough; the second one come so quick on top of the first."</p> + +<p>Audrey took the baby, which was clean, though poorly clad. She smiled +at herself as she lighted the one gas-jet the room contained, and +wondered if she could rise to the expense of a fire.</p> + +<p>She saw there was a grate, but no sign of coals or wood, and, sighing a +little, she turned her attention to the two children, sat down on a low +wooden chair, and took both of them in her lap.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Dutton reappeared, Audrey was softly singing to the two +sleepy children:</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,<br> + Father will come to thee soon.<br> + Rest, rest on mother's breast,<br> + Father will come to thee soon.<br> + Father will come to his babe in the nest,<br> + Silver sails all out of the west<br> + Under the silver moon.<br> + Sleep, my little one; sleep, my pretty one, sleep."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dutton put down her tray on the table very quietly, and when +Audrey looked up at her, she saw tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ah, miss, your voice do go right through me. We haven't no time for +that sort o' thing here, but I dearly loves music—always did. To think +of you a-sittin' there and rockin' my children to your breast, just as +if you were a mother!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, well," said Audrey, with a strange smile, "I'm trying to lull +myself as well as them to sleep!"</p> + +<p>She gave the babies back to their mother.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I couldn't have a fire?" she asked doubtfully.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dutton looked surprised.</p> + +<p>"My last young lady had an oil-stove; she never had naught but that all +the winter through. She bought it herself, and her sister, what come +when she died, took it off with her other things."</p> + +<p>"Never mind; I'll have my supper and go to bed."</p> + +<p>"The sheets be clean and nicely aired. I always keep the room ready. +And you give me a call, if you want anything more." She left the room.</p> + +<p>And Audrey gazed at her blackened, smoky chop and chipped crockery with +disgust.</p> + +<p>Then she shook herself.</p> + +<p>"What with the dead young lady, and the oil-stove, and the extreme +drabbiness and poverty of it all, I am getting quite depressed. How I +shall laugh over my first night in London in a short time! Now I am +hungry; I shall shut my eyes and eat every bit that she has brought +me. And I'm thankful to be safely sheltered under an honest roof this +night!"</p> + +<p>But when her scanty meal was over, Audrey did not turn into her +uninviting-looking bed. She sat huddled up at the table, her waterproof +over her shoulders and her chin in her hands. Very slowly she was going +back over every detail of her past day, dwelling with hot and crimson +cheeks upon her short and passionate interview with Dr. Vernon, and +upon every word that escaped his angry lips.</p> + +<p>"He spoke to me abominably, as if I had come to request him to +marry me! I shall never forgive him for humiliating me so—'never!' +And father—poor father—how could he place me in such a disgraceful +position! How could he calmly try to dispose of me like a bundle of +goods! And sent me up all that way to be confronted with such rudeness! +I feel I shall never get back my self-respect. Oh, I won't think of +it. It makes me miserable! Let me turn my thoughts to what I must do +with myself. I will not return home yet. I couldn't. Mr. Blunt and his +curious sisters would soon get to the bottom of my story. I will die +rather than let them know the contents of that letter. I could never +hold up my head again if they got hold of the facts. I have enough +money to last me several weeks, I am sure. By that time, I shall have +found something to do. How often I have dreamed of such an opportunity +as I have now! They say you sink or swim in London. I don't think I +have it in me to sink very easily!"</p> + +<p>With such thoughts as these, she whiled away another hour, and then +turned into bed. For a very brief space of time, she bent her knees in +prayer.</p> + +<p>"Pauline felt so sure that I would be helped. I wonder if my experience +would shake her faith? And yet nothing would do that, and so far I have +certainly met with no disaster.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'O God, I ask Thee to strengthen my faith in Thee, to trust Thee for +my daily bread, and to give me the powers of mind and body to enable me +to get it!'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>So Audrey prayed. As yet, God above was her Creator and +Preserver—nothing more.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"It is a pity you are not a clergyman's daughter, miss."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Audrey, amused.</p> + +<p>She was having her first interview with the principal, of a large +registry recommended to her by the Travellers' Aid Society.</p> + +<p>"It seems to give you a position at once," said the disposer of her +fate. "Nor an officer's daughter?"</p> + +<p>"My father was a retired Indian civil servant," said Audrey. "What +possible business is that of any employer? I don't care what I do, as I +tell you, only I have not received a very good education."</p> + +<p>"Ah, miss, that's the pity of it in these days. I will do what I can +for you, but my books are very full of such young ladies as you, and +unless you have a 'speciality' of some sort, it is difficult to get +work. You can give good references, I presume?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Audrey, a little doubtfully; "of course I shall be able to +do that."</p> + +<p>"Have you none with you?"</p> + +<p>"Dear me, no."</p> + +<p>Audrey's heart began to sink within her. Then she plucked up courage.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Mrs. Hart, I should be a very good companion. I wouldn't +mind teaching very small children. I have a smattering of Latin and +French, and could manage music as well. I am a good needlewoman. I am a +careful and economical housekeeper. Why, lots and lots of people would +find me quite a treasure!"</p> + +<p>She broke into a little laugh at the impressive stolidity of Mrs. +Hart's expression.</p> + +<p>"Will you call again? I will see what I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>Audrey left the office with renewed hope. And then, yielding to the +fascination of London, she spent the rest of the day in sight-seeing. +But she managed to write to Pauline the following letter:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 15.5em;"><em>"52 Nottingham Street,</em></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><em>Chelsea, S.W.</em></span><br> +<br> + "MY DEAR PAULINE,<br> +<br> + "Here I am, and this is my address for the present. I will let you +know when my future plans are definitely settled. I had my interview +yesterday with Dr. Vernon, but I would rather not tell you yet the +exact result of it. I am very well, bubbling over with energy and with +delight at being in the heart of this golden city! I am so glad I left +our house in good order for the Maypoles to take it over, for there is +no need for me to return yet awhile. You will hear from me before long. +I have been to the Tower, to the British Museum, and to Westminster +Abbey to-day, so I feel rather tired, but by no means satiated. I find +the omnibus a very cheap means of getting about, but I also find that +the pennies mount up, so I shall soon be content with my own legs. God +bless you, Pauline. Remember me in your prayers, and tell Mr. Blunt +everything is going well with me.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">"Yours affectionately,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 23.5em;">"AUDREY.</span><br> +<br> + "P.S.—A breeze or two is sure to come to one walking westward, but she +has had no gale to beat her down as yet."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>By the same post went a small note to Mr. Broughton:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "DEAR MR. BROUGHTON,<br> +<br> + "I wonder if you would be so very kind as to write a little note, just +as a reference for me to show to someone? Only to say that you know me +to be respectable and so forth. It is a mere form, and I would ask you +to treat this in confidence. I will soon let you know what I am doing.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">"With kind regards,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 14.5em;">"Yours very sincerely,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 19.5em;">"AUDREY HUME."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>She got the necessary reference by return of post, and a very +affectionate letter from Pauline, which cheered and comforted her, for +before many days had passed, Audrey was in need of cheer. The formula +was the same wherever she went:</p> + +<p>"We have nothing this morning for you. Will you call again?"</p> + +<p>She began to haunt the registries: from a companion and governess she +came down to mother's help, and eventually had an interview with a +harassed little woman, the wife of a small tradesman, who nervously +told the registry woman that Audrey was too grand in manner for her.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>At last, after ten days of effort, Audrey began to grow rather +desperate.</p> + +<p>"Look here," she said to Mrs. Hart, going back to her, "I must get +something to do. My money is dwindling away. There's a great dearth of +servants; I'll go into service if you can get me nothing else."</p> + +<p>"Lady servants are not much in demand," was the reply. "They don't seem +to answer."</p> + +<p>"Then leave out the 'lady,' and get me a place as house-parlourmaid +somewhere."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hart smiled.</p> + +<p>"You are like so many of them. They think they can dispense with the +training of a lifetime, and know instinctively how to do things they +have never practically put their hand to before. The general verdict of +lady servants is that they have no order, or method, or punctuality, or +knowledge of the small details of a servant's life."</p> + +<p>"That may be the case with those who have lived a life of luxury," said +Audrey, "but not with me, for I have done the work of a small house +single-handed when we have been without a servant."</p> + +<p>"Everyone will say that you are too grand for them," said Mrs. Hart, +looking at her with disfavour. "Ladies in big houses would not +take you; they prefer the experienced class. And you would not be +appreciated by the small houses."</p> + +<p>"Well, all this means that you can get me no work," said Audrey.</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Hart replied reluctantly:</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it will be difficult, but I will do my best."</p> + +<p>Audrey went straight away, and bought some daily papers, which she +took back to her dingy bedroom. Then she began to answer the various +advertisements she thought might suit her. At first, she enclosed +stamped envelopes, but experience soon taught her to dispense with +those. After getting rid of nearly eight shillings' worth of stamps +with no result, she sat down with wrinkled brow to consider her next +step.</p> + +<p>"It's perfectly ridiculous!" she said to herself, stamping up and down +her room. "Someone must want me. I am healthy and able to work. I must +find some thing somewhere. I will not give in."</p> + +<p>Her little store of money was diminishing rapidly. She began to reduce +her food, until her health began to suffer. Then the climax came one +morning when she had her pocket picked in an omnibus and her purse, +with four pounds in it, stolen from her.</p> + +<p>"It is really like the story-books," she said, with a grim, set smile. +"I shall now slowly starve, or creep back to my native village a mere +bag of bones. Happy thought! I will go and see Honor. Why have I not +thought of looking her up before? What a fool I have been! She might +help me to get something, if I swear her to secrecy. I only hope she is +still in town."</p> + +<p>To think was to act with Audrey. She went straight off then and there +to Berkeley Square, and was told that Honor was in, but engaged with +Mrs. Montmorency.</p> + +<p>"When can I see her?" demanded Audrey peremptorily.</p> + +<p>The butler looked at her with impertinent curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Miss Broughton is at liberty between six and seven. You can call then +if you like."</p> + +<p>"Take her my card, and say I will see her at six." Audrey strode down +the steps with flaming cheeks. Then she laughed at herself.</p> + +<p>"If I were in Honor's shoes how happy I should be! I should not mind a +butler's insolent criticism. How I was hoping to get a nice cup of tea! +I shan't do that now, and I really must do without it this afternoon. I +will walk about in the Park, I think; only it makes one so hungry!"</p> + +<p>She did not go far, for she found herself in a very busy street, and +amused herself by watching the passers-by.</p> + +<p>"How I envy the working-girl with her shabby gloves and untidy hair! I +do not see any drone like myself; they are all in such a hurry. I wish +I could be an errand boy. I wonder if any milliner would engage me to +carry round her hat boxes? But I suppose the apprentices do it, or else +these swell porters."</p> + +<p>A sudden inspiration seized her to stop a young girl carrying a large +parcel under her arm.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, but do tell me—are you in work—earning your living?"</p> + +<p>The girl stopped, and glanced at Audrey a little contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," she snapped; "and sick enough I am of it."</p> + +<p>"Do you mind telling me what it is?"</p> + +<p>"I'm 'prenticed to a Court dressmaker. 'Tisn't often I get out. But +as I'm the youngest hand, and shopping has to be done sometimes, it's +generally me that does it. They all put on me. Are you out of a job? +What's your line?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," groaned Audrey, "I have none. I'm dying to work, and no one will +engage me. How did you get apprenticed? I wonder if I could begin from +the bottom? I'm a good needlewoman."</p> + +<p>"Our firm is full up; my sister took me in. She's a skirt hand. No +amatoor would do. You're a lady; I can tell that."</p> + +<p>"I shall soon be starving," said Audrey, with her happy laugh.</p> + +<p>The girl stared at her.</p> + +<p>"I guess you won't be the first one who finds looking for work a hungry +business. Go home to your friends, miss. You're doing no good to +yourself or any one else here!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you for such sage advice," said Audrey with a little nod.</p> + +<p>But the girl's last words had a depressing effect.</p> + +<p>"I'm not beaten yet, but I almost think I shall be," Audrey said to +herself as she retraced her steps to Berkeley Square.</p> + +<p>At six o'clock, she gained an entrance, and was shown into a small +ante-room at the end of the hall. And then in another moment, Honor +stood before her with a radiant face and outstretched hands.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Audrey! How delicious to see you! I heard you were up in town, but +no one gave me your address. Oh! You do bring a whiff of country air +with you. Do give me the latest news of all at home!"</p> + +<p>"I feel as if I have been away for twenty years," said Audrey, with +a little laugh. Then, with a graver face, she added: "I have been in +trouble, Honor, as you know, and have seen very little of any one +lately. I have been entirely engrossed with my own affairs, and am so +still. How are you? Happy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—no, indeed! I'm desperately homesick. Mrs. Montmorency is hard +to please. I am really little more than a superior lady's maid. She +goes out a great deal, but never takes me with her."</p> + +<p>"Then you must have a lot of leisure time."</p> + +<p>"No; I mend, and even make many of her clothes. I am sewing away at +nightdresses now—most elaborate concerns. Oh, Audrey, you don't know +what it is to see you. I could hug you. But have you been ill? You look +so—so—"</p> + +<p>"Hideous. Don't mind saying it. I am quite well. A little worried, that +is all."</p> + +<p>"What brings you to town? Are you staying for long? I must see you. +I have oceans to talk about. Mrs. Montmorency is going out to lunch +to-morrow. I wonder if she would let me ask you to lunch with me +here?—Or we could go out together."</p> + +<p>"Better have me here," suggested Audrey, who knew how ill she could +afford a restaurant lunch.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment. I think I must venture to ask Mrs. Montmorency. She is +resting in her room. I go to dress her at seven o'clock. She is going +out to dinner. Why, Audrey, could you stay with me to-night?"</p> + +<p>She ran out of the room. Audrey said, half aloud:</p> + +<p>"She is waking up. I never saw her so animated. The idea of a thorough +good dinner makes my mouth water. I only wish I could have it!"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>BEATEN</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"Hast thou o'er the clear heaven of thy soul<br> + Seen tempests roll?<br> + Hast thou watched all the hopes thou wouldst have won<br> + Fade one by one?<br> + Wait till the clouds are past, then raise thine eyes<br> + To bluer skies!<br> + <br> +"Hast thou gone sadly through a dreary night,<br> + And found no light,<br> + No guide, no star, to cheer thee through the plain,<br> + No friend, save pain?<br> + Wait, and thy soul shall see, when most forlorn,<br> + Rise a new morn."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;">A. PROCTOR.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>IN a few minutes, Honor returned, followed by Mrs. Montmorency herself.</p> + +<p>"I have come to see you," that lady announced, with great good humour, +"because I like to know Miss Broughton's friends. You come from her +part of the world, I hear."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Montmorency was a stout, handsome-looking woman, whose one object +in life was to preserve her good looks and have a good time. She was +very lavish over her personal expenditure, but very economical with +her staff of servants, and had dismissed her maid soon after Honor's +arrival, when she found that Honor could dress her hair and use her +needle as well as that expensive individual. Honor did not know how to +stand up for herself. She meekly acquiesced in every extra burden laid +upon her shoulders, though in private, she chafed against it.</p> + +<p>Audrey replied pleasantly; she was anxious to obtain friends, and hoped +that Mrs. Montmorency might do something for her.</p> + +<p>"Well, you must spend the evening, I suppose, with your friend. I shall +be in about eleven. Are you staying in London long?"</p> + +<p>"Only till I find some work," said Audrey, taking the bull by the +horns. "If you hear of any of your friends wanting a companion, Mrs. +Montmorency, will you kindly remember me? I should be very grateful for +a recommendation from you."</p> + +<p>"But I know nothing of you," said Mrs. Montmorency, eyeing her with a +certain amount of interest. "You look ladylike, and perhaps capable."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I am both," said Audrey, with a flickering smile.</p> + +<p>"Audrey is really very clever," said Honor eagerly, "much cleverer than +I am—"</p> + +<p>"That does not say much," said Mrs. Montmorency, with a smile that +seemed to wither Honor up at once. "I must be going. Good-night, Miss +Hume. I shall not see you again. You must amuse yourself whilst Miss +Broughton is attending to me."</p> + +<p>She disappeared. Honor came over to Audrey and kissed her in a +warm-hearted fashion.</p> + +<p>"She likes you. I can see she does. Every one does. What a delightful +evening we shall have together!"</p> + +<p>"I don't think she is a bad sort," said Audrey, looking at Honor +reflectively; "only why do you grovel to her so? No lady should do it!"</p> + +<p>"Do I grovel?" The pink colour came into Honor Broughton's cheeks. "I +am sometimes afraid I do. I am losing my self-respect, and that's a +fact, Audrey. I am in an anomalous position. I am not a servant, but I +am treated like one. And they even look upon me with contempt. I hate +the butler. I feel I should like to crush him under my feet for his +quiet insolence. You are quite right. I can't stand up for myself. When +you're unhappy, you can't; it doesn't seem worth while."</p> + +<p>"But, Honor, why should you be unhappy? And I should not sink to the +level of a servant if I were you. She gives you a handsome salary, and +yet makes you her maid. I can't understand it. She must be a mass of +contradictions."</p> + +<p>"So she is. She was constantly changing her maids, and then Mrs. +Bulwer suggested to her to get a companion. She made her give me £100 +a year. She told her I was worth it, and Mrs. Montmorency soon found +I was not, so she is determined to get as much as she can out of me. +I hate the life, Audrey! I hate London! I hate being treated like an +inferior being because I work for my living. Mrs. Montmorency dislikes +everything that I like, and likes everything that I despise. She hates +children and old people, and animals and the country; and she loves +rich, vulgar people and a show, and everything with push and brag."</p> + +<p>"She looks good-natured."</p> + +<p>"So she is, unless her will is crossed, but I think her vain and +childish. I suppose I have no tolerance with people of her sort. There +is her bell going! I must run. I never expected to be happy, you know, +so I am not disappointed."</p> + +<p>Honor disappeared. Audrey shook her head as she left the room.</p> + +<p>"Honor is not fit to fight her own battles; she goes to the wall at +once of her own accord. It's a great pity. But I'm afraid I should not +like being a paid companion any better than she does."</p> + +<p>A little later, the two girls were sitting down to a comfortable little +dinner together. Audrey never enjoyed a meal so much in her whole life +as she did that one. She was really hungry, for she was gradually +reducing her amount of food day by day, and to enjoy nicely cooked food +and plenty of it, without having to pay for it, was a great luxury. +After it was over, Honor took her into the drawing-room, and, drawing +up two easy-chairs before a blazing fire, they prepared to enjoy +themselves.</p> + +<p>"The comforts of life are something," said Audrey thoughtfully. "At +present, I feel I would change shoes with you with the greatest +pleasure."</p> + +<p>"I would rather beg my meal in the streets or sweep a crossing," said +Honor hotly, "than be dependent on another person's whims and fancies +for a livelihood!"</p> + +<p>"Ah! You would have to try a beggar's life first," said Audrey with +feeling. "You never know what it is to be hungry or cold, or disgusted +with sordid surroundings."</p> + +<p>"Why, you ridiculous girl, you talk as if you do!"</p> + +<p>"I am getting a taste of it," said Audrey. "Only what I say to you must +be kept to yourself. I am determined to stay in London till I can find +work to do, and I am beginning to be afraid of the consequences of this +determination."</p> + +<p>Honor looked at her wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"Is it really so necessary, Audrey? Oh, I'm sorry, very sorry for you. +You won't bear the yoke as easily as I can."</p> + +<p>"The yoke! Stuff and nonsense! I glory in my independence. If I was +earning money now, I should be in the seventh heaven of delight! +But I'd no idea there was such competition in every branch of trade +or profession. You don't know what I've tried! The shops will have +none of me; they are all provided for. I've thought of laundries, +hairdressers and libraries, and all kinds of professions. I drew a line +at hospitals; I can't bear sickness. I'm not a proper woman at all. +But the long and short of it is that London won't employ me, and I'm +determined that it shall. Do you think I shall win?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I could help you," said Honor wistfully. Then she leant forward +with flushed cheeks and bright eyes:</p> + +<p>"Would you like to take my place? I believe Mrs. Montmorency would +welcome any change. I'm sure she is getting tired of me already. I'm +not amusing. I'm a dull, commonplace, ugly girl, and my heart is with +my darlings. I can't live without them, Audrey, and that's a fact. I +shall never marry; I shall never have children of my own. But they fill +up the blank, and are my joy in life. If you think you would like my +billet, I can easily throw it up and go home."</p> + +<p>"Ah, no!" cried Audrey. "Don't be a failure. I won't encourage you +to be that. Rouse yourself, Honor, and put more heart into your +duties. Don't go through your days like an automatic figure. Make Mrs. +Montmorency like you. Have more ambition. Don't you like anything in +your life?"</p> + +<p>"I dare say it will be different when we go up to Scotland," said Honor +dolefully. "It may be better than this, but I don't feel it will be. We +are going next week."</p> + +<p>"Are you, indeed? You must keep me in mind, and if you hear of any +companion or help of any sort being wanted, think of me—"</p> + +<p>"But, Audrey—forgive me for seeming curious—you are not really in dire +need of earning something, are you? I must tell you. I heard from one +of the Miss Blunts the other day. It rather surprised me, as we are not +correspondents."</p> + +<p>"Do tell me what she said. I am sure it was to discover my whereabouts, +was it not?"</p> + +<p>"I will get you the letter. I don't see why you shouldn't see it."</p> + +<p>Honor left the room, and returning with the letter, handed it to Audrey.</p> + +<p>It was as follows:—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "DEAR HONOR,<br> +<br> + "We shall be so interested to hear from you when you have time to +write to us. Our quiet village seems to be going through a great many +changes. You will have heard of Amabel Osborne's engagement. She is +very happy, of course, but the sudden death of dear Mr. Hume has +saddened us all. I wonder if you have seen anything of Audrey? We +believe that she is in London. She left us to go to an old friend of +her father's, who, 'entre nous,' was going to do something for her. I +am afraid she is left very badly off. But my brother does not doubt +that something has been arranged with this rich friend, only we have +heard nothing definite as yet. Do give her our love if you see her, +and if she is in any difficulty, my brother will only be too glad to +help her. We hope that you are happy and comfortable in your new home. +Your stepmother is much more active now than she has been. She and her +friend go about a great deal together.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">"With love from us all,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 16.5em;">"Yours very sincerely,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">"GRACE BLUNT."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Audrey gave a little sniff as she finished reading.</p> + +<p>"No, Honor; I will not apply to Mr. Blunt for help. My father's friend +has been a dead failure, and I will not go home and let those good +ladies' tongues clack over my misfortunes. I will die first!"</p> + +<p>"How I wish I could help you! But you would never stand a life like +mine, I know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shall find work soon," Audrey said trying to speak cheerfully, +"but I had no idea it was so difficult. You must have education, and +certificates, or interest, I find. And I have neither. I feel my +westerly gales are giving me rather a buffeting at present!"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Honor. "But a life with gales and sunshine alternately, is +better than a dead biting east wind for ever blowing full in your face. +I knew, as far as happiness went, that I should not make an exchange +for the better when I left home. I am fated to have people dead against +me all my life. I suppose there is something in me that disgusts and +irritates them."</p> + +<p>"I think you always take too gloomy views of things," said Audrey +reflectively; "you want to cultivate gladness. That was Pauline's +advice to me once. And I started to do it. I won't say I've done it +ever since. And take my advice and don't make yourself too cheap. It +doesn't pay!"</p> + +<p>So they talked on over the fire. Audrey was loath to go away from the +luxuries around her, but left Honor in a more cheerful mood, and in +seeking to cheer another, she had cheered herself.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>A few days after this, Audrey had a summons to Mrs. Hart's registry. +She started full of hope. It was a rainy morning, and not wishing to +spend any money she walked, with the result that she became wet through.</p> + +<p>"It is a lady who wishes to take someone to travel with herself and +daughter. She wants someone capable and reliable, and well bred. She +is going to call here very shortly to see you. I told her how you were +situated. Your duties would be to look after their comforts on the +journey, make all travelling arrangements, and relieve them of all +responsibility."</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid of a post like that," said Audrey brightly. Her heart +beat fast in hopeful anticipation of the interview.</p> + +<p>But alas, when the lady arrived, one of the first questions she asked +Audrey was whether she was a good French and German scholar. And when +Audrey confessed that she was not, she would have nothing further to +say to her.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have told Mrs. Hart that that was essential. I want an +experienced traveller and a thoroughly good linguist."</p> + +<p>Audrey had had some miserable moments since she had been in London, but +she had never had quite such a bad time as she had that morning when +she dragged herself back to her lodgings in wet clothes, feeling that +hope was killed within her.</p> + +<p>"I believe God has forsaken me," she said to herself. "I shall give up +praying. It is all a farce. Pauline was wrong when she told me she knew +that I should be helped."</p> + +<p>She shivered as she sat down in her dreary little room and surveyed her +dinner—some boiled rice and onions, a piece of bread, and a glass of +water.</p> + +<p>Audrey had become a vegetarian some time ago; she found it much +cheaper. She tried to dry her feet in front of her small oil-stove, +then, having disposed of her unappetising meal, she pulled out her +purse and looked at its contents.</p> + +<p>"Five shillings for my rent to-morrow, and two shillings and ninepence +halfpenny over. Well, I can't sink much lower. I shall be able to buy +no more oil, and so good-bye to any more cooking. One day more will see +me literally at my last penny. Now the question is, what am I going to +do? My pride has had a disastrous fall. I must write to Mr. Blunt for +more money. His sister-in-law has paid me a month's rent in advance, +so he has that in the bank. I must have it at once. No, Audrey Hume, +you had a very good opinion of your abilities, and thought you would +be able to go great things in London by your own unaided efforts; now +you will soon be creeping home to your native place, failure stamped on +every feature! Oh, dear! I wish I didn't feel so seedy; it's the cold +and damp. I'll get right into bed. Of course, I ought to have got into +dry clothes long ago. I'll write to Mr. Blunt to-morrow. That will be +quite time enough."</p> + +<p>But when the next day came, Audrey was so poorly that she could not get +out of bed, and for a week, her little landlady nursed and fed her with +the warm-hearted generosity of her class. Audrey had taken a violent +chill, and when she at last began to get about again, she was so weak +that tears would come into her eyes at the least thing.</p> + +<p>She was sitting at her table one afternoon trying to write to Mr. +Blunt, when Mrs. Dutton came hurriedly into the room.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman has called to see you, miss. He will give no name. I took +the liberty of asking him into my back parlour. There's the shop bell! +I must go." She disappeared.</p> + +<p>Audrey stood up and felt her legs trembling beneath her.</p> + +<p>"It is Mr. Blunt! Come to spy out my poverty, and take back to his +sisters a detailed account of my position."</p> + +<p>A red spot burned in either cheek. But she gave herself no time for +thought. She swept down the stairs and into the little back parlour +behind the greengrocer's shop, with the air of a tragedy queen.</p> + +<p>And then she stopped short, for her visitor was not Mr. Blunt, but—Dr. +Vernon.</p> + +<p>Her first instinct was to leave the room instantly, but something in +his demeanour made her hesitate.</p> + +<p>He held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"I have come to ask your forgiveness," he said, and the smile that lit +up his face was a singularly sweet one.</p> + +<p>Audrey steeled her heart immediately. She was intensely angry that he +should have dared to discover her retreat, and follow her. Yet she +could not but put out her hand in response to his overture.</p> + +<p>"I can't forgive or forget," she said shortly.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will try. But I have a quick temper, I am ashamed to say, +and I treated you abominably."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment. The smile faded from his face, leaving +him grave and quiet.</p> + +<p>"I have been a long time finding you out," he continued, "but now I am +successful, I hope I may be able to retrieve the past."</p> + +<p>Then Audrey flashed out:</p> + +<p>"I never want to see you or speak to you again! I resent this intrusion +extremely!"</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt that, but you are your father's daughter, and I mean, +with your permission, to take you back with me to Horsborough this +afternoon. Please, don't let me keep you standing. Your landlady tells +me that you have been ill; and you look so now."</p> + +<p>Audrey was so overcome with his surprising audacity that she was glad +enough to seat herself in the chair he drew forward. She wondered +if she were dreaming. Twice she tried to speak, but, to her extreme +mortification, she felt the tears again rising to her eyes. At last she +gulped out:</p> + +<p>"I will never pass a night underneath your roof. It is an insult to ask +me."</p> + +<p>"Let me explain. Do you know—I suppose you do—that Horsborough College +is a large private school for boys? I have two or three houses in +connection with it in the grounds. One of these is for quite small +boys. I have several whose parents are in India and who want a woman's +care. So, for the last fifteen years, a widow lady and her daughter +have managed this house for me. There are about fourteen children in +it. Their ages are from six to nine. It is, in fact, a preparatory +school for the others.</p> + +<p>"Now, two months ago, Miss Bonar got married. Her mother is such an old +friend of mine that I want her to stay on, only she is getting old, +and needs a younger woman with her. That young woman I hope will be +you. Stop—let me speak. You do not have to teach, only help the little +fellows prepare their lessons in the afternoon. A very rudimentary +knowledge of Latin, arithmetic, and French will suffice for this. I +think, by the way, there are three youngsters who do not yet know +how to read. If so, they would fall to your share. You would have to +undertake the housekeeping, and do more or less a matron's duties. Now +wouldn't a billet of this sort suit you? Or have you already found +employment?"</p> + +<p>Audrey's head was in a whirl.</p> + +<p>Was this an answer to all her fervent prayers for help? She put her +hand up to her head.</p> + +<p>"I am not very well," she said, trying to speak with dignity, "so I +think I hardly take in what you say. You don't think I would wish to +come to 'you' for employment, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Now, look here, Miss Hume; listen to me. The other day we both very +unnecessarily lost our tempers, and said hard things to one another. We +were both placed in a very awkward position, but we'll wipe that away +as if it had never been. Your father has left me one of his executors. +He was a very old and valued friend of mine. Did you ever hear the +particulars of my obligation to him? May I tell you?"</p> + +<p>Audrey murmured an assent.</p> + +<p>"I was a very young fellow at the time, and had lost my billet out in +India through ill-health. I was not only down on my luck, but I was +desperate, and would have been destroyed body and soul if your father +had not stepped in, gripped me by the hand, and taken me right into his +house and home. He treated me like a son. Your mother—who was a saint +on earth—nursed me back to health, and was the means of bringing back +my lost ideals, and faith in God above. Your father got me a temporary +billet till I had cleared off my debts, and was able to hold up my +head again. Then I came home, for my widowed mother died and I had to +provide a home for my sister. Eventually, money came to us. I went +to college, entered the Church, and now am trying to be a trainer as +well as a schoolmaster. I want every boy to leave me with sounder and +more robust principles than I had myself at his age. I want to save +them from an experience like mine. Can you wonder that I revere your +father's memory, and am sorry that I failed in receiving his daughter +with the courtesy she deserved?"</p> + +<p>Audrey was moved by his recital, yet her hot pride rose at once at the +thought of assenting to Dr. Vernon's proposition.</p> + +<p>"I don't wish to be dependent upon 'you' for a living," she said +shortly.</p> + +<p>"There is no question of dependence, but of mutual obligation, in such +a proposal as I have made," said Dr. Vernon. "It would be affectation +if I were to pretend I did not know the state of your finances. But +our need of a lady like yourself is quite as great as your need of the +salary our school committee will give. We won't waste any more time in +talking. You can but give it a trial. If you do not like the post, you +are free to give it up. Do you think you could pack your things and be +ready to come off with me in an hour's time? Then we shall catch the +six o'clock train from Victoria."</p> + +<p>Audrey gave a little gasp. This man took her breath away. And yet his +magnetic personality seemed to dominate her.</p> + +<p>"I cannot possibly rush away in such a fashion," she said. "I have had +no time to think over your proposal."</p> + +<p>"But that is just what I do not want you to do," said Dr. Vernon, +smiling again. "Miss Hume, you must let me treat you in somewhat the +same fashion as your father treated me. I don't mean to say that your +experience is a bit what mine was, but—"</p> + +<p>"But?" interrupted Audrey, with flashing eyes. "You mean to take me in +out of charity and befriend me, in order to pay the debt you consider +you owed to my father. I am afraid I cannot bring myself to agree to +that."</p> + +<p>"That is an ungenerous way of stating things."</p> + +<p>"It is a true one."</p> + +<p>Audrey had risen from her chair and was facing him somewhat defiantly.</p> + +<p>Her nerves were on edge. She felt terribly afraid of losing her +self-control and bursting into tears.</p> + +<p>And Dr. Vernon, who was a keen student of human nature, saw and +understood.</p> + +<p>"Come, Miss Hume," he said, "you are a reasonable, sensible girl. Don't +act hysterically, but take my offer as it stands. I don't mean to leave +this house until you have promised to come with me. If we miss that six +o'clock train, there is not another till ten o'clock. I shall lose my +dinner, and my sister will be anxious. You see, I'm determined to have +my way in this matter—determined that you shall test the vacancy I want +you to fill before you refuse it. Come as my guest."</p> + +<p>"Never!" snapped Audrey.</p> + +<p>"Well, we will leave that. I don't care how you come, as long as you +accompany me to-night. Mrs. Bonar or my sister will look after you, and +make you comfortable."</p> + +<p>Then Audrey experienced a peculiar sensation, as if the room were +rising up to meet her. There was a buzzing in her ears, and she +remembered no more.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A FRESH SPHERE</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + + "A kindly word and a kindly deed,<br> + + A helpful hand in time of need."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>WHEN she opened her eyes, she found herself upon the sofa, and Mrs. +Dutton was hovering over her with wet handkerchiefs and a glass of +brandy and water.</p> + +<p>Audrey began to laugh.</p> + +<p>"I'm all right. Don't look so scared, Mrs. Dutton!"</p> + +<p>Then her eyes fell on Dr. Vernon, who stood in the doorway, and seemed +to her to fill the room.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Are you waiting still?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I think you want to be in a doctor's hands," he said gravely.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," Audrey replied with haste, the blood rushing back quickly +to her white cheeks; "you have naturally rather upset me, and I'm only +just getting over a bad cold, am I not, Mrs. Dutton? I have never +fainted before in my life, and it isn't my fault that I did so this +time."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure, miss, I'm thankful your friends has found you out," said +Mrs. Dutton. "I says to my 'usband this morning that I'd a mind to +fetch the doctor myself, for you were just going the way the other +young lady did, and she were buried six weeks after she took to bed. +And she fed herself much better than you've a-done lately!"</p> + +<p>"Go away, please, Mrs. Dutton," said Audrey, with another weak laugh. +"I haven't taken to my bed, nor do I mean to be buried just yet."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dutton departed, but cast an imploring glance at Dr. Vernon as she +did so.</p> + +<p>"Can that woman help you to pack?" he said.</p> + +<p>"How pertinacious you are! You have no consideration or pity. I have +hardly got my breath back yet. I suppose I shall have to go with you. +You have taken advantage of my weakness. I haven't the strength to +resist, and you know it. If you will leave me, I shall be ready in +about half an hour. I can meet you at Victoria Station."</p> + +<p>She hesitated, not seeing the gleam of relief that crossed his face, +then said, despairingly:</p> + +<p>"I was in the act of writing to Mr. Blunt when you arrived to ask him +to forward me a cheque. My father's affairs, as you know, are not +properly settled yet. I owe Mrs. Dutton something, and must pay her +before I go."</p> + +<p>"I will settle that. I will return in half an hour."</p> + +<p>He left the room, and Audrey, feeling as if she were in a dream, +dragged herself upstairs.</p> + +<p>As she glanced at her half-written letter which had cost her so much to +write, she murmured to herself:</p> + +<p>"At any rate, I am saved from the Miss Blunts' merciless criticism. I +am too downhearted to hold out against probable employment. But if it +is not a bona fide situation, I shall come back to London. I will not +be beholden to him for one single penny!"</p> + +<p>She packed her one trunk which she had had forwarded to her from home, +and then sat down, wishing her limbs would not tremble beneath her so. +Mrs. Dutton very soon came up to her.</p> + +<p>"The gentleman is waiting downstairs, miss. I'm right down sorry to +lose you, but you're not the sort of young lady to battle by yourself +in London."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Dutton, don't crush me utterly! I used to feel myself such a +tower of strength and energy! But London is a horrid place for an empty +purse, and I shouldn't care if I never saw it again. I shan't forget +you and your babies. You've been awfully good to me. I told Dr. Vernon +to settle up my account. Has he done it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and very handsome, too. I don't know what my 'usband will say. +Tom is very particular about fairness and such like."</p> + +<p>Audrey left her lodgings with a mixture of regret and relief. She was +very silent till she was comfortably settled in a first-class carriage +at Victoria Station. Dr. Vernon arranged everything, and just before +the train started ordered a basin of hot soup to be brought to her.</p> + +<p>Audrey at first objected, but he said, very quietly:</p> + +<p>"You have missed your tea, and I think this will do you more good than +a glass of wine. Railway tea is often atrocious."</p> + +<p>He wrapped his travelling rug round her knees, and saw that she was +thoroughly comfortable, then settled himself in the opposite corner to +her with his evening papers.</p> + +<p>Audrey felt a delicious sense of repose and rest stealing over her. The +soup had stimulated and warmed her. The sense of being taken in hand +and managed, which would have been so utterly repugnant to her a few +months ago, now brought real relief to her strained nerves. She took +herself to task for liking creature comforts so much. The very thought +of sufficient nourishing food, and good fires to warm her, brought a +glow to her heart. And then, as the sense of thankfulness deepened, she +put up a silent prayer for forgiveness for all her doubts or want of +faith.</p> + +<p>"I have not been forsaken," she thought; "perhaps this was to be my +work, and I had to be brought down very low to make me accept it."</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes, and soon sleep came to her.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon read his paper steadily. Presently, as he was conscious of +Audrey's deeper breathing, he lowered his paper and regarded her with +quiet interest. He wondered if his hasty and quixotic proposal would +be beneficial to her and all concerned. He noted the dark lines under +her eyes, those clear grey eyes which had flashed and mocked him and +then filled with sudden tears. He marked the pallor and sharpness +of cheekbone showing through her transparent skin. He had a pretty +clear knowledge of what she had been experiencing from Mrs. Dutton's +garrulous revelations, and his heart swelled with pity for the proud, +lonely girl.</p> + +<p>"She has character," was his inward comment; "she has a little of her +mother's sweetness in her face, with her father's determination about +her mouth and chin. It remains to be seen how she will get on with the +youngsters."</p> + +<p>And then, taking up his papers again, he was soon engrossed in them.</p> + +<p>Shortly before their destination was reached, Audrey woke.</p> + +<p>"You have been asleep. Are you cold?"</p> + +<p>Audrey gave a little rippling laugh.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me. I can't help being amused. Here are we, who felt like +tearing each other's eyes out a short time ago, sitting up together +trying to do the polite! I am not at all cold, thank you. I have +abandoned myself to your care, as you know, but may I ask where I am to +sleep to-night? Am I expected by this Mrs. Bonar?"</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid I shall ask you to sleep under my roof?" he asked, +smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Audrey, looking at him steadily. "I shall prefer to live as +far away as possible. I shall want to forget that you have anything to +do with me."</p> + +<p>"I think your circumstances will make that very easy," he replied +with careless indifference. "Only I would remind you that if we work +together in the same community, there must be no bitterness of feeling +between us. And if occasion should demand instant loyalty to the +principal, I shall expect you to give it."</p> + +<p>Something in the stern gravity of his last words made Audrey look at +him reflectively. After a moment of silence, she said slowly:</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am placing myself in a kind of way under your rule and +government?"</p> + +<p>"Most assuredly you are."</p> + +<p>There was silence between them, then Audrey asked rather irrelevantly:</p> + +<p>"May I ask how you came to find me out?"</p> + +<p>"I applied to Mr. Blunt, of course. He gave me your address."</p> + +<p>"Oh," groaned Audrey, "what delight you have given to his sisters!"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you, except that I find their interest in me and my +doings rather trying sometimes."</p> + +<p>The train stopped.</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid of an open car?" Dr. Vernon asked. "We can hire, but it +will mean delay."</p> + +<p>"I'm not at all afraid of the car," was the reply.</p> + +<p>And so in a few minutes, Audrey was well wrapped up, and was being +whirled along the dark roads towards Horsborough College. She was very +silent.</p> + +<p>When they stopped at the imposing-looking entrance hall of the college, +she looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"This is not my destination, is it?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I want you to come in and see my sister first. It is late, and +I am sure you must want some food. We will dine together, and then my +sister will take you across to Mrs. Bonar."</p> + +<p>Audrey stiffened a little, but she made no further objection. She was +taken into a very pretty, home-like drawing-room. An elderly lady +was reading over the fire. She came forward at once, and Audrey was +conscious of a very cheery voice and manner.</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon wore her grey hair in the old-fashioned way; it was rolled +back under a dainty lace cap; her figure was still erect, and she was +in evening dress.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she said, taking Audrey by the hand. "My brother's wire prepared +me. Come and sit down. Why, my dear, how ill you look!"</p> + +<p>"I have only just recovered from a very bad chill," said Audrey, +sinking into an easy-chair with great relief.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon had gone back into the hall to give some directions to a +servant. She felt a sense of freedom from his absence.</p> + +<p>"I really feel only fit for bed," she said. "I'm sure I don't impress +you favourably, Miss Vernon, but I am naturally very strong, and it is +most unusual for me to be ill. If you would excuse me, I really would +rather go straight to bed. I shall be all right in the morning. Dr. +Vernon said perhaps you would—take me to Mrs. Sonar."</p> + +<p>"I shall do nothing of the sort," said Miss Vernon sharply. "I am not +going to let you commence work over there till you are fit for it. And +I shall not let Mrs. Bonar set eyes on you until you look stronger than +you are at present. She would think we were sending her an invalid +instead of a strong and capable helpmate."</p> + +<p>"I ought not to have come, then," said Audrey, rising from her chair, +"but I assure you I was given no choice in the matter."</p> + +<p>"And you will have no choice now," said Miss Vernon, with a little +friendly pat on her shoulder. "Come straight upstairs with me, we will +waste no time in talking, for we have put off dinner for an hour, and I +am sure the doctor is ravenous."</p> + +<p>She took hold of Audrey's arm and led her up a broad staircase to a +large comfortable bedroom with a blazing fire.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I made up my mind I should not let you go to the +Junior House to-night. I will send your dinner up to you, and take my +advice—get right into bed. There's nothing like that for exhaustion and +strained nerves."</p> + +<p>"You are most kind," murmured Audrey, feeling utterly unable to resist +any longer.</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon gave her a cheerful little nod, and departed, saying:</p> + +<p>"I will send my maid to you. Make yourself thoroughly comfortable."</p> + +<p>Audrey's nerves were indeed strained by the events of the afternoon. +Her feeling of antagonism to Dr. Vernon was overcome by the sense of +comfort and relief her present surroundings gave her.</p> + +<p>"I'm thankful not to sit up and dine with him. I'm a very poor-spirited +creature after all. I told him nothing would induce me to sleep under +his roof, but here I am, and here I shall have to stay, for I'm too +dead tired to protest. Oh, dear! How delicious it all is! And if I were +well, how I should enjoy these fresh experiences! As it is, I feel as +if I should like to crawl into bed and stay there for a year!"</p> + +<p>It was not long before a dainty little dinner was sent up to her. +Audrey sat in her easy-chair by the fire and enjoyed it, as she had +not enjoyed anything for a long time. She felt grateful to Miss Vernon +for leaving her alone. And very soon after, she was lying back on her +pillows watching the flickering firelight dancing over the room. She +was too tired to think much, but did not forget to express her thanks +in prayer to God for having sent help to her in her extremity.</p> + +<p>Presently a gentle knock came at her door, and Miss Vernon appeared.</p> + +<p>"I've just come to say good-night, and to see that you are +comfortable," she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm deliciously comfortable," said Audrey, looking up and almost +startling Miss Vernon by the brilliancy of her smile. "I don't know how +to thank you. I shall be quite myself to-morrow. I really feel as if I +shall be beginning life over again. Yesterday at this time, I felt as +if it were almost finished!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon walked straight down to her brother's study.</p> + +<p>"She is all right. Really, Everard, I quite like the look of her. +I don't get on with young girls as a rule, but I am taken with her +appearance. I will have a thorough good talk with her to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Don't overdo it," said Dr. Vernon with a smile. "Remember she will be +rather difficult when she is stronger. And leave my name out of your +talk if you wish to win her confidence."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Audrey slept till late the next morning. A message was brought to her +by Miss Vernon's maid that breakfast would be sent to her. So she lay +lazily in bed. She heard a great school bell, and outside her window +shrill boys' voices. But she was too tired to satisfy her curiosity by +getting up to look out of the window.</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon paid her a flying visit about eleven o'clock.</p> + +<p>"Stay in bed till luncheon. You and I will have it alone. The doctor +always lunches in the hall with the boys. I am busy all this morning +with Mrs. Bonar."</p> + +<p>"Then you are doing my duties," said Audrey quickly. "Nothing will +please me better than setting to work. May I start on them to-day?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Miss Vernon, looking at her critically. "To-morrow is +Sunday. On Monday morning, I shall initiate you, or, rather, Mrs. Bonar +will. I am rather a useless person myself—as far as the school goes. I +entertain the masters and some of the elder boys, but I take no part in +the school itself."</p> + +<p>When Audrey was dressed, she surveyed the scene from her window with +interest. It overlooked the playing fields, and now they were full of +boyish figures. Football and hockey were going on. She noticed in the +distance a red-brick house amongst trees, and some much smaller boys +playing in the garden. She wondered if this was to be her sphere of +work. When she sat down to luncheon with Miss Vernon, she was told that +her surmise was correct.</p> + +<p>"I hope you like boys, Miss Hume? If you don't, you had better pack +your trunk again and leave to-morrow, for I assure you we see and talk +of nobody and nothing else!"</p> + +<p>"I have always been fond of them," Audrey said warmly; "I teach a class +of them every Sunday at home."</p> + +<p>"You will have to make up your mind to enter a boy's kingdom and stay +in it. We look at everything from a boy's standpoint. If there is great +rejoicing amongst us, it is not over any national victory, but because +Jones Major has passed first into Woolwich, or Smith Major has won a +scholarship, or the first eleven has beaten St. Olave's School in the +town. Our chief pleasures this coming winter will be attending football +matches and school concerts. If we have an 'at home,' the parents of +our boys are our first consideration, and our conversation is on the +relative merits of our different masters, and the programme of sports +and games. If we read our newspapers, it is the educational problems +that interest us. Our library books are chiefly biographies of learned +schoolmasters and historical accounts of famous schools. In fact, if +you are going to live amongst us, you must become a loyal Horsburgian."</p> + +<p>"Please tell me more. I love to hear it."</p> + +<p>"And, of course, it goes without saying," said Miss Vernon, looking at +Audrey very sharply, "that we consider the principal to be the very +best man on the face of the earth. He is the king of our kingdom. +Before him the oldest of us trembles, the youngest of us worships! He +is our sun round which we revolve!"</p> + +<p>"I have never been given to hero worship in any shape or form," said +Audrey rather coldly.</p> + +<p>"Then your education has not been completed. We will soon teach you +hero worship here!"</p> + +<p>Audrey wondered if she were in fun, or sober earnest.</p> + +<p>"And," went on Miss Vernon cheerfully, "we all lead a very busy life. +We have three other houses besides yours. The doctor has hardly any +leisure time, and I have not much. I am occupied in special work of my +own—literary work it is. I will tell you about it one day, but it keeps +me very busy."</p> + +<p>"I shall be glad to be busy," said Audrey with a little sigh. Her last +few weeks of enforced idleness had made her wish to have no more of it. +"Have you always had this school, Miss Vernon? My father did not know +of it."</p> + +<p>"My brother has had it now for eight years. His whole soul is wrapped +up in it, and he has spent a tremendous lot of his private income upon +improvements. I don't believe he would leave it if he were offered +a bishopric. He has already refused a deanery. You see he is such a +clever and able man that many think his talents wasted in such a sphere +as this, but he says that the training of young minds is work that an +archangel would covet. And he has wonderful power with boys. He is a +second Dr. Arnold, I consider. Ah! You may smile and regard this as a +fond sister's ravings, but I regard myself as an impartial judge. You +wait till you hear what other folk say!"</p> + +<p>It was in this way that Audrey received all the information she wished +to have. She was told that there were two married masters, each of whom +managed one of the houses. Dr. Vernon himself only housed fifteen of +the elder lads, and they did not board with him, but took their meals +in the big dining-hall. As she listened to Miss Vernon, she wondered at +the intense admiration she showed for her brother.</p> + +<p>"He is a masterful man," said Audrey to herself, "and is satiated with +homage, I should think. But I do not see anything at all remarkable in +him, except, perhaps, when he smiles. And then it is like a rift in a +cloud."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>AN INVALID'S WHIM</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + + "God sets some souls in shade alone;<br> + + They have no daylight of their own.<br> + + Only in lives of happier ones<br> + + They see the shine of distant suns."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> + "MY DEAREST PAULINE,<br> +<br> + "How can I begin my letter to you? I want to write sheets, and sheets, +and sheets to make up for my long silence! And there is much that I +could tell you, but which I cannot write. I have sent you one or two +scraps before. My visit to Dr. Vernon seemed a failure. I tell you +this now, though I kept it from you at first. I left him and tried to +get work in London, and I utterly failed. Then he made a proposal, +which I think will suit me. And I came back here to try it. He is an +unmarried man with one sister, a good deal older than himself, who is +rather a character in her way. What do you think she is doing? Writing +an account of the Vernon family. They go back before the Conquest. She +has been working at their pedigree for about five years. They have had +pretty much the usual antecedents, I should think. A few have been +great politicians and soldiers, but not many of very great note. But +she is devoting all her life to their biographies, and Dr. Vernon, I +can see, regards it as a harmless hobby.<br> +<br> + "Did I tell you this is a big private school; and I am a kind of lady +matron over the small boys' part of it? An elderly widow lady is the +real head, but she does not do very much. She has what she calls her +surgery, where she doctors the boys, and anoints their bruises and +plasters their cuts. Someone is always in the wars, and it is a very +useful role. I find plenty to do. I have the store cupboards and linen +room in my charge; I am doing housekeeping, and I teach three tiny boys +for two hours every morning, and help about twelve others with their +preparation from six to seven every evening. I go out for walks with +them, and I love them all, especially a very naughty scapegrace called +Wriggles—his real name is Martin Price. His first act was to fill my +boots with live snails!<br> +<br> + "I never thought I could be so happy as I am. Everyone here seems to +have the hearty, fresh cheerfulness of the boys with whom we have to +do. I hardly ever set eyes on Dr. Vernon. But, oh, Pauline, how he +preaches! I never shall forget my first Sunday. He takes the morning +service in the boys' chapel, and a curate from the parish church +conducts the evening one. It seemed such a strange congregation to me, +rows and rows of fresh smiling boys' faces. He took for his text:<br> +<br> + "'Without Me ye can do nothing!'<br> +<br> + "I wish you had heard it. Of course, he spoke straight to the boys, +and said that this would be a hard saying to them, as they all felt so +sure of themselves and their future, so confident that they could get +along by themselves, so angry at being managed by anyone, so eager and +anxious to prove their independence. I tell you, Pauline, his words cut +into 'me.' And then he went on to show how weak is our strength at its +best, and what the real life of each of us ought to be, a life linked +to Christ, like the links of a chain, impossible to be broken. It has +given me such deep thought, for my life is not joined on to Christ's. +It never has been, I'm afraid. Oh, how I wish I could talk to you +instead of this dreadful pen and paper business! His eyes seemed to +glow, and his whole face was burning with eloquence. The boys listened +with open mouth and eyes. This is his style, very simple, but so +wonderfully clear—<br> +<br> + "'Without Me you cannot get your sins forgiven. Without Me you cannot +enter heaven. Without Me you cannot be saved. Without Me you cannot +resist temptation. Without Me you cannot please God. Without Me you +cannot live straight, speak straight, and walk straight. "Without Me ye +can do 'nothing.'"'<br> +<br> + "And he took up every one of these points and dwelt on it, and my mind +is in a tumult, Pauline, for the Second Person of the Trinity has never +so entered into my calculations. I have tried to serve God afar off. +The Son of God has not touched my lite or soul, or brought me into +contact with Himself. So the whole of my twenty-five years of life has +been wasted. I have lived away from Him Who said: 'Without Me ye can do +nothing!'<br> +<br> + "I always felt in my inner being that I was a fraud, and now I know +I am one.<br> +<br> + "Well, what else can I tell you? Life is very full to me here. And +my one desire has been gratified. There is the most splendid school +library here. And I am allowed to take any book and change it as often +as I like, so I am imbibing book lore voraciously. And I am cramming +myself with all the necessary knowledge for helping on my small boys. +I am rubbing up my Latin and French and history dates. I am dipping +into the most entrancing biographies of men and women of whom I frankly +confess I had never heard. I am beginning a course of philosophy, and +want to grasp political economy.<br> +<br> + "At eight o'clock, all our small boys are in bed. Mrs. Bonar writes +letters and works. I devour my books over the fire. I feel, Pauline, I +can say in the language of the Psalmist:<br> +<br> + "'Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto +their desired haven.'<br> +<br> + "I really felt battered to pieces in London with a genuine storm from +my West gate, and it is indeed a haven here.<br> +<br> + "Do you think me very heartless, I wonder, to be so quickly pleased, +when it is such a short time since dear father died? But that trouble +lies too deep for me to touch upon often. It is there still. If only I +had known he was going to be taken from me so soon, how differently I +should have behaved!<br> +<br> + "Now, after this selfish outpouring, how are you, and your mother? +Do you miss me? I am sure you must. My passionate outbursts always tried +you, though you pretended you liked them. Oh, Pauline, shall I ever go +through life with that wonderful radiant serenity of spirit which you +possess? You're always shining and glowing with happiness, and you've +nothing on earth to make you so. I wish, I wish I could have a talk +with you. Don't wear yourself to death, and do try to get undisturbed +nights sometimes. I don't believe you ever stay in your bed for a whole +night, and you ought to do so. Good-bye. Write to me. And if you see +those inquisitive spinsters, tell them what I am doing.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;">"Yours very lovingly,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 24.5em;">"AUDREY HUME."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Pauline read this letter over her solitary breakfast one frosty morning +in October.</p> + +<p>She was intensely relieved to hear from Audrey, for she had been very +anxious about her. She had a letter from Honor a short time before, in +which she mentioned having seen her.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "I am afraid Audrey is not finding it easy to get what she wants," +she wrote. "She looked dreadfully thin and ill when I saw her. I suppose +you know about her affairs better than I do. She only told me her +father's friend had been a failure, and I don't think she wanted this +mentioned. Between you and me, I'm afraid she is starving herself. It +seems a dreadful thing to say, but she dined with me and I fancied she +was really hungry—painfully so."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>On the top of this, one of the Miss Blunts met Pauline in the village +one morning.</p> + +<p>"My dear, have you heard from Audrey Hume lately? Such an extraordinary +thing! You know she went to that great friend of her father's, a Dr. +Vernon. He wrote to my brother yesterday asking for her address! We +have quite believed her to be either staying with him in London or +doing work in connection with him. We have often said to our brother +that it was very curious her going to London directly, but she has made +a mystery of the whole thing. Of course, we all know how she panted to +go to London! She was so very restless and excitable, and so extremely +independent! But it is a terrible thing to think of her in London +alone, and with no one to guide or advise her. Do you think she ever +went to Dr. Vernon at all? One does not know what she might have done. +He evidently knows nothing of her."</p> + +<p>"I know she went to him," said Pauline quietly, "and I know she is +in quiet, respectable lodgings. Audrey is old enough to take care of +herself. And she has such energy and strength of character that she is +bound to make her way."</p> + +<p>Miss Blunt shook her head doubtfully as she walked away.</p> + +<p>And Pauline had been uneasy ever since, though she did not show her +anxiety to outsiders. Audrey's letter brought a bright smile to her +lips.</p> + +<p>"I knew she would find her feet. It seems the very thing for her. She +never could have stayed on here. And I am so thankful she is busy and +happy. Dr. Vernon has not failed her after all."</p> + +<p>Here she was called upstairs to her mother.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine was slowly and gradually getting worse, yet no one saw it +but the doctor and Pauline. She herself was more restless and irritable +in consequence, and her active brain was always planning impossible +projects which Pauline was obliged to quench, for the doctor had told +her that her mother could not be moved.</p> + +<p>"Pauline," she began querulously, when she came into the bedroom, "I am +quite certain it is the unhealthiness of this house that is telling on +my health. Mary has been telling me how damp her kitchen is. We never +get a glimpse of sun, and I really feel inclined to go right away. I +happen to have heard from an old cousin of mine this morning. You don't +know her—oh, yes, you do. You stayed with her just before your father's +death. Do you remember her?"</p> + +<p>Could Pauline ever forget that memorable visit? Her pulses throbbed as +she answered:</p> + +<p>"I remember her very well. Cousin Bertha, you mean. She has been living +abroad, has she not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at Cannes. I feel inclined to go to the Riviera for a part of +this winter."</p> + +<p>"But, mother dear, you could not travel; and think of the expense!"</p> + +<p>"I have a small deposit account at the bank which I could draw from. +I am quite as fit to travel as many invalids. I certainly do not get +better here. I seem steadily getting worse. It is the damp climate. I +am sure of it. Don't set yourself against everything for my benefit, +Pauline. You are an extraordinary girl. Anyone would think the idea of +travelling would fill you with delight. But you seem quite content to +live on here in this mouldy, wretched cottage from year's end to year's +end. I cannot stand another winter here. It will kill me. Do you want +me to get worse instead of better? It seems like it."</p> + +<p>"Mother dear, I would do anything in the world to make you better, but +I know a long journey would be too much for you. I know the house is +rather cheerless in the winter. I had thought of cutting some of the +trees in front. The branches must be lopped."</p> + +<p>"Don't be ridiculous. A branch more or less couldn't affect my health. +I will speak to the doctor about it when he comes. Is this his day?"</p> + +<p>"No, he came yesterday. He will not be here till next Saturday, unless +you specially want him."</p> + +<p>"I do want him—at once. Write a note and leave it at his surgery. He +will have it when he comes in from his morning rounds. I wish to see +him this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Very well."</p> + +<p>Pauline moved across to her mother's writing-table. For the next few +minutes, only the sound of her pen was heard.</p> + +<p>"Would you like me to take this at once? As long as he gets it before +one o'clock, it will be time enough."</p> + +<p>"You can read the paper to me first."</p> + +<p>"What does Cousin Bertha say for herself?"</p> + +<p>"She is not going abroad this winter. She says she is so well that she +does not need to do so. I dare say if I had done as she has, I should +be well, too. She has gone back to her house in London, and asks me if +we ever come to town. She says something about liking to see me again."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," Pauline said slowly, "that you would not like to ask her +to pay you a visit here?"</p> + +<p>"It's quite out of the question. Bertha is accustomed to luxuries. I +should be ashamed to offer her such poor hospitality."</p> + +<p>"But don't you think, mother, that as one gets older, one values +society more than bodily comforts? She and you would love to see each +other again. I could make her comfortable, I am sure. And if I remember +her rightly, her tastes are very simple!"</p> + +<p>"I should not think of beginning to entertain after so many years of +retirement. I am not strong enough to do it."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"How you do argue, Pauline! My head cannot stand it. You always want +to do differently from what I wish. Are you going to read the paper or +not?"</p> + +<p>Pauline took up the "Morning Post," and commenced reading.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When she went out later to take the note to the doctor's, her heart was +full of loving pity for her mother. She felt herself that in sunnier, +cheerier surroundings, her mother's spirits, if not her health, would +improve. Yet she knew the doctor would not hear of a move.</p> + +<p>"If only mother would see some of our neighbours," she thought, "it +would do her a lot of good. But she will not do so, and we are shut up +together, and I know I am very dull company."</p> + +<p>Yet all the time she was out, Pauline was using her eyes and ears for +the benefit of her mother. Mrs. Erskine was always ready to hear about +her neighbours if she would not see them. And when Pauline returned +from the shortest errand, it was always:</p> + +<p>"Well, whom have you seen?"</p> + +<p>This morning, she returned to her mother's room with more than her +usual animation.</p> + +<p>"I found the three little Rectory children at the post office. Poor +mites! They were quite alone. They told me Miss Paton was altering +a dress for 'mummy.' And they were full of importance, having just +posted a letter to Honor, to beseech her to come back to them! Chatty's +fingers were through her gloves, and Minnie's thick, curly hair looked +as if it sadly wanted a good brushing. I am afraid Miss Paton is a +better companion to their mother than a governess to them."</p> + +<p>"They ought to have Honor back. I consider it was a most selfish thing +of her to do—to leave them in such a manner. It seems the one desire of +every girl nowadays to get away from home. Did you see the doctor?"</p> + +<p>"No, he wasn't in. I took pity on the children, and we all went to the +pine woods and gathered some fir cones. I have brought some back for +your fire. I knew how you liked them. It was quite delicious in the +wood; the sun came out, and the hoar-frost on the larches and pines +made the place look like fairyland. A robin was singing as we left; +I do wish you could have heard him. Coming home, I met Mrs. Daventry +walking with one of the Miss Blunts. I was glad to give them news of +Audrey. I did not tell you I had heard from her, did I?"</p> + +<p>"You generally keep all your correspondence to yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! I haven't many letters, I assure you."</p> + +<p>Pauline then told her mother the gist of Audrey's letter.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Daventry was very pleased. She said it was so good for Audrey +to have her hands full, and, mother dear, Mrs. Daventry asked me if I +would go to tea with her this afternoon. Do you think you could spare +me? I should not be away more than an hour. She has a tea-party, and +wants me to help her entertain."</p> + +<p>"You seem perpetually going out to tea."</p> + +<p>Pauline had been three weeks without going anywhere. Mrs. Daventry had +urged her so much that she did not want to refuse.</p> + +<p>"Well, we will see," she said cheerfully. "I cannot leave you till the +doctor has been."</p> + +<p>Dr. Mann came at half-past three, and, as Pauline had feared, would +not hear of Mrs. Erskine travelling. She was at first indignant with +him, and broadly hinted that it was to his advantage to keep her from +leaving. Then she dismissed him abruptly, and vented her displeasure +upon her daughter.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have been talking to him and persuading him to prevent +the move. But I shall not submit to be managed by either of you, and +if I do not go abroad, I shall go up to London. I have wanted to see a +specialist for some time. I am convinced that Dr. Mann is treating me +quite wrongly. These country practitioners have neither knowledge nor +experience. I meant to have gone to him long ago, but you managed to +prevent it. This quite decides me. Now I want you to write to Bertha +for me. My talk with that obstinate, ignorant man has quite unnerved +me. Ask her if she knows of any quiet lodgings near her, and tell her +how we are situated here, and how my health is getting worse instead of +better."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I had better not go to Mrs. Daventry's?"</p> + +<p>Pauline spoke a little reluctantly. She very much wished to go, as +there were two people coming from a distance who were old friends of +hers.</p> + +<p>"It must be quite four o'clock now. It is too late. You can't possibly +want to go. Tea parties in this part must be the dullest form of +entertainment imaginable."</p> + +<p>Pauline said no more, but sat down to write the letter, and though she +wrote from her mother's standpoint, she managed to let her old cousin +see that the move would be a great risk.</p> + +<p>"You see, mother," she said, turning round, pen in hand, "personally, I +should love to go to London, but I dread a return of that pain for you. +And it is only whilst you lie absolutely quiet that you have relief +from it."</p> + +<p>"I never have relief from it night or day. But I know myself better +than anyone else. I will not stay here to die by inches, and I am +perfectly strong enough to go up to town in a reserved compartment. I +cannot afford to have doctors down. And I am determined to have other +advice. Dr. Mann will find he has made a great mistake in opposing my +wishes."</p> + +<p>Pauline hoped that her mother's restless mind would change from her +present purpose. But to her dismay, it did not, and day after day she +reiterated her determination to go, until at last Dr. Mann said she was +doing herself more harm by her ceaseless fret about it than the actual +journey would do.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>They accordingly, after much thought and preparation, moved up to quiet +rooms in town. The old cousin, Mrs. Repton, did all she could to help +in the matter.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine bore the journey wonderfully. Her strong will kept her up, +and she did not flag until the visit had been paid to the specialist.</p> + +<p>That was a trying day to Pauline. She dreaded lest her mother's +unusually buoyant hope should be dashed to the ground by the doctor's +verdict. She spent a very bad half-hour in the waiting-room. Her mother +would not let her accompany her into the specialist's presence.</p> + +<p>But when she came out, as impassive and calm as when she entered, +Pauline impulsively sprang forward—into the consulting-room.</p> + +<p>"I want to know what you think of my mother," she said.</p> + +<p>The doctor looked quietly at her.</p> + +<p>"She must go on as she is doing. A quiet country life with no +excitement will prolong her life. But you must treat her as an invalid +and humour her."</p> + +<p>"There is no immediate danger?"</p> + +<p>"Not at present."</p> + +<p>"Is this all that you can tell me?"</p> + +<p>Pauline's tone was desperate. She added.</p> + +<p>"We think—our doctor and I—that she is getting worse. Is she? Please +tell me. I know she cannot be cured."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image005" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"><a id="Image005"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image005.jpg" alt="image005"></a></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>PAULINE'S TONE WAS DESPERATE. "WE THINK MOTHER IS</b><br> +<b>GETTING WORSE. IS SHE? PLEASE TELL ME."</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Her life may be prolonged by great care. I can say no more."</p> + +<p>"And this is all we have got by coming to London and spending more +money in a week than we should do in a month at home," thought Pauline, +as she joined her mother.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine looked at her with a little laugh.</p> + +<p>"Well, Pauline, did he say to you the same inanities that he said to +me?"</p> + +<p>"What did you expect him to say, mother?"</p> + +<p>"That a little wholesome change would be good for me, that it was my +circumstances which were to be blamed for my present state of health."</p> + +<p>Pauline smiled.</p> + +<p>"Instead of which he says that quiet is essential to you, and your +present life your one hope."</p> + +<p>"All doctors are humbugs," said Mrs. Erskine irritably. "I shall go +home to-morrow."</p> + +<p>That evening, Pauline went round to her cousin's house for an hour or +two after her mother was comfortably settled in bed. It was the same +house in which she had met Justin Pembroke ten years previously, and +the memories that surged up in a flood almost overcame her.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Repton, "you have grown into a grand woman. How +proud your father would have been of you had he lived! He said to me +once, 'My little Pauline will be an unusual woman, and I believe a very +good one.'"</p> + +<p>Sudden tears filled Pauline's eyes. It was not often that her father's +name was mentioned to her.</p> + +<p>"Can't you afford to get your mother a good maid?" Mrs. Repton went on. +"It is wrong that you should be so tied to her sick-room. You are young +yet, and youth soon slips away. You ought to be having your good time +now!"</p> + +<p>"I am," said Pauline, looking at her cousin with her clear, shining +eyes. "I am having a good time every day."</p> + +<p>"I can't follow you. Your mother has not changed. And I knew her very +well in the old days."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Pauline, "I don't believe any of us ought to feel we are +having a bad time if we are doing what we are meant to do. And in +the country, Cousin Bertha, life is very full. There are so many +that live round us, and whose lives we are bound to touch. I am very +interested in my fellow-creatures. I always have been. And if my life +is monotonous, some of their lives are not! Do I sound priggish?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. No one who leads the life you do, and who looks as you do, +is a prig. Pauline, do you remember Mr. Pembroke? I once thought he +was smitten by you, but you were taken away from me before it came to +anything."</p> + +<p>Pauline schooled herself to reply very steadily: "Yes, I remember him. +Is he well?"</p> + +<p>"He has been in the wilds of Australia for many years, and came home +last week, and is in London now. You may come across him."</p> + +<p>"We are going home to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"What a pity! I might have had him to dinner, and asked you to meet +him. You must marry, child. Have you any admirers down in the country?"</p> + +<p>Pauline laughed and shook her head.</p> + +<p>But when she returned to her rooms that night, she took herself to +task for feeling her heart throb at the mention of one who had once +been so much in her thoughts. The very fact of his being in London, of +there being a possibility of a meeting, stirred her to the depths of +her soul. She shook her head half-humorously at her reflection in the +glass, as she stood before it plaiting her abundant golden hair that +evening.</p> + +<p>"Will nothing but the statement of his marriage with someone convince +you that he has never had you in his thoughts?"</p> + +<p>And then she went to bed and slept till she heard the usual restless +call of her mother.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_10">CHAPTER X</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>OLDER AND WISER</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "For others' sake to make life sweet,<br> + Though thorns may pierce your weary feet;<br> + For others' sake to walk each day<br> + As if joy helped you all the way—<br> + While in the heart may be a grave<br> + That makes it hard to be so brave,<br> + Herein, I think, is love."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>THEY returned home the next day. Mrs. Erskine's fictitious strength and +spirits had deserted her.</p> + +<p>"I am going home to die," she asserted to her daughter, "and I ought +not to have been allowed to attempt this journey. It has sapped all the +strength out of me—and the hope and courage, too." She added these last +words in a breathless whisper to herself, but Pauline heard them, and +she laid her hand affectionately on her mother's arm.</p> + +<p>"We are going home together, mother dear, and I mean to take extra care +of you. We will give you the quiet and rest you require, and you may +feel much stronger soon."</p> + +<p>"Stronger!" said Mrs. Erskine bitterly. "I am sinking into a helpless, +whining invalid. I can't bear pain now as I used to do, and I am +getting tired of the struggle."</p> + +<p>Then she relapsed into silence, and would not permit Pauline to touch +upon the subject of her health again.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was a sad home-coming. Mary hovered over her mistress with anxious +eyes, but when she was once more comfortably settled in her own bed, +Mrs. Erskine looked up into her old servant's face.</p> + +<p>"I shall never get out of this bed again," she said. "But I am given to +understand that I shall have plenty of time to prepare for death. You +won't get rid of me very soon, Mary."</p> + +<p>"Eh, mistress dear, don't talk so! The journey has tired you. You'll +feel quite fresh again after a few days' rest."</p> + +<p>Pauline left the room quickly. She felt strangely unnerved and unfit +to take up her daily burdens again. The verdict had not surprised her, +but it had taken away her mother's restless hope of getting better, +and she knew how hard the coming days would be to them both, and an +overwhelming pity for her mother filled her heart.</p> + +<p>"If only I could bear it for her!" was her passionate thought.</p> + +<p>She went out into the little garden, which was looking dreary and +forlorn. Dead leaves underfoot, bare leafless trees, sodden grass, and +a few withered dahlias, all spoke to her of death and decay. For a +moment, her spirit seemed weighed down by its depressing atmosphere. +Then she raised her eyes to the sky above, and sunshine and steadfast +hope were in her smile.</p> + +<p>"'For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were +dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, +eternal in the heavens.' I must get mother to believe that."</p> + +<p>She stayed a little longer, her lips moving in silent prayer; then she +went back to her mother, and the old routine of her life began again.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>One afternoon, Miss Paton called with some message from the Rector. +Pauline had met her several times, and, in common with most people, +Miss Paton had taken a violent fancy to this stately golden-haired +girl, with her sympathetic eyes and smile.</p> + +<p>"I am actually alone to-day. Mr. and Mrs. Broughton have driven +into the town, and the children have been carried off to tea at the +Osbornes'. Miss Osborne called for them at three o'clock. What a merry +little thing she is—almost a child herself!"</p> + +<p>"Will you stay and have tea with me?" asked Pauline. "My mother sleeps +till five o'clock, so I shall be free."</p> + +<p>"I should like to very much. What a cosy little room you have! Whenever +I come to this house, it gives me the sense of rest. I suppose wherever +there is sickness, there must be quiet. Now, at the Rectory we are in +a scrimmage from morning to night, and I seem wanted in every place +at once. To tell you the honest truth, I am getting rather tired of +it. But I am fond of Emily, and she likes me, and I was at a loose end +before I came here."</p> + +<p>"Have you any home of your own?" Pauline asked, taking up her work and +settling down for a talk.</p> + +<p>Miss Paton laughed.</p> + +<p>"No. Mother and I came to the conclusion that a home was a great +mistake—it tires you so. At least, I felt pretty strongly that way, +and she didn't want much persuasion to settle in a boarding-house at +Folkestone. I couldn't live a life like you, Miss Erskine; it would +drive me mad. I have two brothers who went out to the colonies and +married there. And I have a married sister in Scotland. She—er—married +my lover; so you have my biography in a nutshell!"</p> + +<p>She gave a hard little laugh, then went on:</p> + +<p>"Mother and I never could pull together. She is old and fidgety, and I +cannot stand old people. I always think strangers get on much better +with them than their daughters, because they can't tyrannise over them +so much. I bore it for eight months, and then we were both dead sick of +each other, so I suggested the boarding-house scheme. It has answered +admirably. I go there whenever I want to, and mother and I, instead +of snapping and snarling at each other all day, are now the greatest +friends. She writes me most affectionate letters. And in this way, I am +able to go about and earn a little on my own account. We are not well +off."</p> + +<p>For a moment, Pauline said nothing. It was not her way to censure +people for what they said or did, but Miss Paton's selfish, callous +views of life rather took her breath away.</p> + +<p>"I think you must be a great comfort to Mrs. Broughton. She is not +strong enough to manage the Rectory household single-handed."</p> + +<p>"I hope I'm a comfort to her. But, between ourselves, she is rather a +humbug. Mind you, I am fond of her—I always was, since we were girls at +school together—but it's all take with her, and precious little giving."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Pauline, smiling, "it's good to be the giver instead of +the taker, isn't it? I am sure in the bottom of your heart you must +feel it so."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I do," said Miss Paton hesitatingly. "But I don't think I rank +amongst the givers in the world. I'm a pretty selfish lot myself. But +one has only one life to live, and single women have to look out for +themselves—no one else does it for them."</p> + +<p>"Do you find the children difficult?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Erskine, they worry me to death! They ought to have a +nurse, and I tell their mother so. They haven't the sense to look after +themselves. At best, if they do, they get into some scrape, and I +can't be at their heels all day. And they're for ever dinning into my +ears the virtues of the absent Honor—'Honor did this,' or 'Honor did +that'—till I feel I could slap them! Imagine! Mr. Broughton actually +said to me one day that he thought it was a mistake girls leaving home +when they had a parent dependent on them for help in their old age.</p> + +<p>"'Well,' I said, 'your daughter has run away from her home duties as +well as I—' And he shut up at once."</p> + +<p>"Poor Honor!" said Pauline meditatively. "She was very fond of her +home, but, like you, found it a good deal for one pair of shoulders. +Still, she did not want to leave."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know all about it. It was another case of not pulling together. +Emily wrote me all her woes before I came. Now, honestly, Miss Erskine, +don't you think it wiser for people to take the easiest path in life? I +do. I should never stay anywhere where I was miserable."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you are very susceptible to your surroundings."</p> + +<p>"Who isn't? And I love peace at any price. If I don't like a person, I +can't help showing it, and then there are ructions. Isn't it far better +to separate at once?"</p> + +<p>"It just depends on what one's guiding principle is through life," said +Pauline slowly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have no guiding principle."</p> + +<p>"Indeed you have, though you may not have discovered what it is."</p> + +<p>Miss Paton stared at her.</p> + +<p>"You rather interest me—go on."</p> + +<p>"But I have done," said Pauline, laughing.</p> + +<p>Miss Paton joined her in her laugh.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad you have. I was rather afraid you were going to deliver me +a sermon."</p> + +<p>Tea came in just then, and they drifted to other topics. When Miss +Paton got up at last to go, she said:</p> + +<p>"May I come to see you again? People are not over friendly to me here; +I believe they consider I have ousted the immaculate Honor from her +home, which is ridiculous. You are the only one who has regarded me +with friendly eyes. Even that bright little Miss Osborne looked up into +my face and said to-day,—</p> + +<p>"'I'm afraid children bore you, do they not? These mites were a little +spoiled by Honor—she adored them so—and they miss her dreadfully.'</p> + +<p>"I am sure she thinks I neglect them, and perhaps I do; but I can't +amuse them and their mother at the same time—and she is my friend."</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted to see you whenever you have a moment to spare," +responded Pauline warmly.</p> + +<p>Miss Paton turned to go, then she looked back.</p> + +<p>"Of course I know my guiding principle, and you know it, too. It's to +take the easiest way. But I'm not the only one who does it."</p> + +<p>"I suppose we should all do it," said Pauline slowly, "if we all +believed as you do—that we have but one life to live."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Miss Paton, a little shamefacedly, "that was a +careless speech of mine—I am not a heathen exactly."</p> + +<p>She gave Pauline a little nod, and departed. But Pauline's few words +stuck to her, and gave her much matter for thought.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>About a fortnight after this, Mrs. Daventry called early one afternoon, +and insisted upon taking Pauline for a drive.</p> + +<p>"I will not take 'No,'" she said, "for you are needing change of air +badly. You are too young to lose your roses yet, and too valuable to us +all to overstrain yourself and have a breakdown."</p> + +<p>"I am very strong," said Pauline.</p> + +<p>But as she spoke, there were tired lines round her eyes and a little +droop to her tall, upright figure.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry leant back in her luxurious carriage with a sigh of +relief, when she had Pauline by her side.</p> + +<p>"You have no idea how I long for you when I am driving about. You know +that you are my favourite, do you not? And yet I can hardly ever get +hold of you. I want to take you to the Burkes' this afternoon. It is +a social gathering, to welcome their son back from abroad, and Lady +Marion asked me specially to bring you. She has never forgotten meeting +you at my house last spring. She says she has seen no one like you in +this neighbourhood for years."</p> + +<p>"You flatter so," said Pauline, laughing, but casting rather a dismayed +look at her plain dark blue cloth coat and skirt. "I am not in company +attire, exactly, am I?"</p> + +<p>"Quite nice," said Mrs. Daventry. "And now tell me first about +yourself, and then about my other girls."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing much to say about myself. Mother has had a much +better week. Dr. Mann was quite pleased with her when he called +yesterday. I heard from Honor yesterday. She always writes a little +dismally, but she likes Scotland better than London, and says that Mrs. +Montmorency seems to like her better than she did. Poor Honor always +makes the worst of herself. I knew she would be appreciated before +long."</p> + +<p>"And Audrey?"</p> + +<p>"Audrey is very busy and very happy. I heard from her this morning. She +says, 'I really do believe my Western goal will be a bright path, after +all—my storms seem over.'"</p> + +<p>"Has she learnt so quickly?" said Mrs. Daventry, musingly.</p> + +<p>The drive was a long one, but Pauline enjoyed every bit of the way. +When they were ushered into a brightly lighted hall, and thence into a +well-filled drawing-room, she was still girl enough to enjoy the gay +scene.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion Burke received her warmly.</p> + +<p>"Let me introduce my son to you. He has been in Australia for many +years. Some scientific society sent him out, and he has brought his +great chum down from town with him. Leonard, let me introduce you to +Miss Erskine."</p> + +<p>A keen-looking young fellow, with the tanned skin that tells of an open +air life, turned at his mother's words and bowed.</p> + +<p>But Pauline went pale to the lips when his companion turned also, and +she was face to face with Justin Pembroke.</p> + +<p>For a moment their eyes met. Then he stepped forward gravely.</p> + +<p>"We met many years ago, did we not, Miss Erskine?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think we did," she replied with wonderful composure. "You have +been abroad a good many years, have you not?"</p> + +<p>"A good many, though time flies when one is occupied. Have you seen +Mrs. Repton lately?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; my mother and I were up in town a short time ago. She seems very +well."</p> + +<p>"I must go to see her. But, really, we have been so accustomed to our +life away from civilisation that we feel a little shy at first when we +get amongst our own people again. Burke and I have been in the Bush for +the last five years."</p> + +<p>They exchanged a few commonplace remarks, then he drifted away from +her, and Pauline felt as if she were in a dream. He was very much the +same, a trifle greyer than when she saw him last, and his voice not +quite so keen and eager. But she felt as if a cold-water douche had +descended upon her.</p> + +<p>He greeted her perfectly courteously but indifferently. He evidently +did not wish to recall the old days. Perhaps, she thought, he had never +attached any importance to them, and now they had faded away from +his memory. She thought hotly of the weeks and months that had been +one long, dreary torture to her, of the hope that lived on, though +suppressed and checked in every way, and which even now, though she had +imagined it dead, was so ready to rise again with eager expectancy.</p> + +<p>The woman had sat still, and waited and hoped. The man had continued +his career and forgotten. She smiled a little bitterly to herself. +And then, quick to hear anything from his lips, she listened to some +bantering talk between his hostess and himself.</p> + +<p>"I hope you are both tired of exploring the wilds and have come home to +marry and settle down."</p> + +<p>"Please be merciful. Why such a fate?"</p> + +<p>"It is your duty as a good citizen."</p> + +<p>"Then I am afraid that duty will remain undone by me. No, Lady Marion, +my work is my companion and my creed. I want no other. There was a time +when I thought differently, but I am older and wiser now."</p> + +<p>"That is the way you all talk; and the next I hear is that you have +fallen headlong into love. Your time has not come. 'Nous verrons.'"</p> + +<p>Pauline moved away. She did not want to hear any more. If she had +thought that time had wiped away the remembrance of a man's glowing +eyes reading her very soul, the death-knell that was sounding within +her now showed her the futility of such a misconception. But she +resolutely turned her thoughts from the past to the present, and as she +responded to her friends around her she was her usual sweet, gracious +self.</p> + +<p>She did not speak to Justin Pembroke again. And when she and Mrs. +Daventry departed, she was unaware that Justin's eyes were following +them.</p> + +<p>She talked brightly to her old friend driving home, and went up to her +mother's room to reproduce the events of the afternoon. But, though +she told her of many who had been present, she never mentioned Justin +Pembroke's name.</p> + +<p>When she went up to her bedroom, she opened a drawer and carefully +unlocked a carved ivory box. Taking from it a little packet in tissue +paper, she opened it, and held for a moment or two some faded stalks of +mignonette in her hand.</p> + +<p>Then with a quick gesture she opened her window and flung them out.</p> + +<p>"I also am older and wiser now," she said to herself.</p> + +<p>And then she went to bed.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>AN IDEAL TEACHER</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "He who has the truth at his heart need never fear the want of +persuasion on his tongue."—RUSKIN.<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"THE doctor wishes to see Miss Hume in his study at four o'clock this +afternoon."</p> + +<p>That was the message given to Audrey one morning, just a month after +she had arrived at Horsborough College. She was looking a very +different girl now from what she did when she left London.</p> + +<p>Colour was in her cheeks, brightness in her eyes, and vigour and energy +in every movement. With her characteristic thoroughness, she had thrown +herself wholeheartedly into her work, and was adored by all the small +boys, as well as by some of the big ones. Of Dr. Vernon she saw little, +and if by chance she came across him, she had very few words to say to +him. She found Miss Vernon's speech very true about the boys' world +in which she would have to live. And she also found, if her outlook +was very broad in some ways, it was very narrow in others. She grew a +little impatient of hearing the doctor's praises sung. The two young +married women vied with one another in entertaining him, and their +pride when he dined or walked and talked with them seemed very small +and childish to the independent Audrey.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ross was a pretty little gushing creature, who expected and +received much admiration from her friends. Audrey and she did not take +to each other from the first. Mrs. Tate, whose husband was the senior +master, was stiff in her manner, and a little given to patronising +Audrey, who, of course, resented such treatment, and kept away from her +in consequence. Miss Vernon and Mrs. Bonar were her great friends, and +she wanted no others.</p> + +<p>Yet, before she had been there a fortnight, she was beset by much +attention from two or three of the younger masters, especially one in +particular—a young fellow from Oxford, who was the master in literature +and a very able man. He would saunter up to her in the playground, +accompany her sometimes when she was walking out with the boys, and +hold long conversations with her in the library, of which he was +custodian.</p> + +<p>At first, Audrey had been very grateful to him for recommending her +various books to read. She had enjoyed talking over with him English +literature in general, and had thankfully learnt a great deal from him +on several subjects. But she grew rather tired of him before long, and +was more anxious than he was to cut short their interview.</p> + +<p>A chance word from Mrs. Ross had brought the hot blood to her cheeks. +They were looking on at a football match, and Mr. Oates had just left +her side to obey a summons from the doctor. Mrs. Ross turned to one of +the other masters with a little laugh.</p> + +<p>"That effort will fail; it is like separating a needle from a magnet. +If I were the doctor, I would not show my hand so soon, for I am sure +it will die a natural death. Mr. Oates is such a very impressionable +youth."</p> + +<p>Audrey had moved away, controlling her indignation. Now, as she was +crossing the square to the doctor's house, she wondered if she was to +be rebuked for her intimacy with him.</p> + +<p>Her lip curled in scorn at it.</p> + +<p>"Life in a boys' school is petty," she said to herself.</p> + +<p>And it was in this frame of mind that she greeted the doctor.</p> + +<p>As he drew forward a chair for her close to the fire, she seemed to see +herself in that same chair on the occasion of her first interview with +him; the remembrance of her humiliation then brought an aggressive note +into her tone.</p> + +<p>"I was told you wished to see me," she said.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon smiled as he seated himself opposite to her.</p> + +<p>"I assure you it is not an unusual thing for me to wish to see any one +of my staff. As a matter-of-fact, I always like the heads of the houses +to come and report themselves once a month; it gives us an opportunity +of talking over any difficulties that may have occurred. My sister +tells me she did mention this to you."</p> + +<p>"I believe she did," said Audrey, a little ashamed of herself. "But +really, I have nothing to say. I have had no difficulties. Life seems +almost too easy for me now."</p> + +<p>He glanced at her, and could hardly believe that this bright, radiant +girl was the same who had stood looking like a white wraith as she +defied him in that shabby little back parlour in London.</p> + +<p>"That was one of the things I wished to ask you," Dr. Vernon said, +"whether you like your work and are happy with us. You were to give it +a trial, you know."</p> + +<p>Audrey's face sobered.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied. "I like it. I suppose I ought to ask if I suit?"</p> + +<p>"I hear you manage everything admirably. Perhaps, if anything, your +reins are a little too slack?"</p> + +<p>Audrey looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"Is that what Mrs. Bonar feels?"</p> + +<p>"It is what 'I' feel."</p> + +<p>The quick colour rushed into her cheeks.</p> + +<p>He went on:</p> + +<p>"Two of your small boys scaled the wall of my private garden yesterday +in play hours, and they invaded Jenkins's forcing-house. He discovered +them before they had abstracted any of his fruit, and let them off. How +was it they were not in their own playground? I think you generally +supervise their games?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Audrey, looking up at him frankly. "It was my fault. I +took a library book out into the playground. They were all kicking a +football about, and I did not miss the absentees till we were going in. +But I was told about it by the culprits themselves, and I think if you +heard me lecture them, you wouldn't think me so slack. Have you any +other instance of my loose reins?"</p> + +<p>"I was told you let two of your small boys walk into Bulton. I have had +to place it out of bounds—did you not know this?"</p> + +<p>"I did not think our house was included in that order."</p> + +<p>"You are included in every order. And in any case, your youngsters are +too small to go off alone."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Audrey meditatively, "that too much independence is +better for boys than too little. If they are restricted too much, they +will break out sooner or later."</p> + +<p>"But," said Dr. Vernon quickly and sharply, "as you are not the +principal of this college, your thoughts must not be put into action. +It is your place to obey school orders implicitly and unhesitatingly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know. Our little kingdom is absolutely an autocratic one."</p> + +<p>Her brows were knitted as she spoke—and there was absolute silence for +a moment. Then Dr. Vernon said in a different tone:</p> + +<p>"What do you think of our library? You are a great reader, are you +not? If I can be of any help to you about books, I shall be very glad. +Perhaps I could lend you some?"</p> + +<p>Audrey gave a quick glance at his well-stocked book-cases, and replied:</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I haven't come nearly to an end yet in the library."</p> + +<p>Then she rose from her seat.</p> + +<p>"I see," Dr. Vernon said with a little smile, "that you will have +nothing to do with me at present. And perhaps you are acting wisely. +Only, may I make this request—that you treat all my masters as you +treat me? It will be best for all concerned if you do."</p> + +<p>Audrey's hot blood rushed into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed angrily.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon," was all she said.</p> + +<p>But she left the room with the air of an offended queen, and Dr. Vernon +smiled again, and then sighed as the door closed upon her.</p> + +<p>And Audrey walked back to her house in a tumult of indignation.</p> + +<p>"I will not be dictated to by him! I am not a school-girl. His position +does not give him absolute power over my movements! Oh, how proud and +touchy I am! And, though I hate his rebukes, I have myself to thank for +it. I can't be too careful with these wretched young men! I declare I +feel inclined to cut and run from it all!"</p> + +<p>Naturally impulsive, she burst into the drawing-room, and found Miss +Vernon and Mrs. Bonar enjoying a chat together. Their sudden silence as +she entered made her say, with an embarrassed laugh:</p> + +<p>"I am sure you are talking about me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Vernon, "we are. Have you just left the doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I have received his scolding and am trying to digest it."</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Bonar, "I am sure that is one thing that the +doctor never does. He speaks out, of course, but the art of scolding is +not his."</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon immediately whipped out her pocketbook.</p> + +<p>"That's very good, Mrs. Bonar, and very true. Everard cannot scold. You +know, I am making notes about him now. I am coming to his biography. Of +course, this is quite between ourselves. He would be angry if he knew, +but the whole of my researches of the Vernon family is only leading +up to him. I always think I shall see Everard an archbishop before I +die. And any little characteristic that outsiders note in him will be +valuable to me. If you come to think of it—" here Miss Vernon leant +back in her chair, poising her pencil between her fingers and looking +across at Audrey with a thoughtful smile—"scolding or nagging is a lack +of concentration, and a sign of a weak nature. Women scold, men hardly +ever. They use a few decided words to express their displeasure, and +let the subject drop."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Audrey, laughing, "the doctor has expressed his +displeasure. And I came out of his room feeling very angry with him, +but now I feel rather angry with myself."</p> + +<p>"I never interfere with school matters," said Miss Vernon a little +loftily, "but I want you to come to tea with me to-morrow afternoon, +Miss Hume. I won't take a refusal, for I know you have no good excuse +to get out of it."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think I shall want to refuse?"</p> + +<p>"Because you have been less in our house than any other member of our +staff, and because you may be afraid of meeting my brother."</p> + +<p>"That I shall 'never' be."</p> + +<p>Audrey held her head high, and the light of battle was in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon laughed.</p> + +<p>"I used to have a hot temper when I was a girl, so I can sympathise +with you. It is in our family. Everard has it still. You will come, +then, to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I will."</p> + +<p>Then Miss Vernon took her departure, and as she went out of the door, +she patted Audrey affectionately on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I am very fond of you, Miss Hume, so you must not mind my teasing. +And I do think I was born without that very feminine trait of +inquisitiveness, so I shall not want to know why the doctor offended +you, or anything about your interview. And I give you my word for +it that he will have forgotten all about it himself to-morrow. He +interviews so many every day. You are only a unit, after all. Good-bye, +my dear."</p> + +<p>"Only a unit," Audrey repeated to herself as she stood at her bedroom +window later that day, looking out upon a moonlit, frosty scene in the +garden below. "How big I seem to myself! And how very small to everyone +else! I'm just part of the school here—a bit of the machinery that +makes the wheels go round. Oh, why do I feel so dissatisfied to-night? +I will write to Pauline. That always makes me feel good."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Miss Vernon was entertaining some of the elder boys the next afternoon, +and one or two friends from the neighbourhood. Dr. Vernon did not +appear, but Miss Vernon kept Audrey after her guests had departed, and +it was then that he walked into the room. He shook hands with Audrey +rather absently, then turned to his sister:</p> + +<p>"Was Archie Wren with you this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He's a nice boy—one of my favourites."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad. I was afraid he was elsewhere."</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon did not ask him to explain himself, but Audrey knew that +several of the elder boys had lately been giving their principal +trouble by slipping off to Bulton, the neighbouring town. It had been +put out of bounds, owing to the misconduct of an unruly set who had had +friction with a grammar school there. But as the shops in it were a +great attraction to the boys, they resented being kept away from it.</p> + +<p>"You may be quite certain," said Miss Vernon, with one of her decided +little nods, "that Archie will do nothing to cause you anxiety. I'm a +pretty keen student of faces, and those particular grey eyes with dark +eyelashes and eyebrows always belong to a frank, fine nature. The only +other person with such eyes is Miss Hume, and if you look at them, +you are perfectly certain that you can trust her, and that honour, +frankness, and fearlessness are her chief characteristics."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Vernon, spare my blushes," exclaimed Audrey, laughing. "You +quite take my breath away."</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon smiled.</p> + +<p>"Your character won't suffer in my sister's hands."</p> + +<p>And just for a moment, he glanced at Audrey's expressive grey eyes.</p> + +<p>She rose to go, but Miss Vernon stopped her.</p> + +<p>"I have promised Mrs. Bonar an old-fashioned recipe for open wounds. +She would like it for her surgery. Wait a few minutes. It is in a book +of my mother's, upstairs."</p> + +<p>She left the room. Dr. Vernon stood on the hearth-rug warming himself +at the fire. Then he suddenly turned to Audrey.</p> + +<p>"I felt I had missed my opportunity yesterday. I am glad to have +another given me. Will you listen to me for a minute or two?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Audrey gravely.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon was silent for a moment, then he spoke in a low, intense +tone.</p> + +<p>"I do not know much about you, Miss Hume, but I want you to do for +your small boys what your mother did for me. No one knows better than +a schoolmaster how important it is to have a good influence brought to +bear upon boys in their earliest years. You know the oft-repeated adage:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Give me a child till seven years, and I will make the man.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"I don't doubt that your influence is on the side of right and honour. +But Miss Hume, I want something more than this—I want their young lives +to be brought into touch with God. Habits of prayer and faith and trust +are a man's safeguards through life. He may leave them for a time, but +they have a strong magnetic power, and will surely draw him back at +a later period. I would not dare to say that you could give them the +touch of life in their souls. This, we know, can only be done by God +alone. But you have your opportunities of teaching them, and winning +them, and—may I say?—of bringing them to the arms of the Saviour for +the blessing they need. I want the foundations of their creed to be +laid in the preparatory school before they come into the more public +atmosphere of schoolboy life. It is a grand work for anyone to put +their hand to, and I long that it should be thoroughly done. Will you +co-operate with me in this?"</p> + +<p>Audrey sat still with her hands clasped in her lap. She did not look up +or move, but her soul was stirred within her.</p> + +<p>And Miss Vernon's entrance kept her silent.</p> + +<p>She took the recipe, said good-bye, and departed.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon accompanied her to the hall door.</p> + +<p>Then, for an instant before she went down the broad steps, she looked +up at him.</p> + +<p>"I will give you my answer later," was all she said.</p> + +<p>She had little time for thinking till she went to bed that night. Mrs. +Bonar had insisted upon her having a small fire, as the weather had set +in very cold. So, wrapping her dressing-gown about her, she sat down to +enjoy the firelight.</p> + +<p>"What a shallow fool I am!" was her soliloquy. "What an ignorant, +self-satisfied, conceited creature! I have actually plumed myself +upon my capabilities as teacher and trainer to these children! I +have thought myself quite adequate to my position, and am perfectly +complacent and satisfied as to the way I work. And all the time I might +have known that I could never reach Dr. Vernon's ideal. I am utterly +unfit for the work he wishes me to do. I can't be a hypocrite. I can't +teach them what I have not grasped myself. I can only teach them the +form of religion, and what good will that do a boy? Yes, I can teach +them habits of prayer, I suppose, but unless I go farther than that of +what use am I? I always told Pauline I had not reached the kernel, only +touched the husk. What is my own creed, I wonder? What do I believe +with all my heart and soul?"</p> + +<p>Her head sank into her hands. For a moment, she was grappling alone +in the dark after the facts of eternity. And very soon a passionate, +desperate prayer rose from her lips and soul:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "O God, teach me myself, that I may teach them. I know nothing of Thee +yet, and till to-night, I have known nothing of myself. Take me in +hand, and make me what I ought to be."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>For in the depths of her despair came the words that she had heard in +the doctor's sermon upon her first Sunday here:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Without Me ye can do nothing!"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>For the first time in her life, Audrey realised that she had been +weighed in the balance and found wanting, and that not only by Dr. +Vernon, but by her Creator and her God.</p> + +<p>It was past midnight when she roused herself and crept into bed.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>AN EMPTY SHRINE</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "A humble knowledge of thyself is a surer way to God than a deep search +after learning."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> + "DEAR DR. VERNON,<br> +<br> + "I have been thinking over what you said to me last night, and I have +come to the conclusion that I am unfit for my position, so will you +release me from it? I cannot do what you ask me. You must get someone +else who will be able to carry out your wishes. I cannot pretend to be +what I am not, nor teach what I do not practise myself.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 19.5em;">"Yours truly,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 25.5em;">"AUDREY HUME."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>It was at luncheon time that Dr. Vernon received this note. He knitted +his brows after reading it, slipped it into his pocket, and went +through his daily routine of work as if he had not received it.</p> + +<p>Audrey waited all that day for his reply, but did not get it. She was +shy of a personal interview, and hoped he would write his answer. Her +work also occupied her. The weather was stormy and cold. After evening +preparation, the little boys were allowed half an hour's play before +going to bed. They were clamorous this evening for Audrey to join them +in a game of "blind man's buff," and, feeling restless and ill at ease, +she threw herself into the game with unusual zest. The clamour was at +its height, the schoolroom in darkness and confusion—and fourteen boys' +throats can make no slight noise when raised in excitement—when the +door suddenly opened and the doctor's voice was heard:</p> + +<p>"Is Miss Hume here?"</p> + +<p>The electric light was turned on, and Audrey, who was "blind man," tore +her bandage off in consternation. Her hair was most dishevelled, her +cheeks flaming, her skirt was tucked up high above her petticoat. Never +had she been taken so by surprise.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I have interrupted some fun," said the doctor, smiling +at the small boys, who stood mute and awed at the appearance of their +headmaster.</p> + +<p>"Our time is just up," said Audrey, with an effort to speak calmly. +"Bobby and Frank, you must come to bed. Will you give me a few minutes' +grace, doctor? For these little wretches have been pulling me to +pieces."</p> + +<p>She left the room with the two smallest boys.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon sat down and began chatting in his easy, happy fashion to +the boys who remained.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When Audrey returned five minutes later, she found a little group +surrounding the doctor, listening with delighted faces to a stirring +story of adventure and experience of the doctor's boyhood.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Hume, do listen!" exclaimed one of them. "You would love to +hear this; he was almost as bad as you and your brother used to be."</p> + +<p>"Shut up, you rotter!" was the whispered reproof of another. "The +doctor isn't a he!"</p> + +<p>Audrey and the doctor laughed in unison. Then he got up from his seat.</p> + +<p>"Can you give me a little of your time, Miss Hume? I came over after +dinner, as I thought these youngsters would be in bed, but I am a +little early."</p> + +<p>"I fancy we are a little late," said Audrey. "Will you come into the +drawing-room?"</p> + +<p>She led the way, feeling rather nervous of the prospect in front of +her. The room was empty. Dr. Vernon wasted no time.</p> + +<p>"I thought I would like to answer your note in person. It surprised me, +though I quite understand your point of view. Shall we sit down and +talk about it?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that is just what I cannot do," said Audrey in a very +subdued tone. "I only know that I cannot train your small boys in +the way that you desire. I wish I had known before I came what your +principles were. But you did not give me much chance of refusing."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I did not. But, Miss Hume, I do not want to lose you. You are +not an irreligious girl, and I am sure you have thinking powers. Have +you no ideals yourself? Don't you expect to do good and lasting work as +you go through life? Are you one of those who are satisfied with second +best? I want you to use your opportunities. If you do not, you will +assuredly look back to this time with bitter remorse and regret. Half +the world is reaching out or waiting for opportunities that will never +come. The other half have the opportunities, but are not using them. +Why can't you seize yours, and make the best of them?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" said Audrey slowly. "Because you must know before you can teach."</p> + +<p>"Is it faith that is lacking? Or disinclination to use the faith that +is in you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know—that I have any at all," said Audrey, looking up +sadly.</p> + +<p>All her usual vivacity and sparkle had disappeared. There was a +pathetic droop to her figure that reminded him of the time he saw her +in London.</p> + +<p>"May I ask you if you believe in the existence of the Trinity?"</p> + +<p>Audrey was silent for a moment, then she said:</p> + +<p>"Yes—with my head I believe in the Trinity. I believe my Bible. I read +it every night, but it does not make any practical difference in my +life. I asked myself last night whether I should live any differently +if I were convinced there was no God—and I really am afraid I should +not."</p> + +<p>"You are so little concerned in One Who is so wonderfully concerned in +you?"</p> + +<p>"I am only a unit," said Audrey, remembering Miss Vernon's words and +applying it to her case.</p> + +<p>"But the whole teaching of the New Testament is to show that Christ +deals with units."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then Dr. Vernon suddenly pointed to a picture on the +wall. It was called "The Empty Shrine," and depicted a little roadway +scene in Brittany, where a group of disappointed peasant pilgrims are +gathered round a shrine which is tenantless.</p> + +<p>"I always think that that is a picture of ourselves before we realise +our purpose in this world. We are not containing what we should, and +are a bitter disappointment to those who look to us for help. We fail +when others need us."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know—I know," said Audrey passionately. "I have thought it all +out. I am a failure—a dead certain failure. And, being so, I will stay +here no longer."</p> + +<p>"But do you mean to continue one?" said Dr. Vernon. "Why should you not +bring success into your life? Do you always wish to be an empty shrine?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"May I give you a simple illustration that I heard a clergyman use +once? It just describes the work of the Trinity as far as we ourselves +are concerned.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Three men were walking up a street.<br> +<br> + "The first one came to a corner house.<br> +<br> + "'That is my house,' he said with a nod of possession."<br> +<br> + "The second man passed the house.<br> +<br> + "'That is "my" house,' he said.<br> +<br> + "The third one came up to it.<br> +<br> + "'That is "my" house,' he said emphatically—and he went into it."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"What a funny illustration! I don't understand it one bit," said Audrey.</p> + +<p>"May I add the explanation?</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "The first man said, 'That is "my" house, for I built it.'<br> +<br> + "The second said, 'That is "my" house, for I bought it.'<br> +<br> + "The third man said, 'That is "my" house, for I live in it.'<br> +<br> + "God the Father says of your soul, 'That is My soul, for I made it.'<br> +<br> + "God the Son says, 'That is My soul, for I redeemed it.'<br> +<br> + "God the Holy Ghost says, 'That is My soul, for I have the right to +live in it.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Audrey made no response for a few moments, then she said slowly:</p> + +<p>"You have hit the nail on the head, Dr. Vernon. I am an empty shrine, +and I never knew or realised it so deeply as I do now."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Dr. Vernon, rising and speaking more briskly, "you must +forgive me if I don't accept your notice to leave me. In any case, you +must stay out this term. By the time Christmas comes, you may think +very differently from what you do now. Work the subject out with your +Bible before you, and you will find light. Only don't be content with +half measures. And look up, Miss Hume."</p> + +<p>He left her. And for a moment, Audrey felt dazed.</p> + +<p>"He takes my breath away!" she exclaimed to herself. "Oh, what an +illustration! Made, and bought to live in, and yet I know I am +tenantless. What a failure I am!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>She searched her Bible that night as she had never searched it before. +Her whole soul was stirred and alive with passionate unrest and +yearning. But light and comfort did not seem to come. Her perplexities +and despondency rather increased, and as days went by, her voice lost a +little of its merry ring, and her lighthearted gaiety and enthusiastic +fervour seemed to be fading away.</p> + +<p>Mr. Oates was still pertinacious in his attendance upon her, and at +last, one afternoon, when he sauntered across the playing fields to +her, she turned upon him.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Mr. Oates, I am very sorry, but I would rather you kept +away. It's very ridiculous, of course, but I find that even in a boys' +school tongues will wag. I have my province, and you have yours. I have +to walk very warily."</p> + +<p>"It is indeed ridiculous," he said indignantly, "that we cannot have a +little conversation together. I have brought you this new book. Have +you read it? It is by a new author. It isn't a library book. The doctor +is a little old-fashioned in his notions of books, but, of course, he +has boys to consider. I saw this advertised, and bought it. You know +what a temptation new books are to me."</p> + +<p>Audrey took it into her hand and looked at it rather absently. The +title, "Life from My Outlook," attracted her.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said. "I shall like to look at it, and I will return +it as soon as I have done with it. No, don't say you will come and +fetch it, for that is just what you mustn't do."</p> + +<p>"Neither you nor I need be in such bondage!" he said hotly. "Who has +been talking? You don't care for women's spite, do you?"</p> + +<p>Audrey shook her head at him.</p> + +<p>"I am not my own mistress," she said, "and my work here demands my +constant and undivided attention. Look at those imps! What are they +doing?"</p> + +<p>She darted forward to extricate the smallest boy from a medley of arms +and legs in a writhing mass on the muddy ground. Six bigger boys were +trying to wrest a football from him, and he was decidedly the worse for +their efforts.</p> + +<p>Mr. Oates shrugged his shoulders and walked away.</p> + +<p>But he did not heed her warning, and Audrey soon began to dread the +sight of him.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>As time passed and the Christmas holidays drew near, she began to +wonder where she could go. The school was virtually going to be closed. +Dr. Vernon and his sister were going up to Scotland to spend Christmas +with some relations. The Tates were going to London. Mr. and Mrs. Ross +were the only ones left, and they had one or two Indian boarders who +wanted a home. Mrs. Bonar was going to her married daughter.</p> + +<p>Audrey asked what would become of two of their small boys who had no +home to which they could go.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mrs. Bonar, "the doctor was speaking to me about them +the other day. He said, of course, you would be wanting to go to your +friends. But he will arrange for Mrs. Ross to take them into her house +and look after them."</p> + +<p>"Hadn't I better stay?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my dear. Why should you? I don't think the doctor would like +to leave you alone here. You are very young, you know."</p> + +<p>"I don't feel so," said Audrey, laughing.</p> + +<p>But she was perplexed and troubled at the prospect in front of her. Her +old home was still let. Lodgings in London did not sound attractive +after her recent experience there. She was too proud to hint to Pauline +in her frequent letters to her that she was wanting a home.</p> + +<p>And then one morning came a letter from Mrs. Daventry.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAR AUDREY,<br> +<br> + "I am sure it is nearly holiday time. Now, will you come to me and +cheer me up this Christmastide? All your old friends are wanting to see +you. I shall be very quiet, for I have no guests coming to me. But I +don't want to lose touch with you, and letters are a poor substitute +for your fresh young voice and eager personality.<br> +<br> + "Tell me what day to expect you, and I shall give you a warm +welcome.—Your affectionate old friend,—<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 22.5em;">"MYRA DAVENTRY."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Audrey thankfully and gratefully accepted this invitation. She had an +intense longing to revisit her old "backwater," and the prospect of +long talks with Pauline filled her heart with content. She went about +with such a bright air that Dr. Vernon, meeting her in the quadrangle +one day, said, smiling:</p> + +<p>"Your school time will soon be over now. I suppose you, like the rest +of us, are going to enjoy your time of leisure?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I am very fond of leisure at present," said Audrey, +sobering at once. "Of course, I am glad to see old friends again. But I +love a busy life. I hate idleness."</p> + +<p>Then she added, with a world of wistfulness in her grey eyes:</p> + +<p>"I may not come back, you know. I have not forgotten our talk."</p> + +<p>"But you must not fail me if you can help it," Dr. Vernon said +earnestly. "Be what you are meant to be, and what you profess to be. I +only want sincerity in my workers. You are a Christian by profession; +don't rest till you are a genuine one."</p> + +<p>"But," said Audrey impatiently, "you might as well tell one of your +boys to be the Prime Minister. I can't make myself a genuine Christian."</p> + +<p>"No, but you know that simple little verse I often repeat to the boys:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Without Me ye can do nothing.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"That is the locked gate. The key that opens it is:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>He said no more, but Audrey sighed deeply when he left her.</p> + +<p>"I can't get hold of it," she said mournfully.</p> + +<p>And it was in this spirit that she left the college and went to Mrs. +Daventry.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_13">CHAPTER XIII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>CONFIDENCES</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "Souls that carry on a blest exchange<br> + Of joys they meet with in their heavenly range,<br> + And, with a fearless confidence, make known<br> + The sorrows Sympathy esteems its own—<br> + Daily derive increasing light and force<br> + From such communion in their pleasant course."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 23.5em;">COWPER.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"AND now, dear Mrs. Daventry, tell me all the news."</p> + +<p>Audrey was sitting with her old friend in the drawing-room after +dinner. It was a cosy, comfortable room, with an ingle nook by the +fire, and it was a delicious experience to Audrey to be in such +luxurious surroundings.</p> + +<p>She laughingly said as much to her hostess.</p> + +<p>"I'm not accustomed to laze. I never could do it when dear father was +alive, and since then, I have been tossed up and down, and buffeted +by thorough westerly gales. Do you remember our gates? I never have +forgotten them. I'm sure I shall have squalls all my life."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, you are happy and comfortable at Horsborough College, +are you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I do not think I am going to stay there, and it is a very +busy life, Mrs. Daventry. I have no chance to be lazy."</p> + +<p>"Then you will appreciate this resting time all the more."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>And then Audrey asked for the news of the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>"There is not much to tell you. Amabel is away visiting her 'fiancé's' +people. She is to be married in January, and go to India with her +husband."</p> + +<p>"The poor Osbornes! How will they bear the parting?"</p> + +<p>"As cheerfully as they do everything else. Then Mr. Broughton has +imported an organist who is a gentleman. He is somewhat of a character. +He has private means of his own, and has furnished two rooms over the +village post office in rather a sumptuous way. He lectures on a variety +of topics, and is a very good speaker. He goes about the country a +good deal, delivering parish lectures on astronomy, hygiene, health, +temperance, and Church history. He is quite a nice man, about forty, +and very wiry and keen over his lectures. He reads the lessons in the +church sometimes, besides playing the organ, and we all enjoy his music +immensely."</p> + +<p>"He will be an amateur curate, perhaps," said Audrey. "I shall like to +know him. His advent must have fluttered the whole district. How is +Pauline?"</p> + +<p>"Dear Pauline. I won't pity her—somehow one cannot. She is so sweetly +cheerful and contented with her lot, and yet what a monotonous, trying +life it is! I know you will be off to her the first thing to-morrow +morning, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"I have missed Pauline more than anyone else," said Audrey earnestly. +"And has Honor been heard of? Is she never coming home?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she is coming back for ten days. She will spend Christmas +here. It will be pleasant for you girls to meet again and compare +experiences."</p> + +<p>"I have learnt that I am a failure in life," said Audrey quickly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry looked at her keenly.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking that a little bit of the old Audrey is lacking."</p> + +<p>"Which bit?"</p> + +<p>"The bright, audacious bit."</p> + +<p>"The self-satisfied, bragging, self-opinionated bit, I hope. But it's +underneath, ready to pop up again, Mrs. Daventry, only it has been +terribly battered about and crushed."</p> + +<p>Audrey smiled, but it was a rather a sad smile, and then she sat back +in her chair and was silent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry did not press for her confidence. She knew she would have +it before long. And when she began to question her about her daily life +at the college, Audrey grew quite animated again over her small charges.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The next morning, after breakfast was over, Mrs. Daventry said:</p> + +<p>"Now I have a good many letters to write this morning, so will leave +you to your own devices. If you would like to walk over to Pauline, +will you take her some grapes for her mother?"</p> + +<p>"You know I shall be delighted," was the quick response.</p> + +<p>And soon Audrey was swinging along the road at a good pace. It was +a frosty morning, the hedges and trees were still covered with +hoar-frost, and the road hard and dry as iron underfoot.</p> + +<p>Audrey felt exhilarated. And when Pauline met her at the cottage porch, +she thought she had never seen her look happier.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pauline, how delicious to see you! May I pour out? I'm aching to +tell you all about myself. But first, how is your mother? And you're +looking fagged and white, except your eyes. Do you know, they always +seem to me as if they must set light to whatever they rest upon!"</p> + +<p>Pauline laughed, and linked her arm in hers affectionately. "Come along +in. Mother is sleeping. The morning is my free time at present. We have +all missed you, Audrey dear. Our backwater is very smooth and still +when you are away."</p> + +<p>"But, do you know, I am actually glad to get back to it again? There is +nothing like the place in which one has grown-up and lived, after all. +I feel no one cares about me or takes any interest in me elsewhere. +I have made no real heart-to-heart friends since I have been away, +Pauline. And now may I tell you all from the very beginning since I +left here? I couldn't write it, but I can tell you everything, because +I know you are safe to keep it to yourself. Now, first I will tell you +about my father's letter."</p> + +<p>Audrey sat down by the small fire in Pauline's sitting-room and plunged +headlong into her recital. Not a detail did she miss. Pauline had +all the terrible time in London, and as she listened, work in hand, +her work dropped from her fingers in the interest which she felt. +Audrey hid nothing from her, and concluded by repeating her recent +conversation with the doctor when she was asked to do what she felt was +impossible. And then, with a little unhappy sigh, Audrey continued:</p> + +<p>"So, you see, Pauline, as I said to Mrs. Daventry last night, I am a +failure. I have been crushed and humiliated in every way, and I begin +to feel that I needed it. I started away from home with too big ideas +of myself and my capacities for work. I was full of enthusiasm and +energy. And then my time in London showed me my deficiencies as nothing +else could have done. Yet when I got a fresh start at the college, and +seemed to be doing so well, I patted myself on the head again, and said:</p> + +<p>"'They are finding out your worth. They have never had anyone so +thoroughly capable as yourself, or so popular with the small boys.'</p> + +<p>"And I felt that Dr. Vernon must be thankful for my services. Then, you +see, I had to be suppressed again, and this time the deep things of +life were touched upon. It seems to me now as if God's hand has been +on it all. The westerly gales have beaten me flat, and I cannot rise +up again. I am a humbug at religion, Pauline; and, somehow or other, I +can't put myself right, or, as Dr. Vernon said, let God do it for me. +You see, I have been reading a great deal, and I'm a little unsettled +in my own mind about these things. The last book I read seemed to open +up fields of thought and conjecture which I have never touched before. +I am miserable—it all seems doubt and confusion, and no light comes. +And the worst of it all is that unless I can get right spiritually, +I won't go back to the college—and that's a noble incentive to get +right with God! I despise myself when I think that I must become +truly religious in order to keep my situation, which means my daily +bread! And yet this is the fact, and the knowledge of it stings me and +prevents me from making such a mockery of it."</p> + +<p>"But, Audrey dear, apart from your school life, don't you feel a +craving after the real truth? God may be causing your circumstances +to make you draw near to Him. If He has shown you that you are not as +infallible as you once thought yourself, does not that pave the way to +come to Him for His strength?"</p> + +<p>"It ought to. But I have so many doubts. I am beginning to disbelieve +in everything, even—even God Himself."</p> + +<p>Pauline did not look shocked. She had a wisdom beyond her years, and +she knew the intoxication of new knowledge to a girl of Audrey's +calibre.</p> + +<p>"You have been reading a great deal, have you not? And in your reading +you have imbibed the doubts and scepticism of other minds. You have +been drinking subtle poison without an antidote."</p> + +<p>"That sounds narrow, Pauline, and it is not only other minds—it is my +own mind. I am working things out—mentally, I mean. I am seeing how +many sides of truth there are, and what diversities of opinions, and +how everyone thinks that they must be right and others wrong. Yet when +I hear Dr. Vernon preach, everything seems swept away, and I come home +with a fresh, firm grip upon the things I was brought up to believe, +until I remind myself that this is only the result of eloquence and a +strong personality. I am in a very gulf of raging doubt and unbelief. +Help me! I want to be helped."</p> + +<p>"Tell me some of the books you have been reading."</p> + +<p>"There are so many—Emerson, Carlyle, Richter, Strauss, Swedenborg, +Huxley, Herbert Spencer, and a multitude of others."</p> + +<p>"And you have not been able to sift the good from the bad?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I have."</p> + +<p>"You see, you have been reading and believing men rather than reading +and believing God."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have been reading my Bible, too, but I'm in a muddle."</p> + +<p>"If you're fond of reading—and I know you are—you must read thinkers +who are quite as clever as those you mention, but who take their stand +on the Word of God and never move from it. Paley is an old-fashioned +writer, but he is a very good one, and I could give you half a dozen +more—or Mr. Broughton would, if you asked him. Long ago, I did have a +bad time myself with some books that were lent me. But, Audrey, dear, +if you read attacks against our faith, you must read the defence."</p> + +<p>"But these don't attack; they are most of them very good men. I haven't +been reading infidel works, Pauline—I have only been dipping into +philosophy."</p> + +<p>"You have been reading men's explanation of God. It is best to read +God's explanation of Himself."</p> + +<p>"You mean the Bible? I do read it, but I feel rather astray in it."</p> + +<p>"What part have you been reading?"</p> + +<p>"The Psalms, chiefly."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Pauline slowly, "that if you want to realise God's +omnipotence and power you should read the prophets; if you want to +realise His love, you should read the gospels; and if you want to know +His doctrines, and the practical outcome of them in our daily life, +read the epistles. I am quite certain that no book convinces like the +Bible, and the more you study it, the stronger your faith will become."</p> + +<p>Audrey was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Honestly, I don't know which I want most, Pauline—to go on with my +work at the college or to be a sincere Christian. I wish one did not +depend upon the other. Don't you think it is very difficult for me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think it is."</p> + +<p>"And I cannot get that illustration Dr. Vernon gave me out of my head. +I told you about it—the house and the three owners. If it is all +true, what a failure I must be in the sight of God! And I think, in +the bottom of my heart, I am not a doubter; it is like going across +stepping-stones in the dark. I believe they are there, but I can't +place my foot on them. Well, I've had a delicious time with you, and +now I must be going back, or I shall be late for lunch."</p> + +<p>She got up to go, then kissed Pauline warmly.</p> + +<p>"You're a proof of the genuineness of Christianity. Tell me, are you +'always' happy?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Pauline promptly. "I shan't be happy now till you are."</p> + +<p>"But is your happiness made up entirely of other people's concerns?"</p> + +<p>"Chiefly, I think. My own are so very commonplace. Good-bye, dear. Let +me see you again soon. Put the college out of your head. 'Seek ye first +the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.'"</p> + +<p>Pauline stood in the porch watching her friend go.</p> + +<p>And as Audrey turned at the gate, a gleam of winter sunshine slanted +down and caught the golden coils of Pauline's hair, crowning her with a +halo of light.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Audrey, with a long-drawn breath. "If she were in my place, +what a trainer she would make for the doctor's small boys! That is the +kind of woman he wants—not somebody like me!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>That afternoon, she drove out with Mrs. Daventry. They paid some calls, +and met the new organist—a Mr. Danby.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry asked him to dinner that same evening, and he accepted +the invitation.</p> + +<p>He was a thin, keen, grey-haired man, with a boyish way of speaking +that attracted Audrey at once.</p> + +<p>"He must be quite an acquisition," she said. "How can he be content to +be down here if he is clever? There must be some mystery about him, +because he strikes one as being a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"I don't think there is a mystery," said Mrs. Daventry. "He told me he +had no belongings. He was an only son, and was brought up in India, +where his parents died. His father was a judge in the Civil Service. +I think he tries to use his talents; he says country people want more +knowledge than town ones, as their opportunities of hearing are so much +fewer."</p> + +<p>"I should like to hear him speak. I do enjoy lectures don't you? We +have some at the college—for outsiders as well as the boys. There is a +Mr. Oates there—he is a very clever lecturer. He has been giving some +English literature lectures, and I have been enjoying them quite as +much as the elder boys. I knew I was very ignorant, but never realised +I was quite so bad until I saw how much the boys were taught. I wish +you knew Dr. Vernon, Mrs. Daventry; you would like him."</p> + +<p>"Schoolmasters frighten me," said Mrs. Daventry, smiling. "They look at +life in such a scholastic way that I always fight shy of them. But I +have heard that Dr. Vernon is an exceptionally nice man, as well as an +able one."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When Mr. Danby arrived that evening, he was in very good spirits.</p> + +<p>"I've had a ripping practice this afternoon. We're going to astonish +you with an anthem on Christmas Day, Mrs. Daventry. Hope you don't +object. Believe some people in the country do."</p> + +<p>"You have very raw material to work upon, have you not?" said Audrey. +"When Miss Broughton went away, I was organist 'pro tem.' But I found +it very hard work."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you were lacking in enthusiasm," Mr. Danby said. "That carries +you a long way. I hope I shan't lose mine. Most people do before they +come to my age."</p> + +<p>"I think I'm just beginning to lose mine," said Audrey meditatively.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Don't you do it. Hope is the forerunner of enthusiasm, and you're +too young to lose that."</p> + +<p>"She is not going to, I am sure," said Mrs. Daventry quickly. "Are you +going to give us another lecture soon, Mr. Danby?"</p> + +<p>"I have promised to give one on Boxing night. The Rector wants me to +keep some of the men out of the public-house that night. Now, if you +revelled in strong drink, Miss Hume, what subject would be strong +enough to keep you from it for a couple of hours?"</p> + +<p>"It requires thinking out," said Audrey. "I don't think a temperance +lecture would."</p> + +<p>"Quite right! Just what I said to the Rector. My bait must be gilded. +I had thoughts of 'Wives and How to Manage Them.' What do you think of +that? Being a bachelor is a disadvantage, to be sure. But I don't think +it would tell against me in their eyes. 'My Pocket' is another title. +Do you know Miss Erskine?"</p> + +<p>He turned to Audrey with a sudden change of tone.</p> + +<p>"She is my greatest friend," said Audrey warmly.</p> + +<p>"Of course she is, if you know her. She's an awfully good sort, +and what a regal grace she has! She and I are getting chummy; she +told me of one or two points I missed in my last lecture. A clever +woman—very—and a real good one—not the sort you would expect to find +hidden away in a rural village."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry laughed.</p> + +<p>"We're not all aborigines, Mr. Danby. The country holds a good many +such, I hope."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Mrs. Daventry," said Audrey eagerly. "There can be only one +Pauline."</p> + +<p>She enjoyed Mr. Danby's lighthearted conversation. He played to them +after dinner, and, once at the piano, his vivacity left him—his music +was exquisite—and his mood changed from gay to grave immediately. From +rather a solemn prelude, he grew more and more pensive and sad, and at +last, Audrey felt the tears creep into her eyes against her will.</p> + +<p>When his last note died away, he jumped up and said good-night.</p> + +<p>"I can't talk," he said. "I'm possessed with my tyrannical muse."</p> + +<p>He was off and out of the house before Audrey could exclaim:</p> + +<p>"Is he a genius or a crank, Mrs. Daventry?" she said, laughing.</p> + +<p>"A little of both, perhaps. I told you he was a character."</p> + +<p>"He is a real musician. How fortunate Mr. Broughton is to have got hold +of him! Does Pauline like him as much as he likes her?"</p> + +<p>"I think she likes him," said Mrs. Daventry, smiling. "We all do. He is +almost a Mark Tapley."</p> + +<p>"I don't like people who are always cheerful," said Audrey. "It is so +monotonous. Of course, Pauline is; but she gets grave and sympathetic +in a moment. Now, this Mr. Danby has a set smile. I don't care for men +who smile."</p> + +<p>"You are graver than you used to be," said Mrs. Daventry.</p> + +<p>"I feel grave. Life has different turns in it from what I thought it +would have. At least, my life has. And at present, Mrs. Daventry, +I can't detach myself from my own life as Pauline does. I'm quite +absorbed in it."</p> + +<p>"You haven't got to Pauline's stage yet:</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"'A heart at leisure from itself<br> + To soothe and sympathise.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, I haven't. I'm a seething sea of unrest and riot. Mrs. +Daventry, have you been good all your life?"</p> + +<p>"Good? I can't claim to be that, but I know what you mean. I have had a +great many ups and downs, Audrey, dear—more than I hope you will ever +have."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever had a time when you doubted everything, when everything +seemed going from you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Daventry slowly and gravely. "I have had that."</p> + +<p>"And how did you come through? Get past it?" Audrey's tone was eager.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry was silent for a moment, then she said slowly: "I think +we get like that when we follow afar off. You must remember the +spiritual part of us must be kept supplied with its rightful food, or +it withers and dies."</p> + +<p>"Yes—but I've—I've never got the real thing yet, and it seems +impossible to believe about it all."</p> + +<p>"Tell me a little more."</p> + +<p>Audrey told her old friend pretty much what she had told Pauline, +adding when she had done:</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I ought not to be an unbeliever, as all the people I admire +and like best in the world are real saints, and live like them. I +suppose it is the books I have been reading, but knowledge can't be +wrong. I have a dreadful feeling that religion may be only for fools +and weak people who have little intellect or understanding. And yet I +know that this is utterly wrong."</p> + +<p>"My dear child, everyone has their turn at that. Don't think your +thoughts peculiar, for they are not, and many before you have trodden +the path you are treading. But believe an old woman when I say to +you that Christianity satisfies the cleverest and clearest brains in +creation, as well as the most ignorant. And don't be afraid that God's +laws and truths won't bear testing or examining, as far as our poor +finite intellects can test them. We cannot understand everything, I +own, and faith is not faith unless it is stretched to breaking-point +and doesn't break. But men's objections in the present day to God's +revelation are so paltry and small, and so inefficient—if I may use +such a word—that there is no fear at all to any cultured and earnest +student that he will not be able to refute such attacks."</p> + +<p>"Please go on—I love to hear you."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it always answers to treat the difficulties that may +occur, and do occur to many of us, as being too presumptuous to be +discussed. It is much better to recognise the doubts that assail one, +and by prayer and by study overcome them. What works have you been +reading lately?"</p> + +<p>"A Mr. Oates has been lending me a good many; and the last one, by a +modern writer and thinker, has, I confess, unsettled me. It is called +'Life from My Outlook,' and is very cleverly written."</p> + +<p>"The Bible gives us God's outlook," said Mrs. Daventry. "It is rather +different from man's."</p> + +<p>"Yes; that is what Pauline says."</p> + +<p>And then Audrey determinedly changed the subject.</p> + +<p>She knew she would have to wrestle out these questions with herself.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>And as she sat, Bible in hand, over her fire that night, the verse +again rang in her ears:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Without Me ye can do nothing."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Looking up, she cried in the fullness of her heart:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Come to me, Lord, into my heart, and do it all. Make a clearance of my +doubts, fill me with faith in Thee."<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_14">CHAPTER XIV</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>BATTLING TOWARDS THE SHORE</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "I see but cannot reach, the height<br> + That lies for ever in the light;<br> + And yet for ever, and for ever<br> + When seeming just within my grasp,<br> + I feel my feeble hands unclasp<br> + And sink discouraged into night!"<br> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">LONGFELLOW.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>HONOR'S return was the next event. She came, feeling a rush of +affection for everyone and everything that made her home, and was +disappointed to receive several small checks. In the first place, she +found that Miss Paton, who had gone to visit her mother, had taken her +old bedroom, preferring it to the one allotted to her. If there was +anything that Honor loved and prized in the way of possessions, it was +her books and the various knick-knacks that were scattered about in her +room, most of which were mementoes of friends and places. These were no +longer there, but distributed promiscuously through the house, and some +of her childish books had been given to the village library.</p> + +<p>"I feel as if I had died and come to life again," she said passionately +to her stepmother. "Do you never expect me to step into my place again +at home?"</p> + +<p>"You are making a fuss about nothing," said Mrs. Broughton +indifferently. "Anna took your room as she found it nearest to the +children, and more convenient in many ways. You are not leaving Mrs. +Montmorency, are you? And for the time you are here, you can collect +all your own things round you and be happy. I thought we had managed it +all beautifully, but nothing that I ever do pleases you. I miss Anna +dreadfully, and only let her go because we thought that you and she +might clash together. You are so very difficult to deal with."</p> + +<p>So Honor said no more, and the warm, clinging grasp of her little +sisters, and their enthusiastic reception of her, more than compensated +for the momentary bitterness. Her father, too, brightened up, and +showed his quiet appreciation of her in many ways.</p> + +<p>"But, oh, Pauline," Honor confided, as she was sitting with her one +afternoon, "if you only saw the state of the linen cupboard and the +children's clothes! Miss Paton hates mending, and it is all given to +our poor little housemaid, who has no time for sewing, and so it goes +undone. The drawers and cupboards in the house are in chaos. But no one +seems to mind, and life goes on just the same. They get on just as well +without me."</p> + +<p>"Would you like to come home again?" Pauline asked.</p> + +<p>Honor's eyes filled with tears.</p> + +<p>"It is the children. I miss then every day of my life. And I have a +horrid jealous feeling about this Anna Paton who is usurping my place. +My stepmother quotes her on every occasion against me. And she said +this morning that you were very fond of her, and that she adores you."</p> + +<p>Pauline laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Honor, dear, don't make yourself out a smaller nature than you +are. You are not vexed because I am friendly with her?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think I am."</p> + +<p>Honor spoke reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"She is a girl I pity very much," Pauline said seriously. "She has had +hard bits in her life, and she has got soured in consequence. But she +told me the other day she was going to tackle disagreeables instead +of edging round them, so let us hope that she may tackle the mending +before your next visit home."</p> + +<p>"You make everyone want to be better," said Honor with a wistful smile. +"I wish, I wish I had a sunshiny temperament like yours; or even like +Audrey, who has no home now, and is working for her living. She is +bubbling over with life and spirits. I haven't laughed so much for a +long time as I did yesterday when she was telling me about her small +boys."</p> + +<p>"Audrey has her grey days as well as you," said Pauline. "Tell me about +your life in Scotland."</p> + +<p>"I like it better than London. Mrs. Montmorency is not coming to +England till the spring. It is a very quiet, monotonous life, but I +like some of the people about. There is an old lady who is blind living +close to us, and she has three brothers all living with her; one is +lame, the other is deaf, and there is only one with his faculties +sound. But they are all quite happy and cheerful; the deaf one is +a great fisherman, and the lame one drives a motor; and the strong +one is a great gardener and sportsman. I go and read to the old lady +sometimes when I can be spared. Then I like the young clergyman and his +wife, though they are quite of the farming class. But they are simple +and good. Isn't it strange? There isn't a child in the neighbourhood. +Everyone is very old, or else they have no family."</p> + +<p>"I suppose if you found a child to befriend, you would be quite happy."</p> + +<p>"No child could be like my own small sisters." And then eagerly she +began to repeat some of their quaint sayings.</p> + +<p>And Pauline wondered when she left her, if she would ever taste the +joys of motherhood, or if her natural shyness and unattractiveness +would be bars in the way.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When the two boys came home from school, Honor's time was fully +occupied. She threw herself into church matters with a heartiness that +was not usual, and talked with such animation and pleasure to Mr. Danby +that Audrey laughingly remarked to Mrs. Daventry that a match might +come off between them.</p> + +<p>"It would be the making of Honor; she really would make any man's home +comfortable; she has all the qualities for it. And he would be such a +nice, cheerful little husband."</p> + +<p>"You seemed to think the other day that he liked Pauline too well."</p> + +<p>"But he isn't half good enough for her. Now Honor is quite different."</p> + +<p>"Poor Honor!" said Mrs. Daventry, with pity in her tone. "She is not +one of the world's favourites, but I can't help thinking that she may +astonish us all one day."</p> + +<p>"Would you like to see us all married?" Audrey asked a little +mischievously.</p> + +<p>"I think I am old-fashioned enough to do so," was the response, "if +I could be assured that your marriages would be happy ones. But a +disastrous marriage is worse than death, to my mind."</p> + +<p>"I am nearly certain that I shall never marry," said Audrey decidedly. +"As one gets older, one has higher ideals for a husband. Most men would +bore me after a few months of them."</p> + +<p>"Don't lower your ideals," said Mrs. Daventry earnestly, "and never +think of a man who will not help you heavenwards."</p> + +<p>Something in her tone kept Audrey silent.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was a quiet Christmas, but a happy one. And on Christmas Day, +Pauline, at her mother's request, accepted Mrs. Daventry's invitation +to dinner.</p> + +<p>Mr. Danby dined with them, too, and Mrs. Daventry did not know which of +the girls she admired most—Pauline in an old brown velvet gown, which, +with some real lace and some violets at her breast, gave her a regal +appearance, or Audrey in her black gown and Christmas roses, which +formed such an admirable background to her sparkling, animated face.</p> + +<p>For the time being, Audrey had laid aside her anxious thoughts, and was +the life of the party. A nephew of Mrs. Daventry's, a London barrister, +had unexpectedly turned up, and being a music lover, and possessing +a very mellow tenor voice, the piano was in great requisition after +dinner. He asked his aunt afterwards how she had managed to produce two +such charming women.</p> + +<p>"I'm in love with them both," he said. "I only wish I had not to return +to town to-morrow. The golden-haired one is superb—she inspires one! +And the grey-eyed, bewitching Audrey makes me long to carry her off to +church and marry her straight away!"</p> + +<p>"They are both too good for you," responded his aunt. "Life is not the +playtime to either of them that it is to you."</p> + +<p>Her nephew laughed and shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"At all events, they cloak their earnestness with a good bit of +sweetness and gaiety. And I am getting old and grey, aunt. I shall soon +be wanting an arm-chair by a fireside, and a home and a wife."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>As Pauline and Audrey separated that night, Pauline said:</p> + +<p>"Are things going better with you, Audrey, dear?"</p> + +<p>"They are, and they aren't," said Audrey, looking into Pauline's +shining eyes with steady frankness. "I'm slowly getting a firmer +hold of God's reality and omnipotence, and a surer belief in the +Bible itself, but at the same time a sinking conviction of my own +worthlessness, which is not exhilarating. Have I been very frivolous +to-night? It is so pleasant to be able to be oneself, and not to have +a consciousness that one is a teacher and trainer, and must be always +minding the proprieties! Oh, dear! Pauline, I wish the time was not +flying so fast! I feel I would like this visit of mine to last for +ever."</p> + +<p>Pauline went home to brighten her mother's sick-room with an account of +her evening.</p> + +<p>Mr. Danby walked home with her, and Mrs. Erskine, hearing it, said +rather sharply:</p> + +<p>"I hope you are not getting to care for that little man, Pauline. He +seems to be always hovering about you."</p> + +<p>"Why, mother, dear, he is not at all that sort, I assure you. We are +simply acquaintances. I don't think he has a thought beyond his music +and his lectures."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't take too much interest in his hobbies, for he is only an +organist, and ought to be kept in his place."</p> + +<p>"He is a gentleman, mother. You would know that at once if you were to +speak to him."</p> + +<p>"That I shall never do," said Mrs. Erskine, a little bitterly; "my +society now is entirely limited to doctors, whom, as a race, I despise."</p> + +<p>Pauline did not see Audrey again for some time. Mrs. Erskine was not so +well, and Pauline was confined to the house altogether.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The New Year came in; Honor went back to Scotland, and Audrey at last +came to Pauline in desperation as the holidays were nearly over.</p> + +<p>"What am I to do? I lie awake at night wondering what will happen. I +can't go back as I am, Pauline. I won't be there training and teaching +those boys when I am so unsettled in my own mind."</p> + +<p>"Write to Dr. Vernon; tell him exactly what you feel, and let him +decide."</p> + +<p>And this is what Audrey did. She received a reply by return of post.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAR MISS HUME,<br> +<br> + "You must come back to us. I am quite sure that you will do as well for +the small boys this term as you did last. I did not mean to frighten +you. I'm only covetous that my teachers should be one and all able to +train for eternity as well as for this life. You say you are anxious +for more light. It will be given you. Some of us grow slowly, and it is +generally deeper and surer work when such is the case. Let me know your +train on Thursday.—Yours truly,—<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 18.5em;">"E. VERNON."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"I said I wouldn't come back," mused Audrey. "But he always gets his +way. It is easiest for me to return. I wish—I wish I was more like him. +He is so strong and so sure!"</p> + +<p>She left Mrs. Daventry with mixed feelings of regret and content.</p> + +<p>The "backwater," as she still called it, was very dear to her in many +ways. But the still, quiet days chafed her active spirit.</p> + +<p>And when she returned to the busy, cheery work of school life, she +realised afresh how much she loved it. The beginning of a term was +always an extra busy time for the doctor, and Audrey did not see him to +speak to alone for some weeks.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Then one day, she was getting a book out of the library when he came +in. He did not notice her for some minutes as he was too much engrossed +in looking up a book of reference himself. But when he did, he said +pleasantly:</p> + +<p>"You are a great reader, Miss Hume, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I love it," said Audrey quickly. "I have always longed for books +more than anything else, and I have been kept so short of them all my +life."</p> + +<p>"Do you read without discrimination?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not."</p> + +<p>"I try," said Dr. Vernon slowly, gazing round at the book-lined walls, +"to give my pupils information of the right sort. I suppose you realise +you can have the other? There are many minds in the world and many +books. As the man thinks and lives, so he writes, and some books have +caused more misery in young lives than the worst of companions could +do. I found a book on the cricket ground the other day that I would +be sorry to see in my library. I fancy you know it. 'Life from My +Outlook.'"</p> + +<p>"How did you know it was I who left it there?" asked Audrey, +astonished. "It was lent to me, but it was very careless of me to leave +it about."</p> + +<p>"Very careless," said the doctor gravely. "Unlabelled poison is always +dangerous."</p> + +<p>"It's rather clever," said Audrey dubiously.</p> + +<p>"To the would-be sceptic, perhaps. I happen to know the man who wrote +it, and his life had been in accordance with his teaching. Once grant +that the ego within us is as powerful as God Himself—nay, that it is +God—then any form of vice or selfish gratification can be indulged in +with impunity."</p> + +<p>"I don't like the book," said Audrey thoughtfully, "but it is humorous +and discerning, and the writer expresses what one thinks, and yet what +one cannot put into words."</p> + +<p>"It's clever trash," said the doctor shortly.</p> + +<p>Then he turned to Audrey earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Don't feed your soul on such stuff as that. And if you have imbibed +the poison, let me recommend an antidote—"</p> + +<p>"Is it poison?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we will call it a dangerous drug. I dabbled once with medicine, +and there are certain drugs that first soothe, then partially paralyse +if continued in. Have you read many such books?"</p> + +<p>"No, frankly, I have not. I read that last term, but turned up a +passage in it again. I don't like it; but I love knowledge of all +sorts. It is fascinating."</p> + +<p>"Does such reading feed the spiritual part of you?"</p> + +<p>"It perplexes me. I was very troubled last term, but I see things +clearer now, only when I think I am getting a clearer grasp of things, +a torrent of doubts assails me. I am, as the Bible puts it, like 'a +wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.'"</p> + +<p>"If you want an intellectual grasp of Christianity, I have a good many +books in my private library that might suit you. I believe in both head +and heart being satisfied. Come across now, and I will lend you a few."</p> + +<p>Audrey followed him.</p> + +<p>"I wish," he said abruptly, "that when people take to reading all the +objections against our faith, they would, with all fairness, read the +defence of it. They never get as far as that. I have some very good +little volumes of the recent Bampton lectures. Have you ever read any +of them?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Audrey, "I am afraid I am so ignorant that I do not know +what they are. They are lectures delivered at Oxford, are they not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. John Bampton endowed them for the purpose, in the words of his +will, 'of confirming and establishing the Christian Faith.' Eight +lectures are delivered every year, and printed afterwards, and some of +them are splendid."</p> + +<p>He took her into his study.</p> + +<p>"These will strengthen your faith intellectually," he said. "But you +will find that the satisfaction of your intellect is not sufficient."</p> + +<p>He gave her half a dozen books written by modern exponents of the +doctrine and truth of Christianity. And Audrey took them gratefully and +departed.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>For the next week or two she read and digested them; and her uneasy +questionings were answered and satisfied. When she eventually took them +back to him, she said:</p> + +<p>"It has been cold, hard conviction, Dr. Vernon, but I suppose it is +good to have a firm foundation. It has left me where I was. I love the +thought that is brought out in nearly all the books, the knowledge +of a personal God, and the union with Him. But I cannot seem to get +into touch with God. I worship Him, I pray to Him, but He is to me my +Creator and the Sovereign Ruler of the World."</p> + +<p>Audrey spoke earnestly, and for one moment Dr. Vernon looked at her +without speaking. Then he opened a small, well-worn Bible which always +lay on the corner of his writing-table.</p> + +<p>He opened it and asked her to read a certain verse to which he pointed +her.</p> + +<p>Audrey read it:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'As many as received Him to them gave He power to become the sons +of God.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"That is what you need," he said. "Leave all your doubtful points of +doctrine and theology, and open your heart simply and unreservedly to +the One—the only One—who has the power to give you what you need. He +will explain Himself and His love. You want to take your place as a +child—a daughter of God. The reception of the Saviour is the condition. +That will give you the power to become one, and when you are in His +family, the knowledge of your Father, and your Father's will, will +grow deeper and stronger every day. Remember! 'Without Me ye can +do nothing.' The death of Christ was necessary for your redemption +and forgiveness, it was also necessary for perfect union. It is an +invisible union, but ask those who have walked longest with God whether +it is not a very real and a happy one."</p> + +<p>Audrey said nothing, but as she walked across the quadrangle by +herself, she determined that she would not rest till she had satisfied +her heart as well as her head. And as she mused upon Pauline's advice, +and then Mrs. Daventry's, and now Dr. Vernon's, she wondered at the +similarity of it all. They all urged her to take the Bible as her +standpoint, and to seek to know God herself without taking men's views, +or men's doctrines.</p> + +<p>"God must be a personal God to me," was her inward cry, and she went +back to study her Bible afresh. She took the verse which Dr. Vernon +pointed out, and with the help of her Concordance, she looked out all +the passages about receiving Christ. When she came to the third chapter +of Revelation and the twentieth verse,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Behold, I stand at the door, and knock,'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>she went down on her knees, and this was how she prayed:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "O Lord, I am an utter failure; I have doubted Thee and Thy Word. +I want the peace of forgiven sin. I want Thy death on the cross to mean +all the world to me. Come into my heart and cleanse it, and abide with +me, and teach me how to know Thee better, and believe in Thy love."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>In after years, Audrey looked back to that prayer as the turning-point +in her life. But at the time, she hardly realised any difference in her +feelings. It was very slow and gradual work with her, here a little and +there a little, but unconsciously, she began to grip hold, and keep +hold of some of the facts of eternity.</p> + +<p>She tried not to be continually dissecting herself. And Pauline was +delighted to receive the following letter from her:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAREST PAULINE,<br> +<br> + "I know you are longing for a letter, and I have no excuse, for my +evenings are practically my own. But I have been spending them lately +with books, books, books. Dr. Vernon has lent me some, and they have +done me real, solid, and I hope lasting good, for they are replies +to the scepticism of the present day. I like them because they are +all modern, and deal with modern topics, and they are not too heavy +and long, like 'Paley.' I read them and believe what they say; their +evidence is so strong, but—religion wants heart knowledge as well +as head. You have all told me so. And this I am trying to get. A +Christian's life is an anomaly without Christ within. I have come to +see this. That simple verse still rings on in my ears, 'Without Me ye +can do nothing.'<br> +<br> + "I feel as if I am preaching a sermon—but I'm so interested and anxious +about it all, that I must write it to you. From one point to another +I got led to, 'Behold, I stand at the door, and knock.' And then, +Pauline, I felt He was still outside my life, but not so far away as I +had thought. He was on the very edge of it, and it was He who wanted to +come to me. He was not waiting for me to come to Him. It was a tense +moment. And I think, I hope I opened the door of my heart.<br> +<br> + "I have a few rare moments of bliss now, when I almost realise the +house is tenanted at last by its rightful Owner. But then, again, the +feeling goes. And I am still being more or less tossed by the waves, +or, as the Bible puts it, 'a wave of the sea driven with the wind and +tossed.' Yet I have a firm conviction that my tossing is not taking me +out to sea, but to a certain, sure harbour, and when I land and 'know' +I am safe, I will be sure to let you know. Until then, pray for me.<br> +<br> + "My small boys still engross much of my time. I have lost two of my +favourites this term. They have gone into the junior school. You would +laugh to see their embarrassment when they pass me in the playing +fields in company with their new chums. They get scarlet, either cap +me abruptly, and go on talking fast and furiously—or they pretend they +don't see me. It's almost as if I were a family nurse, which is a being +that is, of course, beneath contempt in a schoolboy's eyes!<br> +<br> + "How is your mother? And your dear self?<br> +<br> + "Write to me soon.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Your loving,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">"AUDREY."</span><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_15">CHAPTER XV</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A FATHER AND CHILD</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "My soul blesses the Great Father every day that He has gladdened the +earth with little children."—MARY HOWITT.<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>IT was a wonderfully mild and bright day towards the end of February. +Mrs. Montmorency had gone away to dine and sleep with a friend in +Edinburgh. Honor was left alone. She had plenty to do, and was not +dull. All the morning, she had been busy doing little things for Mrs. +Montmorency; they had had an early lunch, and Honor had accompanied +her to the station directly afterwards in the brougham. Now on her way +back, a sudden longing seized her, as she passed a wild bit of moor, +to get out and walk. She stopped the coachman and told him to drive on +without her, and then she found herself treading the dead heather and +bracken underfoot, and inhaling the sweet fresh air with a keen sense +of enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Presently, she came to a little hollow surrounded by gorse bushes. It +was a very desolate spot, so that she was startled to hear a small +child's voice proceeding from it.</p> + +<p>"And so you see, my dear, this is little England, a tiny weeny, little +island in a big world!"</p> + +<p>She bent forward eagerly. A child's voice was music in her ears; and +this voice was a lisping, babyish one, but perfectly refined in tone.</p> + +<p>A small girl was busily scooping out the sand in the bottom, entirely +engrossed in her game. She was dressed in a little rough blue serge +coat and cap. Her flaxen curls were flying in the breeze.</p> + +<p>"Hallo!" Honor called out. "May I come down and play with you? I +thought you must be a fairy at first, all away from everybody."</p> + +<p>The child looked up at her with big blue eyes. Honor might be shy and +unattractive to grown-up people. She was never so to children. There +seemed a kind of understanding between them at once.</p> + +<p>"That's exactly what I am—a fairy, only I'm called Fay by daddy. Do you +know what this place is called?"</p> + +<p>Honor slipped down the side of the hollow and sat down by the child's +side.</p> + +<p>"I should think it is Fairy's Hollow."</p> + +<p>"You're wrong. It's the world, and I'm just making it fresh like God +did once upon a time, and I'm making tiny little England first. It's +got to have water round it, you know, to make it an island. Do you know +if there is any sea round the corner, where I can get some?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid we have no sea here. Where do you come from? Have you +dropped from the clouds? Who told you that England was a tiny little +place?"</p> + +<p>"Daddy. He maked it in the sand once, but I'm going to make the whole +big, big world, just wherever daddy goes his journeys."</p> + +<p>"Where is daddy?"</p> + +<p>"I specs he's smoking his pipe, and saying, 'Thank goodness that child +is off my hands!'"</p> + +<p>She burst into a merry peal of laughter as she mimicked her father's +bass voice.</p> + +<p>"But, darling, it will soon be getting dark. Where is your home? Do you +live alone with your father?"</p> + +<p>"I lives over there somewhere," she said, waving her small hand in an +airy fashion over the part of the moor which Honor was going to cross. +"I forgets exactly where it is; we only comed yesterday, and I found +this lovely sand all by myself."</p> + +<p>Then, sitting down by her sand heap, she clasped her hands together and +looked up at Honor with grave sweetness.</p> + +<p>"I had a muvver once—I really did."</p> + +<p>"Did you? How nice! Has she gone to heaven?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she wented when I was a very little girl. She was just like you."</p> + +<p>Here she solemnly studied Honor's face with her two big eyes.</p> + +<p>"She had a mouf, and chin, and nose, and two eyes, and kontities of +curls, just like you."</p> + +<p>Honor's brown hair was flying round her face. She put her hand +instinctively to it.</p> + +<p>"Will you walk back with me? I think I must be going rather near your +home."</p> + +<p>"I must make France first—that's where frogs live, you know; it's +bigger than England, but it isn't so good."</p> + +<p>She set to work with her sand again, and Honor racked her brains to +think where her house could possibly be. She knew most of the houses +round, and was only about a mile from Mrs. Montmorency's house. She +felt that she could not leave this child by herself, and yet was +doubtful if she could move her at present.</p> + +<p>At last, she said with a smile:</p> + +<p>"Can you smell tea and hot buttered toast? Is it yours or mine, I +wonder? It's very near tea-time."</p> + +<p>Fay jumped up and tore out of the hollow as fast as her legs could +carry her.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Maciver did promise me a hot apple for my tea."</p> + +<p>She had given Honor the clue. Mrs. Maciver kept the village inn, and +very often let some of her rooms to lodgers. She was a very quiet, +respectable woman, had been a cook in one of the big houses in the +neighbourhood, and had, as often is the case, married the butler, who +had taken possession of the inn and drunk himself to death in three +years' time.</p> + +<p>"I know Mrs. Maciver. Wait for me. I can't run as fast as you can, and +you're going the wrong way."</p> + +<p>Fay stopped irresolutely.</p> + +<p>"I rather like getting losted. I'm always doing it. Isn't it funny that +I can't never remember in a new country where I comed from? Daddy says +dogs is much cleverer than me. I s'pose you know this isn't England. +It's Scotland, where men wear frocks and socks, and everybody eats +porridge. I saw a man with socks yesterday, but only some of them are +dressed like that." She took hold of Honor's hand and chatted on.</p> + +<p>The tiny, hot, grubby little hand brought a lump to Honor's throat. She +could have thought she was walking with one of her little sisters.</p> + +<p>Presently a tall, thin man came striding towards them. Fay at once hid +herself behind Honor.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell him nothing!" she whispered shrilly. "We'll purtend I isn't +here."</p> + +<p>As the father came near, Honor saw that he had a thin, nervous face, +very dark eyes, and closely cut brown hair. He was dressed in a tweed +suit and knickerbockers, and had a pipe in his mouth, which he removed +as he took off his cap and accosted Honor.</p> + +<p>"I am so much obliged. I have just come out to hunt for my vagabond. +She has been absent for two hours."</p> + +<p>Fay peeped out mischievously, then sprang with a gleeful laugh into her +father's arms.</p> + +<p>"I've just been making the world," she said, "and I haven't got it +nearly done. But we thought we smelted my hot apple for tea, so I comed +along; and this is Madam Pilgrim, for she was pilgriming along the +grass when she found me, just like you do, daddy, with your head in the +air and your eyes away."</p> + +<p>Honor smiled shyly as the man's gaze for one second stayed upon her.</p> + +<p>"I am fond of children," she said; "and I thought she might be lost, so +I brought her along with me."</p> + +<p>"A thousand thanks. What a God-forsaken place this is in winter! I +haven't seen it for twenty years, and I can't conceive how educated +people can exist in such surroundings."</p> + +<p>"I haven't been here many months," said Honor quietly, "but I like it +better than London."</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Know Knockaburn? That was my home for twenty-five years."</p> + +<p>Honor looked at him with interest. Knockaburn was an old Scottish +property, only two miles away from Mrs. Montmorency's. At present, +there was a Sir Thomas Dodd living there, but his wife found it too +lonely, and they were for the most part of the year away from it.</p> + +<p>"It is a dear old house," she said.</p> + +<p>"A dear old grave," he said sharply; "it buries all who live in +it. Think of it! I spent my boyhood and youth there without one +single day's change. I beat my wings against my cage for twenty-five +years. I look back with amazement now to my powers of endurance and +self-control, but when my chains were snapped, I walked out of it +into freedom and liberty, and became from choice one of the world's +wanderers."</p> + +<p>"You let it, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, no! I sold it outright. I have no association with it +but of ceaseless gnawing discontent and misery."</p> + +<p>"And yet you come to see it again?"</p> + +<p>Honor spoke her thought involuntarily.</p> + +<p>"I came—" He paused, then glanced down at his child. "Run on, Fay, and +tell Mrs. Maciver you're found. I left her wringing her hands."</p> + +<p>The child instantly obeyed.</p> + +<p>Honor was too interested in this man and his little daughter to heed +conventionality. Though she was a perfect stranger to him, he was +already laying bare his heart, and it did not seem to her in the least +peculiar that he should do so.</p> + +<p>"That's what brought me," he said with a nod at the little figure in +front of them.</p> + +<p>"It was just my luck to be obliged to drag a woman child after me +everywhere! She's the plague of my life, and sticks to me like a +limpet. I gave her the slip once in London, and thought I'd fixed her +up with a decent sort of woman. I was called over by a cablegram from +America, and found her at the point of death. She had fretted herself +into a fever, and I just arrived in time to prevent her being sent to +the workhouse. The woman couldn't be bothered with her, and thought I +had left her for good and all on her hands."</p> + +<p>"She's a darling child!" said Honor enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"So," he continued dryly, "I bethought me of an old family nurse, and +came up here to find her, and yesterday I was told she had died five +years ago."</p> + +<p>Honor was silent. She hardly knew what to say.</p> + +<p>"And now you know my history," he said with a little bitter laugh. "Why +wasn't I given a boy, who could have been shipped off to sea?"</p> + +<p>"But not at such an age," said Honor. "Your little girl is a mere baby. +Surely there must be some school or home where she would be received?"</p> + +<p>He stopped still, took off his hat, and raised his head as if to inhale +the fresh, breezy air around them.</p> + +<p>"I'm not a good man," he said slowly, "but I have vowed that I shall +never curb and restrain a nature in the criminal fashion that they +restrained mine. She shall not be caged anywhere, least of all in any +school. I'm not bad enough to wish my child a fate like mine. And she +would die in a month if she were confined in any way. She inherits my +love of freedom to her finger-tips. Is this your road? Many thanks for +your kindness."</p> + +<p>He raised his hat, and strode away into the village inn, and Honor +went on home as if in a dream. If her body were in Mrs. Montmorency's +well-ordered house for the rest of that day, her heart was with the +wandering father and his charming child.</p> + +<p>When she slept that night, they mingled in her dreams, and were present +in her waking thoughts.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The next afternoon, she was sitting with Mrs. Montmorency in the +drawing-room. The latter had just returned from her visit, and was in +an unusually good temper. She had learned to like the quiet, useful +girl, who had so little regard for her own comfort and convenience, and +was so extremely conscientious in the discharge of her duties. Honor +was now busy making a lace cap and listening to the account of the +visit.</p> + +<p>"I assure you, she weighs two stone more than I do, and looks twice my +age. We were girls together, and she is two years younger than myself. +But she has given way to sloth and self-indulgence, and now her body is +an unwieldy encumbrance. I told her that if she had led the active life +that I have, she would now be a graceful woman."</p> + +<p>"I am always sorry for stout people," said Honor, "but I would rather +see a woman stout than a man. Mrs. Montmorency, do you know Knockaburn +well? Who used to live there?"</p> + +<p>"The Selkirks. Of course, I know the family. We were boys and girls +together. Who has been gossiping to you about them?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether he wishes it known, but I came across a little +child yesterday away on the moor playing, and I was bringing her back +to the village inn when I met father. He told me Knockaburn used to be +his home, and spoke rather bitterly about it."</p> + +<p>"That must be Alick. How extraordinary! What is he doing in this +part of the world? A thorough ne'er-do-weel, I am afraid. His sister +Margaret was my playfellow. He was much younger. I remember we nearly +drowned him in a water-butt once."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Montmorency smiled at her childish reminiscences. Then she +questioned Honor rather closely upon her experience, and finally told +her the history of the man.</p> + +<p>"His mother was left a widow early in life. She had five daughters, and +then this boy, and she ruled her household with a rod of iron. I have +heard my father say she was soulless and heartless, and a steel machine +in her interior sent the blood with mechanical regularity through her +veins! Three of her daughters—high-spirited girls they were—rebelled +against her and eloped with the husbands of their choice. Susy, the +gentlest of them all, was hurried into her grave by her mother's +severity, and Margaret—well, she had grit and purpose, and a will like +her mother, and a self-control everyone envied. She was the only one +who lived to comfort and care for her mother in her old age.</p> + +<p>"Alick was simply villainously brought up. She would never let him go +to school—was afraid of trusting him out of her sight. She had tutors +for him, and kept him tight to his lessons and her apron-strings till +he came of age. He made a desperate struggle to escape from home then, +but she circumvented him. She got rid of the bailiff, and forced him +to steep himself in the business of the estate. She separated him from +the girl he loved, because she foresaw that she would never bend to her +rule. She kept the purse. Her husband had left everything to her for +life—a most extraordinary will, and, of course, it was her doing—so +that Alick was absolutely under her thumb. She died when he was about +five-and-twenty, and then he broke loose with a vengeance.</p> + +<p>"The place was not entailed, and the next thing we heard was that +he had put it up for sale. I know he hated it. He turned his sister +adrift—I believe it nearly broke her heart, but her mother had settled +a certain income upon her—and then he went off to foreign lands, and +we have never seen or heard of him since. I was told he had married. +Dear me! I wonder if he has qualms now? Is his child a boy or a girl, +do you say? A girl? That's a pity. She will be no incentive to him. I +wonder whom he married. He was a dreamy boy—with smouldering fires, we +always said, but he kept them well out of sight. I should like to see +him again."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Honor hesitatingly, "whether he would like me to +have told you."</p> + +<p>"Tuts! Who are you to be made his confidante? And his old friends all +around him! I shall walk over to the inn to-morrow. I want to get some +honey from Mrs. Maciver. She is always so successful with her bees."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_16">CHAPTER XVI</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>WANTED</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,<br> + Shall win my love."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">SHAKESPEARE.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>MRS. MONTMORENCY went to see Mr. Selkirk, and found him perfectly +courteous, but quite emphatic in his refusal to accept her hospitality.</p> + +<p>"I am here 'incog.,'" he said. "Don't give me away to the +neighbourhood. I shall be off to America very soon. I'm going to have a +little duck-shooting with old MacDuff. He recognised me yesterday. If +you would have my small girl up to your house while I am shooting, it +would be a kindness."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Montmorency stiffened at once, till she remembered Honor. She very +much disliked children herself, but now she smiled, and graciously +turned to Fay.</p> + +<p>"You shall come and spend a long day with us to-morrow."</p> + +<p>But Fay shook her curly head.</p> + +<p>"I shan't do nuffin' like that," she said. "I spends my days myself. +I'm going to look for Madam Pilgrim, and we'll have some new games I've +just made up."</p> + +<p>"Who does she mean?" asked Mrs. Montmorency with a little frown upon +her brow.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's some young lady who brought her home to me the other day when +she had strayed away. A nice sort of girl—lives about here, I believe."</p> + +<p>"It must be Miss Broughton, who lives with me. She is my companion."</p> + +<p>Her tone was dignity itself.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well!" said Mr. Selkirk indifferently. "If you send her over to +fetch my small daughter, she'll go fast enough. Otherwise, nothing will +move her. She is not fond of strangers—seen too many fresh faces, poor +little beggar!"</p> + +<p>"I will see if I can spare Miss Broughton," said Mrs. Montmorency, and +then she departed.</p> + +<p>When she came home, she was in irritable spirits.</p> + +<p>"I can't think what possessed me to say I would have the child," she +said to Honor. "You must just keep her out of my way. I am going to +lunch with Miss Buchanan, so will be out most of the day."</p> + +<p>Honor could not hide her delight. She went to fetch Fay directly she +had had her breakfast, and the child—who was trying to climb on a +cart-horse's back outside the inn door—flew into her arms with a scream +of delight.</p> + +<p>She dragged her into her sitting-room, where Mr. Selkirk was cleaning +his gun.</p> + +<p>"She's come, daddy! She's come!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Selkirk shook hands with Honor.</p> + +<p>"Hope you'll enjoy her company all day," he said. "It's more than I do +sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Daddy is so tarsome," said Fay, clinging hold of Honor's hand and +jumping up and down in sheer exuberance of spirits. "He won't b'lieve +that I saw a fairy walk on my window-ledge when I was in bed last +night. It was a little teeny lady, and she was dressed in green moss +and a little red hat, and she told me if I'd find a hollow tree, she'd +take me through to fairyland."</p> + +<p>"We have a lovely hollow tree in our garden," said Honor, "and there's +a walnut tree with lovely seats up in it."</p> + +<p>Fay clasped her hands in ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"I'll come at once. 'Do' you think we could make a nest up there just +for you and me? I always fought I'd like to live in a nest—it would be +so warm and comfy. And I'd 'love' to make it."</p> + +<p>"We'll see," said Honor.</p> + +<p>Mr. Selkirk laughed.</p> + +<p>"Wise woman! Don't commit yourself. Fay's demands are no light matter. +So you live with Mrs. Montmorency? Why did you not tell me so?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I?" said Honor simply. "It would not strike me as +interesting information."</p> + +<p>She felt his eyes searching her through and through, and disliked this +trait of his.</p> + +<p>"Are you in bondage?" he asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>Honor's cheeks grew hot as she replied steadily:</p> + +<p>"I am earning my living. That is not bondage." Then something induced +her to add: "I have a home of my own in England."</p> + +<p>"That's a pity," he said slowly, withdrawing his gaze from her and +bending over his gun again.</p> + +<p>Fay broke in impetuously: "Come on, Madam Pilgrim. I don't like daddy +with his gun. It's wicked to kill the dear ducks, and I shall cry if I +think about it."</p> + +<p>So Honor retreated with her, and they spent a blissful day together. +Fay astonished her with the vast and varied information she possessed. +And Honor rightly concluded that it was the constant companionship of +her father that gave her it.</p> + +<p>"Daddy and I like pilgriming, and so does you," she asserted in the +course of the day. They had just finished a journey round the garden, +in which by turns they had represented Arabs, brigands, and slaves.</p> + +<p>"I think when we go pilgriming again, you must come with us."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't do that. Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, we haven't made up our minds. I say I'd like the jungle +in India, on the back of a effelunt you know, because we shouldn't +be cold there, and I don't like to be cold. My knees was quite blue +yesterday. I tored my stocking, and so the cold came through, and Mrs. +Maciver said she'd no time to mend me. So daddy and me sewed it up, but +it's very lumpy!"</p> + +<p>She pulled up her frock, and the mend in the knee was indeed what she +said.</p> + +<p>"You poor little soul!" said Honor. "I should like to mend your +clothes."</p> + +<p>"So you shall, then," said Fay cheerfully. "I'll take you to my +drawers; they're in a shockin' mess. Daddy will be so glad. He always +says: 'Oh, the burden of children! Why has it been cast upon me?'"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>In the days that ensued, Honor saw a great deal of Fay and of her +father. Mrs. Montmorency was very fond of going about, and was +constantly going to Edinburgh, sometimes staying for three or four +days. She made no objection to Honor's taking the child for walks; and +somehow or other, Mr. Selkirk generally met them, and, in his lazy, +humorous fashion, talked a good deal to Honor.</p> + +<p>She had been so little accustomed in her busy life at home to receive +attentions from anyone that it did not enter her head that Mr. Selkirk +was not a man to spend so much of his time walking about the lanes and +moor with his child.</p> + +<p>Honor had a very humble opinion of herself, and had no idea how bright +her eyes and smile were when with children. Mr. Selkirk saw her at +her best, and strangely enough, Honor never felt shy of him. She was +quiet, but perfectly natural, and was really interested in the things +he talked about. Perhaps her life of constant repression with Mrs. +Montmorency and the realisation that she was never supposed to speak +unless she were spoken to in the society of that lady's friends, made +her appreciate more the perfectly frank and confidential way in which +Mr. Selkirk spoke to her. And, woman-like, she felt sorry for him. He +was a restless wanderer on the face of the earth, and his child was a +heavy clog to his movements. Yet he did not seem in a hurry to part +with her. The affection between father and child was very touching and +real. And Fay herself was perfectly oblivious that her father at times +would rather be without her.</p> + +<p>"Have you never been abroad?" Mr. Selkirk asked Honor one day.</p> + +<p>"Never. Till this last year, I have never lived outside our village at +home."</p> + +<p>"What stagnation!"</p> + +<p>"So Audrey Hume used to say."</p> + +<p>"Who was she?"</p> + +<p>"A friend of mine. She's so clever and bright, too clever to lead that +quiet life for long. Now she has gone away."</p> + +<p>"I detest clever women."</p> + +<p>"Do you? I wonder why?"</p> + +<p>"Women," said Mr. Selkirk, puffing moodily at his pipe, "ought to bring +an atmosphere of rest and peace with them wherever they go. Chattering +women are as bad as monkeys—you long to throw a brick at their heads. +Ah! You've never seen a grove of trees alive with monkeys. You'd +understand how they get on your nerves if you had!"</p> + +<p>"But clever people are not necessarily chatterers."</p> + +<p>"Woman," said Mr. Selkirk solemnly, taking his pipe out of his mouth +and looking straight at Honor, "ought to be man's companion and +comforter; she ought to have a fount of ready sympathy and patience, +and 'never' lose her temper. That child's mother was a woman of that +sort, and I only had her for four years!"</p> + +<p>If Audrey had been there, she would have reminded this antiquated man +that woman had a life and a soul of her own, and was not meant to +have the monopoly of all the virtues. But Honor only turned her soft, +pitying eyes upon the speaker and murmured:</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry for you."</p> + +<p>"And that is the woman I want Fay to grow up into," Mr. Selkirk +resumed. Then with a little laugh, he added:</p> + +<p>"But for the life of me, I can't train her in that direction. I'm +afraid she has more of her father's nature than her mother's. I wish +you'd try your hand at her, Miss Broughton."</p> + +<p>"But it is too short a time to influence her. You say you are leaving +in another fortnight."</p> + +<p>"I suppose we are."</p> + +<p>Shadows gathered upon his face.</p> + +<p>"I want to take a trip over to the States. I have a little business +there that I put money into; but I dread the voyage with the child, and +still more so, when I arrive out there."</p> + +<p>"I am sure," Honor said earnestly, "that you could leave her with +someone who would be kind to her."</p> + +<p>"I should like to leave her with you."</p> + +<p>He laughed at Honor's astonished look.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said breathlessly. "If I could only have her. But it's quite, +quite impossible."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>Silence fell between them.</p> + +<p>Then Honor said, a little timidly:</p> + +<p>"Haven't you a sister?"</p> + +<p>He turned upon her fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Never, so help me God, shall my child be left to her tender mercies! +Her training would be the same as—as was meted out to me; I would +rather see Fay dead in her coffin than live and endure what I endured +as a boy."</p> + +<p>Honor knew then how deeply he felt and remembered his own childhood.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Another day he said to her:</p> + +<p>"Aren't you pretty tired of your life here? Are you going to be tacked +on to Mrs. Montmorency for the rest of your life?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not," said Honor quietly. "I am always hoping they will want me +home again."</p> + +<p>"I thought your stepmother didn't make it over-pleasant for you?"</p> + +<p>"I have my father and two brothers at school, and three darling little +sisters—children like Fay here."</p> + +<p>"Oh, they don't want you," he said impatiently.</p> + +<p>"So Mrs. Montmorency says. She is convinced that she wants me more."</p> + +<p>He laughed contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"She ought to wait upon herself," he said; "and I would like to see her +doing it! What would she say if someone stepped in and married you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that would never happen," said Honor with a little laugh. "I know +I shall be a single woman to the end of my life. So many girls are +nowadays," she added seriously. "It is only the rich and beautiful or +very attractive ones who marry."</p> + +<p>He relapsed into silence, and Fay broke it.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to marry a sailor," she said, "and we'll live on ships +always. We'll just go out to dinner one day to little England, and +we'll have tea in Scotland, and then we'll have supper in 'Merica, and +go to bed in India. Our ship will always be rushing round and round the +world. It will be lovely!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>And then one day, when there was talk of their going away, Mr. Selkirk +suddenly turned to Honor and electrified her. She had just brought Fay +back from a ramble over the moor, and Mr. Selkirk came out from the inn +to meet them. He sent Fay into the house, and asked Honor if he might +walk back with her.</p> + +<p>She agreed quite simply, for she felt it relieved him of the strain of +bitterness in his heart to talk things over with anyone.</p> + +<p>"I don't expect I shall see you again," Honor said. "Fay has promised +to come over and wish me good-bye to-morrow afternoon. Mrs. Montmorency +said I could have her to tea. But you won't come to the house?"</p> + +<p>"No; I never was fond of Kate Montmorency. I am hoping to see a great +deal of you."</p> + +<p>Honor stared at him.</p> + +<p>And then it was that he whirled round upon her and spoke sharply and +abruptly:</p> + +<p>"I want you to leave your old woman and come off to the States with Fay +and me."</p> + +<p>"As—as governess?" stammered Honor.</p> + +<p>"As wife. I hate the whole crew of governesses."</p> + +<p>Honor was literally dumbfounded. The suddenness and the abruptness of +the proposal almost seemed to stun her. She had never contemplated such +a result of her acquaintance; and she almost felt inclined to laugh at +the absurdity of the notion. And yet the next moment, the blood rushed +to her cheeks and her heart throbbed quickly, for the idea was not +repugnant to her.</p> + +<p>"How can you ask me such a thing?" she ventured to say. "When you have +only known me for the inside of a month?"</p> + +<p>"It doesn't take me long to make up my mind," he replied gravely, still +standing in front of her with a kindly light in his dark eyes. "I'm a +pretty keen observer of human nature, and so is Fay. We are agreed upon +this point: we both want you."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Honor, speaking in a distressed voice. "I don't know; it is +so unexpected, so sudden. I think—I know I could make Fay happy, but I +don't know about you."</p> + +<p>It was characteristic of her that there was no question of her own +happiness. She gave much and took little. His voice was very courteous +and tender as he returned:</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt about that. You are the kind of woman that makes a +restless man want a quiet home. I haven't much to offer you as far as +worldly wealth goes, but I have enough to keep us all in comfort. I +have little bits of property in various parts of the world, which will +grow more valuable in time. And I'm getting pretty tired of wandering. +I want to settle down."</p> + +<p>"Where?" asked Honor dreamily.</p> + +<p>"Not here," he said with his short laugh. "But if you want an English +home, you shall have it; only we must take our trip to the States +first."</p> + +<p>Silence fell between them.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he asked at last.</p> + +<p>"I should like time to think about it. I can't—I really can't decide +to-day."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I offer you a happier life than that old woman does. You told +me the other day your place was filled up at home. You have a chance of +seeing life with me. You're made for a wife, though you may not think +it. You have all the qualities that a man looks for; and I would—I know +I could—make you happy!"</p> + +<p>So he pleaded, without one word of love or sentiment, and, strangely +enough, Honor liked him the better for it.</p> + +<p>"I will give you an answer to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Then I will try to be patient. Let Fay bring me the answer I want."</p> + +<p>He walked on with her, then came to a standstill at her gate.</p> + +<p>"You are not going abroad as soon as you intended?" Honor asked.</p> + +<p>"I will postpone it till a week later. But I must leave this place at +the end of this week. I want you to come over the moor with me, and +we'll get ourselves married at a little church I know of. The parson is +a friend of mine. Then we'll go straight off to Liverpool and catch the +first liner sailing for the States."</p> + +<p>"But," gasped Honor, "you don't expect me to marry you straight off +like this, without telling my parents or anyone? Oh, I couldn't do it. +It would be so underhand! You take my breath away!"</p> + +<p>"Think it out," he said coolly. "It's the only way and the best way. +Do you think I could stand a village wedding with gaping rustics, and +orange flowers and rice and all the rest of it? A man never wants that +twice in his life. I know it is asking a good deal of you. You will +have to take me on trust and put up with the unconventionality of a +quiet marriage. My business won't let me wait beyond a week later than +this. It must be either at once or never with me. But if you have any +liking or pity for me and my child, decide quickly, and we'll have no +trouble or fuss about it."</p> + +<p>Honor was white to the lips as she held out her hand to him.</p> + +<p>"You are asking a great deal of me," she said. "Good-bye. I will send +an answer to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Mr. Selkirk grasped her hand tightly, and for just a moment his voice +was husky with emotion. "If you fail me," he said, "I will never put my +trust in a woman again."</p> + +<p>Honor passed through the gate and up the drive without another word.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_17">CHAPTER XVII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A TURN FROM THE EAST</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"I said, 'These painful shoes, I cannot see<br> + Why any longer they should cumber me.'<br> + So left I them behind, and for a while<br> + The change seemed pleasant, and did me beguile."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">ROSE'S DIARY.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>SHE sat huddled up in a shawl over the dying embers of her fire. It was +past midnight, but Honor did not attempt to go to bed. For over two +hours she had been revolving things in her mind, and she was unsettled +and doubtful still. All the instincts of her early training warned +her against taking this sudden and precipitate step. She was a deeply +religious girl at heart, and through all her troubles and difficulties +had had an unswerving trust in God. But life had been becoming more +difficult to her of late. She never could get over the bitterness of +her short time at home, when she realised how quickly her place had +been filled up. Even her father seemed too delighted and engrossed +with the new organist to take much notice of his eldest daughter. His +farewell words still rang in her ears:</p> + +<p>"Well, good-bye, my dear. It is wonderful how well everything has +turned out, hasn't it? The money you send home is a real help; and +now we have Mr. Danby, I really feel as if I have a curate. He is so +willing and capable in all parish matters, and his music is actually +bringing strangers to the church. He manages the choir so well; and, +of course, a man has a great advantage over a woman for that kind of +thing."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Honor bravely; "I don't think you have missed me at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, we did at first, when Miss Paton was new to everything; +but now she is my wife's right hand, and the children are getting +accustomed to her. Write and tell us how you are getting on. It is +a matter of thankfulness to me that you are in such comfortable +surroundings."</p> + +<p>"They don't want me back," she thought; "no one wants me or cares about +me. Mrs. Montmorency could get fifty girls to do for her as well and +better than I do. And now my chance seems to have come, and I know if +I miss it, I shall not have another. I shall be a paid companion to +the end of my days, and every day will be greyer and more miserable +than the one before it. I am not the kind of girl that men would like +to marry. And this makes it all the more wonderful that Mr. Selkirk +should want me. He does, or he would have gone away and said nothing. +And I should love to have a home of my own and feel I had people +depending on me for comfort and help. Fay is simply a darling! I would +go anywhere—to the other end of the world—for her sake alone! And if I +had a home, I could have the children by turn to stay with me. Emily +would be delighted, I know; and how they would love it! It is a great +temptation. I like him, too, quite as much as I have ever liked any +man; and it is wonderful that he should like me."</p> + +<p>Then Honor's conscience began to speak.</p> + +<p>"The real reason against it is the way he wants to do it. It is +underhand, as if we were ashamed of doing it; it wouldn't be acting +rightly towards Mrs. Montmorency to leave her so suddenly in the lurch. +Then what will father say? And I'm very much afraid that Mr. Selkirk +does not care for religious things. He told me he did not often go to +church, and I know—the Bible tells me—that it is wrong to be joined +to an unbeliever. Yet he isn't that. He must talk to Fay about good +things, as she knows such a lot about them, and he told me his first +wife was deeply religious. More than once he has spoken of woman's +influence, and what a lot it can do for a man. And if I could help +him in that way, how splendid it would be! I partly understand how +he shrinks from the publicity of the usual wedding. I should hate it +myself. It is so much more simple and real to walk quietly into a +little empty church, and with ourselves only be married in the sight of +God.</p> + +<p>"How I wish I knew what to do! I have to decide so quickly. If I had +Pauline here, I would get her to advise me. But as it is, I can consult +no one. I feel it is my one chance of being married; I know I shall +never get another. It is the secrecy of it and the quickness of it that +makes it seem wrong."</p> + +<p>She got up from her chair and paced the room. She felt it was a crisis +in her life. Yet when she knelt to pray, no words would come. Until at +last she cried out:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "O God, I want to do it! I want to do it! Make it right for me to do +it!"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>And that was all the prayer she made before going to bed.</p> + +<p>Through her half-waking hours, the words rang in her ears:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "How can two walk together, except they be agreed?"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>And when she arose the next morning, her heart was still in a troubled +turmoil. She thought of her Eastern outlook through life, for her mind +perpetually dwelt upon Mrs. Daventry's quaint fancy, and she seemed to +see before her more sunshine than she had ever experienced in her life, +and a cessation of the bitter cutting blasts which had been her portion +for so long.</p> + +<p>Perhaps that day, if Mrs. Montmorency had been in one of her cheerful, +good-tempered moods, the course of Honor's life would have been +changed. But she was unusually irritable and exacting, and Honor's +absence of mind in one or two small matters drew from her scathing +reproof.</p> + +<p>"I really never saw anyone so stupid, Miss Broughton! I ought to have +the patience of Job to live with you! I am not feeling well to-day, +and you seem to do your utmost to try my nerves! I wish sometimes that +I had never engaged you. You are a most depressing companion, and so +awkward and clumsy in your movements."</p> + +<p>She had often been as angry and unjust before, but Honor knew her +captious moods never lasted. To-day, however, her words seemed to burn +and sting with unusual force.</p> + +<p>"I never shall please her; she will be glad to get rid of me." And +Honor moved about with compressed lips and flashing eyes.</p> + +<p>When she reminded Mrs. Montmorency of Fay's invitation to tea, she said:</p> + +<p>"I am thankful they are leaving to-morrow. I believe half the cause of +your inattention to your duties has arisen through your infatuation +for that tiresome child. And as for her father, he is a thorough +ne'er-do-weel, and ought to be ashamed of himself to shake off his +responsibilities and wander round the world in the fashion he does! It +is ruination to the child!"</p> + +<p>Not a word did Honor say. Every speech that Mrs. Montmorency made +seemed to strengthen her resolve. She steadily shut her eyes to all the +unadvisabilities of the step she proposed to take.</p> + +<p>When Fay flung her arms round her neck in her impulsive, childish +fashion, Honor felt she could not live without her. She chatted to her +brightly, but Fay seemed ill at ease. Every now and then she stopped in +the midst of her play and heaved a deep sigh. At last, Honor asked her +if she was not feeling well.</p> + +<p>"I've got somefin' heavy on my chest," the child replied, "and I want +it to go."</p> + +<p>"Is it a pain?"</p> + +<p>"No. I'm not to tell you till it's time to go. There! Now you know! +What a stupid I am! It's a secret, and I can't keep secrets; and I +promised daddy I would. It's dreffully heavy on me."</p> + +<p>"We won't talk about it," said Honor, a little flush coming to her +cheeks as she guessed what that secret might be.</p> + +<p>And then an hour later, Fay crept into her arms, and with her soft +little cheek laid against hers and her lips against her ear she +whispered:</p> + +<p>"Madam Pilgrim is coming across the sea with daddy and me, and I knewed +she would, and I'm so happy. And that's why I calls her Madam Pilgrim, +'cause daddy is the big pilgrim and I'm the little one, and you come +atween us!"</p> + +<p>And a rush of tears came to Honor's eyes as she whispered back:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm coming darling; I can't stay here when you're gone. And I'm +going to give you a little note to give to your father."</p> + +<p>So Fay went away and put into her father's hand the words he wanted, +though he frowned a little at the way they were written:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "DEAR MR. SELKIRK,<br> +<br> + "I will come if you let me know your arrangements. I seem as if I +cannot help myself, and I feel as if I'm sinning against my conscience +to agree to what you propose. But having given my word, I will not go +back from it. If my own mother had lived, I would not have acted so. +But no one seems to want me, and you say you do. I hope neither you nor +I will live to regret the step we have taken in such a hurry.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;">"Yours truly,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 23.5em;">"HONOR BROUGHTON."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>It was a strange note for any girl to write to the man she was about to +marry.</p> + +<p>But there was no mention of the word "love" in their intercourse.</p> + +<p>And that night, Honor sobbed herself to sleep.</p> + +<p>"I shall be disgraced in everybody's eyes by what I am going to do, and +yet I can't go back!"</p> + +<p>It was a grey still morning. The promise of spring seemed in the air, +though on that bleak Scotch upland the black bare trees and hedges +showed no signs of awakening from their winter sleep. But the air +brought a subtle scent of life and freshness; lambs bleated in the +distance, and yellow catkins were bursting into feathery foliage in +the sheltered ditches that bordered the moor. Honor walked steadily +and firmly across the moor in the early hours of that March morning. +Though, she was unaware of it at the time, everything she passed was +being photographed on her brain to the very smallest minutiæ. Years +afterwards, she saw again the fain yellow streaks across the horizon, +she felt the keen moor breeze play upon her hair and face, and heard +the crisp crackle of the dead bracken and heather under her feet.</p> + +<p>As she faced the sunrising, she said to herself:</p> + +<p>"Surely this ought to augur well. My path to this church is due east. +Oh, I wonder, I wonder, if Pauline were to see me now, whether she +would try to draw me back?"</p> + +<p>She had arranged everything with methodical simplicity, even to packing +her trunk and labelling it for the Liverpool docks. She had left a +note for Mrs. Montmorency on her dressing-table, and she had written a +letter to her father.</p> + +<p>The note to Mrs. Montmorency was a short one:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "DEAR MRS. MONTMORENCY,<br> +<br> + "I fear you will be angry when I tell you that I left your house this +morning to be married to Mr. Selkirk at St. Anthony's Church on the +moor. Please forgive me for the inconvenience I may cause. He wished me +to be married to him quietly, without anyone's knowing, or I would have +told you. We are sailing for America immediately. May I trouble you to +send my box to the address on the label? I have only taken a hand-bag +with me.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Yours sincerely,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;">"HONOR BROUGHTON.</span><br> +<br> + "P.S.—I am sure you will get someone who will suit you much better +than I did. Thank you for all your kindness. I am not ungrateful, but Mr. +Selkirk seems to want me more than anyone else does."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Now, as she walked on to her destination, a sudden wild panic seized +her, and the quiet, matter-of-fact girl stood for one moment with +palpitating heart, ready to fly back in terror to the conventional +groove into which she had been fitted.</p> + +<p>And then, as if he had suddenly risen from the moor, Mr. Selkirk stood +by her side and took her hand in his.</p> + +<p>"You look quite frightened. Did you think I would fail you? We are +close to the church now. This way. Take my arm."</p> + +<p>Honor was trembling visibly, but the frightened look died out of her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I believe I was going to run away back," she said; "I wonder if it is +as much to you as it is to me?"</p> + +<p>He soothed her.</p> + +<p>"It is a shame of me to ask you to do anything so unconventional. But +you are a plucky, unselfish girl, and you will go through with it for +my sake, won't you—and for Fay's? Poor mite! She is eagerly waiting for +us at the station. Mrs. Maciver has driven her there with our luggage, +and has lent me a trap to take you straight away to the station +directly the service is over."</p> + +<p>Honor could not speak, but in the little stone porch, before she +entered the church, she turned and confronted her future husband with +tragic eyes.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Selkirk, promise me now that this will not be the last time that +you will enter a church door. You know what my faith is. Promise me +that you will not try to shake it, that you will help me in all good +ways and not hinder me."</p> + +<p>"We will help each other," he said very gently. "I know you are a good +woman, and I'm far from being what I ought; but you'll improve me, and +I'm willing to meet you in the church way. You must remember I have led +a roving life, and had no god influence since my child's mother died. +You'll have your opportunities of making me a better man, I assure you."</p> + +<p>Honor heaved a sigh, but said no more. And the quiet little service +that followed, the signing in the registry book afterwards, and the +drive to the station in a farmer's trap, all seemed to be so many +pictures in a dream which flashed past her, but in which she herself +took no part.</p> + +<p>But when, a little later, she was comfortably established in a railway +carriage with Fay in her lap and the child's clinging arms round her +neck, she turned towards her husband with an apologetic, quivering +smile.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me for being so stupid. I can't realise at all what we have +done."</p> + +<p>He smiled back at her.</p> + +<p>"You make me feel a brute; but I'll leave Fay to entertain you."</p> + +<p>He opened out a newspaper and wisely left her to herself till she was +able to talk in her usual quiet, happy way.</p> + +<p>And so Honor tried to take a turn in her Eastern path, and for the time +she felt nothing but sunshine, for her blighting wind had disappeared. +Once, as the trio stood on the great American liner watching the shores +of England recede and vanish from their sight, Mr. Selkirk looked at +her and saw that the tears were running down her face.</p> + +<p>Fay noticed it too.</p> + +<p>"Look, daddy, Madam Pilgrim is crying! Quick, get your hanky and wipe +it all away!"</p> + +<p>She produced a grimy little ball out of her pocket and pushed it into +her father's hand.</p> + +<p>"You can reach her better, 'cause you're taller than me. It isn't very +clean, 'cause I wiped that lovely dog's dirty paws with it over there. +Don't cry, Madam Pilgrim. Why do you cry?"</p> + +<p>Honor smiled bravely through her tears.</p> + +<p>"It's because I've never been out of England before," she said. "I +feel as if I shall be lost myself now I have lost my country. And new, +strange things and places always frighten me."</p> + +<p>"But we are not new or strange," said her husband; "and you are with +us."</p> + +<p>"And we're very happy peoples, daddy and me," said Fay, nodding wisely. +"We never cries much at all—not when we're pilgriming; it's only when +we stay still, and it rains, and we mustn't go out, nor touch the +norny-ments on the mantelshelf, that we cries."</p> + +<p>And then Honor put her arms round her and kissed her passionately, +whilst her husband looked on, half touched and half amused.</p> + +<p>Presently, he strolled away to smoke his pipe with other men, and the +little child—not the father—was Honor's comforter.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE HELPER</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"Those who bring sunshine into the lives of others cannot<br> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">keep it from themselves."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"IT is so exceedingly selfish of her. As if her mother could want +her more than I do! And I more than half believe that it is Pauline +Erskine's doing. I have noticed that ever since Anna and she have been +such thick friends, there has been this crank in Anna's mind about her +mother wanting her. If Mrs. Paton is ill, she is surrounded by people +who can wait upon her. Mother and daughter never could get on together, +and I am sure Anna is not wanted."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Broughton was in her husband's study nearly crying with annoyance +and worry because Miss Paton was at last packing up her boxes to go to +her mother.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Paton had been ailing for some time, and Anna Paton had told +her friend plainly that unless she got better, she must go to the +boarding-house and nurse her.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to have strangers do for her when she has a daughter +living. Mother well and mother ill are two very different people. My +conscience has been pricking me a long time about her. When I see Miss +Erskine so happy and bright, and contrast her mother with mine, I'm +ashamed of myself. And I've come to the conclusion with her that we're +not made to leave the stony paths untrodden."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Broughton had flounced away from her friend in pettish fury at +this. And she was now pouring her griefs into her husband's ears.</p> + +<p>"It is most inconsiderate and—and hateful of Anna. I have given her +such a good time here, and introduced her to all my friends and treated +her as a sister. And all her gratitude comes to this! I don't believe +she cares twopence about me. Cook gave me warning this morning, and +Chatty is in bed with a heavy cold. I am feeling bad myself and ought +to be in bed—I know I ought."</p> + +<p>"We must have Honor back," said Mr. Broughton, with relief and decision +in his tone, as he thought of the one way of escape from all his wife's +complaints. "I will write to her at once, my dear. Mrs. Montmorency +will quite understand that the claims of her own family must come +first."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am sick of that expression," said Mrs. Broughton impatiently; +"that's what Anna keeps saying. I suppose we must have Honor back. I +only hope her stay away has improved her temper. Tell her she must come +at once. I'm feeling very far from well, and when Anna leaves, I know I +shall collapse. It is too much for anyone's nerves!"</p> + +<p>So Mr. Broughton wrote an affectionate letter to Honor, which was +returned to him in two days' time with a very angry one from Mrs. +Montmorency.</p> + +<p>And Honor's letter to her father arrived by the same post.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAREST FATHER,<br> +<br> + "I hardly know how to write to you, but since I have been up here, +I have met with someone who wishes to marry me. He is a widower, of good +Scotch birth, and has one darling little girl who has no one to care +for her or look after her. He is bound to go back almost immediately to +America, and has persuaded me to marry him at once and accompany him +out there. I would not do it if I thought you wanted me home. But Emily +told me very distinctly at Christmas time that you had all been very +much happier without me. I am sorry that she and I do not pull better +together. But I am comforted by feeling that my place has been filled +up by someone who suits you all better than I do. I am afraid you will +miss the part of my salary which I send home. But I have no doubt +that Mrs. Montmorency will send you my last quarter's money, which is +due now. Please tell her that I wish it. And from what I gather Mr. +Selkirk—the one I am going to marry—has plenty of means of his own, and +I may be able to help you better as a married woman than I did before.<br> +<br> + "Dear father, wish me happiness and pray for me, and tell the little +ones that I shall never forget them, and when I have a home in England +I shall hope to see them again.—Your loving daughter.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">"HONOR."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Pauline also received that morning a hasty note from the runaway, and +she sat gazing at it in perfect bewilderment until the sudden entrance +of Amabel Osborne roused her.</p> + +<p>"My dear Pauline, have you heard the news? The whole village is full of +it. There have been awful scenes at the Rectory, I believe, and Mrs. +Broughton has retired to bed in hysterics. I had to go to the church +with the flowers, and I met Mr. Broughton looking quite aged. As you +know, they were expecting to have Honor back this week. Miss Paton has +left them, and Honor is married and on her way to America."</p> + +<p>"I have heard," said Pauline slowly. "Poor Honor! I only hope she has +not taken the step too hastily."</p> + +<p>She looked again at the pathetic little note lying in her lap.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "DEAREST PAULINE,<br> +<br> + "You will be the only one who will really care. The others don't want +me. I am already frightened and dazed, and if you were here with me, I +would go away with you anywhere, till I was sure what would be best. +Now I have to think it out and decide alone. And it is now or never, +for he says so, and he means what he says. And, Pauline, I am tired of +doing for people who don't like me. Is it wicked? I never include my +father or the children in this; but you don't know what a temptation +a home is to me. And I am wanted, really wanted, to mother a darling +child who loves me, and to be a real help to an embittered, restless +man. He has said that he wants the companionship of a good woman. I +am not good—even now I am planning and deceiving and acting like an +unprincipled girl would do—but he thinks I am, and he wants me, and so +I am going to marry him. It can't be wrong, Pauline; tell me it can't. +It seems as if it is the only thing I can do. I know you will want to +know if he is the right man for a Christian girl to marry. You were +always so strong on that point when you talked about such things. But +he wants help, and no one has given it to him for many years. And I +think—I am praying that I can. Good-bye. And when I am sure of our next +address, will you write me an answer to this? You will hear from me +again.—Yours very affectionately,<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 13.5em;">"HONOR BROUGHTON.</span><br> +<br> + "P.S.—Is it wrong to try to alter one's path a little? I have been +meeting East winds so long that I have been tempted to escape them for +a time. I am going to enjoy warmth and sunshine now. Ask Mrs. Daventry +what happens to the pilgrims of the Eastern gate when they do as I am +doing."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for the Rector," Pauline said, folding her letter up.</p> + +<p>"Do say you're not sorry for Mrs. Broughton. I am not; I can imagine +how angry she is. Well, Honor is the last girl on earth who I should +have thought would have married on the quiet and gone away without a +word to her people. Why, Pauline, if I had done such a thing, I should +have broken my parents' hearts!"</p> + +<p>"Ah! It is different for you. Poor Honor had a miserable time when she +came home at Christmas, and I think she is essentially a woman who +needs a home to make her happy. I wish we knew about Mr. Selkirk. I +hope he will make her happy. That side never seems to strike her. She +is one of the unselfish ones in the world."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Amabel, her sunny eyes shadowing a little; "and I'm one of +the selfish ones. I always seem to get what I want without any trouble. +Did I tell you, Pauline? I heard from Frank yesterday that he is going +out to India next month, and he wants to take me with him. I never +thought father would let me go, but he and mother say of course I must +do so, and they're making everything so easy for me. I think I am the +happiest girl alive. And yet it came across me this morning when I was +in bed that really good, unselfish daughters would refuse to marry and +leave their parents in their old age."</p> + +<p>"Not in your case," said Pauline, sniffing, "because it is your +parents' desire and delight to see you happily married, not because +they want to get rid of you, but because they want you to have the same +happiness that they have had themselves."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Amabel, laughing; "you don't think I would leave them +if they did not want me to? I couldn't! I simply couldn't! But now +to come back to Honor: do you think Mrs. Broughton would like the +children, or one of them, taken off her hands for a few days? I'm sure +mother would let me have one, though I shall be dreadfully busy. A +month is so soon to get my Indian outfit, and we must make most of it +at home. We can't afford to buy."</p> + +<p>"I think I will go up to the Rectory this afternoon and see what I can +do," said Pauline. "I wish Miss Paton's mother had not been ill, but it +was clearly her duty to go to her."</p> + +<p>She went. And Mrs. Broughton received her with such a storm of +reproaches for having persuaded Anna Paton to leave her, and such +abuse of her stepdaughter, that Pauline needed all her patience and +self-control to keep civil. But her natural sympathy for people in +trouble came at once to the surface. And with her wonderful tact and +magnetic personality, she soothed the distracted little woman.</p> + +<p>"It must be dreadful for you—dreadful! But now, do let us see what +we can do. I heard of a girl the other day through my cousin Bertha +in London, who would thankfully accept any work in exchange for a +comfortable home. May I write to her? She is a clergyman's daughter, +left absolutely alone in the world. She would understand parish work, +and might soon be quite as capable as Miss Paton. I am so glad I have +thought of her. I believe she would suit you admirably."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Broughton looked up hopefully through her tears.</p> + +<p>"We can but try her. Do write at once. I suppose you don't know of a +cook? I feel quite distracted between the servants and the children, +who are quite beyond me."</p> + +<p>"No. I should advertise at once in the local paper."</p> + +<p>"It is so abominably wicked of Honor. How shall we get on without her +money? 'She' to marry, of all people, with her ugly face and awkward +manners! I suppose he is some Scotch tradesman. She is sure to disgrace +her family if she can! I always knew she would!"</p> + +<p>Pauline departed, but had the satisfaction before many days were over, +of establishing another nursery governess or mother's help at the +Rectory.</p> + +<p>She felt unhappy about Honor. As she read her letter again, she +realised that it was force of circumstances, and not real love, that +drove her into this hasty marriage, and she dreaded her awakening.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>On the day of Amabel's wedding, Pauline received a post card only from +Honor, giving her the name of the small hotel at which she was staying.</p> + +<p>And after all the festivities were over, and Amabel had departed—a +happy, blushing bride—to spend her honeymoon at a country house on the +Lakes lent for the occasion, Pauline came back, and in her mother's +sick-room sat down in the window and by the waning light wrote Honor +one of her warm, loving letters.</p> + +<p>That same evening Mr. Danby came to lend her a book, and stayed +chatting to her downstairs over the events of the day.</p> + +<p>"I'm sick of the conventional Wedding March," he began. "I'll write +a new one myself before long. There's plenty in the theme to make it +worth one's while. But people are such slaves to habit and custom that +they would refuse to receive it."</p> + +<p>"I like the old one best—I suppose from association."</p> + +<p>"Now, come, Miss Erskine, you can't have many associations with it. In +this rural village, weddings are scarce—at least, amongst the upper +class. And I'm sure you don't attend the villagers' weddings."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes I do. I have not lived here all my life, Mr. Danby."</p> + +<p>"You have lived here a great deal too long for your own good," he +responded quickly. "And yet I don't know," he added. "You seem a bit +of the soil. I don't know what we should do without you. Have you ever +thought over the execrable unevenness of fate? Here is one, hurried and +bustled through his years, joy, despair, affluence, poverty, changes +of homes, friends, possessions—all one continuous stream dashing him +up, dashing him down, until he feels he has lived a hundred lives in +perhaps half a century. And another—the years creep on, and he never +moves from the round or square hole in which he was placed at first. He +seems to have grown to a certain point and then come to a standstill. +Summer, winter, spring, and autumn find him just the same, and he +always seems waiting for what will never come."</p> + +<p>"I hope this last is not a description of me," said Pauline, laughing. +"If I have learnt anything, I think I have learnt to rest and not wait. +Waiting is a depressing, disheartening, wearing occupation, because +you are always expecting your waiting time to come to an end. If you +have learnt to be content with your life, you lose the sense of waiting +expectancy. Don't you think you do?"</p> + +<p>"I have never learnt anything in life," said Mr. Danby. "I'm just a +fritterer; you're a philosopher. I expect you do a lot of thinking, +don't you?"</p> + +<p>"There's such a lot to think about. But I have more time than most to +do it."</p> + +<p>Pauline's eyes kindled as she spoke. Then they began to talk over the +wedding again.</p> + +<p>"Marriage is mostly a failure," said Mr. Danby; "people can't get mated +suitably nowadays. We English are on the down grade. Everyone is made +after the same pattern. Look at the girls and the boys. Instead of +bringing them up utterly different, you can't tell which sex they are, +as far as education and tastes go! A man likes to find his wife a fresh +thing of surprises; that is what holds her in his heart. But now women +are built so on the pattern of the men that they're deadly monotonous, +and so their husbands weary of their company and seek entertainment +elsewhere. It's like being married to a double self. Good heavens, what +torture!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Don't belittle marriage," said Pauline, smiling. "The one we have +seen to-day will be a happy one, I venture to say. Amabel is very +feminine, and her husband a thoroughly manly young fellow. So they will +not prove monotonous to each other."</p> + +<p>"I'm tired of life to-day," said Mr. Danby abruptly. "It is all tedious +and unedifying, waiting to see one's powers decay and one's body become +a burden to one."</p> + +<p>Pauline looked at him sympathetically. She guessed that the wedding had +aroused some of his bitter memories which were best left in oblivion.</p> + +<p>"You are not near the end of your powers," she said; "tell me about +your lecture next week. What is the subject?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Danby rose to the bait. He plunged into his subject of infectious +complaints and how to keep them from spreading, and talked himself back +into his usual cheerful mood.</p> + +<p>But when he left the house, he said:</p> + +<p>"Tell me I am not wasting my years, Miss Erskine; I feel sometimes my +pursuits are toys. What do you think?"</p> + +<p>"You have a tremendous chance of influencing others for good," said +Pauline seriously. "People will listen to a layman sometimes when they +become restive under a sermon. I should see to it, if I were you, that +your lectures contain some grains of the pure, genuine wheat which will +spring up and bear a hundredfold later on. Then your time and talents +will not be wasted, will they?"</p> + +<p>"I believe if I talked much to you, you would end by sending me bang +into the Church. Do you know what keeps me out of it?"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"The black cloth suit! Couldn't fit myself into it. Would as soon go +about in grave-clothes. Gives me the shudders. Good-night. Good-night."</p> + +<p>Pauline smiled and sighed as he left her. She knew underneath his +flippancy, there was real feeling, and she had a genuine regard for +him. But she also knew at heart, he was a dissatisfied man and cloaked +himself with extra cheerfulness to hide it.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_19">CHAPTER XIX</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>NEGLECTED DUTY</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"It is often very profitable, to keep us more humble, that others<br> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">know and rebuke our faults."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"CAN I see the doctor, Miss Vernon?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, what is the matter? Is your house on fire?"</p> + +<p>"No; I want to speak to him quickly about one of the boys."</p> + +<p>"One of your lambs?"</p> + +<p>"It is Roland Gibbons; he was moved away from me last term."</p> + +<p>"Then you have nothing on earth to do with him now."</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon spoke sharply.</p> + +<p>"Everard has been at it all day; there is some rumpus, but I never +ask any questions. He has had no lunch; one of the masters kept him +closeted in his study for nearly two hours. He went off to his classes +after a hasty gulp of soup, and has this minute come in for a quiet +cup of tea and, I hope, a little rest. Do for pity's sake leave him in +peace."</p> + +<p>"I must see him, I am afraid."</p> + +<p>Audrey looked anxious and rather agitated. She was in Miss Vernon's +drawing-room, and that good lady gave a little pitying smile as she +looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are like all the rest. I am the only one in our community +who can keep detached from the school affairs. No boy is worth making +yourself so hot and eager over him. But I suppose I must let you have +your way. Do you think you can get your business over in ten minutes?"</p> + +<p>"It depends upon the doctor," said Audrey with relief in her tones as +she followed Miss Vernon into the doctor's study.</p> + +<p>He was leaning back in his chair shielding his eyes with his hand. +Audrey saw him for the first time looking tired and dispirited. He +looked up in surprise when he saw her, but he rose immediately and +offered her a chair.</p> + +<p>"Are you in difficulties of any sort?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I have just heard of the raid on White's shop," said Audrey quickly. +"I hear you are going to cane the six, Roland Gibbons amongst them, and +I came to tell you—to ask you to let him off. I am positive he is not +in the affair; he is shielding somebody else."</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon smiled.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you must trust your boys to me when they come into my +school. Roland has left you for nearly two terms."</p> + +<p>"But I know the boy better than you do," Audrey persisted. "In the +first place, he has never been struck in his life, except on one +occasion. He is a peculiar child, with a most violent, uncontrolled +temper. A nurse once boxed his ears—his mother told me this—and though +he was only five years old, he nearly killed her. He simply goes mad if +anyone lays a hand upon him."</p> + +<p>"I don't think that would deter me from acting as I thought right," +said Dr. Vernon sternly.</p> + +<p>"But he is so small. He is only just ten, and I am quite sure he is not +one of the genuine culprits."</p> + +<p>"Do you bring me any proofs?"</p> + +<p>"I met the boy just now and spoke to him. I asked him to tell me the +truth, and he said, 'Honour bright, I wasn't in it!' And I believed +him. He never tells lies."</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon knitted his brows. He had some lawless spirits in the junior +school, and a small pastrycook's close to the school gates had been +raided in the dusk of an afternoon. It was kept by an old man, and at +the time, he was suffering from a sharp attack of rheumatism.</p> + +<p>Six of the boys were identified by old Tom White, and Roland Gibbons +was amongst them. None of them denied it, and they were now awaiting +their summons to the doctor's study.</p> + +<p>"I will give him another chance," he said, "to acquit himself. If he +does not take it, he must bear his punishment with the rest."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would let him off and not press the point."</p> + +<p>"That I cannot do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how hard a man can be!"</p> + +<p>Audrey spoke with flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon rose and very courteously opened his door.</p> + +<p>"Thank you for your information," he said with cold dignity. "Good +afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I hate him!" Audrey muttered passionately to herself. "He is an +autocrat! The class of schoolmaster is most objectionable!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon put her hand on her shoulder as she left the house.</p> + +<p>"Don't you interfere with the doctor, my dear. Shut your eyes and ears, +as I do, to anything outside your special province."</p> + +<p>"I hate injustice!" said Audrey hotly.</p> + +<p>She was appeased when she heard that a more searching inquiry had +discovered the real culprit, and for the time Roland escaped. But he +was a daring spirit, and a few weeks later met with the chastisement +that was due to him.</p> + +<p>Audrey could not lose interest in her boys; she dreaded the effect +of corporal punishment on a boy of Roland's calibre. But to her +astonishment, she found that from that date Roland almost worshipped +the doctor. She never knew exactly what took place in that private +interview, but she saw the good results of it, and marvelled, as she +often did, at the doctor's personal influence over his boys.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>One spring day, the whole school had an outing. It was a yearly visit +to the patron of the school, an old general who lived in his big, +lonely country house about fifteen miles away. He had a liking for +all boys, and the whole school turned out to spend his birthday with +him. There was fishing for the bigger lads, with impromptu sports and +a hockey match in one of his fields, and his woods and grounds were +thrown open to all.</p> + +<p>They started in brakes at nine o'clock, and did not generally return +till dark.</p> + +<p>Audrey and Mrs. Bonar had a brake to themselves and their boys. It was +a typical spring day, with hot sun and a fresh breeze, and the drive +along the primrosed lanes delighted Audrey's soul. She had her hands +full when she got there, for Mrs. Bonar was not actively inclined, +and the small boys were in riotous spirits. Later in the day, she +was in a wood with them, when Mr. Oates once more followed her and +pertinaciously attached himself to her.</p> + +<p>"This is my last term," he said. "I've had enough of boys. I'm trying +to get a post as lecturer; meanwhile, I'm going to America to widen my +mind."</p> + +<p>"I heard that you were leaving," Audrey said quietly.</p> + +<p>She had heard through Mrs. Ross that Dr. Vernon was parting with him +owing to his slackness in his work. But she never believed the whole of +that little lady's statements.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Mr. Oates went on. "This is too narrow a sphere for me; and the +doctor—if it is not treason to say so—is old-fashioned and behind the +age. Miss Hume, I want to say something to you before I go. May I say +it now?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, please," said Audrey, nervously anticipating what was coming, "I +think you had better not."</p> + +<p>"But I must. You have fought shy of me all this term. I know you have +thought it right to do so, and I respect you for it. But—but you must +know what my feelings are towards you. I believe we are kindred souls. +You, like myself, are chafing at our proscribed circle here. Together +we could live our lives in freedom and happiness. We—"</p> + +<p>"Are you asking me to marry you?" asked Audrey very quickly.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid marriage at present is a long way off, but if you will +wait."</p> + +<p>"I am very, very sorry," said Audrey, "but neither now nor at any +other time could I do what you wish. I had no idea you felt anything +more towards me than a mere friendly interest. Please forgive me for +speaking quite frankly, but it is best for us both. And thank you very +much."</p> + +<p>Then, rather nervously, she added:</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it is time I was collecting my boys. We were to start at six +from the house, and it is now half-past five."</p> + +<p>Mr. Oates would not be dismissed so quickly. He began to plead his +cause again. And even when Audrey was marching her boys back, he +still kept close to her side.</p> + +<p>When they came to the house, one of the boys was missing. The doctor +was marshalling the brakes off. He looked up a little impatiently as +Mr. Oates and Audrey came into sight together. Mrs. Bonar was already +seated in the brake, and the boys were clambering in.</p> + +<p>"Oates, your boys are waiting for you over there." Dr. Vernon's voice +was sharp and peremptory.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hume has missed one of her boys," said Mr. Oates.</p> + +<p>"That is her affair—not yours. Miss Hume is responsible for her boys."</p> + +<p>Never had Audrey heard the doctor speak more sharply. Her cheeks +burned. She dashed back into the path that led to the wood, and +determined she would never speak to Mr. Oates again. And she began to +reproach herself for her carelessness. Little Herbert Renton was one +of the smallest of her flock; she had thought that he had run on in +front. And if Mr. Oates had not been worrying her so, she would have +discovered before that he was not with the others.</p> + +<p>"I am not fit to be a schoolmistress," she said, as she began to call +for the missing boy. "If I stay here all night, I won't venture back +without him."</p> + +<p>It was already beginning to get dusk. She made the wood echo with her +shouts, and once she thought she heard a muffled cry. But there seemed +no sight or sound of the child.</p> + +<p>"Someone else might have turned back to help me," she thought bitterly. +"Sometimes I dislike the doctor; he is such a disciplinarian—all head, +no heart, and not an atom of softness or sympathy in his composition. +It is a shame to leave me alone! It would be just like him to drive +off and take all the others with him, and leave me to find my way home +alone. It's not like a gentleman to behave so!"</p> + +<p>A step behind her made her start. She hardly knew whether she was vexed +or relieved to find it was the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Well, can't you find him?"</p> + +<p>His tone was still curt, but Audrey was meekness itself. "I'm very +sorry. I thought he was on in front of me, but he could never have +followed us."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure he was here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; they were all having a game of hide-and-seek."</p> + +<p>The doctor shouted, and then stopped to listen. He had sharper ears +than Audrey, for he heard a faint answering shout.</p> + +<p>"He is here somewhere," he said. "It sounds as if he were hurt. This is +the direction."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image006" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"><a id="Image006"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image006.jpg" alt="image006"></a></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE DOCTOR SHOUTED, AND AUDREY AND HE STOPPED TO</b><br> +<b>LISTEN. HE HEARD A FAINT ANSWERING SHOUT.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Audrey followed him along a path which was much overgrown with brambles +and briers. They presently came to a clearance, where there was a +group of old oaks, and now distinctly from one of these they heard the +muffled cry for help.</p> + +<p>"Where are you?" called the doctor. "Up a tree?"</p> + +<p>"Inside, and I'm dying. Help!—Help!"</p> + +<p>"It's hollow; he has fallen into it!" cried Audrey.</p> + +<p>And her conjecture proved right. Dr. Vernon threw off his coat and +climbed the old tree like a schoolboy. Herbert was at first too low +down to be reached, until the doctor lowered his coat and told him to +catch hold of the sleeve of it. Then he drew him up carefully, and in +another moment, Audrey had her arms around the breathless, dishevelled, +frightened child. He clung hold of her and sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p>"I cried and cried and cried, and I thought I was going to be starved +and buried there!"</p> + +<p>Then Audrey saw the soft side of Dr. Vernon. He hoisted the boy into +his arms and carried him along, talking to him more like a tender +father than a schoolmaster. She followed them in silence. In the drive +that led to the house, they met some gardeners coming off to help them +in their search.</p> + +<p>General Tennant was pacing the terrace in some perturbation of mind. He +was greatly relieved when he saw them.</p> + +<p>"Now you really must stay to dinner," he said, laying his hand on Dr. +Vernon's arm. "All your flock are safely driving home, and this young +lady can make herself comfortable in my housekeeper's room, if she +likes, with the boy. Mrs. Green is a good soul and a most superior +woman. Then you can drive them home later; or send them off in your +dogcart now, and I'll have the brougham out to take you home."</p> + +<p>Audrey's head was raised and a heightened colour was in her cheeks as +she passed the old general. She knew that in his old-fashioned eyes, +she was just a governess, to be ranked with his upper servants, and her +pride rose in arms at once. But she did not say a word. Herbert was +scratched and bruised with his fall, and sadly wanted a good wash and +tidying up. So she went up to the housekeeper's room with him, and for +the next quarter of an hour occupied herself with his toilet.</p> + +<p>Then a message came up to her from the doctor, asking her if she were +ready to start, and going downstairs she found the doctor's dogcart at +the door.</p> + +<p>He had declined to stay to dinner, and Audrey was thankful to feel that +they were returning home at once.</p> + +<p>He wrapped his thick rug round her carefully; Herbert snuggled in +between them, and was so tired that he fell fast asleep with Audrey's +arm around him before they had driven a mile.</p> + +<p>"Are you cold?" Dr. Vernon asked presently.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, thank you."</p> + +<p>"What did the general say as he wished you good-bye?"</p> + +<p>Audrey gave her low laugh as she answered, with a bit of mimicry in her +tone:</p> + +<p>"'Let me advise you, young woman, to look after your pupils in a more +trustworthy manner. The doctor is sadly inconvenienced by the delay you +have caused.'</p> + +<p>"And I nearly made him a curtsy and said, 'Yes, sir; I'm sorry, sir.'"</p> + +<p>"I think his advice was good," said the doctor quietly.</p> + +<p>"I know it was," said Audrey, checking her mirth, "but I never can +remember my position in life, and I don't like being treated like an +inferior being."</p> + +<p>"Your work is the same as mine," said the doctor. "I don't feel that +teaching is a degrading position."</p> + +<p>"Ah! The general would make a distinction between us," said Audrey; +"and, of course, there is one. I think I am too big for my shoes. I am +always being told so by Mrs. Bonar. I keep reminding myself that I am +nearly penniless and am earning my living, but I cannot be servile to +my superiors. I think I feel that anyone who earns their living is on +the same level. There are officers in the army and navy who only live +on their pay, and judges and ministers of state, and bishops, and all +the big government officials simply earn their living as I do. I say +that we are quits!"</p> + +<p>Audrey was talking at random. She was feeling nervous of the long drive +and "tête-à-tête" conversation with the doctor, and she dreaded that he +should allude to her being in Mr. Oates' company.</p> + +<p>But Dr. Vernon talked very pleasantly to her on various topics outside +the school, and then suddenly said:</p> + +<p>"You have returned me all the books I have lent you. Have they helped +you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they have."</p> + +<p>Audrey spoke gravely now. She was always rather shy of talking about +her spiritual difficulties.</p> + +<p>"Do you want any more?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. They have led me to my Bible. I am finding out my +ignorance of it. And there is such a warmth and life in it! The other +books are cold, and hard, though convincing, but the Bible is—well, I +can't explain; it gives life and it sustains it, and I hope I shall +never get away from it."</p> + +<p>"You have learnt a good deal if you have learnt that," said Dr. Vernon. +Then his voice grew tense and earnest as he added:</p> + +<p>"Be real and sincere, Miss Hume; never put up with the second best. +Don't forget the empty shrine. Let the glory of your womanhood circle +round the One Who owns you. And with Him in your heart and life, you +will be a burning power for good amongst those small boys who are in +your charge."</p> + +<p>Audrey bent over Herbert's curly head resting contentedly on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I feel I'm only the smoking flax at present," she said. "I hope the +flame will come."</p> + +<p>And then for the rest of the drive they were silent. When she and +Herbert were deposited at her door, she looked up at the doctor with +penitent eyes.</p> + +<p>"Please forgive me for my carelessness, and thank you for coming back +to help me. I shudder when I think what the plight of this poor child +might have been had we left him."</p> + +<p>His tone was inscrutable as he replied:</p> + +<p>"Let the charge of your boys be your first consideration."</p> + +<p>"There spoke the schoolmaster," said Audrey to herself as she turned +away. "I like him best when he forgets his vocation."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>And Dr. Vernon, as he sat eating his belated dinner that evening, was +haunted by a pair of grey eyes looking up into his—the grey eyes of +which his sister had said: "If you look at them, you are perfectly +certain that you can trust her, and that honour, frankness, and +fearlessness are her chief characteristics."</p> + +<p>The result of his cogitations was the emphatic comment to himself:</p> + +<p>"I am glad this is Oates' last term."</p> + +<p>In which he showed himself a man as well as a schoolmaster.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_20">CHAPTER XX</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE HOLIDAYS</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + + "Oh Gift of God, a perfect day,<br> + + Whereon let no man work, but play<br> + + Whereon it is enough for me,<br> + + Not to be doing, but to be."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">LONGFELLOW.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>THE Easter holidays found Audrey still at Horsborough College. Neither +she nor Mrs. Bonar left their post, as they had several small boys +spending their holidays with them. But as the summer came on, Audrey +again began to wonder where she should go when school broke up. A +letter from Mr. Blunt saying that his sister-in-law was going abroad +with her husband again, and so leaving her house, and also reminding +her that her lease of her old home would be up on Michaelmas Day, +decided her to take lodgings in the village. And she wrote to Pauline +about finding her cheap rooms near her. She had just posted her letter +when Miss Vernon called upon her.</p> + +<p>"Well," she remarked in her abrupt way, "are you, like the rest of +us, going to shake off this scholastic veneer which is making us so +objectionably priggish? What are your plans? Every term I am hoping +that Everard, may be offered some deanery. He has been here too long."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Audrey. "He is not old enough or feeble enough to retire +into a deanery."</p> + +<p>"Stuff, my dear! He ought to be a dean or a bishop before long, and I'm +expecting to end my days in an ecclesiastical palace: I am hinting at +it already in my biography of him. We don't want decrepit bishops, and +I think the authorities are waking up to that fact. But we won't talk +about Everard. I have to come to ask you if you would care to join me +in a small tour through Switzerland? I should like to have you with me, +and I ask you as my guest."</p> + +<p>Audrey's eyes sparkled.</p> + +<p>"How good of you! I have never been abroad in my life. But I should +prefer it if you would let me share expenses. Would it be a very +expensive trip?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, the expense will be mine. I want a companion. Everard may be +with us for a part of the time, but he is going to Germany first, and I +have declined to accompany him there. I don't like the Germans. I never +did. You and I will try to imagine for the first time, whilst we are +away, that there is no such thing as a boy, or football, or exam., in +the world! I am getting heartily sick of the whole crew!"</p> + +<p>"The only thing is," said Audrey hesitatingly, "that I must go down and +make arrangements for the sale of the furniture of my old home. When do +you start?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be a fortnight in London first. Will that give you time?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. Oh, Miss Vernon, how can I thank you? I've never had such +a treat! I can hardly believe I am going."</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon laughed.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, I'm more selfish than you think. All my life I have dreaded +getting old and prosy, and I want someone to keep me young, or make me +feel so, at all events. You will be very good company. I am assured of +that."</p> + +<p>So Audrey wrote a second letter to Pauline, telling her of her good +fortune, and a shadow fell across Pauline's sunny eyes as she read. She +was fonder of Audrey than of anyone else, and the thought of having her +near her for the summer holidays had been real and keen delight. But, +as usual, she suppressed her own feelings and wrote back a warm, loving +letter.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "It will be splendid for you in every way," she wrote. "I shall look +forward to your letters, for if you write as descriptively as you do +about the school, I shall imagine myself with you in it all. And your +fortnight here first will be a real joy to me."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Poor Pauline!" mused Audrey. "Why should the good things of life +always pass her by? I used to think myself the most ill-used of human +beings, but I can't say that now. And yet, compared with Pauline, I am +not nearly so happy as she is. What a wonderful nature she must have, +to live year in and year out in a sick-room and yet keep that glad, +joyous nature of hers! She finds as much pleasure in a sunny day, and +in the flowers and the birds, as I would in a foreign tour. She faces +north, and never flinches from it."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Pauline found her rooms in the village. It was an empty time. No +tourists came to stay at Criscombe, for there was nothing to draw +them—neither sea nor moor, and no good fishing within reach.</p> + +<p>Mr. Broughton and family had just gone for a month to the seaside. A +locum tenens from the neighbouring town rode over every Sunday to take +the services.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry was abroad. Even the Blunts had gone away for their +summer outing, and Mr. Danby was the only one who still came and went +in his erratic fashion. Just now, he had started a caravan to take +him about the country for his lectures. Pauline had asked him why he +preferred such a slow mode of locomotion to that of a motor. His answer +was characteristic of himself:</p> + +<p>"Miss Erskine, pace is the curse of our age! If I give out, I must take +in; and food does you no good if gobbled. Can I lecture on the beauties +and lessons of Nature, which is my next subject, if I rush through the +air, besmattering and befouling the sweet country lanes with fumes of +petrol and clouds of dust? I am going to learn before I teach, and my +caravan will aid me to do so."</p> + +<p>Pauline met Audrey at the station upon a sweet evening towards the end +of July.</p> + +<p>Audrey was shocked at her looks.</p> + +<p>"Pauline, how thin you are! What have you been doing to yourself? Oh! +My dear, you're killing yourself, and no one can help you."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I am very well. I have felt the heat this summer, and my +mother has not been so well this last month or so. You are looking +radiant, Audrey. Now tell me your plans."</p> + +<p>"About my furniture? I am going to sell it. I shall pack up a few +treasured possessions and get Sands, in Gadsborough, to store them for +me. The rest, he must sell. Then I shall be homeless indeed. But I have +not the money to keep a room going when I should be in it so seldom."</p> + +<p>"I wish our cottage was a little bigger," said Pauline wistfully.</p> + +<p>"My dear Pauline, your house, if you had a mansion, would never be big +enough for your heart."</p> + +<p>Audrey made arrangements for her luggage to be sent up after her, and, +linking her arm in Pauline's, she walked to the village, talking hard +as she went.</p> + +<p>"Can't you have a change, Pauline? Tell me when you left your mother +last."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I never leave her. We went up to town, you know, not so very long +ago."</p> + +<p>"But you really ought to have a thorough rest. I shall speak to Mrs. +Erskine about it. Don't shake your head at me. Outsiders can do what +insiders can't!"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid my mother will not be well enough to see you. Now I must +leave you, Audrey dear. Do you think you could run in and see me this +evening after eight o'clock? I have settled mother for the night by +that time, and I have two hours before I go up to her."</p> + +<p>"I shall love to. Of course I'll come."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>In the dusky summer evening, they sat and talked together.</p> + +<p>Pauline said, after a time:</p> + +<p>"Audrey, there's a happy ring in your voice that used not to be there. +I think you have come through your difficulties, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>Audrey's bright face softened at once.</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands round her knees and looked up at her friend a +little wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope—I hope I'm settled; but I'm such a slow, such a stupid +learner! I'm happy, Pauline; I know I'm on firm ground, and when I +compare myself now with myself a year ago, I really do thank God for +teaching me to know and love Him. I can't talk well about myself, but +as I came to you with my difficulties, it is only fair I should tell +you when they're gone. I realise now what it is to be in personal +touch with Christ. Dr. Vernon's favourite verse, 'Without Me ye can do +nothing,' is my continual reminder and comfort. And I long now to get +my small boys to see what a power and what a delight the truth of that +verse is.</p> + +<p>"I think when you see your need and open your heart, all the rest +follows, does it not?—forgiveness, justification, and sanctification; +I'm only on the threshold of this last. But it comforts me to think of +Nature, which is so slow—so much growth underground—before the result +is seen. When I wake every morning, I think: A fresh day to test my +faith and prove the faithfulness of my Redeemer."</p> + +<p>Pauline's eyes shone, but she was silent for some minutes. Then she +said emphatically:</p> + +<p>"'If we believe not, yet He abideth faithful.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's it; that's the comfort. We may waver and fall and fail, +but He never changes; and I believe in Him and love Him with all my +heart and soul."</p> + +<p>They talked on till the dusk deepened into night.</p> + +<p>And then when the clock struck ten, Audrey slipped away to her lodgings.</p> + +<p>But she was determined to speak to Mrs. Erskine if she could, for her +landlady told her that the "village" considered that Pauline's long +confinement to her mother's sick-room was wearing her to death. They +all loved Pauline.</p> + +<p>"She have such a royal way of walkin' with her head up and her eyes +so shinin', but many's passed the remark that her body be not half so +strong as her sperrit, and her cheeks be fallin' in wonderful!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>So when, a day or two later, Mrs. Erskine of her own accord said she +would like to see Audrey, the latter responded willingly, and told +Pauline that she was to make herself scarce during her visit.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine had taken some interest in Audrey since her father's +death. Now she looked at the girl critically.</p> + +<p>"Well, your work seems to suit you," she said. "You are fortunate in +being with friends. It must make a difference."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that it does much," said Audrey, smiling. "The doctor +is always official, you know. I keep my distance, and look up to him +with the necessary deference and awe. And he regards me as one of his +staff—a young woman who must be kept in her place."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen Mr. Danby yet?" Mrs. Erskine asked impatiently.</p> + +<p>"No; he is away for a fortnight, so I shall miss him."</p> + +<p>"I am glad he is away."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine moved her hands restlessly, then continued with a little +catch in her breath:</p> + +<p>"I wish you would find out—you and Pauline are such friends—whether +there is anything between them; he is always here."</p> + +<p>Audrey looked genuinely astonished.</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Erskine, you don't think Pauline would look at a little, +erratic man like that! He isn't fit to tie her shoe-strings."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what she might not do," said Mrs. Erskine fretfully. +"Girls will do anything to get a home, but I don't mean to die yet. I +have wonderful vitality—all the doctors tell me that. I wish Mr. Danby +had never come to the village. He must be an odious little creature, +from all accounts!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he isn't that. He is a character, of course. But he isn't fit for +Pauline. I'm sure she wouldn't dream of such a thing. Don't you want +her to marry, Mrs. Erskine?"</p> + +<p>"And leave me?"</p> + +<p>Such a frightened, anxious look came over the invalid that Audrey +hastened to soothe her.</p> + +<p>"No; I don't believe Pauline would ever do that, and there is no one +marriageable in these parts, Mrs. Erskine. Marriage would never take +Pauline from you, the only thing that might—"</p> + +<p>"Well? Speak out."</p> + +<p>"Illness might," said Audrey firmly. "Pauline is looking very ill. +Haven't you noticed it? She ought to have a change of air and scene. +You would not like her to break down, would you?"</p> + +<p>"Pauline break down!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine gave a little sceptical laugh. "Pauline is as strong as +a horse. She has a most wonderful constitution, but then her quiet +life has not tried it in any way. I wish I had had half her strength +to fight this disease which is killing me by inches. I don't think you +need be at all troubled about Pauline."</p> + +<p>"But I am; and so is everybody who cares for her," said Audrey warmly. +Then on the impulse of the moment she said: "Wouldn't you let me do +things for you and allow Pauline to go away for a week? If it was only +for a week, it would do her good."</p> + +<p>"Has she suggested such a thing?"</p> + +<p>Angry spots of colour showed on Mrs. Erskine's cheeks.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed! Would she be likely to? You know Pauline. The last thing +she thinks of is herself."</p> + +<p>"I did not know waiting upon a sick mother was such a hardship," said +Mrs. Erskine bitterly. "She won't have me much longer. If she chooses +to leave me, she can. But I will go on with Mary. I will not be +dependent on outside friends to do what a daughter is weary of doing."</p> + +<p>Audrey bit her lips to keep back the impatient words that were on her +tongue.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you think you could manage with Mary for a little. I +am sure you will be able to persuade Pauline to go. And I will come +in every morning and see how you are getting on. I have ten days +longer here before I leave for Switzerland. But Pauline will need your +persuasion. She does not realise how badly she wants the change. I will +tell her what we have arranged together."</p> + +<p>Audrey sped downstairs, determined to strike while the iron was hot. +She told Pauline of the conversation, and got angry when Pauline shook +her head.</p> + +<p>"My dear Audrey! You do not understand my mother in the least."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be so obstinate! Go up at once, 'at once,' whilst I am here, +and keep her to her word. Pauline, I will never try to help you again +if you won't lift your little finger to help yourself."</p> + +<p>Pauline did not reply, but went upstairs.</p> + +<p>Audrey waited in the sitting-room below, and was rather dismayed to +hear Mrs. Erskine's voice raised in shrill, hysterical cries and sobs.</p> + +<p>"What an awfully selfish, hard-hearted brute of a woman!" she exclaimed +hotly. "She wouldn't care if Pauline were dying before her eyes!"</p> + +<p>It was a long time before Pauline came down, and when she did so, she +looked white and weary.</p> + +<p>"Audrey dear, it is of no use. You did it with the best intentions, but +my mother has had a very bad half-hour in consequence. I can never, +never leave her. She is half frantic at the very idea."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why she should try to kill you," said Audrey impatiently. +"I think she ought to be made to do without you. What would she have +done if you had married?"</p> + +<p>Pauline smiled.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see that this is my life's work, the only natural course for +any single daughter to take?"</p> + +<p>"I am not objecting to your nursing your mother, but to your never +getting a rest from it."</p> + +<p>"I am very strong. Every back is suited to its burden."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe that. Numbers are done to death by overwork."</p> + +<p>"Can you and I not trust ourselves to God? I have left my life in His +hand, and He arranges for me. Of this I am positively certain. Don't +let us spoil your visit by over-anxiety about my concerns. I will try +and get out a little more whilst you are here. That will do me more +good than anything. One of my biggest mercies is living in the country. +Imagine our life in a town, mother and I, where it would be simply +impossible to enjoy pure air and all the delights of the country! Do +you know that I have two tame linnets who visit me regularly? They have +their dining-parlour under the old medlar tree, and they wait for me +twice every day. You don't know what dainties I take them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't care a rap for linnets; I only care for you!" cried +Audrey, and tears of vexation and disappointment filled her eyes. "No +wonder we gave you the Northern gate. I was wanting to turn you from it +for a little."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Don't try to do that. I fear poor Honor turned away from hers, and +I'm dreading the result."</p> + +<p>"Have you heard from her?"</p> + +<p>"Such short, unsatisfactory letters! She seems moving about so much +that it is difficult to write to her."</p> + +<p>They began to talk of Honor, and then of the Rectory household; and for +the time Pauline's affairs were forgotten.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>But Audrey's visit did her good; and though she had failed in getting +her to go away, she did manage to get her out for a whole day just +before she left.</p> + +<p>They hired a village trap and drove to a famous hill about nine miles +away. And on the way there, they met Mr. Danby jogging along in his +caravan. He was delighted to see them, and wanted them to drive on with +him. He showed them over his caravan, and informed them that he had had +a most successful audience the night before on the village green.</p> + +<p>"My lecture was 'Country or Town?' I showed them a thing or two, and +was in the midst of politics before I knew it! Miss Erskine, do try +my lounge chair on my 'upper deck,' as I call it. I can sit under my +awning, smoke a pipe, and read a book whilst I am driving."</p> + +<p>"What a lot of the country you must see!" said Pauline, laughing.</p> + +<p>"I want company to enjoy the country with me," said Mr. Danby +dolefully. "I do wish conventionality wouldn't prevent you from coming +with me."</p> + +<p>"It would be rather slow," said Audrey meditatively, then corrected +herself with a laugh. "I don't mean your society, but the progress."</p> + +<p>"Miss Erskine and I like the slow, sweet march of time," said Mr. +Danby; "and, by the by, I met a man the other day who knew you, Miss +Erskine. He's going to do a small tour with me in the west of England +for the benefit of some charity in which he is interested. We are going +to sandwich 'Bush Aborigines' and 'Man's Highest Development.' He's a +traveller; do you remember him—Justin Pembroke?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Pauline very quietly. "I met him not so very long ago."</p> + +<p>"A nice chap—fond of music, too. He thinks me somewhat of a freak. I +got into a church, and he was blower. Told me that if he could play as +I did, he wouldn't tack so many other things on to it. He's a man of +one idea. I'm a man of many."</p> + +<p>They chatted on, and then separated.</p> + +<p>For a time they drove on in silence.</p> + +<p>Then Audrey said:</p> + +<p>"Who is Justin Pembroke? Don't tell me if you would rather not."</p> + +<p>Her quick eyes had seen that Pauline's extreme quietness and attention +when his name was mentioned showed that he was no chance acquaintance +to her.</p> + +<p>"I met him some years ago," said Pauline; "and then he came down to +this part, and I saw him again. Don't look so interested, Audrey. There +is nothing remarkable about our acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"I wish someone would meet you and carry you off."</p> + +<p>"Not from my mother?"</p> + +<p>Audrey was silent; then she said abruptly:</p> + +<p>"Pauline, do you ever look forward to the time when—when you will not +have your mother?"</p> + +<p>"I try not to do so."</p> + +<p>"But if the doctors are right, it may come soon. Have you any plans?"</p> + +<p>"How can I? I do not even know what my mother's income is. And she +may be spared for several years yet, Audrey. She has been wonderfully +better this year on the whole. Last year she seemed rapidly getting +worse. One can never tell. I hope she may live longer than the doctors +think."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you care what becomes of you," said Audrey. "You're a +marvel!"</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine life for me without my mother," said Pauline; and +then they dropped the subject.</p> + +<p>The rest of the day was spent in enjoying Nature at its best.</p> + +<p>As Audrey parted with Pauline at her gate that evening, the latter +said, with much feeling:</p> + +<p>"How small the petty trials of life seem after a day in the open air! I +feel so much stronger, mentally and physically, for my day out, as if +nothing will ever trouble me again."</p> + +<p>Audrey kissed her warmly.</p> + +<p>"You're a dear! And if Nature has done you good, you have done me good. +I will write long letters to cheer you up when I'm abroad. Not that you +will want that, but I know you like letters. Oh, how I wish you were +going with me!"</p> + +<p>And in her heart, Pauline echoed that wish.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Audrey departed, and soon wrote glowing descriptions of her first sight +of Swiss mountains. Miss Vernon was a good traveller. She took her to +Grindelwald for a fortnight, then to Interlaken and Thun, and then +across the Simmenthal by railway down to the Lake of Geneva, where they +met Dr. Vernon. And then all three went to Zermatt, where Audrey had +her first experience of glacier climbing.</p> + +<p>The last fortnight there was a dream of delight to her. Dr. Vernon laid +aside his stern gravity and showed himself a genial spirit.</p> + +<p>He and Audrey were the best of friends, and learnt to know each other +in a very different way from what they would have done at Horsborough +College. And Miss Vernon, with her private notebooks and humorous views +of human nature, was a general favourite in the hotel.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "I never thought," wrote Audrey to Pauline, "that I should ever get +to like Dr. Vernon as I do now. I almost hated him at first, then I got +to respect and admire him, now I have learnt to like him for himself. +He is very masterful, and, of course, gets a little spoilt by his +position, but underneath all his determination and iron will, there is +wonderful tenderness and consideration. One of the guides got hurt the +other day, and had to be taken to hospital. He went to break the news +to his wife, and Miss Vernon and I found him with her youngest baby on +his knee, talking to her and comforting her like a woman. And though he +is full of fun and humour, there is always the streak of real goodness +running side by side with it. He is never ashamed of his religion; it +comes out spontaneously; it is his very life. Yesterday, he preached +for the chaplain here, and I never heard him preach better. He took for +his text:<br> +<br> + "'I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more +abundantly.'<br> +<br> + "And when he spoke of the 'more abundant' life each Christian was meant +to have on earth, he thrilled one through and through. Life is getting +fuller and deeper to me, Pauline. I feel I am walking through Ezekiel's +river, but I think I am not much more than ankle deep at present."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>As she read this letter, Pauline lifted her blue eyes in all their +shining serenity to the sky above her and murmured:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or +think.'"<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_21">CHAPTER XXI</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>HOMELESS</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "For the way is often dreary,<br> + And the feet are often weary,<br> + And the heart is very sad.<br> + There is heavy burden bearing,<br> + When it seems that none are caring,<br> + And we half forget that ever we were glad."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>IT was a year later. Spring was on its way; but in London, fog reigned +supreme, blotting out all light and sunshine, and filling people's +lungs with its stinging, choking fumes.</p> + +<p>In a dingy private hotel in Bloomsbury, a little face was pressed +against the panes of the shabby drawing-room window eagerly watching +for someone. At last, with a joyful cry, the child sprang from her post +and flung herself into the arms of the woman who entered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mummie, I thought you was lost. Do you think it's the Judgment Day +coming? I'm getting so frightened."</p> + +<p>"No, darling, it's only a London fog."</p> + +<p>Honor sat down heavily on a chair and Fay crept to her side.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you're so tired. I don't like London. Where are we going to +live?"</p> + +<p>Honor gave a little bitter laugh.</p> + +<p>"'How' are we going to live is the question, Fay. I heard from your +father this morning; he did not send the money he promised. He can't do +it at present."</p> + +<p>"But, mummie, you said weeks ago we were going into the country when +father's letter came. Aren't we going?"</p> + +<p>"Don't worry me, child! I must write a letter."</p> + +<p>Then, ashamed of her momentary petulance, Honor caught the child to her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Fay, darling, I don't want to be cross, but I'm feeling ill, and +very, 'very' anxious about you!"</p> + +<p>Poor Honor! Step by step of her way had been clouded and bestrewn with +thorns. Perhaps the happiest time had been on the big liner, when her +husband was cheery and optimistic, and the little home they would +eventually have together was discussed and planned.</p> + +<p>When they landed at New York and he was met by several old friends, she +discovered that her husband had a side to his character with which she +was not acquainted. He established her and Fay in a boarding-house, and +gradually was more and more away from them. Honor took his absence very +quietly. She never expected that she would have sufficient attraction +in herself to keep a man perpetually by her side. All she wanted was to +be useful and helpful to him. And Fay was her daily and hourly delight. +She mended and made her clothes, she taught her and she played with +her, and she was happy and content.</p> + +<p>Then Alick took them both with him for a trip to the West Indies, where +he had a share in a sugar plantation. And Honor had a few happy months +there. The strange, new scenes in which she found herself drew out all +her powers. She grew more self-assured, and lost her shy shrinking +manner. Alick and she, if not a demonstrative couple, were content with +each other's society. And if he found it unnecessary to give much, +Honor gave abundantly, and required very little from him. But when they +again accompanied him back to the States, Alick grew a little restive. +His money seemed to be failing him; he told Honor she must economise +and live in a cheaper way. And when she found a couple of rooms in a +poor part of Philadelphia, he told her he must take a trip down to +Chili to look after a bit of property he had there.</p> + +<p>"I can't take a woman and child with me," he said; "you'll stay here +like a good little woman till I return, and then we'll think about +going back to England and settling down."</p> + +<p>He left her with a little money, and from time to time sent her +additional small sums. But if Honor had not bestirred herself, and +managed to earn something by plain needlework, she and Fay would have +fared badly. As it was, her straitened means brought an anxious pucker +to her brows and hollows under her eyes. They were always hoping, +always expecting, the wanderer's return. And at last, one day he +came—but only to tell Honor that she had better return to England with +Fay.</p> + +<p>"You will do better in your own country, near your own people, get +some quiet country lodgings somewhere. I have been offered a post with +a surveying party going up towards Alaska, and I shall be gone some +months. I'll manage to scrape up enough money for your return passage, +and will send you what I can. You're such a clever little woman in +making both ends meet that I'm sure you will help me. I am in low water +at present, but the tide is bound to turn."</p> + +<p>"I cannot go to my own people," said Honor quietly, a heavy weight +descending on her spirits at the prospect before her and of her coming +motherhood. "Alick, are you regretting your marriage?"</p> + +<p>"Never," he assented emphatically. "Look how you have relieved me of +the care of Fay. Cheer up! We shall have happy days yet when my ship +comes in. And I dare say, I shall make a good deal by this trip. We are +going to be in touch with the goldfields, and who knows what may befall +us there? You had better take the steamer the end of this week, wait in +London till you get my next remittance, and then settle yourself in a +quiet country cottage somewhere."</p> + +<p>So Honor had acquiesced. She had waited in London for three weeks for +the expected remittance, and had now received the following letter from +her husband:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAREST HONOR,<br> +<br> + "I'm afraid I can't send you anything this mail. In fact, until I get +my quarter's salary from this railway company, I have hardly a shilling +to call my own. You had better go to your people. Surely, as you have +a home, they will be delighted to receive you. If you can't do this, +you could try my sister, if you like. She lives near Exeter. I enclose +address. I wouldn't leave Fay alone to her tender mercies, but with +you, it is a different matter. Margaret is comfortably off, but is a +hard nut to crack. Still, I think you and Fay would be equal to it. My +love to my darling. You are so sensible and clever that you will get +along all right, I feel sure. And I will send you money as soon as ever +I can.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">"Your affectionate husband,</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 24.5em;">"ALICK."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>As Honor read this letter and thought of the one five-pound note left +in her purse, and most of that due for their rooms, a wave of despair +seemed to overwhelm her. It was true she had even in London found a +woman who could supply her with needlework, but it was not sufficient +to support her. She knew how impossible it would be for her to go to +her stepmother with an empty purse and an anxious time in front of her. +So she steadily put her feelings into the background and sat down to +write to Miss Selkirk. Presently, she tossed her pen away.</p> + +<p>"Fay, I can't do it! I can't stay here waiting for an answer to my +letter which may never come. We'll go down to Exeter to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Fay clapped her hands.</p> + +<p>"To the country, out of this black London? And, mummie, we'll picnic +in the woods. You know there's so much to eat in the country without +paying—nuts and blackberries and mushrooms. We'll begin to be happy +again, won't we?"</p> + +<p>"My darling, I ought to be able to make you happy now. I'm afraid I'm +getting grumpy."</p> + +<p>Her mind once made up, Honor lost no time in action. She settled +accounts with her landlady, and early the next morning had started +from Waterloo for the west country. Looking out at the English country +again, Honor felt strangely stirred. The lambs in the meadows, the +hedges of white hawthorn, and the early primroses in the sheltered +nooks and dells, all spoke to her of peace and rest. She lifted her +heart up in passionate prayer that she and the child by her side might +find favour in the sight of her husband's sister. Her pride rebelled +against the step she was taking. She felt that it was unfair upon any +single woman to appear in such a manner without any previous warning. +And yet she felt she could plead her own cause better by word of mouth +than by letter.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was between two and three o'clock in the afternoon when they reached +Exeter, and then upon inquiry Honor found she would have a drive of +about three miles to Miss Selkirk's house. She hired a cab at the +station, and as they jogged along through the lower part of the town +and then up a steep hill into the fresh, green country Honor felt a +sudden panic seize her.</p> + +<p>"How little I thought that I would be reduced to begging from a +stranger! If it wasn't for Fay, nothing would drag me here. And if she +won't have anything to say to us, I shall have to go to the workhouse +infirmary."</p> + +<p>With such thoughts as these, she gazed out of the window, whilst Fay +was ecstatic at all she saw. The road wound downhill again, passing +a little hamlet of cottages and then a stretch of fir plantation on +rising ground. Presently they passed two small cottages, and then drew +up at a pretty-looking rustic lodge and a big iron gate. A tidy-looking +woman opened it for them, the drive wound uphill with sloping +pasture-land on either side, then they took a sharp turn and came in +sight of a low, quaint, yellow-washed house, overshadowed by a group of +old elms.</p> + +<p>In another moment, they were at the hall door, and Honor felt sick and +faint with dread of the coming interview.</p> + +<p>The door was opened by an old-fashioned, elderly maid.</p> + +<p>"Is Miss Selkirk at home?"</p> + +<p>Honor's white lips framed the words with difficulty.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am. What name, please?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Alick Selkirk."</p> + +<p>Well trained as she was, the maid gave a furtive glance at Honor, then +opened the drawing-room door. It was a quaint, prettily furnished room, +the open fireplace with its iron basket of blazing logs gave a look of +cosy warmth, on a low window-sill were pots of hyacinths and freesias. +And Honor sank into an old-fashioned chintz chair with a feeling of +envy towards the owner.</p> + +<p>Then the door opened, and a tall, angular woman entered, dressed in a +severely made black gown with a gold watch chain hanging from a large +pebble brooch. Her dark hair, streaked with grey, was parted in the +middle and drawn down smoothly on each side of her face. She had rather +fine brown eyes, but a wide and grimly set mouth gave an expression +of great severity to her rugged face. She stood gazing at Honor for a +moment in silence. Then as she shook hands in a limp fashion, she said, +abruptly:</p> + +<p>"I was told that Alick's wife was dead."</p> + +<p>"I married him about eighteen months ago," said Honor quietly, and with +a certain amount of dignity.</p> + +<p>"Unfortunate young woman!"</p> + +<p>The tone of pity, almost contempt, brought the blood with a rush into +Honor's cheeks.</p> + +<p>But she could not contradict the statement, under her circumstances.</p> + +<p>She drew Fay forward.</p> + +<p>"This is his little girl."</p> + +<p>Then, glancing into the garden, which was lying bathed in the yellow +afternoon sunshine, she said:</p> + +<p>"May she run out into the garden whilst I tell you why I have come to +see you?"</p> + +<p>Fay had advanced, putting up her face to be kissed, but Miss Selkirk +did not kiss her.</p> + +<p>"I'll be most dreffully good," she assured her, "but I'd like to smell +the little daisies coming up on the grass."</p> + +<p>She was dismissed.</p> + +<p>And then Honor plucked up courage, and Miss Selkirk sat down on a chair +opposite her on the other side of the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"My husband has been obliged to go to Alaska for some months. We have +been out in America a good deal, and he has sent us home till he can +come to us."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>The word was uttered sternly.</p> + +<p>For a moment Honor paused, then she moistened her dry lips and +continued:</p> + +<p>"We have been waiting in London for money, which he hoped to send us, +but he is unfortunately unable to send it yet. He suggested my coming +down to you. I thought of getting some cheap lodging in the country, +if—if you could advise—or recommend me one."</p> + +<p>There was dead silence. Then Miss Selkirk said: "And what money have +you to pay for it?"</p> + +<p>Honor drew out her purse impulsively and placed it in Miss Selkirk's +hand.</p> + +<p>"I am too desperate to be anything else but truthful," she said. "You +will find I have exactly nine shillings and fivepence there. The cab +here was more than I thought it would be."</p> + +<p>"Have you sent it away?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. If you cannot help us, I shall walk back to Exeter."</p> + +<p>"Go on with Alick's plans for you. You were to come here and ask me to +get you lodgings, knowing that the expense of it must fall upon me. +What else?"</p> + +<p>Honor's eyes filled with tears, but she made a brave effort to hide +them.</p> + +<p>"Miss Selkirk," she said, "I know how it must look to you, but Alick +will send money later—he must, he is bound to do so. I would repay you +every penny you lend me. Or if you knew any farmhouse where they would +take us in and trust us for a month, I think I should be able to earn +some money. I have done so in London. I came across such a nice woman +keeping a baby-linen shop—I am good at plain sewing, and before I came +away, she told me she thought she could supply me with some by post. I +don't come to you as an unprincipled beggar—"</p> + +<p>"It's a pity you did not stay in London if you could get work there."</p> + +<p>"I should have done so, but the rooms were so expensive, and Fay is +never well in town."</p> + +<p>"You look like a lady and speak like one," said Miss Selkirk in the +dry, severe tone she was adopting. "If you are an Englishwoman by +birth, I conclude you have some relations of your own. They are the +ones who should receive and advise you—not I."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I know how it must seem. I don't know what to do. May I tell you +about myself?"</p> + +<p>Miss Selkirk gave a stiff little bow, and Honor slowly began.</p> + +<p>"My father is Rector of a small country living. I have two young +brothers, a stepmother, and three little stepsisters. I left home +partly to help them by my salary, partly because my stepmother and I do +not hit it off together. But it was not my wish to leave. I loved the +parish and my father and all the children. I went to be a companion to +a Mrs. Montmorency, and we were staying in Scotland—"</p> + +<p>For the first time, a flicker of light flashed into Miss Selkirk's +sombre brown eyes.</p> + +<p>"Kate Montmorency—I have not heard of her for years. Then you were +staying close to Knockaburn?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Honor softly, as she recalled what Mrs. Montmorency had +told her about Margaret Selkirk; "and Alick came up to see his old +nurse. He wanted her to take charge of Fay; but she was dead, and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can guess the rest," said Miss Selkirk grimly; "he came across +you, and thought you would answer his purpose instead."</p> + +<p>"He was lonely and bitter and miserable," said Honor in her calm, even +voice, "and he asked me to take pity on him and his child. And I felt I +could be a help and comfort to them, and so we married and went over to +the States."</p> + +<p>"And now he finds you a greater incubus than he bargained for, and +ships you and the child off to me. Oh, I know Alick well; he has not +altered with time!"</p> + +<p>"He wanted me to go to my people, but I cannot. My stepmother would +never receive me, and my poor old father would be ill with the worry +of it. I mean to be independent. It is only just now—just for a short +time—that I hoped you might see your way to advance me a little for +lodgings."</p> + +<p>"You would rather beg from a stranger than from your own father."</p> + +<p>Despair filled Honor's heart. She was past resenting Miss Selkirk's +tone. Wearily, she rose from her seat.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," she said. "I thought I could but try to see you; I know I +have no claim upon you. Thank you for listening to me. We will go back +to Exeter."</p> + +<p>"And what will you do there?" demanded Miss Selkirk indignantly. +"Disgrace our name by begging from some other strangers?"</p> + +<p>A little flash of spirit shot into Honor's tired eyes.</p> + +<p>"No," she said; "what my husband's sister has refused to lend me, I +will take from no one else."</p> + +<p>The two women stood facing each other, and then the critical situation +was interrupted by the drawing-room door opening and Fay's rosy face +appearing.</p> + +<p>"Please, mummie, may I speak to my Aunt Marget?" Then, catching hold of +Miss Selkirk's dress, Fay lifted an excited little face to her.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, it's a most 'strordinally thing? Out there, under a tree, +is an old blind mole, quite dead, poor thing! And by his side is a +little dead mouse. Do you fink they was friends? And which died of the +broken heart last? Do you fink the mole did? I wish you'd come and see +them, Aunt Marget. Or do you really fink it would be from fighting each +other that they died? I do wish daddy was here to tell me."</p> + +<p>Not a muscle moved in the rigid, determined face looking down upon the +eager child. But drawing her gown out of the little clasp, she turned +to Honor:</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Mrs.—Mrs. Selkirk. I have not doubted your story; this child +is too like her father for that. I will come back in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>She left the room.</p> + +<p>Honor took Fay's hand in hers.</p> + +<p>"Fay, we must walk back into Exeter. My head feels so tired that I am +not sure what we shall do when we get there. But perhaps, after all, I +must write or wire to my father. I don't know how he'll manage, but he +may be able to send me something—I must do something—I wish I did not +feel so faint. It is this room—the warmth—I shall be better in the open +air."</p> + +<p>She leant back against the cushion behind her, and turned so white that +Fay looked frightened. But she had seen Honor faint more than once +lately, and was strangely old in some ways.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, mummie, you'll be better soon; I'll fan you with this +newspaper. It's becorse you made me eat all your sandwiches! There! +Don't you feel better? Shall I get some water?"</p> + +<p>Honor pulled herself together with considerable effort.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall be better in a minute, darling. Don't fan quite so +quickly. You make me giddy."</p> + +<p>"It's a most lovely garden, mummie. And there's a big room the other +side of a yard, and I looked inside, and it was full of boxes of straw, +and then there's a door in a wall, and if you peep frough the crack, +you see a most beautiful big garden with great walls all round it."</p> + +<p>She stopped short, for Miss Selkirk had returned.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Mrs. Selkirk. I have been talking with my old servant. I +live here in a very quiet way, and at present have no visitors coming +to stay with me. I have quite made up my mind that I will not lend you +any money. That I would never do on principle, but for the present, I +will take you in as a guest, you and the child."</p> + +<p>Honor could hardly believe her ears. "But do you realise," she said, +"what a burden I may be? I never—believe me, thought that you would—"</p> + +<p>Again, a deadly faintness seized her.</p> + +<p>Fay sprang forward.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, mummie dear. I'm sure it's your sandwiches which I ate. You +always do die away when you won't eat!"</p> + +<p>Honor reseated herself and looked appealingly up at Miss Selkirk.</p> + +<p>"I realise everything," that lady said a little bitterly, "more than +you do yourself, I expect. Christine is lighting the fire in the spare +room, and I think you had better come straight away to bed. There is a +little dressing-room where the child can sleep. Have you no luggage?"</p> + +<p>"I left it all in the cloakroom at the station," said poor Honor, +feeling hardly sure whether this was a dream or not.</p> + +<p>"I will send my groom for it. Come this way. The child had better stay +here."</p> + +<p>"Or in the garden?" suggested Fay cheerfully. "I'm so 'strordinally +int'ested in that little mole and mouse. May I bury them? And I promise +you I won't make a noise about it, or beat a drum for the 'Dead March' +like daddy and me does sometimes when I bury blackbeetles."</p> + +<p>"You can run out into the garden for the present," said Miss Selkirk, +leading the way upstairs.</p> + +<p>"I am only a little tired," said Honor apologetically.</p> + +<p>But Miss Selkirk made no reply, only ushered her into a comfortable +room with a fire beginning to burn, and Christine busy putting clean +sheets into a big four-post bed.</p> + +<p>She left her there.</p> + +<p>And when Honor turned to the old servant, saying, "I'm afraid I am +giving you a lot of trouble," Christine suddenly turned and stood very +upright before her.</p> + +<p>"I kenned Mr. Alick, mem, when he were a boy. I'm proud to wait on his +lady. And if bairns' voices ring about this hoos, it'll be a glad day +for the mistress and us a'."</p> + +<p>A sob came into Honor's voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is good of you!"</p> + +<p>She could say no more. She was worn out by the strain of the last +twenty-four hours. A short time after, she was lying between the +lavender-scented sheets, and Christine was holding a basin of strong +soup upon a tray before her. Miss Selkirk did not do things by halves, +and she had seen with her keen eyes that Honor's exhaustion was chiefly +owing to lack of food as well as fatigue.</p> + +<p>As Honor lay sipping her soup, she felt new strength and life come back +to her. The flickering of the fire, the cooing of some wood-pigeons +outside, and the distant bleating of young lambs in the meadows soothed +and comforted her. She felt no anxiety about Fay, because she knew she +would win her way with anyone, and soon, tired and almost happy, she +fell asleep.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_22">CHAPTER XXII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>MOTHERHOOD</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "'Lo! At the couch where infant beauty sleeps,<br> + Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps;<br> + She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,<br> + Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes,<br> + And weaves a song of melancholy joy—<br> + 'Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy;<br> + No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine;<br> + No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine;<br> + Bright as his manly sire the son shall be<br> + In form and soul; but ah! more blest than he!<br> + Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love at last<br> + Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past—<br> + With many a smile my solitude repay,<br> + And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away.'"<br> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;">CAMPBELL.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>MEANWHILE, downstairs Fay was having tea in the drawing-room with her +aunt. She came in from the garden when she was called, rubbing her wet +little red hands with her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"I'm quite tidy still," she informed Miss Selkirk in her cheerful +little voice; "I muddied my hands over the grave, and then, I washed +them in a lovely tank of water outside the stable. Is mummie better?"</p> + +<p>"Your mother is in bed. You must sit still on that chair and not make +any crumbs."</p> + +<p>Fay was most anxious to oblige. She handled her bread and butter most +carefully, but her tongue could not keep silent.</p> + +<p>"I do like this house very much," she said. "Are we going to sleep here +many nights? I was finking I could show you how to play cat's-cradle +after tea—if you was dull, I mean. Would you like to try? It's very +easy. Daddy and me does it wonderful."</p> + +<p>"How long has your father left you?"</p> + +<p>"He put us on the ship, you know. He didn't leave us. We lefted him. +Poor daddy! It's a drefful sad fing for him to be left without his +little girl! And mummie too—that's a dreffuller thing. I used to live +alone with him once upon a time, you know, before we knowed mummie. It +was rather uncomfable, 'cause daddy couldn't mend my stockings, and my +curls was so tangly him and me used to give up the comb and take to +the brush, and that mummie says is very bad for a child's head. Poor +mummie! She does miss daddy so much, and so do I. But, you see, I've +got her, and she's got nobody."</p> + +<p>A pause, then:</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Aunt Marget, I fink if you was to ask me, I could say +'Yes' to that nice currant cake."</p> + +<p>It says much for Miss Selkirk's imperturbability of spirits that +never a smile came to her lips as her small niece chatted on. Fay was +perfectly oblivious of the gravity of her aunt. She enjoyed her tea +thoroughly. And then getting off her chair, remarked:</p> + +<p>"I fink I had better go to mummie. I know she's rather troubled about +us. And I'll tell her to go to sleep, and I'll say 'God bless you,' +like she does me. You're quite sure we shan't have to go away before +to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"If you are a very good little girl," said Miss Selkirk, "you shall +stay some weeks with me, and your mother too."</p> + +<p>"I fink I'm good nearly always," said Fay, balancing on one foot and +looking up into her aunt's face thoughtfully, "but the devil seeks me +pretty often, you know. The Bible says so, and when he roars at me to +run and hide when I'm out of doors, and mummie calls me—well then I do +it! He's so tarsome when he roars!"</p> + +<p>She pattered out of the room after this speech.</p> + +<p>And Miss Selkirk sat and looked into her fire, for she knew that she +had undertaken no light charge when she had offered Honor and Fay a +home, and she could not yet get accustomed to the ways of such a child +as Fay.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>After a long night's rest, Honor was wonderfully refreshed and rested. +Old Christine's kindness had comforted her much.</p> + +<p>And when she came downstairs the next morning, and Miss Selkirk +expressed surprise at seeing her down to breakfast, she said:</p> + +<p>"I do not give way as a rule. It is not often I feel so done for as I +did yesterday."</p> + +<p>After breakfast, as it was a bright morning, Fay was turned loose in +the garden again. She was already the greatest friends with all the +servants. She had invaded the kitchen and shaken hands with the old +cook and the young housemaid, informing them that she meant to have a +kitchen of her own when she grew up and cook all day long. She had been +taken by Isaacs the groom to see the fat grey pony in the stable, and +the Irish terrier, who loved the pony better than anyone else in the +world. And now that she was well out of the way, and Honor employed +with the needlework that was seldom out of her hand, Miss Selkirk began +to talk about her brother.</p> + +<p>She pointed to the picture of Knockaburn which hung on the drawing-room +wall over her davenport.</p> + +<p>"He sold the old place," she said bitterly, "which had been ours for +eight generations, and he sold it as he might an old coat—glad to get +rid of it at any price."</p> + +<p>"He was not happy there," said Honor; "he had had an unhappy boyhood, +and that is a thing that one never forgets. He said it had been a +prison to him."</p> + +<p>"He was not a true Selkirk; he had some of the flighty blood of our +father's mother, who was French. My mother tried so hard to train him +up into a sober, stolid Scotsman. But she felt, poor thing! before she +died, what a failure she had made of it. Alick will never do anything +all his life but please himself. Easy, happy-go-lucky, and thriftless +he will always be. He killed his first wife by neglect. I heard that +much from people who knew them. When he wanted to get rid of Fay, he +married you to look after her. Now that you are not able to go round +with him and wait on him hand and foot, he ships you off for someone +else to look after. By and by, if it suits him, he will come back to +you again. If it does not, he will stay away. And if you are not able +to support yourself independently of him, it will be a bad outlook for +you."</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Honor, "you are hard—hard! He has never said one unkind +word to me. He and his child are devoted to each other. I own he is +thoughtless. He seems to have no idea of money, or of what it costs to +live; but he is a good father, and he has been a good husband to me. If +he did choose me to be a mother to his child, rather than to be a wife +to himself, I do not complain. I feel the time will come when he will +want a home, and will come back to me for it. He is absolutely faithful +to me. He never looks or cares for the friendship of women. He is +bitten with the mania for speculating in a variety of investments all +over the world, and he loves travelling and men's society. You may have +seen his worst side as an impatient, restless young man, but I have +seen his better side, and I know that as time goes on, he will want a +woman's sympathy and tenderness to help him through life."</p> + +<p>"And his child will grow up like him," said Miss Selkirk bitterly. "She +has his flighty, restless ways."</p> + +<p>"No, no," cried Honor hotly. "Fay is a darling. I will not give her +the training her father had. That was his ruin—suppression on every +side. I shall train Fay up in fearless freedom if I can. She is a +warm, tenderhearted child, unselfish, and clever and original. I have +studied her, and I know her, for I love children. She is the joy of +her father's heart, and I am sure she is of mine. Wait a little, Miss +Selkirk, and you will find yourself losing your heart to her before +long."</p> + +<p>"I never understand children, and never shall."</p> + +<p>Miss Selkirk set her lips grimly as she spoke. If she did not care for +Fay, she certainly began to like Honor.</p> + +<p>Honor's extreme quietness and unselfishness could not but be +appreciated by the rugged Scotswoman. Though Miss Selkirk rarely +smiled, her tone became milder and more sympathetic when she addressed +her sister-in-law, and Honor learnt to understand that her severe +demeanour sometimes hid a kind heart.</p> + +<p>That day Honor wrote to her father and to Pauline. Pride had prevented +her from doing this before when her purse was empty and she was +homeless.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>And on the following day, her baby was born. The quiet household of +Miss Selkirk was much excited over the event.</p> + +<p>Fay wondered much over the strange nurse and doctor who came to the +house, and when eventually Miss Selkirk told her the news, the child +stared at her with open mouth and eyes.</p> + +<p>"A little baby brother! Who gived him to me?"</p> + +<p>"God has given him to your mother. You must be a good girl, and give +no trouble. No, you cannot go up to your mother. She must not be +disturbed."</p> + +<p>"Is he a tiny little baby? Do tell me. How did he come? I finked last +night I heard a baby cry outside the windows, only Christine telled me +it was owls. I 'spect it was him, poor little fing, flying round and +tapping at the windows to get in, and then mummie opened hers. He did +come down from heaven, didn't he? Oh, I want to see him dreffully."</p> + +<p>"You will see him to-morrow, if you are good."</p> + +<p>Poor Fay found it hard to be patient. She missed Honor intensely; and +Miss Selkirk did not know how to talk to children. But she did her +best, even to going to visit Fay after she was in bed, which Honor +invariably did.</p> + +<p>"Are you asleep, Fay?" Miss Selkirk asked, seeing only the top of a +curly golden head above the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>With a wriggle and a sigh, Fay raised herself in bed.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Aunt Marget. Put your finger on my pillow here—just +here—now what do you feel?"</p> + +<p>Fay's tone was solemn and mysterious.</p> + +<p>"I feel nothing," said Miss Selkirk; "it is a hot little pillow, and a +trifle damp."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Fay, nodding her head with an important, rather pleased +smile on her face; "it's a tear place. I've been dropping kontities of +tears, Aunt Marget, quite quietly, but they comed out of me because I +can't see mummie and I feel so alone."</p> + +<p>"You must learn to do without your mother," said Miss Selkirk gravely. +"You are not a baby, and she will not be able to give you so much +attention now as she has done. Your little brother will take up all her +time."</p> + +<p>"But she might let me see her just to say good-night and God bless you."</p> + +<p>A little sob was rising in Fay's throat.</p> + +<p>"I'll send Christine to you," said Miss Selkirk hastily, dreading a +scene, and she left the room.</p> + +<p>Christine came and took the child in her arms.</p> + +<p>"There, my bonny bairn, go ye to sleep. Your mither will be seein' ye +in the morn. She's verra weak and ill, dearie; that's why she canna see +ye the night. But 'tis a mercy she came through so weel. An' the baby +is healthy tho' sma'."</p> + +<p>"Is mummie ill? Nobody telled me that. I'll go to sleep, Christine. I +wouldn't disturb her for all the world."</p> + +<p>And Fay turned over and laid her head upon her pillow, relieved to find +that it was not neglect but illness which kept Honor away from her.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>She crept into Honor's room on tiptoe the next morning.</p> + +<p>"Are you really better, mummie dear? You're sure I didn't make you ill +by eating your sandwiches in the train?"</p> + +<p>Honor smiled, and put her hand on Fay's curls.</p> + +<p>"No, darling," she whispered. "I shall soon be well, I hope. Be a good +girl, and now look at baby."</p> + +<p>She pulled down a bit of the sheet, and Fay looked in awe at the tiny, +red, puckered face of the new arrival.</p> + +<p>"He's like a doll. Oh, mummie, I really fink I can take care of him for +you—may I? I should like to carry him."</p> + +<p>But the nurse came forward and told her she must go out of the room, +and Fay obediently went. The event was so unexpected and so strange +that it quite bewildered her.</p> + +<p>And Honor lay weak and happy and grateful beyond words to Miss Selkirk +for taking her in at such a time.</p> + +<p>In a few days, she was able to talk about the future, which began to +press heavily upon her.</p> + +<p>"I must write to Alick," she said.</p> + +<p>"You need not," was Miss Selkirk's quick reply. "I have done so myself. +I want him clearly to understand that I will not relieve him of his +responsibilities towards wife and children. So I have told him that I +am only keeping you till you get strong again."</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented Honor quietly. "I quite understand that. But, Miss +Selkirk—"</p> + +<p>"You had better call me Margaret."</p> + +<p>"I will. I am wondering if you would mind finding me cheap country +lodgings near here. Of course, if you would rather I was not in your +neighbourhood, I can go elsewhere. But I have always heard that +Devonshire is cheap for living, and I should not then have the expense +of travelling. I will get some work from that woman in town. It seemed +so strange the way I went in. I saw a baby's nightdress in the window, +and I was making mine. I saw that my waist was too low down, and I +just stepped in to ask the woman if she would let me measure mine by +it. That was the beginning. She admired my work, and then told me +that a sister of hers who had always helped her with her orders had +just married and left her. And somehow or other I told her how I was +circumstanced. She gave me some work at once, and I believe she would +always keep me busy, for she has continual orders for layettes. Don't +you think I may be able to support myself and the children till I hear +from Alick?"</p> + +<p>Honor looked so white and frail, and yet so eager, that Miss Selkirk +was touched.</p> + +<p>"You needn't worry over lodgings or work at present."</p> + +<p>"But I cannot let you have the expense of the nurse and the doctor. It +is very good of you to do as much as you are doing. I really mean to +repay you if I can."</p> + +<p>"We will let Alick do that."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The news of Honor's return and the birth of her boy came with startling +force to the Rectory. Pauline met the Rector in the afternoon of the +same day in which he had received the account.</p> + +<p>"My poor girl!" he said. "We ought to have had her home, but my wife's +nerves are so bad that it would have been difficult. And, as she says, +we really have not room. Dear me! To think of me being a grandfather! +It is nice for Honor being with her husband's sister. She is no doubt +very comfortable there."</p> + +<p>Pauline wondered if Honor was so comfortable. Her little note to her +had been blotted and tear-stained.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Pray for me, Pauline. I may not live through it. I can't come home. +And I am grateful to Miss Selkirk for receiving me. The future looks +dull and hopeless, and my outlook is east, east, east! I can't bear up +against it. But God has not forsaken me. I don't deserve His care, but +He raised up help for me in London, and now again here—so I will trust +Him. If it was not for Fay, I think the best thing would be for me to +die."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Pauline answered this lovingly and tenderly. She was rejoiced when she +heard again a fortnight later.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "I am sitting up and so comfortable and happy. Oh, Pauline! How can I +describe my boy? I feel as if I have never lived till now. I have never +thought that I should ever have a little child of my own. I feel strung +up to do and dare and endure, for I have him to live for. Miss Selkirk +is a good, true friend, but of the rigid Scotch school, and cannot +understand our little Fay. I have a dream of a workman's cottage, and +of having the two children by myself. How happy I should be! But it is +a question of money. Oh, Pauline, do you ever wish for the superfluous +gold of the rich in our land? If only—But I won't complain. I wish +travelling were cheaper—I should like to see you so. But I have quite +come to the conclusion that I could not take a cottage near my home.<br> +<br> + "And, Pauline, I know you can keep a secret. I must earn money. If +you know of any way, tell it to me. But I cannot leave the children. +Needlework seems the only thing that I can do. How I should like to +show you my baby! They say he is small, but he is healthy, and has such +deep blue eyes, and a sweet, solemn little smile. As he lies in my lap +and looks up at me, he seems to say, 'I'm sorry for you, but it will be +my turn to help you by and by,' and I know and believe he will."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>So Pauline knew that Honor was happy in her baby, and though she felt +anxious at the apparent lack of money, she did not know the exact +circumstances, and had no idea that Honor was absolutely penniless. It +was well she did not know, for it was out of her power to help.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_23">CHAPTER XXIII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A BABY'S LIFEWORK</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"And was it meet, thou tender flower, on thy young life to lay<br> + Such burden, pledging thee to vows thou never canst unsay?<br> + What if thou bear the Cross within, all aching and decay?<br> + And 'twas I that laid it on thee—what if thou fall away?<br> + Such is Love's deep misgiving when, stronger far than Faith,<br> + She brings her earthly darlings to the Cross for Life and Death."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 30.5em;">KEBLE.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>IT was a sweet morning in early June.</p> + +<p>Honor sat in Miss Selkirk's drawing-room by the open window. Her +baby was in her lap, but she was stitching busily. Miss Selkirk was +gardening outside, and Fay was pretending to help her by carrying away +the weeds that she was rooting up from her rose beds.</p> + +<p>Honor heard their voices, and smiled at Miss Selkirk's grave, +matter-of-fact replies to Fay's erratic remarks.</p> + +<p>"I'm not putting the weedses on the bonfire, you know. I'm poking them +down a deep hole with their heads topsy-turvy, 'acause I don't want to +hurt the poor fings, and they will grow down to New Zealand, perhaps, +and then they'll come out the right way up, and I dessay there's many +poor children will be glad of some weeds in their gardings where they +haven't any grass. Do you know, Aunt Marget, there's places where daddy +has been that never grows no weeds nor nuffin'? It's all sand and sand +and sand."</p> + +<p>"That is desert," announced Miss Selkirk. "New Zealand has quite as +much grass as England."</p> + +<p>"Has it? I like sand better than earth, don't you? 'Acause it never +muddies you. And in Heaven, you know, the paths are made of sugar, no +sand or muddy earth at all. At least, I fink it is Heaven, or else it's +Fairyland. And now I'll go and help dear Isaacs to clean his harness. +Garding is tarsome when I feels so hot."</p> + +<p>She was off in a minute. Miss Selkirk looked in at the drawing-room +window.</p> + +<p>"There speaks her father," she said with her little bitter smile. +"Alick would never continue doing anything that was irksome to him."</p> + +<p>"Fay is very young yet," said Honor apologetically.</p> + +<p>"Not too young to be trained in habits of steadfastness of purpose and +self-denial."</p> + +<p>Honor made no answer.</p> + +<p>Then Miss Selkirk continued at her rose beds. And when her task was +finished, she came into the drawing-room and stood looking down upon +the sleeping baby in silence.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean him to be a second Alick?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I shall not train him as Alick was trained," said Honor firmly. "Will +you never make allowances for him, Margaret?"</p> + +<p>"I know you think me hard, but he made my mother suffer, and I can +never forget that our old home is in the hands of strangers. There +was no need to sell it. Mother saved all her life, and denied herself +and us many pleasures, so that Alick should come into his inheritance +unencumbered by debt. And that is how he repaid her! Sold every bit of +it, with some of our priceless pictures and china, and has squandered +the money away on himself and his pleasures."</p> + +<p>Honor looked down upon her boy very thoughtfully. Then a pink flush +came into her cheeks, making her look almost pretty. She looked up at +Miss Selkirk with a sudden inspiration.</p> + +<p>"And his son, Margaret, shall buy that inheritance back. I mean it. +God willing, I will train him and teach him towards that end. It will +be his lifework. He shall bring back the old home to the Selkirks, and +you and I shall live to see it. I was thinking over his name—I want +to call him Victor. There is so much in a name; it will give him hope +from the beginning. And that is everything. If a child is taught from +his infancy that with God's help he can overcome, if he feels that he +is meant to be a victor over adverse circumstances, over trials, over +temptations, he will have courage and energy and hope, which is half +the battle."</p> + +<p>Miss Selkirk was astonished at the enthusiasm in the quiet Honor's +voice, but she was touched to the depths of her soul. She placed her +hand gently on the baby's head.</p> + +<p>"If he succeeds in righting what his father has done, he will have my +blessing now. Name him Victor, if you like. His father will not object, +I know. There was one Victor in our family many years ago."</p> + +<p>"I know. It is the name of one of the miniatures over the mantelpiece," +said Honor, pointing to them. "That is what made me think of it. I +think of so much as I sit and work here. I have all my life been so +fond of children that I can hardly believe I have now actually one of +my own. I want to make no mistakes in his training. I shall give him to +God, and I believe God will take him. His dedication will be no light +matter to me. I shall surround him with love, but from the first, I +shall make a strong point of self-denial, even self-sacrifice; only +I shall hope that love to God and love for his fellow-creatures will +be his motive power. He is a boy—not a girl. I want him to grow up an +upright, steadfast, courteous gentleman, in the true sense of the word. +And he shall reclaim his inheritance, if he works hard all his life to +do it."</p> + +<p>Honor spoke as if she were inspired, and Miss Selkirk's cold face +kindled and quickened at her words.</p> + +<p>"I shall hold you to your vow," she said; "and I will do all in my +power to help you in such a purpose."</p> + +<p>The two women looked down upon the child then in silence. The first +gleam of hope dawned in the rugged Scotswoman's eyes. Both she and +the mother let their thoughts run on to the future, when this atom of +humanity would be a power for good in the world. Miss Selkirk saw her +old home redeemed. Farther than that her thoughts did not go. Honor +saw a strong, honourable man influencing many for good, and using his +hardly earned inheritance as a trust from God.</p> + +<p>And the baby boy slept on, unconscious of the part which he was +ordained to play.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>As the spring deepened into summer, Honor regained her health and +strength. She insisted upon taking the needlework with which her friend +in London supplied her. When Alick's remittance came at last, it was +only twenty pounds, and he did not say when he could send her any more.</p> + +<p>She wrote and told him of the birth of her boy. But he was not a good +correspondent, and it was a long time before she heard. Then his letter +was affectionate but vague.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "I am glad you are near Margaret. She will look after you, but I quite +see with you that you ought to be in a home of your own. Get a cheap +furnished cottage. There are plenty of them; and then, when I can, I'll +join you. Don't expect too much from me. Several of my speculations +have failed. I'm an unfortunate beggar. Hope your son has been born +under a lucky star; his father wasn't. Kiss my girlie for me, and tell +her that I had a sledge ride yesterday drawn by six Eskimo dogs. I'll +send you a ten-pound note next time I write, but don't know when that +will be."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Honor read this with a smile and a sigh. Miss Selkirk did not ask to +see it, but when Honor handed her the twenty pounds, she refused to +take a penny.</p> + +<p>"It will just clothe you and the children. What a foolish girl you were +to marry him!"</p> + +<p>She would not hear of her leaving her.</p> + +<p>"No; we have fitted in together very well. I was getting morose and +selfish. I like to have you with me. I know it is bad for Alick, but I +cannot help that. I don't think he would send you any more if you were +starving."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was in June that Honor received a letter from her father, saying +that his wife was going away for three weeks to visit a cousin, and +she had suggested that Honor should come to the Rectory and look after +things while she was away. He told her that Mrs. Broughton would +arrange for the nursery governess to have her holiday at the same time. +Honor's eyes brightened. The thought of seeing her father and small +sisters in such a way filled her with delight.</p> + +<p>Miss Selkirk marvelled at her. She had heard a good deal about the +Rectory household.</p> + +<p>"Do you realise," she said, "that you have now two children of your own +to look after? How can you take charge of that household without the +governess or your stepmother to help you?"</p> + +<p>Honor laughed.</p> + +<p>"I shall find it nothing—nothing at all! Love makes all things easy, +Margaret."</p> + +<p>"They only ask you when they want to make use of you," said Miss +Selkirk.</p> + +<p>But she made no further objections, and saw Honor comfortably off in +the train from Exeter.</p> + +<p>It was a very happy home-going to Honor, as happy as her former visit +had been miserable. Her three little sisters welcomed Fay warmly, but +insisted upon her prefixing "Aunt" to their respective names. They +adored the baby, and clung round Honor's skirts as of old. Fay was at +first a little jealous.</p> + +<p>"She's my mother, and belongs to me. You talk me down, and I don't like +it."</p> + +<p>"She belongs to us; we knewed her before you was born," argued Chatty.</p> + +<p>"She's our sister," said Minnie; "that's much more close than a +stepmother."</p> + +<p>"Hush! Hush!" cried Honor. "I won't have quarrelling. We all belong to +each other."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was not long before Pauline came round to see her. She found her in +the Rectory garden, surrounded by the children.</p> + +<p>"Why, Honor, this is like old times!" said Pauline as she kissed her +affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Yes, isn't it? We are going to have tea out here. Father will be in +directly. He is visiting a sick parishioner. Now, Pauline, look at my +boy."</p> + +<p>The young mother held out her baby, and Pauline took it into her arms +with tender, adoring eyes. As she stood there in the sunlight in her +white linen gown, looking down upon the infant, Honor said earnestly:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pauline! If an artist could paint you! You look—well, almost like +the Virgin and Child. Oh! You ought to be a mother! You are more fit +for it than I!"</p> + +<p>"The same Honor as ever!" said Pauline, smiling at her. "Always +underrating yourself. Has your marriage not taught you differently?"</p> + +<p>Victor began to whimper. Honor took him back, then reseated herself +under an old chestnut tree, and pulled forward a chair for Pauline.</p> + +<p>"Talk to me," she said. "I seem to have had no one to whom I could +confide for years. I have longed for you so much, Pauline! No; I'm +not fit to be a mother. When my boy grows up, he'll think nothing of +me—no one does. I don't often think of myself, but I've been doing it +to-day. Even father said this morning, when Lady Marion Burke wrote a +note saying she was coming to see him to-morrow to talk over the school +treat and prizes:</p> + +<p>"'Dear, dear! I wish Emily was at home. I don't know how we shall +manage. She generally stays to tea, and I'm always glad of a woman to +discuss things with her.'</p> + +<p>"I suggested I should be here, and he said:</p> + +<p>"'Yes, yes, I know, my dear; but you never could entertain like +Emily—you haven't the manner.'</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is manner that I want. But all my life I have been so +accustomed to be considered a nonentity that I shall never be anything +else."</p> + +<p>"You are a married woman now," said Pauline brightly.</p> + +<p>"I know, but I don't feel I have the position of one—no home, my +husband away, and no money. There, Pauline! I'm telling you what I can +tell no one else! I'm simply a dependent on Miss Selkirk at present. +Alick is very badly off. It is very strange, but when I married him I +never thought I should have money troubles again. I took it for granted +that he had plenty. He hasn't enough to give us a home; and it is not +only myself that has to be provided for, but two children. Sometimes my +heart sinks within me. Why are things so different from what we expect?"</p> + +<p>Pauline was silent, and Honor continued:</p> + +<p>"I look back now and see the mistake I made. God moved too slowly for +me, and I thought I would manage better. Wasn't it strange? But at the +very time I was making up my mind that they had filled up my place at +home, and would never want me any more, Miss Paton was just leaving, +and father was writing me a letter to tell me they wanted me back +again. Pauline, if I had got that letter a day sooner, I should not +have married."</p> + +<p>"You told me you were trying to alter your eastern path a little," said +Pauline slowly. "I did feel for you so much, but I think if you had +waited, you would have had more sunshine."</p> + +<p>"I have been waiting for sunshine all my life," said Honor, a hint +of passion in her tone. "I know now that I shall never get it—only +gleams—and it is always, 'always' tempered with east wind."</p> + +<p>Then, after a pause, she added:</p> + +<p>"I must speak out to you, Pauline; you don't know the infinite relief +of it. I am so bitterly disappointed that I can influence my husband +so little. It was my one hope. He really did want me, and I thought +that perhaps I could lead him to value heavenly things more and earthly +things less. Instead of which, I seem to have lost a good deal of my +own faith and trust in God, and he has not changed in the least. I have +not the personal or spiritual power to influence a man for good. I see +it now. It's all so different—so very different—from what I thought."</p> + +<p>"Well, Honor dear, remember Christian in the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' He +took a by-path, and got into the clutches of Giant Despair, but he +found his way back to the right path again, and you can follow his +example."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Honor, softly; "I have come back, but there are some things +that one cannot undo. There is my baby, Pauline. How will he grow up? +Why should I think he will be different from his father? Why should I +hope that I can train him for heaven when his father may wish to train +him for earth? It is true I have prayed—I have dedicated him to God—but +I have had terrible doubts lately that perhaps God will use him to be +my punishment.</p> + +<p>"And now, when I am with you, I begin to feel that perhaps the vow +I made about making him win back the inheritance which his father +has sold may be wrong. I ought to be training him for his heavenly +inheritance instead. May I tell you about it, and about Miss Selkirk?"</p> + +<p>Poor Honor! Always naturally morbid and over-conscientious, she was +pouring out to Pauline now all the doubts and fears of her timid heart. +Pauline listened to the story of Knockaburn, of Alick's youth and +manhood, and she did not know which she pitied most—the sister or the +brother. When Honor had finished speaking, she said gently:</p> + +<p>"Honor, dear, you say you have learnt not to go in front of God. Leave +the future—even the matter of Knockaburn. Personally, I feel that it +would give a boy an impetus for work and self-denial that would be +good for him; but he is a baby at present. Train him to serve and love +God first of all—that is all you have to think about at present. If +your life is right with God, I think you are bound unconsciously to +influence your husband and children for good. Why should God use your +child to punish you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Honor. "God used Absalom to punish David, and Jacob's sons +to punish him. I went against God like Balaam when I married—I know I +did."</p> + +<p>"But if you did, walk humbly now, and trust God as your loving Father, +remembering that—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'All things work together for good to them that love God.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Whatever comes to you will come from a Father's hand. And I don't +think that hand will be ever too heavily laid upon you."</p> + +<p>Tears welled up in Honor's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I like to think of a parent's love now I have a child of my own. +You have done me a lot of good, Pauline. I have a great deal to thank +God for. And don't think that my husband is unkind or neglectful of +me. He is not that. He has never said one cross word since we have +been married. I think I can bear the separation better than most women +could. You see, a child is all in all to me—more than fifty husbands. +I am not the girl to attract and keep men's attentions and affections. +I mean, they like me more for what I do than what I am. You understand +the difference, don't you? I know my husband has a sincere regard for +me, and he is faithful to me. He never would be otherwise. But, as I +told his sister, men's society is more to him than women's, and I know +his Bohemian love of wandering will keep him away from me the greater +part of our lives. If I had a little home of my own, I should be +content and happy, but then that would be too much of a southern aspect +for me—wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>She ended up with a little laugh, but Pauline felt near to tears, the +pathos of it touched her so.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure," Honor persisted, "I thrive best in a cutting wind, and, +as you say, I do get the sun with it. Now tell me about our southern +pilgrim. Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"Amabel? She had her baby a month or two ago. She writes very happily, +but her husband tells her mother that the doctor advises her coming +home for a year, and he is going to try and send her with the child +this coming autumn."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see her again. She is such a sunny-hearted creature +that I wonder how she will bear the separation from her husband."</p> + +<p>"She will feel it, but the joy of being with her parents will be +compensation. I'm afraid I must be going, Honor, dear. Will you come +round and see me if you can? Perhaps it is selfish to ask it, for you +must have your hands full."</p> + +<p>"I love managing a house," said Honor. "Of course I will. There does +not seem half so much to do as there used to be. This Mr. Danby seems +to do all the outside work. I hear he has started a village cricket +club."</p> + +<p>"Yes; he is very keen about it. It is the thin edge of the wedge to +establish a workmen's club before next winter sets in. He is a great +favourite with the villagers."</p> + +<p>"I should think so. Old Mary White came up to see me this morning. +I gave her some of baby's clothes to wash, and she said: 'We do be +hopin' Mr. Danby will be getting a wife soon. There be only one woman +good enough for him hereabouts, and he do see her pretty constant.' I +thought I must tell you."</p> + +<p>Pauline laughed merrily.</p> + +<p>"He is a pleasant acquaintance," she said. "He has brightened up some +of my dull days for me."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought from your face that you never could have a dull +day," said Honor.</p> + +<p>"Ah! This is one of my brightest days. Good-bye, dear. I haven't seen +your little stepdaughter. She is so engrossed in her play."</p> + +<p>Honor called Fay, who was busy at the other end of the lawn with +her little sisters, having a dolls' tea-party in a very earwiggy, +tumbledown summer-house.</p> + +<p>She came flying across the grass.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mummie, do tell me what you fink. Won't black tea make my +children see ghosteses? Daddy always says it will."</p> + +<p>"Shake hands with this lady, darling. She is my greatest friend, and +loves little children."</p> + +<p>Fay put out her hand and looked up a little shyly through her tangle of +golden curls into Pauline's smiling face. She was kissed at once.</p> + +<p>"Will you be friends with me?" asked Pauline.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; I isn't not friends with no one except the devil, and God +tells me to have nuffin' to do with him at all."</p> + +<p>"Then you must come and see me in my little house one day when mother +has time to bring you."</p> + +<p>Fay lifted up her face and spoke in a penetrating whisper.</p> + +<p>"And we'll leave those chillen behind," pointing to Honor's little +sisters. "They rather crowd me about, you know. I feel too full of them +when they're round me. And fancy! Isn't it 'strordinally? They don't +know anything 'bout the world. I telled them little England was just a +speck outside the land on the water. That's what it looks like to God +or to anybody standing at the top o' the world. Daddy 'splained it to +me, and Minnie said that England was the biggest country on earth. It's +rubbis' and nonsense, and so we kicked each other, but we're very dear +friends now."</p> + +<p>As she bounded away, Pauline looked at Honor with sparkling eyes.</p> + +<p>"There's a streak of sunshine you have with you perpetually, Honor!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed; but, Pauline, she was my temptation. I would never have +married if it had not been for her."</p> + +<p>Pauline walked home wondering if Honor's rash step was going to cost +her dear, or whether it would ennoble and strengthen her character. She +saw a great deal of her during her visit home.</p> + +<p>And when the last days came, and Honor was bidding her good-bye, she +said to her:</p> + +<p>"Keep up your heart, Honor. I believe, if you will trust and not be +afraid, God has some good things in store for you."</p> + +<p>"When I look at you and realise what your life is and yet how happy and +courageous you are, I determine to follow your example," said Honor. "I +am going back to Miss Selkirk's stronger in every way for seeing you. +But, oh, Pauline I—don't laugh—you must marry and have children of your +own!"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_24">CHAPTER XXIV</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "This fond attachment to the well-known place<br> + Whence first we started into life's long race<br> + Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway,<br> + We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">COWPER.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>THE little boys were in bed. Audrey was alone in the drawing-room +reading. Mrs. Bonar was dining with the Tates.</p> + +<p>It was about nine o'clock, and the long summer evening was only now +beginning to draw in. Audrey was just laying down her book, and +was leaning out of the window to inhale the scent of some climbing +heliotrope outside, when the maid appeared at the door.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman to see you, ma'am."</p> + +<p>Audrey rose, looking a little scared at seeing a tall, rather +feeble-looking man in a long overcoat standing on the threshold of the +door and staring at her in perfect silence.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I know who it is," she said, holding out her hand.</p> + +<p>"I suppose not. I should not have known you. Have you any recollection +of a brother?"</p> + +<p>"Bernard! Surely it cannot be Bernard?"</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>Audrey darted forward impulsively, and held out both her hands.</p> + +<p>"How did you find me out? When did you come home? Why have you never +written to us? We thought you were dead."</p> + +<p>"I have been down home. I hoped I might find my mother alive; it was +rather a shock to find both the parents gone. I got your address from +old Blunt. I'm afraid you have been left badly off."</p> + +<p>"Very, but I am earning my own living, and very happy in the doing of +it. Tell me about yourself. Why did you never write us?"</p> + +<p>"I determined I would not till I had made my fortune. Foolish, perhaps, +but you get out of the way of writing after a bit. I always meant to +come home a millionaire, but I am not one yet, and am driven back by +illness. I have had rheumatic fever and am crippled in my limbs. They +say a course of baths will put me right again, but I don't know."</p> + +<p>"You are not married?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, no! I've been working too hard for that."</p> + +<p>"And you have been successful? Mother always said you would be. She +always believed in you."</p> + +<p>Her brother smiled, and his smile quite transformed him.</p> + +<p>"It was the thought of that and of her that kept me straight as a +youngster. No, I've kept clear of womankind, but I've a fancy to be +with them now. I've got a comfortable income. You will have to come and +keep house for me, Audrey."</p> + +<p>Audrey drew a long breath. Could she? She wondered, and then was +dismayed at her hesitation.</p> + +<p>"You're a stranger to me," she said at length, looking up into the big, +brown-bearded man's face, striving to reconcile him with the boy she +had quarrelled and played with in former years. "Suppose that we do not +pull together? I am my own mistress now, and accustomed to act freely +and independently."</p> + +<p>"Are you?" he said, a little sceptically. "I was told you were a +governess in a boys' school. I thought the sooner you were out of such +bondage the better."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Audrey, half laughing; "I am a governess, but rather an +independent one, I consider. Oh, Bernard dear, forgive me for my +hesitation. You don't know how gladly I welcome you. But to have one's +whole life upset in a moment is rather a blow. Where are you staying? +Can I offer you some refreshment?"</p> + +<p>"No, none. I'm at the hotel in the neighbouring town. I'm walking back. +It's good for me, though I feel a veritable cripple. Well, we'll talk +over things to-morrow. You must get a day off and come over to me. I +have a lot of questions to ask, but it's getting late. I only arrived +about two hours ago, had some food and walked straight over."</p> + +<p>"I will come to you, then, to-morrow. There is much I want to say to +you. I'll walk a bit of the way with you now."</p> + +<p>A few minutes afterwards, Audrey was walking along the lane that ran +outside the schoolhouse, her arm linked affectionately in his. But +her heart was in a tumult. She did not want to go and live with this +strange brother. She loved her work and was happy in it. Why should +she be dragged away to another life which might not be a pleasant one? +Wives were bound to live with their husbands, but sisters were not +bound to brothers. And if he had lived all these years without her, why +should he demand her now? But she did not let him see her thoughts. As +they walked on in the dusk, Mrs. Ross met and passed them, and one or +two of the masters. They all said good-night, and looked with curiosity +at the tall figure beside her.</p> + +<p>At last, she turned.</p> + +<p>"I must go back, Bernard. I will come and see you to-morrow. What a lot +I shall have to tell you!"</p> + +<p>"And make arrangements to come to town with me as soon as you can. I'm +going to buy a small place somewhere in the country and settle down. +I've done my share of work, I consider, and am entitled to a bit of a +rest, and I shall never be an active man again, I fear."</p> + +<p>Audrey returned to the house feeling as if she were in a dream.</p> + +<p>"If Bernard had come home just after father's death, how thankful I +should have been! And, of course, his need of me is just the same, +though mine is not."</p> + +<p>She was so full of perplexity and doubt about it all that she felt +disinclined to talk it over with Mrs. Bonar, and retired to bed before +she came in.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The next morning, she told her of her brother's arrival, and Mrs. Bonar +promised to take her place and let her have a free day.</p> + +<p>So Audrey set off for the town, and spent a very pleasant day with her +brother, talking over old times and hearing his account of himself +abroad.</p> + +<p>They settled that Bernard should go to town and see a specialist about +himself. Then, if he was advised to do so, he was either to go to +Harrogate or some of the baths abroad, and Audrey was to join him as +soon as she could.</p> + +<p>"The summer holidays will be here in another six weeks. I will come +with you anywhere then. And that will be time enough to discuss our +future plans and whether I am to break with my work. Who knows? You may +pick up with a wife somewhere, and then you will not want me."</p> + +<p>This was Audrey's final word. And she returned to her work feeling that +for the present no definite decision need be made.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The next morning, she was in the playing-field with her small boys, +when Dr. Vernon came striding across to her.</p> + +<p>"I should like a few minutes' conversation with you, Miss Hume," he +said.</p> + +<p>Audrey looked up. She saw he was ruffled and wondered at the cause.</p> + +<p>"Come into the pavilion," he added peremptorily; "it is empty at +present."</p> + +<p>Audrey followed him in silence.</p> + +<p>Then he turned to her and spoke hotly.</p> + +<p>"I must ask you again, Miss Hume, to be more discreet in your +behaviour. I cannot bear, and will not have, the paltry, ill-natured +gossip that travels round in our community. This is not the first time +I have had to speak to you. I wish every member of my working staff to +be above and beyond reproach. You have a certain position here, and a +certain dignity to maintain. And when I hear it said that you wander +about in the lane after ten o'clock with your arm linked in an unknown +man's, I can only rejoin that you must be exceedingly careless and +thoughtless about appearances, or else quite unfit to be one of the +heads of my houses."</p> + +<p>Audrey's passionate temper rose at once. Dr. Vernon was quick-tempered, +and so was she.</p> + +<p>"I consider," she said, "that you have grossly insulted me. I suppose +I have to thank Mrs. Ross for this outburst. If you choose to ask Mrs. +Bonar about it, she will tell you who the unknown man was. I shall not +do so. But this has quite decided me to tell you now that I shall not +be returning here after the summer holidays. It is indeed bondage, and +bondage which I shall be glad to break. If you cannot trust me, and are +ready to believe the worst at once of everything you hear about me, +then the sooner I leave you, the better. I will say no more."</p> + +<p>She marched out of the pavilion with hot cheeks and angry eyes, feeling +she was leaving a crestfallen and discomfited man behind her. And yet, +when she got into the house, and was in the privacy of her bedroom, she +burst into a passion of tears.</p> + +<p>"I hate him! I don't want to go! It's a shame! But I have burnt my +boats. And I shall never alter my mind."</p> + +<p>It was not long before a written apology was brought her from the +doctor:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAR MISS HUME,<br> +<br> + "I ask your pardon, but why on earth didn't you tell me that it was +your brother? I had been vexed beyond measure by the way people were +talking of you, but I did not believe that you were in the wrong. I +hoped you would justify yourself at once. My hot temper prevented that, +I see. Please let us have a quiet talk together before you decide to +leave me. Can you come in this afternoon after four?—Yours sincerely,<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">"E. VERNON."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Then Audrey did what she regretted afterwards. She felt hurt and angry +still, and perhaps had a presentiment that a personal interview would +shake her present determination. So she wrote as follows:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "DEAR DR. VERNON,<br> +<br> + "I accept your apology, but my decision still remains the same, and I +do not think we can better matters by discussion. The fact is that my +brother wishes me to make my home with him, and I have promised him +that I will do so. I join him directly school breaks up. I hope my +successor will be more discreet than I have been.—Yours sincerely,<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 16.5em;">"AUDREY HUME."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>The next thing was that Miss Vernon came over to see her.</p> + +<p>"Now, you wicked young woman, why have you been wrangling with the +doctor? Have you not got over your fit of temper yet? This is the first +time I have ever interfered in school matters, but your note was a +distinctly nasty one to him, and unworthy of you. If you accepted his +apology, why did you twit him with your 'indiscretion'? Was not that +what he apologised for?"</p> + +<p>Audrey looked ashamed of herself.</p> + +<p>"He spoke to me as no gentleman ought to speak. I can't forget it."</p> + +<p>"Tuts! He has apologised. Both of you have fiery tempers, and yours is +the worst."</p> + +<p>"I believe it is," said Audrey; "for it lasts longer. I am very sorry, +Miss Vernon. I hate to leave for many reasons, but my brother wants me, +and I must go to him."</p> + +<p>"You will regret leaving us. Though I talk against our scholastic +atmosphere, it is a bright and breezy one, and you are too active by +nature to settle down contentedly with an invalid brother. Hasn't he a +wife? Is he too much of a crock to get one?"</p> + +<p>"He hopes to be cured by treatment, but it will take time. I dare say I +shall wish myself back, but for all that I am going, and I don't think +the doctor will be sorry. He doesn't trust me."</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon adjusted her glasses and looked keenly into Audrey's +flushed, quivering face.</p> + +<p>"That's the sting, is it? 'Faithful are the wounds of a friend.' You +are very fond of my brother."</p> + +<p>With which astounding statement, Miss Vernon marched out of the room, +and left Audrey feeling decidedly the worse for the encounter.</p> + +<p>She did not meet the doctor for some time after that. And when she did, +he said a few coldly pleasant words and passed by.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>She wrote very often to her brother, who was now going through a course +of electric massage in town, and as the days began to slip by, Audrey +felt more and more unhappy. She loved her small boys, she loved her +work.</p> + +<p>And when the last day came, and she was packing up for good and all and +dismantling her pretty bedroom of its knick-knacks and pictures, she +was strongly inclined to sit down and cry.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon, in fear and trembling she went over to wish Miss +Vernon good-bye. And then came her final interview with the doctor in +his study.</p> + +<p>He was very grave and quiet, and Audrey diffident and nervous.</p> + +<p>"I wish you well in your new life," he said, after they had discussed +various business matters; "and I hope you will not find you have made +a mistake. Not that I am the one to keep you from your brother, for I +don't know what I should do without my sister. But after many years +in the Colonies, a man does not easily settle down to a quiet English +life. May I thank you now for the good services you have rendered to +the college? I venture to hope that up to recent events you have been +very happy with us?"</p> + +<p>"I have learnt as well as taught," said Audrey in a low voice, feeling +indignant with herself because tears would spring to her eyes. "Yes, I +have been very happy."</p> + +<p>"And we are parting friends?"</p> + +<p>Audrey looked up and met the doctor's wonderful smile.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I was hasty—I own it—and I ought not to have shown such +temper, but that did not affect my resolve."</p> + +<p>"No; we must let you go your own way. But one day you will come back to +us."</p> + +<p>He said it with steady assurance.</p> + +<p>Audrey's eyes fell. "I don't think that is likely," she said.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon smiled again, then he gripped her hand.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Miss Hume. Never get out of touch with One Who is +guiding you. 'Without Me ye can do nothing.' Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Audrey murmured the conventional words.</p> + +<p>But when she was driving to the station, her tears fell fast and +unrestrainedly.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>She joined her brother in a quiet family hotel in London, and strove +that first evening to be her lighthearted self.</p> + +<p>"I have had two experiences of London now," she said, after the first +day was over. "My first one was so dreadful that I never wanted to be +in London again. Now I really think I shall enjoy it. Oh, Bernard, what +a blessing money is! As I walk through the streets, and see so many +pale, anxious faces, all engaged in the struggle to live, I wish I was +a millionaire so that I could place them beyond all trouble and worry."</p> + +<p>"They're a poor lot, as a rule—those millionaires," said Bernard +thoughtfully. "I've knocked up against a few. They're as hard as nails, +suspicious, and in many cases unprincipled. I've seen men work on till +they drop, when they have already enough to keep them in comfort, but +their ambitions were stronger than their bodies, and their aim was to +bank millions instead of thousands."</p> + +<p>"Money brings care, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Rather! Women are really best off—if they only knew it—when they have +not the fingering of it."</p> + +<p>"Like myself," laughed Audrey. "But I loved quarter-day at Horsborough +College."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>They stayed in London for a couple of months. And then Bernard felt so +much better that he began to talk of buying his country house. After a +great deal of discussion over climate and soil, he fixed upon a sandy, +bracing part of Hampshire, and then house-hunting began. Audrey, with +her usual keenness, threw herself into the subject with whole-hearted +vigour and energy. She interviewed agents, builders, and architects. +Finally, Bernard decided upon an old-fashioned farmhouse residence with +modern improvements. Audrey had at first imagined they would live in a +humble cottage on a comparatively small income. But when he informed +her he meant to get a motor, and after a good deal of inspection chose +a most powerful and luxurious one, she remonstrated.</p> + +<p>"Can you afford it, Bernard?"</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I mean to be comfortable. I always cut my coat according to my +cloth. You need not be afraid."</p> + +<p>"I am delighted. You will be able to take me down to see my +friends—Pauline and Honor and others."</p> + +<p>Audrey was only a young girl still. This phase of life gripped her and +held her. She had all her life had to go without pretty things, and +without the comforts of the wealthy. She began to ask herself soon +whether she would be growing lazy and self-indulgent, and she said +something of this sort to her brother one evening after dinner.</p> + +<p>"You see, Bernard, I have been seeing life so differently lately. I +will be quite frank with you. I was in religious doubt and difficulty +for a long time, and now I have been brought through it. I want to be +a true follower of Christ, and I have a horror of sitting down and +enjoying life in a selfish fashion."</p> + +<p>"You are like our mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hume was still enshrined in her son's heart as the ideal Christian +woman.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish I was! But I must try to do some good wherever we go. I +won't use that expression, for I don't like it. I want to help others +to be truly happy."</p> + +<p>"Well, I give you leave to do that," said Bernard, with a +laugh—"beginning with me. And if you have conscientious scruples about +anything, speak out, and I'll respect them. Perhaps, like mother, you +will be demanding a tenth of my income for missions and charity. Do you +remember how she would set aside her tenth of the housekeeping, as she +could not get my father to see with her?"</p> + +<p>"How well you remember things!" exclaimed Audrey. "I think it would +be splendid if you did! There is such a lot of misery in the world to +relieve."</p> + +<p>She was touched to find how her mother's saintly life had influenced +her brother and impressed him all through his wanderings. And she began +to find, after several talks, that Bernard was not only interested in +the religious questions of the day, but deep down in his heart had a +reverence and love for his mother's God.</p> + +<p>The busy time of house-furnishing that followed filled her time and +thoughts. But on Sunday, Bernard kept to the old-fashioned way of +spending it at home quietly, going to church, and refusing even to use +his motor. Audrey was very thankful for this, and began to see that her +energy and strength and talents could all be employed for good in her +new life. She would be required to do nothing by her brother that would +be against her principles. But, in spite of her busy, pleasant life, +her thoughts and heart were still in Horsborough College. The very +sight of a schoolboy brought a lump to her throat.</p> + +<p>"Happy I am, and happy I mean to be," she said to herself. "I can't +think why I hanker so to be back. I must try to forget it all, as a bit +of my life that is over and done with."</p> + +<p>Yet that bit of her life remained with her and haunted her day and +night.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_25">CHAPTER XXV</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>TWO LETTERS</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + + "One last long sigh to love and thee,<br> + + Then back to busy life again."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 18.5em;">BYRON.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>VERY gradually, but surely, Mrs. Erskine grew worse, so gradually that +Pauline hardly realised the decline day by day. She left her mother +less and less, for Mrs. Erskine became restless and irritable, and +never seemed comfortable if Pauline were out of the room. The doctor +strongly advised a nurse, but this Mrs. Erskine resisted as long as she +had strength to do so.</p> + +<p>"You are killing your daughter," the doctor said to her one day. "It is +against human nature to go without sleep. She gets no rest by day or +night."</p> + +<p>"If you come up to my room to fight me, I will not have you visit me at +all," said the sick woman.</p> + +<p>But as her strength waned, she grew gentler, and when the nurse was at +last established, she hardly noticed her. She became unconscious, and +only had short intervals when she knew her daughter. One of these—the +last one—was a very precious one to Pauline.</p> + +<p>"Pauline," she murmured, "are you there?"</p> + +<p>In an instant, Pauline was bending over her.</p> + +<p>"I thought I saw your father in the room."</p> + +<p>"Did you, mother dear?"</p> + +<p>"I think—I feel—very ill. You have been a good daughter. There's one +thing I'm sorry for—but I can't remember what it is. It comes to me in +the night. You are in it—but I only know I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>Pauline had never heard the expression "I'm sorry" on her mother's lips +before.</p> + +<p>She bent and kissed her tenderly.</p> + +<p>"It is all right, mother dear; don't think about it. Are you +comfortable? Shall I read you a few verses from the Bible?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at once."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine's eyes looked up pathetically into her daughter's. She was +fast slipping away into the silent land, and seemed to know it.</p> + +<p>Pauline took her mother's Bible which usually lay on the little table +near the bed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine's religion had always been a silent, reserved one, but +she never failed to have a portion from her Bible read to her when she +could not read it herself. Pauline began to read the hundred and third +Psalm. When she came to the verse,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> +"He hath not dealt with us after our sins,—" <br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Mrs. Erskine put up her hand.</p> + +<p>"That's enough," she said. "Ask Him to make that true."</p> + +<p>Her voice was so low that Pauline bent her ear to catch the words. She +lay partly sleeping after that, and was never conscious again.</p> + +<p>For three days and nights Pauline and the nurse took it in turn to watch +by her bed.</p> + +<p>And then, the end came quietly and peacefully about five o'clock in the +morning. She just slept away, and Pauline could hardly realise that it +was all over. The tending and nursing and watching had been so continuous +for so many years that now she looked up into the nurse's face and said +blankly:</p> + +<p>"But can I do nothing? What can I do with myself?"</p> + +<p>"Go to bed and to sleep," said the nurse; "and you will find there is +plenty to do when you wake. I will see to everything at present. You +look worn out."</p> + +<p>Pauline went to her bed with a stunned feeling in her head. But sleep +came to her, and though she only slept for three or four hours, she +woke feeling ready for all that was before her.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Her mother's lawyer came down from London, and practically did all +business matters for her. Everyone was very kind. Mrs. Daventry tried +to take her away from the cottage, but she would not go. The Rector +called several times, and Mr. Danby sent her a characteristic note:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAR MISS ERSKINE,<br> +<br> + "Well, the silver cord is loosed, and the golden bowl is broken, and +your head is bowed over the doing of it. What can I say? As well may +an oil lamp tell the sun how to shine as I try to comfort you with +the platitudes of consolation! I will not make the attempt; you are +high enough up from our earthly atmosphere to be in touch with the +heavenly, and you will get your comfort from above, not below. Why +should I assure you of my sympathy? What good can it do you? But if I +can do anything practically to show my friendship for you, give me the +pleasure of doing it.<br> +<br> + "Yours to command in sorrow as well as in joy,<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;">"FRANK DANBY."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Just a few of Pauline's friends gathered with her round her mother's +grave. Audrey and her brother, Mr. Danby, Mrs. Daventry, the doctor and +lawyer; but there were many of the village people there, for little as +they had known Mrs. Erskine, her daughter had won their respect and +love.</p> + +<p>And after it was over, Pauline went back to the empty house, there to +talk over money matters with the lawyer, who was her mother's executor, +and face her future.</p> + +<p>"You will be able to count upon having about three hundred a year," he +told her.</p> + +<p>And Pauline gave a sigh of relief. At least she would be saved from +want.</p> + +<p>"Have you no relations?" he asked her presently.</p> + +<p>"Only a cousin in London. She was unable to come to the funeral, but +she asks me to go up to her and stay with her for a little."</p> + +<p>"I should if I were you, and then take my advice—get rid of the +cottage. It is in a damp, cheerless spot. You have been tied here so +long, why not go abroad for a bit? It would do you a world of good. Get +some bright companion to go with you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot decide anything in a hurry," Pauline told him. "I feel like a +rudderless boat adrift in the open sea."</p> + +<p>"You have my address. Let me know if I can do anything for you. +Meanwhile, let us tackle some of your mother's business papers. I think +you will find them all in order."</p> + +<p>They had a busy couple of hours together. Then he left her, and Pauline +went up to her mother's room to look through her private davenport that +always stood in the window. It was sad work.</p> + +<p>As she sat down, she started more than once, expecting to hear +the usual call from the bed behind her. She unearthed many little +treasures—a miniature of her father when a boy, a photograph of herself +as a baby in long clothes, a packet of letters when her father was +courting her mother, some faded flowers, and two or three old ball +programmes belonging to her mother as a girl. Then, in a little locked +drawer, she came upon two letters which drove every vestige of blood +from her face and made her heart almost stand still.</p> + +<p>The envelope that first stared her in the face was addressed to +herself. And when she opened it, with fear and trembling, she found +it was a proposal of marriage, to herself from Justin Pembroke. The +ink was yellow and faded; it was dated about twelve years previously, +almost directly after that eventful visit of hers to London, and +immediately after her father's death.</p> + +<p>Mechanically, she unfolded the other letter. It was in the same +handwriting and addressed to her mother, but dated about a fortnight +later. This was the letter:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "DEAR MRS. ERSKINE,<br> +<br> + "I feel I must write a line to you, as from what you told me, your +daughter does not wish me to communicate with her at all. I am sorry +for her ill-health, but I hoped—oh, how I hoped!—she would have let me +try to comfort her. I sail for South Africa next week. If before that +time, you see any signs of her change of mind—girls do not always know +their own minds at once—may I beg you to let me have a line?<br> +<br> + "It was a bitter disappointment to me not to see her when I came down +the other day. But I could do no other than accept the explanation +you gave me and respect her wish. I feel, if she would only see me +personally, I should perhaps be able to persuade her to listen to me. +I know it is soon to worry her after her father's death. I would not +have obtruded myself so soon into her presence, but I have such a short +time left before I leave England, and I did think in town that I had a +chance of winning her. I am not one who changes with time. She has made +such a deep impression upon me that I am convinced no other woman will +ever take her place in my heart.—Believe me, yours sincerely,<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;">"JUSTIN PEMBROKE."</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Pauline bowed her face in her hands. It was a bitter, crushing +revelation to her.</p> + +<p>The mother, now cold in the grave, had cruelly deceived and defrauded +her of the most precious thing in a woman's life. Her lover had spoken, +had written to her, and she had purposely been kept in ignorance of +it. She looked back to that dreary time after her father's death. She +remembered a sick headache confining her to bed one whole day, and she +could only conclude that Justin had arrived on that day, determining +to follow his letter, and discover why she had not answered it. Her +mother always had the letters taken to her room the first thing in +the morning. She must have abstracted his first letter, perhaps from +curiosity, perhaps from suspicion, and deliberately read it and kept it +from her daughter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! How could you? How could you treat me so?"</p> + +<p>It was a heart-breaking cry—not so much because it had spoilt her +life, as because her mother's character had suffered so much by the +transaction.</p> + +<p>Pauline was the soul of honour herself. She had known her mother do +many unkind, selfish acts, but never a dishonourable one. Then she +tried to make excuses for her.</p> + +<p>"I suppose she was desperate at the thought of my being taken away +from her as well as my father. Her mind must have been unhinged by his +death. She never could bear to be alone. A lonely life—the very thought +of it would be terrible to her. She could not have meant to spoil my +whole life by such an act; she did not realise what she was doing. Yet +why has she kept this from me all these years? She might have told me +afterwards. I wonder if she remembered what she had done? I wish she +had not kept these letters. If only I had been kept in ignorance, it +would have been better. And yet—and yet—oh, Justin, you stole my heart, +and I thought you had played with it! What injustice I have done you!"</p> + +<p>Passionate tears fell; the serene, courageous Pauline for once lost +her self-control. The very depth of her feelings about most things +proved in this matter to overwhelm her. Twelve years had slipped away +since her first dream of love had visited her, for fully half that +time, she had striven to crush what she considered immodest thoughts, +and suppress the love that had risen in her heart for one who had not +returned or claimed it. Gradually, time had helped her to be resigned, +but never entirely to forget. And the sudden and fleeting glimpse she +had of him at Lady Marion Burke's "at home" had roused and quickened +again the old pain.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she argued with herself, "it has been all for the best. I +could not have left my mother, and it would not have been fair to keep +him waiting all this time. But it does seem bitterly hard that I should +have been kept in ignorance of his letter and visit all these years."</p> + +<p>Pauline was no stoic. She suffered acutely as she sat in her mother's +room, and for a moment rebelled against her fate. Then her strong faith +and trust in the One Who had her in His loving keeping sent her to her +knees, and brought her out of that room an hour later with shining eyes.</p> + +<p>She had a great deal to do and arrange, but every now and then, from +the habit of long years, would find herself starting and listening for +her mother's call to her. Old Mary added her persuasions to that of the +lawyer.</p> + +<p>"You must get out of this cottage, miss. I'll come with you anywhere if +you'll have me. I know I'm not so young as I was, but there's work left +in me yet."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't live without you, Mary," said Pauline tenderly. "And I +think I may be able to have a small girl to help you in the housework. +But where to settle I know not. I think I must run up to town and talk +over things with Cousin Bertha."</p> + +<p>Mary put her hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>"Miss Pauline, take care! She'll be wanting you to live with her, and +then it will be all the nursing and tending over again. You have had +too much of it. You must have a bit of ease and pleasantness in your +life now. You aren't very old, the youth has been quenched out of you. +Don't you go near Mrs. Repton. Who wouldn't want to have you and keep +you, I'd like to know?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you ridiculous old woman! I'm not so valuable a treasure as that. +Mrs. Repton has her own circle of friends and relatives independent of +me. She is only a distant cousin, remember!"</p> + +<p>Mary shook her head and said no more.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>A fortnight afterwards, Pauline left her in charge of the cottage, +and went to London. There she stayed three weeks, feeling rather like +a recluse would do were she suddenly plunged into the gay world. Her +cousin was very good to her, but was a little intolerant of her deep +mourning. Mrs. Repton's house was full of visitors from morning to +night, as she was both hospitable and popular. She was disappointed +that Pauline would not go out into society, for she was proud of her +beautiful young cousin, but no word was said about prolonging her visit +when the three weeks were over.</p> + +<p>"You must come to me again, my dear, when you are out of mourning. +People do not stay in for very long now. And then I will take you out +and about. And we will brighten you up a little, and give you a wee +bit more style. Oh! You have perfect manners and movements and all +that, but you bear the stamp of the country. You cannot help it. I +only marvel that you can hold your own amongst us as you do. Your life +for the last ten years must have been spent in a prison. Where are you +going to live? Why not come up to town and have a tiny flat? There are +some to be had quite cheap. You were fond of art once. Why not go in +for painting again? A woman with a hobby is quite the fashion nowadays."</p> + +<p>"No," said Pauline, with firm conviction; "a town life will not suit +me. I must have my small home in the country."</p> + +<p>"But not in the winter, surely? Come to town for this winter. If you do +not like to be too gay, there is plenty of quiet amusement for you in +town."</p> + +<p>"I believe," said Pauline, laughing, "I am too old for this present +age. I feel I don't want to be amused. I have got past it."</p> + +<p>She returned home one fine autumn afternoon. The glowing tints of trees +and hedgerows delighted her as she walked from the station, and meeting +Mr. Danby, she cried exultantly:</p> + +<p>"Oh! Isn't nature rich and sweet after town? It gives me quite a throb +of joy to be in it again!"</p> + +<p>"You are not in love with town?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said gravely; "I have seen, of course, only the light side of +life. My cousin is what people call a thorough little 'society woman,' +and her society makes me feel a prig. I am not comfortable in it. I +told her I was too old for it. It all seems to me so empty, so mundane, +so childish. The fault is in myself, I expect. I am like a fish out of +water."</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Hume, it's like a swallow being condemned to live the +life of a snail—your soul is up and beyond it all."</p> + +<p>"That sounds like one of their speeches," said Pauline, with twinkling +eyes. "Everyone pays compliments, but it isn't like you, Mr. Danby. I +hope my soul will never be above my surroundings unless they are sinful +ones. I have a horror of people who are up in the clouds all day."</p> + +<p>"I am rebuked. But the country will have you and not the town? For that +I give hearty thanks! And now, where are you going to settle? We are +all determined that you shall not leave this neighbourhood, if we have +to build you a house here."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't like new houses. Mrs. Daventry wrote to me the other +day telling me of a small farmhouse that was empty. I don't know, of +course, whether the rent would be within my means."</p> + +<p>"I know it. John Dodds died the other day. It belongs to Mrs. Daventry."</p> + +<p>"Yes; she says the farmer close by would take over some of the farm +buildings and the land, as he wants to enlarge his farm. I am going +over to look at it with Mrs. Daventry to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"But you won't live there alone?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? I am alone in life. I must have a home."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image007" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"><a id="Image007"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image007.jpg" alt="image007"></a></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>"BUT YOU WON'T LIVE ALONE," SAID MR. DANBY. "WHY NOT?"</b><br> +<b>REPLIED PAULINE; "I MUST HAVE A HOME."</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Mr. Danby, wheeling round upon her with intense, earnest +gaze. "Have a home with me. Don't recoil with horror from me! I know +I'm not fit to black your shoes. You have been my queen, my lady with +the starry eyes, my divinity, since the first day I saw you! I went +into church this morning and played my heart out on the organ. I knew +you were returning this evening. Will you—could you—be content with the +passionate devotion of an eccentric musician and a Jack-of-all-trades?"</p> + +<p>Pauline was utterly dumbfounded. She was tired, and tears rose to her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Dear Mr. Danby, I am so very, very sorry, but it can never be. I +grieve to pain you. I thought our friendship was so sure and steadfast +that nothing like this would spoil it. Be my friend still. I have so +few of them. Let us treat your words as unsaid. I would not make you +happy—you want a younger, brighter wife. You think too well of me; I am +only a commonplace young woman, not fit to be the wife of a genius, but +very proud to be his friend."</p> + +<p>Mr. Danby's whole figure drooped with disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me. I ought to have known it would be impossible. It was the +sons of God that mated with the daughters of men—was it not?—not the +daughters of God with the sons of men. Well, Miss Erskine, I can bear +blows like a man—and this is a heavy one, for I'm always a hopeful +fool. I will say no more. Good-night. God bless you."</p> + +<p>He wheeled round and was gone.</p> + +<p>Pauline walked into her cottage, depressed and weary.</p> + +<p>"I shall have lost him now. It is very well to talk of being friends +still. It will never be the same again. He is so genuine, so good, and +yet so utterly apart from me myself. I shall live and die a single +woman. I know I shall."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_26">CHAPTER XXVI</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>COME BACK</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "She is so conjunctive to my life and soul<br> +That as the star moves not but in his sphere<br> +I could not, but by her."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 20.5em;">SHAKESPEARE.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>PAULINE took the small farmhouse and moved her furniture into it.</p> + +<p>When Audrey motored down and stayed a couple of nights with her, she +was delighted with it. There was an oak staircase, and the rooms were +large, with quaint window seats and corners.</p> + +<p>"But," said Audrey, "it seems too big for you, Pauline. I don't like to +think of you upon the dreary winter days wandering about here in the +dusk alone."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I want to do?"</p> + +<p>"Something philanthropic, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I want to have Honor and her children here for a part of +the winter. I have even planned out their rooms."</p> + +<p>"That would be delightful, but are you sure you can afford it?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. We shall live very simply. And the small girl I have to +help Mary is as strong as a pony and very willing. We shall want no +extra help. Honor tells me she takes entire charge of her baby; she has +no nurse."</p> + +<p>"But perhaps her sister-in-law won't let her come."</p> + +<p>"That is the very point. Miss Selkirk has been accustomed to spend +two or three months away at Torquay in the winter-time. Honor told me +privately she would like to get a little cottage somewhere for that +time. But I know at present she cannot afford it. You see, Audrey dear, +you cannot expect me to sit down and do nothing in this house. I cannot +tell you what a blank there is in my life. I have not become accustomed +to my leisure. I have taken the house, as I must have a home and a +place for my furniture, and I thought about Honor when I did it. I want +to have guests, and she will be my first one."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Audrey impulsively. "What a dear you are! And if I were the +poor governess again, I should come here for all my holidays—shouldn't +I? I lose a lot by Bernard's money."</p> + +<p>"You can do a lot of good with it."</p> + +<p>"I am getting tired of my leisure," said Audrey, with a sigh. "Like +you, I don't care for it. I love a busy life, and I haven't got it. +Bernard isn't well enough to lead anything but a quiet life. We are too +peaceful. I can hardly believe I am marching westward. My storms have +disappeared. I think—if I may say so under my breath—I rather enjoyed +them. The whole time I was at the college, there were continual breezes +of some sort or another. There was always something happening to call +forth one's powers. I declare, if I were over sixty, with a flagging +step and fading sight, I would suit Bernard just as well. I could still +look after his comforts and mend his socks and read the papers to him."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you are discontented."</p> + +<p>If Pauline's words were a rebuke, her smile was not.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have a discontented nature unless I am filled to the brim with +work, and then I am happy. I think I am at present like a lamp nearly +empty of oil—I have the capacity for being filled and consequently +giving more light. Oh, I am a conceited wretch! Don't make me talk any +more about myself. Every day I pray to be kept humble. I do rise up so +aggressively whenever I get a chance! I shall come down and see Honor +when you get her here. What a happy little party you will be! Don't +laugh at me—but living alone with one man is very dull!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Audrey, for shame! What would you do if you were married?"</p> + +<p>"Help my husband with his work. I would never marry an idle man like +Bernard, though he is a dear, and I am simply longing for him to get a +nice wife."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When Pauline's invitation arrived for Honor, Miss Selkirk looked rather +glum. She was vexed at the lighting of Honor's face and the eagerness +with which she told her about it.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it good of Pauline? And it will be so convenient for you. I was +dreading lest we should prevent you going to Torquay. I know you always +shut up your house, do you not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say it will work in very well," said Miss Selkirk, in her +short, abrupt fashion.</p> + +<p>Honor's face fell. She did not know why the plan was distasteful to her +sister-in-law.</p> + +<p>Christine enlightened her.</p> + +<p>"Ye see, mem, the mistress likes you and the bairns so well, she's in +muckle fear lest your friends should tak' ye awa' from her."</p> + +<p>"But, Christine, it is very good of her; I always felt we must be a +burden. Fay's chatter and noise are a constant irritation to her."</p> + +<p>"Aye, so the mistress would say. But I ken her the best, and I ken +that she hasna been so blithe or so content in her life as she is at +present. She loves the lot of ye, though she wadna say so for the whole +world!"</p> + +<p>Honor's face flushed with pleasure. She had not been accustomed to +affection or even appreciation, and could not even now get over her +girlish diffidence.</p> + +<p>"It's very nice of you to tell me this, Christine; it makes it easier +for me to stay here. I love being here myself, but this visit will be +good for all of us. I shall come back if Miss Selkirk will have me."</p> + +<p>Not a word of regret at their departure did Miss Selkirk make. She +wished them good-bye with a stolid, expressionless face. Not even Fay's +parting words brought a glimmer of a smile to her lips:</p> + +<p>"Please, Aunt Marget, be kind to those two very nice snails I tolded +you about yest'day. And if you could make a little sand wall round them +like I begun, I should fink they wouldn't run away till I comes back. +One of them is so sweet, and makes such lovely slime wherever she goes."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>So Honor and her children came to bring brightness into Pauline's life, +and the farmhouse rang with children's voices and laughter.</p> + +<p>Audrey longed to be with them, and was not long before she brought her +brother down for a day to see them. He was delighted with the household.</p> + +<p>And when Audrey returned home, she wrote as follows to Pauline:</p> + +<p>"Tell Honor she has made a conquest of Bernard. What a pity she is +married! He told me if I could find a facsimile of her anywhere, he +would marry at once. Isn't it strange? Because she is not exactly +pretty. He said she was such a thoroughly feminine woman and the kind +to make a man happy all his life. What a selfish outlook even the best +of men can have! If she had still been living at the Rectory, I am sure +she would have become my sister-in-law."</p> + +<p>Pauline read some of this out to Honor. First she laughed, then she +looked up into Pauline's face rather sadly.</p> + +<p>"And if I had not taken my way instead of God's way, perhaps that was +what was in store for me. How little we know! And my baby might have +had comfort and ease, instead of poverty and struggle in front of him."</p> + +<p>Then she smiled through misty eyes.</p> + +<p>"But then I shouldn't have had Fay—and she has brought such brightness +into my life. And Alick and I will be happy together one day, I hope."</p> + +<p class="thought"> +******** +</p> + +<p>It was a gloomy November afternoon, a drizzling rain was falling, and +Audrey in macintosh and umbrella was splashing along Regent Street +engaged in shopping. She had motored up to town without her brother, +but under the care of their chauffeur, and was hastening along to the +hotel in Hanover Square at which they usually put up.</p> + +<p>Just as she turned a corner, she collided rather violently with another +foot passenger, and looking up full of apologies found herself face to +face with Dr. Vernon.</p> + +<p>Their greeting was a warm one.</p> + +<p>"It isn't a fit afternoon for you to be out," he said. "May I walk with +you to your hotel?"</p> + +<p>"If it is not taking you out of your way. Do tell me about everyone—and +my dear boys. Oh, how long it seems since I was with you!"</p> + +<p>He gave her all the school news he could think of.</p> + +<p>"And now about yourself. How is your brother? Is he in town?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am thankful he is not, for this wet weather always tries him. +He is very much better. He and I are leading a fat, lazy life, and I'm +aching to my very finger-tips for work."</p> + +<p>"But I always thought work could be had 'ad libitum' wherever one is."</p> + +<p>"I can't get hold of any, except visiting a few poor people, and making +warm garments to give them at Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Get him married, and come back to us," said the doctor in a firm, +decided tone. "We want you."</p> + +<p>"I believe," said Audrey meditatively, "he means to marry. There is +someone abroad he has mentioned to me lately. He is so delighted at his +health coming back that he even talks of returning to Australia. Men +are very strange."</p> + +<p>"I told you he was too young a man to settle down to a quiet English +life," said the doctor, a hint of triumph in his tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Well, there is nothing settled. He would be angry at my mentioning +such a possibility. He has only been hinting at it now and then."</p> + +<p>"Are you returning to-night? Surely you will have a most unpleasant +journey. Is your car a closed one?"</p> + +<p>"It has a hood." A fierce onslaught of wind and rain beat in their +faces. Audrey gave a little shudder. "I don't altogether like motors. I +should be much more comfortable in the train, but of course I shouldn't +use that."</p> + +<p>They had come to the hotel. He accompanied her up the steps, and the +porter handed Audrey a telegram.</p> + +<p>She opened it as Dr. Vernon stood waiting to wish her good-bye.</p> + +<p>"This is from my brother," she said. "He tells me to stop the night in +town. Very thoughtful of him."</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon's face brightened.</p> + +<p>"Will you come round and dine with my sister and myself? We came up +yesterday to say good-bye to some old friends returning to India. We +are at the Grosvenor. My sister would be so pleased to see you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much. I shall be delighted, but you must take me as I +am. I really don't know how I shall manage as it is. Men never think of +ladies' requirements for a night."</p> + +<p>"My sister may be able to help you. Shall we hire a taxi, and go +straight back to her?"</p> + +<p>"I must see our chauffeur. Perhaps you had better not wait."</p> + +<p>But Dr. Vernon did wait, and presently they were both driving along +together.</p> + +<p>"This rather reminds me," said Audrey impulsively, "of the way you +drove me off to Victoria Station that time when you took possession of +me. How terrified I was of you, and how impotently angry!"</p> + +<p>Then Dr. Vernon leaned towards her.</p> + +<p>"I want to take possession of you again," he said in a low, vibrating +voice. "Will you come?"</p> + +<p>Audrey gave a little start.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion.</p> + +<p>"I want you to come back to Horsborough College as my wife," he said. +"I want you with all my heart and soul. Will you come?"</p> + +<p>Now, long ago Audrey had girlishly imagined this possibility, and +she had determinedly vowed within herself that then would be the +opportunity to make him suffer as he had made her suffer in that first +interview. But now, her breath came quick and fast; she felt that she +was an utterly different girl in thoughts and feelings and purposes +from that hot-headed, passionate young creature who plunged into the +heart of London seeking to forget the one who had so humiliated her, +and resolving never to come into his life again.</p> + +<p>She was absolutely silent. The roar of the London streets was around +them, but as far as she was concerned, she was only conscious of +herself and him in the universe.</p> + +<p>"Audrey, you know what I am—a quick-tempered, faulty man, but my heart +is yours, and has been for a long time. I have waited, because I felt +that you ought to have a chance of trying another atmosphere. I cannot +give you ease and luxury; it will be a strenuous life of work for both +of us, but if I can make it a happy life, I will. Dear, look up; only +one word—'Yes' or 'No.' Don't keep me in suspense."</p> + +<p>Still silence, and then Audrey's head drooped, but not before the +whispered word caught the doctor's ear, and it was "Yes."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When they joined Miss Vernon later, there was nothing in their manner +to tell her what had happened. She was unfeignedly glad to see Audrey +again.</p> + +<p>"Your successor is such an estimable woman," she said with the merry +twinkle in her eyes that came there so often. "She is so fitted for her +sphere that I am certain she was a teacher in another life.</p> + +<p>"'Imparting knowledge,' she said to me, 'is the cream of life; and +though I have not as much teaching as I could wish, I can do a great +deal in a tactful way during the hours of recreation.'</p> + +<p>"She is supremely tactful. I am perfectly certain there will be no +breezes now between her and her chief."</p> + +<p>"What a blessing!" murmured Audrey.</p> + +<p>They chatted upon different subjects through dinner, but Audrey +was quieter and gentler than usual, and though she showed no +self-consciousness, she was aware that Dr. Vernon's eyes hardly ever +left her face. She was looking her very best that evening; the outlines +of her face had softened wonderfully, and a pink colour was in her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>Before long, Miss Vernon's sharp eyes began to suspect, and when dinner +was over and they were in a cosy corner of the big drawing-room, she +came to the point.</p> + +<p>"Did you two settle to meet each other to-day?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Dear Miss Vernon!" exclaimed Audrey. "I should think not. It was just +a coincidence."</p> + +<p>"A very remarkable one. Am I to be given any information?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Vernon smiled.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell her, Audrey?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The use of her Christian name deepened her blushes.</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon drew a breath.</p> + +<p>"No need to," she said abruptly. "I always knew this moment would come, +and I'm not sure that it is a very pleasant one to me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, please," said Audrey, putting her hand out and laying it +affectionately on Miss Vernon's arm, "please say something nice to me. +I feel quite frightened. I cannot hope you will approve, for I am not +fit in any way to be his wife. But if he thinks I am—"</p> + +<p>She stopped.</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon gave her a little reassuring nod.</p> + +<p>"You're the only one I could tolerate at all," she said; "I always felt +that. Do you think I should have taken you to Switzerland, and let you +and him be so much together, if I hadn't wanted to bring this about? I +wondered it didn't come off then. Well, my dear, joking apart, make him +a good wife; that is my one desire."</p> + +<p>"And have you nothing to say to me?" asked Dr. Vernon. "Am I not to try +to make her a good husband? I am getting an old fogy, and have nothing +but hard work to offer her. Don't you think my luck is wonderful?"</p> + +<p>"You always get what you want," said Miss Vernon coolly, "and I +won't tell her how long you wanted her. I knew it before you knew it +yourself. Now, to be selfish, what will become of me?"</p> + +<p>"You must still live with us!" cried Audrey, and Dr. Vernon reiterated +the statement.</p> + +<p>"I shall please myself about that, but I will stipulate that you +always keep a room for me, whether in a college or in a deanery or in +a bishop's palace; and it is not to be the spare room. Then I can come +and go as I like. How thankful I am I have had the breadth and strength +of mind to resist incorporating myself with the school. I shall not be +missed. I shall have time to visit my friends and gather gleanings for +my lifework."</p> + +<p>She was reassured at once about her room. Then, rising from her seat, +she said:</p> + +<p>"Of course, I'm 'de trop.' I'll leave you together, but I must speak to +you alone, my dear Audrey, before you leave."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. I must not be late," said Audrey.</p> + +<p>She felt almost nervous when Miss Vernon had left them, but that +feeling soon disappeared. And though they were not alone, and it was in +a public drawing-room, the doctor and she found plenty to say to each +other. Perhaps of the two the doctor was the greater talker. Audrey was +content to be the listener.</p> + +<p>When she at length went to Miss Vernon, the old lady drew her into her +bedroom, and, laying her hand on her shoulder, said in a mysterious +voice:</p> + +<p>"My dear, you must kindly supply me with a few notes about your +family and pedigree. Are you the same family as the Humes or Homes of +Scotland? And are you any relative of Hume the historian? And may I ask +who your mother was? You must excuse me asking these questions, but of +course, I must have a page about your origin."</p> + +<p>Audrey could not help it. She burst into a rippling peal of laughter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Vernon, it takes a brave woman to be your brother's wife! The +honour of it is too much for me!"</p> + +<p>Miss Vernon joined her in her laugh.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, you know what I think of him! And he knows what I think of +you! And now go along. It's getting late. I suppose the wedding day is +not fixed yet?"</p> + +<p>"That may not be for years," said Audrey seriously. "I have told your +brother that I cannot leave Bernard at present."</p> + +<p>She went back to her hotel, and hardly closed her eyes all night, for +the suddenness of it almost overwhelmed her.</p> + +<p>And then the next day, she motored home and told her brother all about +it.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h2><a id="Chapter_27">CHAPTER XXVII</a></h2> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>SUMMONED TO PART</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> + "What matter if I stand alone?<br> + I wait with joy the coming years;<br> + My heart shall reap where it has sown<br> + And garner up its fruit of tears.<br> + <br> + "The stars come nightly to the sky;<br> + The tidal wave into the sea.<br> + Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,<br> + Can keep my own away from me."<br> +<span style="margin-left: 15.5em;">JOHN BURROUGHS.</span><br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>HONOR had not been with Pauline very long before Amabel came over to +see them with her baby. She had arrived from India with an ayah, who +was the cause of much awe and interest to the villagers. Amabel herself +looked white and frail, but was as happy and lighthearted as ever.</p> + +<p>Of course, as mothers, she and Honor compared notes about their babies, +and Pauline listened to them with much amusement.</p> + +<p>"I do love India so," said Amabel, "but I am afraid it does not love +me. I seem to get so much fever. You see, I have some shadows, Honor; I +know you think I have none."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't say that," said Honor; "the separation from your husband +must be a big one."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and he feels it so much that he wants to get an exchange, but I +won't have that. I am a soldier's wife, and don't want him or myself +to shirk the hardships that come to us. I don't want him ever to be +able to say, 'I could have got my promotion quicker if I had been an +unmarried man.'"</p> + +<p>"I quite agree," said Pauline, with kindling eyes.</p> + +<p>"So, you see," went on Amabel in her cheerful voice, "I must be +separated from him for a little. When I get quite strong again, I shall +go back to him. And meanwhile, baby and ayah and I are turning our +house topsy-turvy, but mother and father say they enjoy it, and I am +sure I do."</p> + +<p>She chatted away, telling them of her first experiences of native +servants, and making them laugh at her blunders.</p> + +<p>When she had left them, Honor said:</p> + +<p>"It isn't only Amabel's circumstances that make her so sunny; it is her +nature. She will go through life taking everything the same way."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think she will. Even big sorrows that may come to her will fall +upon her softly. She will see the Love behind them."</p> + +<p>"She will have no big sorrows—she travels south."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Pauline, laughing, "that is only a fancy of ours. And, +remember, storms come from every quarter."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was only the next morning that Pauline came to breakfast and found +Honor, who had come down before her, reading a foreign letter, with a +stunned, despairing face.</p> + +<p>To herself Pauline thought, "That wretched husband again!"</p> + +<p>Then she asked if she had had good news. Honor sat down at the table, +and, putting her face down into her hands, began to cry.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, dear? Is your husband not well?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't believe it! It's the most awful news! Alick has had the +most dreadful accident. I can't understand particulars. He was jammed +between some logs near a rapid; he was in a canoe, and it was caught +between them and crushed to pieces. That's what this man says—it isn't +Alick himself. And they've had to amputate one of his legs above the +knee. He'll be a cripple for life; he will never be able to ride. And +this man says one of his arms is also injured."</p> + +<p>"But his life is not in danger?"</p> + +<p>"No, he says not. But he says he is coming home."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Honor, are you not glad?"</p> + +<p>"How can I be glad when I know how he will hate it? He is a restless +man, and loves an open air life, and walking or riding is essential to +him. Oh, Pauline, it has just come to me! I have been praying that he +may be brought to England and settle down here; I have been praying so +earnestly, and now my prayer is answered in this terrible way!"</p> + +<p>"My dear Honor, do you know that you make out God to be a hard and +cruel tyrant?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; don't say that. But it will be such an awful return! And if he +cannot travel any more, how can I hope to make him content and happy? +And how shall we be able to live? Oh, Pauline, forgive me! Here comes +Fay. Give her her breakfast; I will run upstairs to baby. I feel as if +food will choke me."</p> + +<p>Honor disappeared. It did seem as if she had one trouble upon the top +of another, and for the time, the shock had utterly unnerved her.</p> + +<p>Yet later in the day, she was able to break the news to Fay with brave, +smiling lips.</p> + +<p>To the child the thought of her father's return was more than his hurt.</p> + +<p>And Honor began to plan in her own mind how she could make life still +bearable to him. This news made her leave Pauline sooner than she would +otherwise have done, for Miss Selkirk hastened home and asked her to +join her.</p> + +<p>"Do you think Miss Selkirk will want your husband to make his home with +her?" Pauline asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, no! I should think not! Alick would rather be in a hovel, I +believe, than go to her! I don't know what we shall do. Perhaps I shall +hear his plans next mail, unless he has started for England already?"</p> + +<p>And the next mail did bring her a letter from her husband.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "MY DEAREST WIFE,<br> +<br> + "You have heard of my smash up! With good luck, for once, only one leg +has suffered, and my left arm will be useless for a time. But as I am +such a crock, I am coming home to be nursed. What will Fay say to a +one-legged father? You must meet me in London, and then we'll settle +what we shall do. Meantime, you can be hunting up any small place in +the country. I've been jotting up my investments this morning, and +find that I can be sure of about £400 a year, so you must get a house +in proportion to our means. Shall we buy a caravan and live in it? I'm +sure that would suit our requirements. No more for now. It does my +heart good to think I have a wife and child ready to welcome me. I'm +afraid I've kept you on short commons, but it hasn't hurt Margaret to +dispose of some of her hoarded wealth. I forget I have a boy. How is +he? Expect me by the Star Line. I'll wire name of boat.<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Your affectionate husband,—</span><br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 28em;">"ALICK."</span><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Honor did not read the whole of this letter to Miss Selkirk, but she +did tell her of the income her husband had.</p> + +<p>And she was bitterly indignant with him in consequence.</p> + +<p>"He has been spending all that upon himself, and keeping you and his +children without a penny! How on earth can he do it?"</p> + +<p>"He is very generous," faltered Honor; "he helps his friends a lot. Men +don't think. It is an immense relief to me, for I was wondering how we +should live. We shall be kept from want, and shall be able to live on +that in comfort."</p> + +<p>Miss Selkirk gave an angry snort.</p> + +<p>"Alick will be Alick still to the end of his life. Can't I see your +household? He living on the fat of the land, and having the best of +everything; you and the children suffering from absence of actual +necessaries."</p> + +<p>"I see myself happy, if I can make him so," said Honor.</p> + +<p>And Miss Selkirk walked away silenced, but marvelling at her.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The next morning to this came a letter from Pauline. And as Honor read, +she again took herself to task for her want of trust and faith in God.</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "I am going to ask you," Pauline wrote, "if you would like the loan +of my farmhouse for a time? It would be a kindness to me if you kept +it aired. And if Mr. Selkirk likes to pay me rent for it, I will let +it for fifteen shillings a week during the winter-time. The fact is, +I want to pay some visits. And I am thinking of doing a little parish +work in a small village about twenty miles from here. I find, Honor, +that I have too much idle time on my hands. I must do something, as I +do not want to rust. Mr. Danby mentioned this village to me long ago. +He went there to lecture, and what he told me interested me greatly. +The living is only worth about £130 a year. The old clergyman and his +wife are real old saints, who stint themselves of their last penny if +any of their parishioners need help. But they are getting feeble; their +village population is increasing, as a paper mill has been set up about +a mile away, and they are not equal to the demands made upon them.<br> +<br> + "Mr. Danby told me he would like to have helped them, but there was +much that, as a man, he could not do. And it has struck me that I could +take rooms in the village and do what little I could to help them. He +gave me a most pathetic account of their efforts at hospitality when he +stayed a night with them. They seem like an old Darby and Joan—and real +old gentle-people. I have written to them, and have had a most kind +letter in return, and, if I can let my farmhouse, I will go to them at +once. It all seems to fit in, doesn't it? You would be near your home +and within touch of your father and little sisters, and it would be +a quiet country spot for a convalescent. Write and tell me what you +think. I do hope you will take it, if only for a time—and Mary would +be a great comfort to you. I would not take her with me, not unless I +settled down there eventually and had my furniture with me."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"It's just the place for us," said Honor to Miss Selkirk. "If I had +gone all over England, I could not have found any other place I should +have liked so well."</p> + +<p>She wrote and accepted Pauline's offer gratefully.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Pauline did not let the grass grow beneath her feet. She packed up what +she intended to take with her. The rest she had had since her mother's +death had given her back much of her former strength and vigour, and +she was almost feverishly eager to be at work again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry at first tried to dissuade her from the step she was +about to take:</p> + +<p>"We can't afford to lose you. You will only be overworking yourself. +I can't tell you how I long that someone should take care of you. You +have always been taking care of others. Will you not come to me for a +long visit?"</p> + +<p>But Pauline shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I have done so little all my life in the way of helping my outside +neighbours that I am longing to begin now. If I want a rest, may I come +to you? That would be so delightful!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Just two days before her departure, she was packing up some books in +her sitting-room when Mr. Danby was announced.</p> + +<p>She turned round, feeling rather relieved to think that he was perhaps +going to be on the old friendly terms with her again. But when she saw +his face, she was struck by its extreme gravity.</p> + +<p>He shook hands with her in silence, then Pauline said gently:</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you are in trouble, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," he said abruptly; "and I have come to drag you into it, +too. At least, I am presuming that you will do what I want."</p> + +<p>"If I can help you at all, I shall be glad."</p> + +<p>He paused. Then as she asked him to sit down, he did so.</p> + +<p>"You know I can't beat about the bush. There's someone—a friend of +mine—who is ill. He can't get better, and he wants to see you. Will you +come?"</p> + +<p>"Who is it?"</p> + +<p>Pauline's lips whitened as she asked the question.</p> + +<p>"He's been murmuring your name—there aren't many Paulines in the world. +I never knew he was a friend of yours, though he was always keen on +hearing me talk about you, but I expect he is—"</p> + +<p>"Is it Mr. Pembroke?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, then my surmise is true! You know, I've seen a lot of him lately, +and last week in protecting a child, he was knocked down by a motor in +town. They took him to the hospital, and thought he was doing well, but +there are internal complications. He is in a nursing home now in Harley +Street. I've been with him. He seems rather a lonely chap, though he +has plenty of acquaintances. I asked him last night if he would like to +see you, and his look made me rush down the first thing this morning."</p> + +<p>"I will come," said Pauline steadily. "Can we catch a train this +afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you are quick. I have a cab outside. I would have wired, only +I did not know—I wasn't sure whether you would understand."</p> + +<p>Pauline had disappeared. In five minutes, she was back again. Her very +quietness and absence of fussiness and the tragic look in her sweet +blue eyes told Mr. Danby that he had been right in summoning her.</p> + +<p>She asked for a few details during the journey to town, but they did +not speak much. As Pauline sat back, resting her throbbing head against +the hard railway carriage cushions, one sentence was burning itself +into her brain:</p> + +<p>"He can't get better."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>It was late in the evening when they reached Harley Street. A nurse +came into the sitting-room and greeted Pauline very kindly.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you could come. He is quite conscious now, though very +weak. It will not be very long, the doctor thinks. But you must have a +cup of tea or coffee before you go up to him."</p> + +<p>"I would rather not."</p> + +<p>"Then I will have one ready for you when you leave him. This way. +I think, Mr. Danby, it would be best for you not to see him again +to-night if this lady does."</p> + +<p>Mr. Danby bowed assent meekly, quite willing to relinquish his place to +Pauline.</p> + +<p>"I will be here the first thing in the morning," he said.</p> + +<p>And then Pauline, always ready to consider everyone before herself, +turned to him and held out her hand with a sweet smile:</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Mr. Danby. I will thank you later for your goodness +in fetching me. Please say if you specially want to see him again +to-night. I do not want to usurp your place."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you can see him," said Mr. Danby gruffly. And then he went, +for the sorrow of Pauline and Justin seemed greater than his own.</p> + +<p>Every detail of that little house in Harley Street stamped itself upon +Pauline's brain: the red felt stair carpets as she trod upon them, +the photographs on the staircase of groups of nurses and doctors, the +landing with the inevitable table outside the sick-rooms, and the quiet +bustle that there seemed everywhere—nurses passing to and fro, a sound +of whisking of eggs, the slight rattle of crockery, and a smell of +disinfectants throughout the whole.</p> + +<p>And as she stood outside the door, she said to herself, with a mixture +of joy and pain in her heart:</p> + +<p>"He wants me. He has not forgotten me."</p> + +<p>Then, a moment after, she stood looking down upon the narrow bed. +Suffering had already left its mark on Justin; his face looked wan and +pale, his eyes seemed sunken, and there were blue lines about them and +his lips.</p> + +<p>It was no time to stand on ceremony. Pauline sank on her knees by the +bedside and took his hand in hers. The nurse slipped out of the room.</p> + +<p>"I am here—Pauline is here," she said softly but distinctly.</p> + +<p>Justin opened his eyes, and then a slow, bright smile spread over his +face.</p> + +<p>"Pauline," he whispered, "how did you know?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Danby has brought me."</p> + +<p>"I was hoping—hoping to come down to you. Would you have listened to +me?"</p> + +<p>He spoke with difficulty.</p> + +<p>Pauline choked down a little sob.</p> + +<p>"Justin, dear, there is so little time—I should like you to know—I have +always loved you. My mother never gave me your letter. I did not know +you had called. That is many years ago, and I thought you had forgotten +me. Don't look sorrowful, dear. In any case, I could not have left my +mother."</p> + +<p>"Take off your hat. Put your head down on the pillow beside me. I am a +dying man. They say I can't last long."</p> + +<p>Quietly, Pauline did as he wished. If her lips were quivering and her +heart nearly breaking, she did not let her feelings get the better of +her.</p> + +<p>Justin took her face between his two hands, then kissed her slowly upon +her lips.</p> + +<p>"My heart has always held you," he said simply.</p> + +<p>They were silent for a moment. With death hovering so near, there +seemed no need for any explanations or protestations of love.</p> + +<p>Again he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you always cared. I wish I had known. The years seem +wasted."</p> + +<p>"No," said Pauline, with a serene light in her eyes; "doing and bearing +God's will is never waste of time."</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>"We shall have eternity together in any case; we have been kept apart +for some wise purpose. Will you read to me? Your voice is such music."</p> + +<p>It was too dark to read, but from memory Pauline began to repeat:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God, believe also in +Me.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>Verse after verse of that beautiful chapter did she say, and her lover +lay there smiling, waiting for the messenger who still delayed.</p> + +<p>Presently the nurse returned, and Pauline was told she must go.</p> + +<p>For a moment her spirit rebelled. And the nurse, after a searching look +at the patient, called her out of the room.</p> + +<p>"If he is dying," said Pauline to her, "why should not I stay to the +end?"</p> + +<p>"He seems to have rallied wonderfully," the nurse said thoughtfully. +"If we can give him nourishment and get him to sleep, he may linger +longer than we thought this morning."</p> + +<p>"And you think he has a better chance if I am away from him?"</p> + +<p>"There will be less temptation for him to make an effort to speak."</p> + +<p>Pauline went back to the bed.</p> + +<p>"Justin," she said in her low, clear voice, "I am leaving you now. Rest +and sleep, and I will see you, I hope, in the morning."</p> + +<p>She bent and kissed him on the forehead. He seemed already to be +slipping into unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>And then, in a sitting-room below, Pauline spent the night pacing up +and down, her lips moving in prayer. The anguish of that night brought +silver threads amongst her golden hair. She seemed, like David of old, +to say,—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me?'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>And she had the realisation that death itself was stayed, whilst the +ear of God was bent in love to listen to one of His children.</p> + +<p>She had acquiesced the day before in patient submission to what she +believed was God's will. Now, she was earnestly pleading and wrestling +for the life that seemed to be slipping away, and yet through it all +she cried:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "Not against Thy will, O God, but let it be Thy will."<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>When morning dawned, the nurse came to her.</p> + +<p>"I hardly dare give you hope, but the doctor has been and is +astonished. We thought last night it was the last rally, but the +improvement and strength are maintained."</p> + +<p>And so it was continued all day. Pauline took a room at the nearest +hotel.</p> + +<p>Before a week was over, the doctors were able to state that recovery +was more than possible, it was probable. And Pauline lived day by day +hugging the new-born hope to her heart and thanking God for His mercy.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When she eventually returned home, her life seemed to be a strange +confusion.</p> + +<p>Justin's recovery would be slow, and the doctors had told him that +there would be no more travelling or exploring for him. He would have +to lead a very quiet life, though not necessarily that of an invalid. +If they married soon, Pauline would be more of a nurse than a wife, and +Justin was not a rich man.</p> + +<p>The outlook would not have been rosy to any but Pauline.</p> + +<p>Yet she confided to Mrs. Daventry that her cup was so full that she +could hardly bear it.</p> + +<p>"Do you think," she said, "my path has taken a twist and is facing +south at last?"</p> + +<p>"I think," said Mrs. Daventry slowly, "that your northern journey will +be shared by one who, with yourself, has enough sunshine within to +compensate for the lack of it without."</p> + +<p>"You mean we shall have to contend with small means? But I have never +had much of this world's wealth. And I am afraid I am like any romantic +girl—with Justin by my side, I fear nothing."</p> + +<p>"What about your farmhouse? Will you not want it for yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Not at present. Justin and I want to go together to my village and +help the old clergyman and his wife. We mean to start in rooms first, +and if we can find a small cottage later on, we may take it. Justin +will be able to help in many ways, and it will give him interest +outside himself. Don't shake your head, dear Mrs. Daventry. I know what +is in front of me, and I am glorying in it all."</p> + +<p>What could Mrs. Daventry say?</p> + +<p>She only kissed Pauline affectionately, and rejoiced in her happiness. +She knew that no clouds would ever bow her head, no troubles, however +great, would crush her spirit; and this gleam of sunlight upon her path +was surely the reward of much patient waiting.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>But when others heard her news, they were much more ecstatic than Mrs. +Daventry. Audrey and Honor were too delighted for words.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Audrey, hugging her. "What a wife you will make! Fortunate +man! Is he worthy of you? Oh, Pauline, Pauline! To think that you +should be like the rest of us! And isn't it extraordinary that we four +shall all marry? A year or two ago and we thought we should live and +die old maids."</p> + +<p>"I knew something good would come to you one day," said Honor. "And you +richly deserve the very best man who walks the face of the earth!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry was seated once again upon her lawn with her four young +friends around her. It was the last opportunity they had of gathering +together, as upon the following day Amabel was returning to her husband +in India. Honor and her husband were comfortably settled in Pauline's +farmhouse. She had left Fay to entertain her father for this afternoon. +Audrey had motored down from her brother's for the occasion. And +Pauline was Mrs. Daventry's guest. She had insisted upon having her, +and was going to keep her till she married. Justin was fast recovering +in the nursing home, and directly he was convalescent, he was also +coming to stay with Mrs. Daventry.</p> + +<p>The girls had been talking over old times. A little shadow seemed to +lie on Honor's face. Perhaps her experience gave her voice a tinge of +melancholy as she said:</p> + +<p>"Well, it is strange that none of us should remain single women, but +I don't think marriage changes one's aspect. It isn't as it is in +story-books; and it does not follow that Pauline's path will turn +from the north because she is going to marry. I used to believe that +a marriage was the beginning of living happily ever after, but it +seems to me that it is just the beginning of responsibilities and +difficulties, and of experiencing the depths in life, instead of the +rippling surface."</p> + +<p>Audrey looked sober; but not a shadow came into Pauline's beautiful +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Life is good at all times," she said simply; "and deep water is better +than shallow for swimmers, Honor. We don't want to stagnate."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember when you first talked to us about our gates?" said +Audrey, turning to Mrs. Daventry. "We said something about meeting in +a year's time and comparing notes. We never did. How we have scattered +in these few years! It has been a general break-up. And I used to think +that nothing would ever change!"</p> + +<p>"We always think that when we are young," said Mrs. Daventry, with +rather a wistful smile.</p> + +<p>"Let us compare notes at once," cried Amabel enthusiastically. "May I +begin?"</p> + +<p>Assent was upon everyone's lips, but a shadow of gravity stole over the +sunshiny face of the girl as she said:</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am still treading south. I know I have a happy southern +aspect, and life, as yet, has brought me no heavy troubles. But I pray +God every day to make me what He wants me to be, and that is where I +fail. A gardener expects so much more from a plant that is grown in a +sunny, sheltered position. And though one faces south, it isn't always +free from breezes—is it Mrs. Daventry? May I tell you all a lovely +little thing that I discovered in my Bible quite lately? It is in +Joshua, where Caleb's daughter comes to her father, and says, when he +asks her what she wants:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Give me a blessing; for thou hast given me a south land; give me also +springs of water.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"That is my prayer every day now. I don't want to get parched by easy +circumstances."</p> + +<p>Amabel was sitting next to Mrs. Daventry, and the old lady put her +withered hand gently over her young one.</p> + +<p>"Your south gate will not spoil you," she said softly, and tears were +in her eyes as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Now, Honor," said Audrey, "what is your experience?"</p> + +<p>Honor was silent for a moment. Then she said:</p> + +<p>"I have learnt this:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'He stayeth His rough wind in the day of the east wind' (Isaiah xxvii. +8).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"It is never too strong for me."</p> + +<p>She bore the impress upon her face that her words were true. The old +fretful, discontented lines had disappeared. Great quietness and peace +had settled upon her; the storm and stress of life which still buffeted +and cut her was rounding her corners and shaping her into patient, +steadfast womanhood.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Audrey with a quick-caught sigh. "I am far behind you all. +I don't believe these years have taught me anything except to discover +how little I know. But—" here her grey eyes kindled and flashed with +sudden feeling—"I came across a verse the other day which fits me:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'The Lord turned a mighty strong west wind, which took away the +locusts' (Exod. x. 19).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"And I need a strong wind to take away all my locusts. So I daren't +complain. Storms are good for me—and I have got far more sunshine than +I deserve."</p> + +<p>"And now, Pauline?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daventry looked tenderly at the beautiful girl, with her quiet, +glad face and shining eyes.</p> + +<p>"What can I say?" said Pauline, with a smile. "Audrey has just given +us a quaint text. May I give another? It is in Zechariah vi., and is +speaking about the chariots and horses driving northwards:</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'Behold, these that go toward the north country have quieted my spirit +in the north country.'<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"And I feel that I am not journeying alone, and so my spirit is +quieted."</p> + +<p>"The horses and chariots of the Lord," murmured Mrs. Daventry. "After +all, girls, what does it matter about your aspect, north or south, +east or west, so long as your goal is the right one? The beginning and +the middle of our journey is not worth consideration in comparison to +the end of it. Shall I repeat the promise that always brings a little +thrill to my heart as I read it?</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "'And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with +songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and +gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.'" (Isaiah xxxv. 10).<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78742 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78742-h/images/image001.jpg b/78742-h/images/image001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..04b592d --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-h/images/image001.jpg diff --git a/78742-h/images/image002.jpg b/78742-h/images/image002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..81b8205 --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-h/images/image002.jpg diff --git a/78742-h/images/image003.jpg b/78742-h/images/image003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cae28fa --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-h/images/image003.jpg diff --git a/78742-h/images/image004.jpg b/78742-h/images/image004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..790333f --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-h/images/image004.jpg diff --git a/78742-h/images/image005.jpg b/78742-h/images/image005.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f2ab38 --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-h/images/image005.jpg diff --git a/78742-h/images/image006.jpg b/78742-h/images/image006.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d22c1ac --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-h/images/image006.jpg diff --git a/78742-h/images/image007.jpg b/78742-h/images/image007.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..89d6ac1 --- /dev/null +++ b/78742-h/images/image007.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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