CHAPTER XV.
UNDER THE ELMS AGAIN.
THE few years which bring young things wonderfully forward make very little perceptible difference in elderly trees, excepting perhaps to increase their luxuriance, and expand their shadow.
Be that as it may, while boys and girls were assuming the attributes of men and women-kind, the same portly landlord, and the same garrulous sexton still smoked their pipes beneath the Elms, and discussed the affairs of the country in general, and of the Falcon Range in particular, while over the Inn door swung the same honoured sign, the annual revival of which had at last resulted in the production of a new species of the feathered tribe.
The discovery of the old bureau had not lessened Mr. Spadeley's pride in the tenantry of the Falcon Range, who, he averred, could never so far forget themselves as to secrete anything likely to benefit the old family; and the delinquent proving after all to be one of Mr. Freakes' perverts, supplied him with texts for many a profitable homily on straightforwardness and honesty among the village listeners.
Mr. Freakes rejoiced in medieval ease, performed his little fasts and penances unquestioned, so long as he did not inflict them upon other people, and shrugged his shoulders with infinite contempt for the unappreciative rustics amongst whom he had been sent to try an unsuccessful experiment. His beautiful little chapel was one of the curiosities on view when arrangers visited the neighbourhood, and peeping and staring with amusement or amazement at his very unapostolic costumes was the utmost tribute he could win for himself and his Popish pretensions; while Mr. Herbert's diligent and devoted care of the parish and people afforded him no opening for assuming any want, or supplying any deficiency.
The people did not take kindly to confession and penance, and matins and vespers, especially in hay-making and harvest, and declared that six days work and one day's blessed rest was the Lord's own way, and no son of the Pope could improve upon it. And if he came making new laws for honest folk, maybe they would follow his example, "and make one that showed nearest road to the horsepond afore he'd done tellin' 'is beads." And as Mr. Freakes thought himself too useful for immediate martyrdom, he wisely forbore to press matters to extremity.
"Here they come! Here they are!" cried the landlord of the Falconer's Arms, throwing down his pipe, and snatching off his hat, joined heart and voice in the shout which came floating on the air from the entrance of the village.
And in a few moments, he and the sexton, with other of the seniors, were amidst the noisy escort of Guy Falconer, as he rode between the Squire and Mr. Herbert on his return home after his long absence in the pursuit of study. His improved appearance and pleasant manner elicited warmer and louder demonstrations of delight, as with outstretched hand, and grateful smile, he sought to convey to the kind hearts around him his appreciation of their welcome.
The generous Squire was well content to come in second on such an occasion, and felt as proudly pleased at the sensation excited by the return of his young friend as if he had been a Falconer himself.
Nor was Mr. Herbert forgotten in the general joy, for he had endeared himself to the people to an extent that astonished themselves, when they were able without a dissentient opinion, to agree that their beloved young lady, the only daughter of the Falconers, could not do better than bestow herself on the village parson, and thus insure the blessing of her sweet presence among them for aye. For Maude had agreed to the same some time ago, and the return of her brother was the only event needed to complete the universally approved arrangement.
"Hark!" said Timothy, as he resumed his pipe, "I thought I heard a screech."
"Very like you did," said the sexton, "the owls often screeches about the old Church tower."
"It ain't very good manners to be screeching now though," remarked the landlord. "I declare it does one good to see the Squire! Never a bit of envy or ill-will against the feeling for the old family, and the boy rides by his side just as if he was his own son."
"Aye, aye," said Mr. Spadeley, with his most sagacious look, "I've planned it all: there's one thing that's next best to being his own son, hey, Mr. Turnbull?"
Possibly Mr. Turnbull did not see it, but he went on to expatiate on the good which had been done since Mr. Hazelwood became the possessor of the Moat.
"If you want to do good to people, live among 'em," he said. "Our Squire has done more in seven years than the Falconers could have done in fifty, living away the while."
Mr. Spadeley could not deny the fact, and since the fraud practised upon the widow and her children, he certainly had not been heard to boast so loudly of the untarnished honour, and high-bred nobility of the lordly race that came in with the Conqueror.
The gossip was proceeding into the interesting subject of another wedding in prospect, and the landlord was describing his intentions with regard to his trusty factotum Joe, who, he said, had proved himself as good a judge of a wife as he knew him to be of a horse, when suddenly one of the men-servants from the Moat came panting along.
"I say, have you seen Miss Evelyn pass this way?" he asked.
"Miss Evelyn? No, where should she be, but at home welcoming her old playfellow back?" said the sexton.
"Ah, but she ain't there, and we're all wondering what's become of her."
"Pooh! Why, man, she can't be nowhere else. Somebody's sent you on a fool's errand."
"I tell you she's been called, and hunted for, all over the place, and the Squire isn't best pleased at her not showing herself."
"Who saw her last?" asked the landlord.
"Why, Cook saw her last, for she give her a pot of jelly for old widow Pratt, and Cook says, says she, 'Let me take it, Miss, after they've all come in: you'll be wanted in a few minutes.' But no, Miss Evelyn would take it along herself, saying that widow Pratt would like it better for her bringing it."
"There ain't no doubt about that," said the sexton; "and in course something has kept her with the old woman."
"No, that's just what it hasn't, for we sent there when we saw how vexed the Master was, and she ain't been there at all, and the old woman hadn't heard of her jelly."
"Bless us all!" cried Timothy Turnbull, starting up. "Where can she be, poor lamb?"
The sexton looked aghast. His first thought had been a question on the astounding possibility that she might in her wilfulness have taken a sudden dislike to Guy, and did not choose to be among the eager party of home welcomers. Then a second changed his idea from annoyance to horror.
"I say, Turnbull," he stammered, "do you remember you heard a screech?"
"Aye, and you said it were the owls in the old tower."
"So I did. Surely she didn't go that way."
"Most like she did," said the servant, "for Cook said, 'If you go down the avenue, Miss, you'll be first to welcome them, so I won't hinder you.' And Miss Evelyn said, 'I shall just run across the churchyard, and be back again directly,—it's the nearest way.'"
"My lamb! My dear young lady!" burst out poor Mr. Spadeley. "Then she's jumped the wall and come down into my new grave!"
"Didn't you cover it over?" cried the landlord, dashing his pipe to the ground. "What on earth wert thinking on?"
"More shame for me; no, I didn't. Who'd have thought of her scampering off like that, and Master Guy at the threshold too?"
And away he went after the impatient servant and the angry landlord.
There at the bottom of a deep grave, insensible, and her brow within an inch of the sharp point of Mr. Spadeley's pick, they found the fair truant, and in consternation and dread bore her home to her mother's care. While thoughtful Joe, who as his friend Jane believed always did the right thing, and was always at hand when wanted, mounted a more obedient beast than the sage black horses, and brought the Doctor before others thought of sending for him.
It was some time before the young lady recovered consciousness, to find herself bruised and shaken, but happily no bones were broken. And as she opened her eyes upon the anxious mothers and Maude, she only said,—
"Mother, did widow Pratt have her jelly?"
"Bless thee, my darling," cried the Squire, bursting in at the sound of her voice, "is thy life so little worth that thy first thought goes after that foolish errand? Why, Evelyn, here's Guy mightily astonished to find his little playmate jumping hedges and ditches yet."
"It's only a very low wall there, father, and I often go that way to the village."
"Ah, you mistook your time for once, my lass; but we thank God that your frolic has not ended in the grave as it might have done. Spadeley and I have had a word about leaving graves open like that."
"Don't be angry with him, dear father: he would give his life for mine, though I didn't come in with the Conqueror."
"Thou'rt a mischievous little elf, after all," said her father, fondly noticing the smile that played round the saucy lips again, "and to-morrow you must make amends to Guy for the sorry welcome you've given him to-day. He looked as much like a ghost as you did when they brought you home in such fashion."
Evelyn looked for a few moments very unlike a ghost, which improvement the Squire duly reported, and reluctantly submitted to leave his daughter to the repose and darkness imperatively commanded by her medical attendants.
The preparations for the marriage of Maude and Mr. Herbert were taken entirely out of Mrs. Falconer's hands, and the master and mistress of the Moat insisted that it should be celebrated with precisely the rejoicings and hospitality pertaining to the condition of her birth and ancestry; and Mr. Spadeley oracularly declared that the proudest Baron of her ancient line could have found no flaw in the programme.
To the gentle girl herself, the honour done her made little difference; her heart was full of the happiness of sharing a good man's home and work, and justifying his love and choice; and her true womanly feeling could not but rejoice in the general tribute to his noble Christian character, and appreciated labours among an attached people.
Not long after this happy event, Guy Falconer announced his intention of taking another long tour, in the interests of study, and as he seemed to produce good reasons for the resolve, his friends were obliged to acquiesce. His paintings were admired and bought, and lovers of Art were desirous to employ his talent.
The Squire grumbled audibly, Mrs. Hazelwood was perplexed, Mrs. Falconer silent, and Miss Evelyn appeared in her most "don't care" mood. So nobody could exactly understand it, and Guy went away. He was making a mistake, and one that made him too uncomfortable to remain, but it was a mistake made by many before him, and he was not equal to working his way out of it.
* * * * * *
Then a dark shadow came slowly creeping over the old Moat House again. The shock sustained by its gentle mistress when her only child was laid apparently lifeless before her, had developed incipient disease, which was pursuing its fatal course throughout her system. And though the moment alarm was taken, every remedy which skill could suggest was tried in turn, she was far on her way to the better land before the Squire and his daughter could fully apprehend the fact, or endure to listen to the possibility.
For herself, she had neither fear nor disinclination, because she knew Him who had trodden the valley before her, removing the causes of terror and leaving the light of His conquering track for the timidest footsteps to follow; and because she believed that though "to live was Christ" yet "to die was gain," and that sweet and happy as her earthly lot had been, "to depart and be with Christ was far better." Long, long ago she had accepted the blood-bought gift of pardon and peace through the crucified Redeemer, and having given herself to Him in loving faith and conforming will, she was ready to obey His call when He bade His dear child and faithful servant come up higher.
But not so the loving husband, Christian though he also was. His faith had not thus been tried before, and his strongly demonstrative nature writhed in agonies of grief over the impending separation.
Oh how proud he had been of her! How readily he had deferred to her calm judgment, her unobtrusive wisdom! How he had expected that she would go with him, hand in hand, to the heavenly home! He battled with his trouble; he groaned in unutterable distress, and murmured at the Divine decree. But who has not passed through some similar experience by the couch of a treasure passing away?
No one but Mrs. Hazelwood herself ventured to speak of it to him unbidden, but as the sorrowful news spread abroad, there was tender and respectful sympathy wherever he turned, and he knew that the whole neighbourhood mourned with him.
Sometimes he would rush away, unable to bear the sight of the daily fading of his precious flower, and then in bitter self-reproach grudge every moment spent away from her side.
"It is so mysterious," he said: "we have been so happy; you are so necessary to us all. It is very hard."
"Nay, dearest Roger, take up the plain understanding side. 'Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth,' and we have had very little chastening, and need to learn that phase of His love. It is a sweet remembrance that we have been so happy together. You have made a pleasant home for me on earth, I know, but the gracious Lord Jesus has prepared a happier one for us both in heaven. I have always been here to receive you after your journeyings, and I shall be there to welcome you when the journey of life is done,—and it is but a little while."
"Dorothy, my precious wife, can't you pray that I may go with you or follow very soon? I don't know how to live without you." And the strong man broke down, and kneeling by her side, wept the tears of unrestrained sorrow.
Yet even in this terrible hour, the faith and love of the Father's own Spirit-born child bore her through; and it was her privilege to soothe and comfort where none other dared to inter-meddle.
"We needed a test, my husband. While all was as we wished and liked, it was easy to profess faith in our Lord Jesus. We could not be sure of our ground, we could not know ourselves; but now we know in Whom we believe, and can prove that we stand on the only foundation where God is honoured, and sinners are safe for ever. Oh the blessed peace of sin forgiven through the only atonement,—the blood of the Lamb of God! Oh the sweet joy of seeing His face, and sharing His glory! He will teach it all to you, beloved, when I am gone to Him, if not now. And we must for this little moment of pain and trouble, prove that we trust our Father in the clouds as we thought we did in our happy sunshine. Let us only pray His will be done."
And now Evelyn, in her deep anguish, recalled the faithful words of her black friend Phœbe, and prayed that she might not be a mere "sunshine Christian," to bask in the golden rays of prosperity only, but a faithful and true witness to the upholding strength of an Almighty arm, and the ever present Love which whispers in watchful tenderness to the troubled ones who will listen,—
"Fear thou not, I am with thee, I will strengthen thee, I will help
thee."
As the end drew near, Mrs. Falconer became again an inmate at the Moat House, and her loving sympathy shone with rainbow tints upon the cloud, such as she had once passed through herself, and she was best fitted to speak to the broken-hearted master of the light that beamed behind it.
"My love and my blessing to Guy," said the dying to the living mother beside her. "Tell him, whatever changes may befall him in his earthly lot, to hold fast the title deeds of his Eternal Inheritance. I have loved and prayed for him to the last, and would have liked to see him once again before going home."
"My precious friend, Guy's almost mother, you will see him again. Our letters have found him, and Guy is on his way home."
And Guy did arrive in time, and knelt reverently by the bed where his early friend and helper lay dying, and wept bitterly at the sight.
"My dear boy," she said, "since you have come, I must say what is in my heart. Have I read you aright, Guy? Are you proud still?"
"I fear I am, dearest friend; at least, what you think proud."
"Is it right, Guy, to deny yourself as you are doing, to rob your mother of your society, and wander homeless about the world, and all for money?"
"Oh it is not so, Mrs. Hazelwood."
"It is like it, Guy. Has your old fancy revived of buying back the Moat?"
"No, no, no. That covetous thought has never disgraced me since the day when—"
"When you saved the life of its new master, and I honoured you for a glorious self-conquest. Then why? Trust me, dear boy; let me know the truth before I go hence."
Then Guy bent his lips to the kind listening ear, and told into it his heart's secret hopes and fears; and Mrs. Hazelwood laid her hand on his bowed head, and blessed him with a blessing that he prayed might go with him the journey of life through. She had understood him better even than he had himself, and her delicate tact and wise advice once more set him on the path of hope, and possible success at last.
Soon afterwards she exchanged the couch of pain for the arms of the angel band waiting to bear her to the Eternal Presence.
Of the funeral it is needless to tell; it was what many a good woman's funeral has been since the Dorcas days of old, and will be while such women live "not unto themselves, but unto Him who died for them, and rose again;" until "there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, and there shall be no more pain."
It is pain and sorrow and death that make God's servants what they are, when they obey their sweet vocation; the pain and sorrow and death of their beloved atoning Saviour for them first, and then the following of His gracious steps in a ministry of sympathising love amidst the wants and woes around them. The same Spirit imparted to the members through living union with the Head prolongs the witness, and proclaims "whose they are and whom they serve."
CHAPTER XVI.
CLOUDS WITH SILVER LININGS.
TO the surprise of all his watchful friends, an unexpected change occurred in the Squire. At the grave side, he stood "more than conqueror," though his hair had become white, and his stately figure drooped a little. Twice some mortal agony had convulsed his frame, and he had insisted on knowing its meaning, which with reluctance his physician told him, but which information he wished concealed from all others.
He became cheerful and bright; not quite as before his great sorrow, but with a chastened sweetness that was more equable if less demonstrative. He carefully attended to the business of the estate, and urged on the execution of every contemplated improvement, letting Guy drive him in the pony-carriage, where he admitted that his bodily strength would no longer carry him.
A few months passed. Everyone seemed dreamy and restless, as if fresh changes were pending, and no one dared whisper a fear or fancy to another.
Evelyn was always with her father, and one day as she sat by his side, he had just time to warn her as tenderly as he could, that he was going to join his beloved wife, that God had graciously granted his heart's desire, and soothed away all his sorrow; that she, his and her mother's Evelyn, must think of them henceforth reunited in the home above, leaving her to represent them in blessing and caring for all around her, and fulfilling their wishes as she might feel able and willing, in any future unfolding that her guardians might lay before her.
Evelyn gazed awe-stricken on her dear father's calm pale face. With his hand on her head, and a blessing on his lip, and a smile of infinite content overspreading his countenance, he waited the last pang that would ever rend his frame, and so passed away. Rapid and fatal disease of the heart was the message which had come to tell him of soon rejoining the wife so dearly loved and prized, and Evelyn Hazelwood was an orphan indeed.
Very simple was the will, yet a marvel of its kind; no great surprise to some, especially the worthy sexton, who professed to much prescience of things to come, but a very great one to the parties chiefly interested.
The old Moat House and estate of the Falcon Range was left to Master Guy Falconer, subject to certain conditions affecting in some degree the income of the Squire's only child, and also that of Maude Herbert; while Evelyn, with an ample fortune from other sources, was confided to the guardianship of Mrs. Falconer and Mr. Herbert.
When the document was read in the presence of the sorrow-stricken girl, a glow of pride and pleasure for a moment lighted up her sad face, and she ventured one glance at the startled, astonished Guy, in a triumphant thought of the change which had passed over her dear father's estimate of the "poor lad" of earlier days.
As for Guy Falconer himself, he was utterly confounded and overwhelmed at this proof of confidence and affection, and for some time argued against the possibility of accepting such a disposition of the property. Then he forbade everything like rejoicing, shunned congratulations, and declared that the Moat House should mourn in silence and desolation for at least a year. He would spend that time abroad, and Evelyn decided to accept a home alternately under the roofs of her two guardians, continuing the retired and useful life among the people to which her mother had accustomed her.
The year passed away, but the signs of mourning still hung over the old Moat House, though things within began to resume something of their former aspect.
Mrs. Falconer was once more presiding, but now on her son's behalf; and the fairy sprite, so lately almost an idol there, was seldom to be found in any of her old haunts. She smiled through tears when Guy came home, told him truly how glad she was that, since the owner there might no longer be her own honoured father, he should fill his place, and then fled away to her home at the Vicarage.
Still Guy Falconer would permit no demonstrations among the villagers, and took to his studies industriously. Things were not going happily, and all the family felt it, until brave sisterly love came to the rescue.
"Guy," said Maude one morning, "I want Evelyn to see your picture. May I bring her yet?"
Guy hesitated.
"It is not finished, and I did not intend to show it to anyone at present; but you may do as you please, Maude."
And into the favourite sitting-room of the late mistress of the Moat came the two friends, where the artist stood before his picture. It was an interior, exquisitely representing that very room, its beauty, its comfort, its view of gay parterre and undulating distance.
"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed Evelyn. "How true! Ah, there is my dear mother's chair! Only represent her in it, and the picture will be perfect. Shall I send you her likeness to copy from?"
"I know her sweet face as well as you do, Evelyn, and I have tried to paint it there, but it did not please me."
Then a sudden thought flashed through his brain, and added secretly, "Maude is right: try it at once and learn the truth."
"I had no one to represent her suitably," he said. "Neither my mother nor Maude could sit for the portrait of the lady of the Moat: you are most like her, Evelyn; will you let me try?"
"Oh yes, do flatter me, if you can, into the fancy that I am like my mother," said Evelyn, with the tears filling her eyes, and taking the seat as he placed it for her in the right position.
So Guy worked, and Evelyn sat patiently, and at last dreamily, a long time, unconscious that Maude was gone.
Suddenly he asked her to come and view his progress, and standing by his side, she saw a fair likeness of herself sitting in her Mother's chair.
"Evelyn," said Guy, "that is how I want it to be: you are the only lady who can take that place; you must be the Mistress of the Moat if I am to be the Master."
And Evelyn's reply saved him and herself from all further fears, and doubts, and misunderstandings.
Then he told her how the dear ones who were gone had encouraged him to ask this grace sometime, if he could hope to win her love, and had left their blessing to hallow the union, if so it should ever be.
And Evelyn was happy and bright again, and everybody felt that things were going on more comfortably. Guy had found his right place now, and with the tenderest love and respect for the memory of those so soon reunited in heaven, set himself, with the sweet companion they had both wished to confide to his care, to fill their place, and carry on their works of improvement and usefulness among the people.
"It's the very properest providence, among all the providences ever I heard tell of," remarked Mr. Spadeley to his friend Mr. Turnbull. "It's pretty near just how I'd laid it all out myself, except that I didn't think but the Squire and his lady might have lived a bit longer, for we all miss them sorely; but then you see, neighbour Turnbull, if they had, I mightn't have done for them as I did, and we're sure they've got something better up above, so it's all for the best, you see." And the sexton looked extremely resigned to the "providences," in which he almost thought some, at least, of his own ideas must have been suggestive.
He was highly flattered by being made chairman of a small village committee, intending to supplement more important demonstrations on the day which was to celebrate the union of the houses of the Falconers and Hazelwoods, and he highly applauded the achievement of the village schoolmaster in the poetical reception to be sung by all the musical talent of the Falcon Range when the bride and bridegroom should reach the entrance to the old Moat House.
And they stood there, Guy and his Evelyn, with their friends, on the steps beneath the porch, while the whole village swarmed around them and the Church bells sent their sweet chimes through the foliage of the grand old trees, and young men and maidens, old men and children joined to sing:—
"Ring away, joyous bells, ye have tolled long enough,
Life hath smooth places as well as rough;
The Old Moat House, without sin or stain,
Is restored to its banished chief again.
Sorrow and loss good fruit have borne
And earthly honours are meekly worn;
"While the sainted ones in their world of bliss
See their places filled again in this.
Then merrily welcome the noble pair,
The Saxon bride and the Falconer's heir.
May love and peace, without saddening change,
Overshadow the halls of the Falcon Range."
WEDDING BELLS.
"De good Lord bless dem!" said Phœbe, solemnly, as she read in her prized English letter of the happy event. "Dey begin at right end ob de way. Seek first de kingdom, all oder tings come right den, and what de dear Lord join togedder, no priest, nor debble, nor noting put asunder. De Lord him pity and forgib great deal, but don't know what him say about takin' his place, and makin' poor sinners crush dere hearts out 'fore de 'fessor. Keep quiet ole Phœbe, nebber get no good for bein' in a hurry, If de dear Lord 'ford to wait a good spell 'fore him show it, Phœbe 'ford to wait too, while dear Missy safe in hebben singin' hallelujah. Lord 'liber us from tinkin' He don't see no difference 'tween black and white, de priest' absolution and His own blessed snow-white pardon.
"So now fill up de time dat's hurryin' on wis praises and prayers, goin' round de world, catchin' up dat blessed ole England and de ole Moat House ebery day 'fore de 'trone, and leab it to Him to make crooked tings straight in His own good time. Bery crooked tings sometimes puzzle de Lord's chillen; but dey walks by faith and waits, and ole black 'ooman know for sure de Lord's ways equal, and His lub de same in hebben for broken-hearted wife safe dere, and de pilgrim bride at the Moat House, happy and willin' for de life road afore her. De Lord's will be done and His blessing on dem all."