'And I should fear, but lo! amid the press,
The whirl and hum and pressure of my day,
I hear Thy garments sweep, Thy seamless dress,
And close beside my work and weariness
Discern Thy gracious form, not far away,
But very near, O Lord, to help and bless.'—Susan Coolidge.
My visit to Miss Rayner now drew to a close. I was really sorry to leave her, and I think she was sorry to part with me. It was a strange friendship between us. She was far beyond me in knowledge of the world and in intellect, and yet I know she said things to me that she would not say to any one else. She would laugh at me, tease me, and never spare my blushes of embarrassment and discomfiture; but as she was wishing me good-bye the last afternoon, she put both her hands on my shoulders and stood looking down upon me with a strange softening of face and manner. 'I have liked having you here, child; I knew I should from the first moment I saw you, and I shall miss you after you have gone. But I do not mean to lose sight of you, and when you want advice,—or shall I say comfort?—come over and take advantage of my quiet resting-place here to soothe and solace yourself. It is strange advice to give you, but though I may have chaffed you about your religious views, keep a firm grip of them, and go on your own way straight-forward, without bending or relaxing in the slightest. I believe you have got hold of the real thing, and if you have, I should think it was worth keeping.'
Tears were in my eyes, and I laid my hand on her arm. 'I am praying that you may find it too, Miss Rayner—or rather Him, for it is Christ Himself that fills my life.'
She stooped and kissed me, but did not say another word, only there was a wistful look in her eyes that haunted me for long afterwards. Old John had his say, too, when parting with me at the station: 'I hope you have h'enjoyed your visit, miss, and have had an h'edifying time; the mistress wants some one of her h'own sex to talk to h'on h'occasions, though, h'as I h'often say, she can hold her h'equal with h'any man if she chooses. H'and h'if I make bold to say so, h'if you want a mount h'at h'any time, Rawdon shall be h'at your disposal; you did him credit the h'other day with the hounds, h'and I shall never raise h'any h'objection to h'allowing you to ride him!'
It was certainly a different kind of life to which I returned. The house was full of visitors, and all chance of quiet seemed gone. I think Violet and Nelly were genuinely glad to see me. Kenneth, of course, did not spare me; he coloured the story so of the way I had joined the hounds, as to make General Forsyth quite vexed, and Mrs. Forsyth did not seem to believe my true version of it.
'Why do you love to make people uncomfortable if you can?' I said in desperation to him, after he had been chaffing me unmercifully on the same subject before a lot of people in the drawing-room one afternoon.
'Because it is my nature to, I suppose,' he retorted. 'I don't think anything would make you uncomfortable, Goody! You go serenely on your way, wrapped in a cloak of supreme self-content and satisfaction. Except for bringing a little extra pink colour into your cheeks, which I like to see, no words of mine can ever stir you.'
'I have feelings,' I said, 'though I do try not to show them. I am not a piece of stone. And if I did show them, you would be the first to blame me for it.'
'I dare say I should, for it would be highly inconsistent with the profession that you make to lose your temper like ordinary mortals.'
'So that I cannot act rightly in any case in your eyes,' I said, half laughing, half vexed. 'I am just good as a kind of target that you can fire off volleys of ridicule at: if I resent it, it will be showing anger; if I bear it, it will be because I am "wrapped in a cloak of supreme self-content and satisfaction."'
'Upon my word, Goody, I think you are showing too much feeling now,' was the laughing rejoinder; 'I think I must make myself scarce till you are calmer.' And he walked away and left me. He was the only one of the Forsyths that I did not quite understand. No one said unkinder things to my face than he did, and yet behind my back I knew that many a time he had made things smoother for me with his parents. He laughed and scoffed openly at the weaknesses and insincerity of society, yet mingled freely in it, and was a favourite wherever he went. I felt no eye in the household was so keen as his on my words and actions; he was always wanting me to do things for him and go to places with him; yet when I was with him he would be unsparing in his scoffing remarks on any subject that would touch me most deeply. I found it best to take all he said as quietly as possible, only now and then protesting, as I had done upon this afternoon.
Hugh's friend, a Mr. Stanton, arrived a week after my return. He was rather a grave-looking man, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes which seemed quick to take in every one and everything, and yet which had a kindly gleam in them.
We did not see much of him, for Hugh and he spent most of their days in the study together; but he proved very entertaining in the evening, for he had travelled a great deal and could talk well, and somehow or other would raise the conversation to a higher level than usual. General Forsyth would discuss questions of the day with him, with a keener interest than was his custom with a younger man; and Nelly came gushingly to confide in me the first night of his arrival: 'I like him awfully, Hilda! He is so different to most of Hugh's friends. They seem so hard and cynical, and have such a contempt for women, I always fancy. Mr. Stanton takes as much trouble to talk to me as he does to father, and he is awfully good-looking!'
One evening, soon after he arrived, General and Mrs. Forsyth and Constance wore dining out. A Miss Willoughby and her brother were staying in the house; they were cousins of the Forsyths, and had returned from London with them, but I had always kept away from them, as Miss Willoughby's manner and ways grated on me. She seemed utterly devoid of all religion, and was always ready to scoff and jeer at serious subjects. She was a clever woman of the world, and looked upon me as a mere child.
As we were in the drawing-room together, before the gentlemen joined us after dinner, she called to me from her seat by the fire, 'Come here, you little piece of innocence, I want to talk to you; why do you always creep into a remote corner of the room away from everybody? Is it modesty, or misanthropy, that drives you from your fellow-creatures?'
'Neither,' I said, as I slowly moved towards the fireplace and took a seat near her. 'Nelly was entertaining you, so you did not require me.'
'But I do want you. I think you could be far more entertaining than Nelly here, because you have taken up an original rôle, and I like originality.'
I made no reply. There was a mischievous light in her eyes which warned me she meant to enjoy herself at my expense.
She lay back in her chair, put up her pince-nez, and regarded me for some minutes in silence. Then she gave a mock sigh.
'I don't see the halo, Nelly; it ought to be there—round her head, you know. I hope she isn't a sham saint!'
'You shall not tease her,' Nelly said warmly; 'she gets quite enough of that from Kenneth without your taking it up.'
'My dear child, I have no intention of teasing her. I would not presume to do so on such short acquaintance. Beyond "Good-night" and "Good-morning," I don't believe Miss Thorn and I have exchanged half a dozen words. We are going to converse agreeably together now, if you will allow us.'
'I don't think we shall find that we have much in common, Miss Willoughby,' I said, trying to speak pleasantly.
'I dare say not. I am a wicked sinner according to your standard, and you are a righteous saint; but may not sinners sometimes speak to saints? How else are they to be made better, "I want to know," as the Americans say? Do you attend chapel, Miss Thorn?'
'No,' I answered a little shortly.
'I went into a chapel once,' she pursued, looking gravely at me, 'and there was a revival going on, I was told. That is what led me in there—I wanted to see a revival! After the sermon was over, an old white-haired man came stumbling into the seat where I was, and sat down beside me. "Young pusson," he said, "do you want to be convarted?" "What does it feel like?" I asked. He rose up, and stood swelling out his waistcoat visibly. "It feels as if earth can't contain yer at times, and 'even's only big enough for yer." "Thank you," I said; "I shouldn't care to feel that size. Earth is big enough for me at present," and I walked out.'
A burst of laughter from behind announced that the gentlemen had entered the room. Kenneth came up to us, and planted himself on the hearthrug in front of us.
'Are you treating Goody Two-Shoes to one of your stories?' he asked.
'We are having a very serious conversation,' said Miss Willoughby, in her clear, loud voice, 'and do not wish to be interrupted. Now, Miss Thorn, is your experience like that of the old chapel saint? I have always heard that the godly were very big in their own estimation, but never quite so big as that I How big do you feel? Tell us. I have a fancy, if I were to try to attain to it, that it would be the old fable of the toad and the ox again being enacted. What is your opinion?'
'It is not a subject for jesting,' I said gravely; and I rose from my seat to move away. She laughingly caught hold of both my hands and detained me.
'Now you are my prisoner, and I shall not let you escape till you have answered a few questions. I have been doing my best to become acquainted with you, but you listen and reply in monosyllables, which is most unsociable. You leave me to do all the talking, and I want to hear your side of the question. Is she always so silent, Kenneth?'
'Silence marks her displeasure,' Kenneth replied, laughing.
'I don't like sulky natures,' Miss Willoughby went on provokingly, without giving me time to speak. 'I don't think she is shy, and I have said nothing to displease her. My object has been to become friends with her, but I'm afraid she thinks me too unworthy of her friendship. Now, Miss Thorn,—what a baby face it is, to be sure!—look up and speak. You don't seem so glib on the subject as you ought to be. What is "conversion"? Enlighten us.'
I looked up at my tormentor. 'You will find the best definition of it in the dictionary, if you are anxious to know,' I said.
'That is evading my question. I begin to think you have a good deal of cowardice in your composition. You are afraid to show your colours. Now I am going to ask you a straightforward question, and I expect a straightforward reply. Are you converted?'
Hugh and Mr. Stanton at this juncture joined our group, and there was a sudden lull in the conversation. Miss Willoughby, without relinquishing her hold of me, turned towards them with a face brimful of fun.
'It's a case being tried,' she said to them. 'I am cross-examining a witness.'
'A prisoner, I should say,' observed Hugh drily.
'I shall not run away, Miss Willoughby,' I said, trying to speak amicably.
She dropped my hands at once, and I hoped the subject would be changed; but such was not her intention.
'I am waiting for your answer,' she pursued. 'Are you converted?'
I held my head erect and looked her straight in the face. 'Yes, I am.'
'Good! When were you converted? No hesitation. You are bound in honour not to run away from me, and I have several more questions yet to ask.'
'About six months ago in London,' My tone was grave. I did not know how this was going to end.
'Describe the process.'
'That I refuse to do, Miss Willoughby.'
'Then I shall not believe in you, for I expect you can't do it. And it is a selfish, unkind spirit to refuse to enlighten an inquirer. My old chapel friend was far kinder. You good people say conversion is a blessing; yet, when I want to know how to get it, you refuse to assist me.'
'If you want to know the way, the Bible will show you,' I said in a low voice.
'The Bible! I heard a clergyman say once that the Bible did not teach conversion!'
'But our Lord did. "Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."'
It was Mr. Stanton who spoke, and every one looked up astonished.
'Do you know all about these things, Mr. Stanton?' questioned Miss Willoughby, as she looked at him curiously.
'I am glad to say I do,' he replied, 'and shall be pleased at any time to have a quiet talk with you about them.'
She shrugged her shoulders with a comic look of dismay at Kenneth. 'He looks as if he could be aggressive—it's a revelation to me; I cannot get over it! Let us have some music to refresh us after such topics!'
She moved across to the piano, and left me in peace for the remainder of the evening.
'As woods, when shaken by the breeze,
Take deeper, firmer root;
As winter's frosts but make the trees
Abound in summer fruit;
So every bitter pang and throe
That Christian firmness tries,
But nerves us for our work below,
And forms us for the skies.'—Henry Francis Lyte.
It was not to be wondered at that my thoughts dwelt much upon Mr. Stanton for the next few days. It was so strange to feel that there was another now in the house who was a follower of Christ, and I wondered if he would have a good influence over Hugh.
One afternoon I was coming back from the village, where I had been to give Jim his reading lesson, when Mr. Stanton overtook me, and we walked home together. I had never as yet seen him alone, and felt a little shy of him; but he soon made me feel at ease by his ready sympathy, and I found myself telling him of my different interests in the village. And then he presently said, 'Do you find your life difficult at times in such surroundings?'
'Sometimes I do,' I responded, 'but never too difficult.'
'No,' he said; 'we are never placed in circumstances where it is impossible to serve our Master. I sometimes wish a little more of the martial spirit could be instilled into many Christians. A true soldier does not shirk or shrink from the front in battle, but a Christian is very apt to hide his colours if he gets upon the enemy's ground.'
'It is a puzzle to me sometimes,' I said, 'when it is best to keep silent and when to speak. One's life ought to tell most amongst unconverted people, and yet that tempts one sometimes to hide one's light. It is easy to go on one's way quietly without saying a word to any one, but perhaps it is not being faithful. What do you think about it, Mr. Stanton?'
'I think,' he said, 'if we are living close to the Master, He will never leave us in doubt as to when the opportunity for speaking occurs. If we are ready and waiting on Him, we shall be led to do the right thing. Many good people do more harm than good by making up their minds that they are bound to deliver a message, whether the occasion warrants it or not. And then it is often done in their own strength, and not in the power of the Spirit. I think the answer to all such difficulties is: Live close to Christ, and let Him give you your orders—no one else. The longer I live, the more strongly I feel how useless it is to go by other Christians' experiences. God leads us all in different ways. Let us strive to learn the sound of His slightest whisper, and take His Word only as our guide. We cannot go wrong then.'
We talked on till we reached home. I could not help feeling the comfort of having some one to speak to on the subjects that were so dear to me. I had had so few to help or advise me, and though I knew the truth of what Mr. Stanton said, that we could not frame our lives by others' experiences, yet, as a young Christian, I felt refreshed and strengthened by his words. When I said something of this sort to him, he smiled.
'You have not suffered by the loneliness of your position, Miss Thorn; it has only brought you to know Christ more intimately, and to lean upon Him harder. I have seen a good deal of young Christians pinning their faith to a human being: in some cases a friend who has been the means of their conversion, or a favourite preacher. It is natural, but Satan often uses it as a snare. The Master is not appealed to so often as the friend. He sinks into the background, and when the friend is removed they feel utterly stranded, and in some cases fall back in their Christian life.'
When we reached the house, we found every one in the drawing-room at tea. Miss Willoughby was in high spirits. She was organizing some tableaux that the Forsyths were trying to get up, and was pressing every one into her service.
'Now, Hilda Thorn,' she said laughingly, as I entered the room, 'I am going to ask you a great favour. Don't purse up that little mouth of yours in anticipation. It is nothing sinful, upon my honour it is not.'
'You shall not torment her till she has had a cup of tea,' said Nelly good-naturedly. 'Come and sit down by me, Hilda.'
'Will you give her plenty of sugar then, please, Mrs. Forsyth?' Miss Willoughby pursued; 'I want her temper sweetened.'
'I don't think she possesses a temper,' put in Kenneth. 'I know for a fact that I often lose mine in trying to make her lose hers!'
'If she never loses it, she must have it in her possession,' said Miss Willoughby drily; and every one laughed.
'What is it you want?' I asked a few moments after, having disposed of my tea.
'Just at present we want a little soothing. There is an east wind to-day, and not being a piece of perfection like yourself, I feel on edge! I have not been treated well. I had my eye on Mr. Stanton for King Arthur, and Hugh tells me they are dining in town on the 6th, which is the date we have fixed. I suspect they have arranged it between them. Then Constance and I want to pose for the same character; she thinks she is better suited to it than I, and she likes her own way. I think the contrary, and I like mine. And the fact is that I've been told that you are a great violinist—"Music hath power to soothe the savage breast." Will you do us the favour of playing to us now? We shall feel more peaceably disposed towards each other afterwards, I know.'
I willingly complied, and played one thing after another. When I put down my violin, I saw Miss Willoughby give an approving nod towards Mrs. Forsyth, and then she said, 'Thank you—that is a great treat. Now I feel at peace with all mankind; do you?'
'I think I generally do,' I replied.
'Well, now, what I want to ask you is this,—and I am sure you will not be so ill-natured as to refuse,—would you mind playing a little like that just behind a screen for us? You won't be seen at all, and no one will know who it is. Nelly says you have scruples about taking part in tableaux; but of course this could not be an objection.'
Miss Willoughby dropped the half-mocking tone in which she usually addressed me, and for an instant I felt I could not refuse. Nelly saw my hesitation, and took advantage of it. 'Do say "Yes," Hilda; we want a violin, and Violet does play so atrociously; there is no one about here that can do it as well as you. It will only be for about ten minutes.'
'Why do you want it?' I asked.
'I will tell you,' said Kenneth; 'we are to have some moving tableaux, illustrating certain pithy sayings. Miss Willoughby has mentioned the one we want you for,—"Music hath charms," etc. I think I am to pose as one of the villains. We are divided as to whether it is to be a duel or a cold-blooded murder; but I know my part is to transform my face from that in which diabolical hatred and fiendish rage is depicted, into a gradual state of simpering, smiling imbecility, and I think the curtain will fall upon me and my rival locked in each other's arms, shedding maudlin tears of love into our respective shirt-fronts!'
'The moral is so awfully good,' urged Nelly; 'do be obliging just this once, Hilda.'
'Of course she is going to do it,' said Miss Willoughby.
'I will give you an answer to-morrow,' I said slowly, and taking up my hat and cloak I left the room.
It was hard sometimes to keep clear of the gaiety around me, and this was one of the cases in which I much wished for advice. I felt inclined to appeal to Mr. Stanton; he had stood a little apart from the others talking to General Forsyth, but I felt sure that he had been within earshot of the whole conversation. Yet his words that afternoon came back to me. I must get my orders from my Master, and not from him. And, as so often before, I went down on my knees in my room, and with my Bible before me sought the advice I needed.
I felt, when I at length rose, that I was best out of it altogether. I knew my wish to oblige them and show them that I had no ill-feeling about it might land me into further difficulties. It would be the thin end of the wedge. And though I dreaded the scoffing remarks of Miss Willoughby, and knew she would be really put out by my refusal, my mind was quite made up, and meeting her on the stairs going down to dinner two hours later, I told her I could not do it.
She only laughed at me. 'Nonsense, child! you will think better of it; don't be in such a hurry to refuse.' Then, drawing my arm within hers, she went on in a coaxing tone as we descended the stairs together: 'I have taken a liking to you, Hilda, for I feel you have a true ring about you. I am afraid I am a dreadful tease, but I tell you honestly I admire and respect your religious views. Much better be one thing or the other—and there is no uncertain sound about you. But don't you think it a pity in the present instance if, in your mistaken zeal, you would lose the opportunity of rendering us a little service, and so commending your religion practically to us? I was talking to a gentleman the other day who said, "What I object to so much in these so-called good people is their extreme selfishness and indifference to the likes and dislikes of those with whom they live; good nature and the ordinary common little courtesies of life seem altogether lacking in their composition." This isn't much we are asking of you, and I don't think you will refuse. Five minutes only we want from you. You needn't be present at the tableaux at all; people will think it is some hired musician in the background, and you can escape to your room immediately afterwards. If you refuse, do you think it will bring credit on your religion? It's the only favour I have ever asked of you, and it is such a little kindness to do.'
It was hard, in the face of this, to adhere to my resolve. If I had not come straight from prayer, I don't believe I could have withstood her.
'I am afraid you will think me very disagreeable,' I said as gently as I could; 'but I have thought over it, and have made up my mind that it is best for me not to take part in the tableaux at all. I think with a little practice Violet will do what you require.'
Miss Willoughby's face was not a pleasant one to see when she saw I really was in earnest. She dropped my arm at once, and seeing Kenneth hovering about in the hall she went up to him, 'Take me out into the balcony; I want a change of atmosphere. Your converted people are all alike. A nasty, spiteful, ill-natured set of canting hypocrites!'
'It's war to the knife between you two now,' whispered Kenneth to me as we went in to dinner; 'and I warn you she will give you no quarter. She is not accustomed to have her plans thwarted. You had better give in!'
I wondered why Miss Willoughby should have set her heart so upon my helping them; but that night, when I went to bed, I was enlightened.
Miss Graham tapped at my door, and asked if she might come in for a few minutes. She very often had a firelight talk with me at bedtime. I was not feeling inclined for it now, for Miss Willoughby, though purposely ignoring me in the drawing-room after dinner, had been lavish with her biting sarcasm on Christianity and some of its followers.
Mr. Stanton had instantly come forward, upon hearing some of her remarks, and in the discussion that followed she had been decidedly worsted. Mr. Stanton was not a man to be trifled with, and he told her some very plain truths. From getting excited, she finally lost her temper, and the evening had ended unpleasantly for us all. I felt I had been the innocent cause of it, and was too much perturbed in spirit to relish a long chat with Miss Graham.
She surprised me by alluding at once to the subject of my thoughts. 'Have you consented to play for them at the tableaux?'
'No,' I said a little wearily as I sat down, and drew a chair forward for her. 'I have told Miss Willoughby I cannot do it.'
'Is that your final decision? Does she know it is?'
'Yes, and she is very vexed about it.'
'Of course she is. My dear Hilda, I am glad. I think I must tell you now about it. She is a clever woman, but not a good one. Do you know that it has been a regular trap for you? Governesses are not supposed to have ears—and yesterday I was giving Violet a music lesson, when she and Mr. Kenneth and Miss Forsyth came in. They went over to the window seat, and there began talking over these tableaux. They did not lower their voices, and she made a bet with Mr. Kenneth that she would make you take part in them. He laughed at her, but she said she was in earnest, and then when he had left the room she propounded her plan to Constance. If you had agreed to play for them,—which she said she was pretty sure she would make you do,—she was going to arrange that just before the curtain fell the screen should be suddenly shifted from in front of you, and you would then be in full view of the audience. You were, in fact, to personify the girl for whom the two rivals were fighting.'
'But,' I said, quite bewildered, 'I should not have been dressed for the occasion. How could she imagine such a plan would succeed?'
'It was all to be arranged. She said your cream silk would be just the thing, and Mr. Forsyth was to tell you to wear it that night for dinner. I assure you Miss Willoughby was quite determined that she should succeed. I am very glad she has failed, for it would be a shabby trick to play any one, and I was very vexed that it should be played on you.'
I was silent. Miss Graham's words were a revelation to me, and I wondered what I had done to cause Miss Willoughby to act so. And I understood her anger at having had her plans so frustrated. How thankful I was that I had not yielded to her entreaties! After a pause, Miss Graham said, 'You must have a wonderful grip of unseen things, Hilda, to live your life here so cheerily and brightly, when you have such constant difficulties and disagreeables arising between you and the girls.'
I looked up at her. 'It is a happy life, Miss Graham, and no circumstances can ever make it otherwise.'
She leant forward in the firelight, and, taking one of my hands in hers, said rather brokenly, with tears glistening in her eyes,—
'I have wanted to tell you—I must to-night; I think it will cheer you to know that I have found what you have. Do you remember those few words you said to me in the wood soon after you first came? I could never forget them. And I was troubled for long afterwards. But I see it all so differently now; salvation is not to be earned, as you said to me, but to be received. And I think when one receives salvation, one receives the Giver with it. I know I have found it so—it does indeed make life different.'
'Oh, Miss Graham, I am so glad!' I said, and, unable to check myself, I burst into tears. I think I was overwrought, and this coming on the top of my other trouble, proved too much for me.
'How long have you—have you known this?' I asked, and in the fulness of my heart I leant over and kissed her.
'I don't know,' she said with a smile; 'I have been seeking for it on my knees and with my Bible night after night. Sometimes I fancied I had the assurance of it, and then it seemed to leave me. I think when you were at Miss Rayner's I seemed to doubt less and trust more. And now I don't think I have a doubt at all. I am staking my assurance on verses like John vi. 37. It was seeing you live your life here that showed me you must have the real thing, and made me long to have it too.'
She left me soon after, and I sat on by my fire with silent thanks in my heart for this news. God had indeed been good to me, and I felt especially grateful that I had been sent such comfort and cheer after a rather trying evening.
'But I like to think of him passing,
Like a clear early star,
Into that quiet region . . .
I like to think of his little feet
Climbing the heavenly stair,
Of his eyes in their wondering meekness
Waking to glory there.'
The next morning I was out in the garden picking a few late chrysanthemums, when Mr. Stanton passed by me. He stopped for a moment.
'What answer have you given about the tableaux?' he asked, with a smile.
'I have declined to play,' I said. 'I told Miss Willoughby so yesterday evening before dinner.'
He looked away thoughtfully into the distance, and then said quietly, 'That accounted for her vexation last night. I wondered why she was so bitter. Poor girl! one feels sorry for a life like that.' Then looking at me rather intently, he asked, 'Is the violin consecrated to God, Miss Thorn?'
'I don't know,' I stammered; 'I hope so, but I don't keep it for sacred music only. I play to them when they want me to. Is that wrong? Surely not! And I love it so myself; it seems to raise my thoughts heavenwards. Do you think I ought to play nothing but hymns on it?'
He laughed. 'No, I do not; and if I did, you ought not to take my words as a leading to you. For myself, I believe that music is a gift entrusted to us by our Father, and if we give innocent pleasure to others by our talent we are not using it in vain. Only I think you were wise in keeping clear of the tableaux. If you mingle in one thing, you must in another, and a Christian has to walk very carefully if he wishes to preserve unbroken communion with his God.'
He said no more, and left me. As I came into our morning room a little time after, I heard Miss Willoughby's animated voice,—
'I should like to clear them both out of the house. He is the least objectionable, as he can be entertaining when he chooses, but I can't imagine why she should take up her abode here. It is not a question of charity.' Here she noticed my entrance, but calmly went on talking to Constance as if I were not there. 'Let her take herself off to some nursing Sisterhood or slum work in the East of London. I hate a half-and-half kind of person. If they are too good to live our life and mingle in our society, let them take up a religious vocation, instead of being a perpetual source of annoyance and aggravation to those they are with.'
Constance gave a slight laugh, then changed the conversation. I put my flowers in water, then left the room without a word. I found Kenneth's words very true. Miss Willoughby could not forgive me, and I was constantly reminded of her dislike to my presence. Constance sided with her; she had never liked me, and Nelly, though now and then warm in my defence, seemed to be a little afraid of disagreeing with her, and rather kept out of my way when her cousin was near. It was trying to bear and her words now set me thinking, as I had sometimes thought before. Should I be wiser to leave the Forsyths, and go into work of some sort that would be more congenial? If my presence in the house was a trial to them, why should I not relieve them of it? And yet at present I hardly saw the way plain before me. 'Dwell deep,' I said to myself. 'Miss Willoughby will not be here always, and I have had the cheer of Miss Graham. I have much to be thankful for.'
It was indeed a comfort to me to be able to talk over things with Miss Graham. We began having a little Bible reading and prayer together at night, and it refreshed and strengthened us both. She seemed to have taken such a firm hold of the truth, and to have such a freshness in her enjoyment of her Bible, that it did me good to hear her talk. Now and then, too, I enjoyed a few words with Mr. Stanton, but not very often. He and Hugh were much up in town, and he was very busy writing some scientific book in which Hugh was helping. Once Hugh had asked me to go in and play on my violin to them in the dusk before dinner; but Mrs. Forsyth had told me afterwards she would rather I did not do it again, and I took care not to repeat it. I was left very much to myself while the preparations for the tableaux were going on, and when the night came I found that Mrs. Forsyth had no objection to my having a schoolroom tea with Violet and Miss Graham, and so keeping out of the way of it all. Violet was allowed in to see them, but Miss Graham did not care to go, and she and I spent a very pleasant evening together. Miss Willoughby and her brother left a few days after; but up to the last day she was unsparing in her comments and gibes on everything serious. She was ridiculing me on the morning of the day she left, when we were gathered round the drawing-room fire just before luncheon. I could not well make my escape, so bore it as quietly as I could; but to my surprise Kenneth turned upon her. 'Now look here, Florence,' he said, 'you have had it all your own way since Goody made you lose your bet; don't you think you can part from her in peace? She has stood your fire well. I like to see fair play, and I think you have had your innings. Upon my word, I give her a good dose on occasions, just to keep her from getting too uppish and trying to ride it with a high hand over us; but you beat me altogether!'
Miss Willoughby laughed a little scornfully, but she took the hint, and when she said good-bye her better nature overcame her.
'Well, we will part as friends, Miss Thorn. Your face is the best part of you; your views are odious, but no doubt you mean well. I bear no malice; do you?'
'No,' I said, looking up at her gravely; 'but I do wish you understood my motives better.'
She laughed and turned away, and so we parted.
I found everything easier after her departure.
One evening we were just going in to dinner, when one of the servants came up to me. 'If you please, miss, a message has come from the village that Jim Carter is ill, and wants to see you at once.'
I knew the boy had been poorly, for two days before I had found him in bed with a bad sore throat, and we had had to postpone the reading lesson. His uncle said it was a cold, but I had thought then it was a severe one. I turned to ask Mrs. Forsyth if she would excuse my coming in to dinner, but she would not hear of this.
'It is great impertinence to send up at our dinner hour with such a request. I cannot agree to your running down to the village as late as this. The boy must wait till to-morrow.'
'Oh, let me just run down after dinner, then!' I pleaded. 'I am afraid he must really be very ill.'
'What is the matter with him? If it is anything infectious, you must not go near him.'
'I think it is a bad cold.'
'Come in to dinner at once. We cannot keep every one waiting.'
I obeyed, but was very silent through the meal. My thoughts were with Jim, and I longed to be with him. Hugh, who was sitting next me, asked why I was so grave. When I told him, he said, 'I am going out for a smoke after dinner, so I will take you if you like. The mother won't have any objection then, I fancy.'
I thanked him, and Mrs. Forsyth giving her consent, an hour later we left the house together. As we were walking down the lane, Hugh said abruptly, 'How do you like Stanton?'
'Very much,' I said; 'is he going to stay much longer?'
'I have just persuaded him to stay over Christmas. He has no belongings of his own, and I fancy finds his country house rather dreary.'
'I wonder he doesn't marry.'
Hugh looked at me rather curiously, then said, 'He is too particular. You good people are hard to please!'
'Have you known him long?'
'No, I was introduced to him last spring in town; but we have seen a good bit of each other since. He is one of the few I know who reconcile science and religion together. And I will acknowledge he has made me change some of my opinions about those matters. He is rather a big man in the literary world.'
'I am always thankful when clever men are true Christians,' I said; 'so many people think that the two can never co-exist.'
When we reached Jim's home, Hugh said he would wait outside for me. I found old Roger sitting by the boy's bed, with real trouble in his face. Jim himself lay back almost motionless, except for a slight movement of his lips. At the bottom of his small bed little Roddy was perched, his round eyes looking full of interest and curiosity, and Roddy's mother was bustling about, every now and then putting her apron to her eyes.
I bent over Jim, and called him by name. He opened his eyes, and smiled feebly; then I caught the murmured words, 'Read me about the city.'
'He's very ill,' whispered old Roger to me; 'an' we can't get no doctor—but we've sent for 'un now. I thought I could a doctored him myself; but it's no good. He's 'ad no food for four-and-twenty hours.'
'It's inflammation of the throat or windpipe, I think,' put in Roddy's mother. 'I only knew he was so bad to-day, or I'd have been up sooner.'
The sick boy's eyes looked at me wistfully, and again I caught the words, 'The city—I think I'm going there.' I turned to my little Bible, which I had brought with me, and read a few verses from the seventh and two last chapters in Revelation. His eyes brightened; he repeated slowly and with great difficulty, 'Washed—made white in the blood of the Lamb.'
'Yes,' I said gently, as I laid my hand on his fevered brow; 'and you have been washed, have you not, Jim?'
He nodded; and here little Roddy burst forth eagerly, 'Is Jim goin' to heaven?'
'We don't know,' I said; 'but he is quite ready to go if Jesus wants him.'
'What time will he get there?' demanded Roddy. 'Will he get there to-morrow day?'
His mother hushed him, and then old Roger asked me to pray with them, which I did as simply as I could, for I saw Jim's eyes following my every movement, and knew he was quite conscious.
'I think I will take Roddy home to bed, and step up again,' said Mrs. Walters, 'if you're so good as to stay here with the old man, miss. The doctor won't be long now, I'm thinkin'.'
Roddy stoutly resisted being taken away at first.
'I wants to see Jim go. I wants to see the angels come for him!'
When he was finally pacified, and about to be led away, he trotted up to Jim, and putting his rosy mouth against his cheek, said in a loud whisper, 'I sends my love to Jesus, Jim. Will you 'member?'
And when Jim smiled and nodded, he departed with his mother, looking back with a shining face to say,—
'Good-bye, Jim. You send me a post letter when you get to heaven, like uncle does to mother!'
I sat on quietly for a little while, with Jim's hot hand clasped in mine, repeating some verses to him, and then the doctor arrived, and Hugh put his head in rather impatiently at the door. Jim would not leave go of my hand at first, but the doctor rather roughly put me aside.
'Never bend over a sick person so,' he said to me; 'especially if it's a case of a bad throat.'
I went to the door to Hugh. 'I am so sorry,' I said, 'but I promised Mrs. Walters to stay till she returned, and I should like to hear what the doctor says. Would you mind waiting a short time longer?'
He grumbled a little, but allowed me ten minutes more. The doctor did not stay very long, and then he came to me with a grave face. 'There is nothing to be done for him now,' he said; 'it is too late. I don't want to alarm you, but it is diphtheria. If I had been called in earlier, I might have saved him. You had better not stay. I doubt if the poor lad will last through the night. Is there any one besides this old man?'
'A neighbour is coming back directly,' I answered, my heart sinking within me at the tidings. 'You will just let me wish him good-bye?'
'If you have been with him much already it will not matter. Not too close to him, please.'
I stood at the bottom of the bed, and Jim's eyes at once sought mine questioningly.
I tried to smile. 'I mustn't stay, Jim; you are in the arms of Jesus, remember. Good-bye.'
His lips moved, but I could catch no sound; only a faint smile crossed his face, and I turned to the door to hide the tears already springing to my eyes. I had seen a great deal of Jim lately, and our reading lessons had drawn us very close together. He seemed to have grasped the truth as a little child, and I had no fears about his being one of the Lord's flock. Mrs. Walters entered the house directly after I had left Jim. She was very concerned when she learnt what it was, and anxious about Roddy, but promised to stay all night. One word I had with old Roger before I left.
'Ah!' he said, with a shake of his head, in response to the bit of comfort I tried to give him; 'I might a known the boy would be taken. He has been gettin' so fond of spellin' out of my big Bible lately, and mostly his talk has been of heaven, and the beautiful city, as he calls it. Well, the Lord wants him, and I'm not the one to say naught against the Lord's dealin's. He's allays merciful, the Lord is, and maybe my time will be comin' soon.'
When I joined Hugh outside I found Mr. Stanton with him. He told me Mrs. Forsyth was getting anxious at my long stay, and wished me to return immediately. He had volunteered to come down with the message.
I told them a little about Jim, but my heart was too full to say much, and we walked home very silently.
Just as we were reaching the hall door, Hugh happened to ask what was the matter with him, and when I told him, both he and Mr. Stanton looked much concerned.
Mrs. Forsyth was really angry when she knew.
'I wish I had prevented your going altogether. I can't conceive what made you stay such a time with him; it was most inconsiderate of you. I wish you had never taken up with these village boys; it is a constant anxiety to me that you may bring back infectious diseases from their homes.'
I told her how it was I had stayed so long, and then asked to be excused coming into the drawing-room that evening. I wanted to be alone; it had all seemed so sudden and unexpected that I could hardly realize it.
Early the next morning the village church bell began to toll, and I knew that my eldest scholar had gone home. It was a real grief to me, and yet for his sake I could not regret it. How thankful I was now that I had taken him into my Sunday class, in spite of his age! It seemed as if it was a special bit of work that God Himself had given me, and I thanked Him for it on my knees in the midst of my tears. I heard afterwards that he had not spoken to any one afterwards, or taken the slightest notice of anything, but had passed peacefully away about four o'clock in the morning.
Roddy remarked cheerfully, when he heard it, 'Jim will be glad now, won't he, mother? I wish the angels would come for me, too!'