CHAPTER VII.
A WALK IN THE SHRUBBERY.
It was Sunday and Nan and Emily were sitting together on thevine-covered porch of the parsonage, trying to while away the longhour between church time and the midday dinner.
Nan gave a prodigious yawn, and stretched herself out in thecomfortable steamer chair.
"Oh, dearie me," she sighed, "I wonder if it would be a crime for meto admit how bored I was in church this morning."
"Well, I don't think it would be in very good taste, considering yourfather preached," replied Emily severely.
"I can't help it if he did. I was tired, and moreover," crossly, "I amalways bored."
Emily raised her eyebrows.
"I am afraid, Nan, your soul longs for Gregorian chants and taperingcandles."
"Of course it does; and acolytes, incense, and embroidered altarcloths. Yes, I admit it frankly, I should have belonged to TheChurch," she ended, with great emphasis.
"I know, Em," she continued, after waiting a moment to observe theeffect of her last words, "you will think it absurd; but, I tell you,I really envy the Lawrence girls. To think that they attend thatdear, delightful Episcopal chapel, while I----" and the sentence endedwith a laugh. "Why, Em, of course you won't sympathize with me, but Ido think it is bad form."
Emily looked really shocked.
"Nan Birdsall, I am ashamed of you. What would uncle think of you?"
"Well," replied Nan, with a perverse expression on her face, "I don'tintend that the ministers' sons shall have it all their own way. Ihave just as good a right to live up to the old saying as any ofthem."
Emily would not stay to listen to another word, and with a great airof dignity, she arose, and swept into the house. Very soon the softtinkling of a bell told Nan that the noonday meal was ready. Old Mr.Birdsall stood at one end of the table, his hands folded on the backof the chair before him, waiting for Emily and Nan to appear. Whenthey were come the long grace was spoken slowly and impressively, andno one watching Nan's demure face would have guessed at her outbreakof the morning.
They were a somewhat incongruous trio, and what little conversationthere was consisted chiefly of good-natured banter of Emily by theirrepressible Nan, to which Mr. Birdsall listened somewhatabstractedly.
The dinner hour had not as yet assumed a position of importance toeither of the girls, and as soon as possible they pushed back theirchairs, and once more sought the shady porch. Emily gave one furtiveglance over her shoulder to assure herself that her uncle was notfollowing them, and then picked up a novel from a neighboring table,and opened it with a great show of interest. Nan watched the bit ofdeception, and a smile spread itself over her face.
"Puss," she cried, stooping to lift up a little white kitten which wasbrushing against her skirt, "it is now our turn to be shocked andhorrified."
Her remark being received in contemptuous silence, for a while sheplayed languidly with the little creature in her lap, then her handdropped at her side, her head fell back against the cushions, and Nanwas fast asleep. The air was heavy and drowsy, all about the insectshummed so lazily and the very atmosphere lulled one intoforgetfulness. By and by, the crunching sound of footsteps on thegraveled path roused Nan to sudden consciousness.
"Oh! dear, Nan," Emily was whispering in a tone of suppressedexcitement, "please wake up. Here comes Mr. Dudley. I forgot to tellyou that I was going for a walk with him."
"That's all right," Nan interrupted her sleepily. "I am going in so hewon't see me," and lifting herself lazily from her chair, she slippedinto the house through one of the French windows.
Within the house there reigned the solemn stillness of the Day ofRest. The door of the study stood part-way open, and Nan could see herfather lying on his lounge, his white head shining like silver againstthe dark leather of the cushion. She stole in on tip-toe to avoidawakening him, caught up a bright-colored afghan and threw it overhim.
"How sweet he looks," she thought with great tenderness, as shestooped and gently kissed him. She paused a moment by the largewriting table to find, amid a litter of papers, an old hymnbook,shabby from long usage, and opening it marked the hymns selected forthe evening service. Then she passed out and closed the door softlybehind her. She waited a few moments until she heard Emily and Mr.Dudley leave the porch, then put on her hat, and started across thelawn to the manor. Coming out upon the drive-way she met Helen walkingbriskly along.
"Well," she cried, "where are you going?"
"To evening prayers, Nancy. Won't you come with me?"
"Yes, indeed I will. I thought you never left the children Sundayafternoon."
"I don't usually, but to-day I felt just in the humor for church."
There was a note of sadness in Helen's tone, which ordinarily Nanwould have readily detected, but to-day the girl was possessed by asense of personal dissatisfaction and restlessness, and so, absorbedin her own mood, this was lost upon her. There was a pause of briefduration, then Helen drew a long breath, and resumed more lightly:
"How sweet and sunny it is, isn't it, Nan? I love these first earlydays of summer when everything is so fresh and green. The countrydoesn't begin to look so lovely later in the season."
"I suppose so," returned Nan laconically. "I am such a country girlthat I don't half see the beauties about me. When you are so used tothings I don't think you are apt to be so keenly alive to them."
"I dare say that is true; you see I go away just enough to appreciatethis dear place when I come back to it."
"While I," grumbled Nan, "have never been away from Hetherford but twoor three times in my whole life. One year is just like another. Thereis always father, deeply interested in church matters, and lookingupon me as an enigma; and cross old Bridget who runs the house anddisapproves of me. I often long to dance a jig before father and tothrow something at Bridget's head, just to relieve the monotony."
Helen laughed softly as Nan's grievances multiplied, knowing full wellhow it diminishes one's annoyances to be able to give voice to them.
"Then Emily comes," continued Nan, with a scowl, "and tells me that myclothes are awful and that I look like a fright, and wonders why Ican't cultivate a slight interest in men. I tell her," laughingdubiously, "that I would if I found them eager to do their share."
"You silly child," and Helen squeezed Nan's arm affectionately. "Iwon't have you depreciate your dear self."
But Nan was not to be so easily diverted.
"I do hope that some day I shall see something of the world," shereplied. "I would like to lead an exciting life, full of incident andadventure, and oh, dear me, who could lead one less so. I wishsomething new and interesting would happen."
"O Nancy," Helen said to her gravely, "don't be so anxious to havethings happen. It is so much better when they don't, little girl."
Nan looked up at Helen and felt rebuked for her egotism, as she sawthe shadow clouding her friend's pale face.
Dissimilar as these two girls were in character, a very warmfriendship existed between them. Helen dearly loved Nan for her readywit, easy-going ways, warm heart, and sunny nature, and Nan simplyadored Helen, looking up to her with the greatest admiration, anddeferring readily to her judgment in all things. There was a veryromantic side to Nan's nature, hidden away though it was, beneath somuch nonsense and jollity, and Helen's love affair and its sad endinghad touched her keenly. She thoroughly liked Guy, and he, on his part,had always shown a preference for her above the other girls. Perhapshe had guessed at her strong love for Helen and partisanship forhimself, for to her alone had he spoken of Helen on his return fromthat last unhappy interview. His words had been few, but Nan had seenthe real grief in his honest eyes, and her heart had ached for him.She made a pretty shrewd guess at the real state of affairs, and shefound her firm belief, that Helen's heart belonged to Guy and that itwould all come out right in the end, greatly strengthened by herfriend's present unhappiness and discontent. To-day she was full ofsympathy for Helen, but she respected her reticence too d
eeply tobroach the subject, so she consoled herself with the thought that thismood scored a point in Guy's favor. Her reverie was broken in upon byHelen's voice saying gently:
"I consider it a most fortunate thing, Nan, that I am carrying you offto church; I am sure the service will do us both good."
"Well, there's room for improvement in me," laughed Nan. "You shouldhave seen Em's face this morning when I told her that my one ambitionwas to imitate the proverbial minister's son."
"Nancy, I am ashamed of you," Helen remonstrated, with a reluctantsmile. "Come, be a good girl, for we are just at the church door. Letus give our hearts and minds to the service," she added with sweetgravity, "and we will see how much peace will come to us."
"I will, dear," Nan whispered as they started up the aisle to theLawrences' pew.
The rector of St. Andrew's leaned somewhat toward ritualism, and noform nor observance that to his mind lent beauty and solemnity to theservice was omitted. As the girls took their places the solemn chordsof the Stabat Mater inclined their hearts to reverential prayer. In amoment more the doors of the vestry swung open and the organ took upthe sweet strains of the soul-inspiring hymn, "Hark, hark, my soul."Slowly the choristers filed by; first the cross-bearer, his young facefull of dignity, then the singers, two by two, and as their numbersswelled their fresh young voices filled the church.
The grace and beauty of the Episcopal form of worship appealed to Nan.The rhythmic lines of the confessional, "We have erred and strayedfrom Thy ways like lost sheep," etc., moved her to a heartfeltpenitence for her shortcomings, and inspired her with an earnestdesire to live more nobly and unselfishly. One by one her petty trialstook their flight, and only a sense of great peace remained. When thebenediction had been pronounced and the girls had left the church,they were both somewhat subdued and silent. The slanting rays of thesun fell softly athwart the quaint old churchyard, and on the faintlystirring breeze was borne the sweet perfume of roses and honeysucklewhich grew in such profusion against the low stone wall. Passingthrough the gateway they strolled side by side along the road.
"I wish I could always attend St. Andrew's," mused Nan, slipping herhand within Helen's arm. "I really believe I would be a better girl.The ritual impresses me so deeply, and seems to bring religion home tome in such a convincing sort of way."
"I don't think that is at all unnatural; but as time goes on, Nan, Ibelieve you will find that your love for outside things will diminish,in proportion as your dependence upon what is deep and vital grows."
"I would not fret about it in the least if it were not for my dearfather," and Nan's face grew tender as she spoke, "but I know thatthis disposition of mine toward forms and symbols is a source ofsorrow to him. He would have me a strong adherent to the old school ofPresbyterianism, and he feels that my tendencies are leading merapidly along the highway to Rome," and Nan's puzzled eyes met Helen'swith a frank appeal for advice.
Helen was silent for a moment, and then spoke slowly andmeditatively.
"Of course, Nan, each person has to decide such a question forhimself, but it seems to me that when two people love each otherdearly yet differ in their views, each should be willing to make someconcessions and thus grow more generous and lenient with eachother--Love is such a great power."
"Indeed it is," cried big-hearted Nan, "and I know that the largershare of yielding should be mine, for dear father has grown old in hisopinions, and it must be very hard for him to have me branch out formyself."
They had reached a turn in the road where their paths diverged, andNan asked:
"You will come over and sing hymns this evening, won't you, Helen?"
"Certainly. Are they coming over from the inn?"
"I suppose so," and then with a friendly nod each went on her way.
It was close upon eight o'clock that evening when Helen and Nathaliestarted out for the parsonage. The lovely twilight hour was almostover. High in the heavens rode the crescent moon, and, as the slowlyfading daylight vanished, its white light penetrated the soft gloomwhich lay like a shroud over the manor park, and trees and lawns andwinding paths came suddenly to life, as by the touch of a fairy wand.A sighing breeze stirred the leaves, from a fountain near at hand camethe soft splash of falling waters and the night air vibrated gentlywith the myriad sounds of insect life.
There was a rush and a scamper, and around the corner of the housethe children raced and threw themselves upon Helen, with a shout ofdelight.
"You naughty youngsters," chided their sister gently. "You ought to bein bed this minute, everyone of you."
"We's going right off," cried Gladys breathlessly. "On'y we wants tobe kissed first."
Helen stooped down to fulfill their clamorous demand.
"Now, be off," she laughed, straightening herself up and shaking amildly reproachful finger at them, "and don't forget to go in and saygood-night to Auntie," and then she and Nathalie proceeded leisurelyon their way.
They found the vine-covered porch of the parsonage quite overflowingwith people. Wendell Churchill and Farr stepped hastily forward, and,after an interchange of cordial greetings, found seats for them.
"How late you are," called Nan, from somewhere in the background. "Ithought you were not coming."
Helen left apologies and explanations to Nathalie, and turned toanswer an inquiry from Farr in regard to Jean.
"I am sorry to say she is deep in a book," she said, looking up at himwith a smile, "and we could not persuade her to leave it. However, shepromised to follow us shortly."
"And does Miss Jean always keep her promises?" Farr asked lightly.
"I think she does," Helen rejoined, meeting his eyes for an instant.
"Come, Helen. Start some of the good old hymns."
At Mollie's suggestion Helen's clear soprano took up the refrain of"Lead, kindly light," and the others joined in heartily. From longpractice their voices blended beautifully.
They had been singing for nearly an hour when Farr rose quietly to hisfeet.
"Miss Lawrence," he said, bending over her chair, "don't you thinkMiss Jean should be brought to a realizing sense of her delinquenciesand coerced into making some reparation?"
"Indeed, I do," she assented with a frank laugh, "but what are wegoing to do about it?"
"I don't think my desertion would be noticed if I should go in searchof her," Farr suggested, lowering his voice. "Do you?"
Helen gave him a swift glance of amusement.
"'I would not hear thine enemy say so.' But go and see what yourpersuasive powers can do."
"You have put me on my mettle now," he rejoined, as he stepped overthe low railing and dropped noiselessly on to the grass below, and itwas with a sense of amusement that he recognized his own impatienceand eagerness as he set out for the manor.
He paused to light a cigarette, then strode on over the soft turf,revolving many and varied thoughts in his mind. The brightness diedout of his eyes, and the lines of the mouth were stern andcompressed, for to-night the past with its perplexities anddisappointments rose vividly before him. In his thirty years of lifefortune had dealt him some severe blows and had set him adrift withmore doubts than beliefs, more cynicism than sentiment. His was a veryreserved and sensitive temperament, and under the garb of laziness andindifference his troubles were jealously hidden from curious eyes. Theman's best self lay dormant, and some influence was sorely needed torouse him to the necessity of facing his difficulties and conqueringthem before they should conquer him.
He had left the hedge behind him, and, as he came out on thedrive-way, a gleam of light from the manor house shot out through thetrees and brightened his path. Involuntarily he started, and a visionof Jean Lawrence's face came between his mind and all painful memoriesand robbed them of their sting.
Reaching the veranda steps, he threw away his cigarette, mounted themand crossed to where the outer door stood hospitably open, revealingthe wide hall within, its shadowy recesses softly penetrated by thelight from a quaint lamp swung from the low, s
tudded ceiling. Helifted the hand knocker, and let it fall, then pushing his hat back onhis head, stared meditatively before him, while waiting for a responseto his summons. Not a sound broke the stillness, and at length he tookhis hat in his hand and stepped across the threshold, and made his wayto the entrance of the drawing-room, across which the portieres werepartly drawn. His footfalls on the soft rugs scarce heralded hisapproach. The scene which met his eyes was indeed a pretty one, andfor a brief space he stood motionless.
On a low divan in a far corner of the room, Jean had thrown herselfwith unconscious grace of pose. The warm coloring of the Oriental rugand bright-colored cushions made a charming background for the slenderwhite-clad figure. A tall lamp shed a bright light across the openpage of her book, on which her eyes were riveted. Her face was flushedwith interest, her soft hair in fine disorder. Farr noted everything,from the golden head, resting upon the silken cushions, to the daintyslippered foot, just peeping beneath the hem of her gown.
A slight movement on his part discovered him to Jean, and she startedup in dismay.
"Well, Mr. Farr, you did give me a fright," she cried, laughingconfusedly, for his steady gaze disconcerted her somewhat. "I shouldthink you would be ashamed of yourself for having startled me so."
"I am," recovering himself with a slight effort, for the swift changethat had swept over Jean's expressive face at his unexpectedappearance had set his heart to beating with unwonted emotion. "Youwill forgive me, will you not?" he finished, as he stood at her sideand looked penitently down at her.
"Why, yes, but I don't advise your making a practice of strolling intopeople's houses, and appearing suddenly in their drawing-rooms; youmight be mistaken for a burglar, and I have heard," with a maliciouslittle laugh, "that it is unpleasant to be shot."
"Oh, come now, Miss Jean, you are very unfair to me; if you only knewthe real facts of the case."
But Jean was still a little resentful, for she felt that she had beentaken at a disadvantage.
"Really?" she answered incredulously, with a mischievous shrug of theshoulders.
"Yes, very," he protested, with a glance of amusement into herupraised eyes. "I did everything I could to gain admission in theregulation way, but was quite unsuccessful."
"What a shame," she said, interrupting him with softened voice. "Isuppose the maids were all out in the garden for a stroll this finenight, and I was so absorbed in my book that I didn't hear theknocker."
"And then," he resumed, with a valiant disregard of the truth, "I camein making as much ado as I conveniently could, without calling out oroverturning the furniture."
"Under the circumstances I see that you must be forgiven. Won't you beseated, Mr. Farr? I don't know what I have been thinking of, to allowyou to remain standing all this while."
"Thank you, no. On the other hand, I want to persuade you to arise."
"Why?"
"Because I am here on a mission. I have come to reproach you for notkeeping your promise to join us at the parsonage."
"And to whom am I indebted for this kind and flattering interest?"
"None other than myself."
"Oh, you are too good," she cried laughingly, springing to her feet,and making him a sweeping obeisance.
"If that is your honest opinion, Miss Jean, suppose you prove it bygoing back with me."
"I can't be a traitor to my words," and she tossed her book on to thetable, and preceded him out into the hall-way.
"Is it cool enough for a wrap?"
Farr surveyed her muslin gown with a critical eye.
"Indeed, it is."
"All right," she yielded carelessly, "but I never take cold."
She picked up a coat from the rack, and Farr helped her on with it,and then they wandered out into the night.
"Is it not delicious?" Jean sighed, as they sauntered leisurely along.
"It seems so to me," he returned, with a glance into the girl's eyes.
"Miss Jean," he began, after a brief silence, "Did you not tell meonce that there was a pretty walk through the shrubbery?"
"Yes?" with a note of interrogation.
"In which direction would it lead us, if we should take it now?"
"To the parsonage, eventually, but," hesitatingly, "by a much longerway than by the path through the hedge."
"The longer, the better--for me."
"I don't know what they will think has become of us," she demurred.
Farr laughed easily.
"I never trouble myself too much about what people think."
"I don't doubt that you are in no way different from the rest of yoursex. I believe it is generally conceded that selfishness is itssalient characteristic."
"A popular fallacy. Do I not prove it to you, Miss Jean?"
"Oh, of course you are the exception that proves the rule," shereturned with gentle sarcasm.
He stopped suddenly, midway in the path they were traversing, andlooked straight down at her. There was a ring of deeper feeling in hisvoice as he spoke:
"I want you to think just as well of me as you can, and I cannotimagine having a more earnest desire than that I might always proveworthy of your kindest thoughts."
There was a tinge of defiance in Jean's manner as she answered himflippantly:
"Don't you think I would be using my time rather aimlessly, Mr. Farr,were I to give it up to thoughts of you?"
An expression of keen displeasure crossed Farr's face.
"I beg your pardon," he said stiffly.
Instantly Jean repented of her foolish words, and was heartily sorryto have wounded her companion, but the slight tremor at her heartwarned her that to confess would be unwise.
"I think of you quite as much as you deserve," she ventured with anervous little laugh, and she began to walk on toward the shrubbery ata brisker pace.
Farr made no immediate rejoinder, and when he spoke again it was in analtered tone.
"There is quite a fragrance to this box-wood, is there not?"
"Yes, indeed, and a very pleasant one. The perfume is heavy these warmnights after the sun has been shining on it all day."
"You have no idea what a charm the country has for me. I have reallybeen in it so little since I was a boy."
"But your home is in the country, is it not?"
"Yes, but my family spend the winters in Washington, and our countryhome is only open during the summer months. I don't often get a chanceto go down there. My mother keeps the house pretty well filled, for mytwo married brothers live at home."
"And have you no sisters?"
Farr's voice, which had sounded a little cold when speaking of hishome, changed to sudden tenderness.
"Yes, one, and she is the dearest little girl in the world."
"I suppose you love her dearly, and do your best to spoil her?"
"Well, Clarisse and I are certainly great chums," he assented.
"How nice it must be to have an older brother. We girls have alwaysregretted so that we did not have one, although," with a sad littlesigh, "we used to have a dear old friend who was just as good as abrother; but he has gone away now."
"I suppose that there are times when they are of some use," said Farr,"although men are so hopelessly selfish."
"I would not think of contradicting you," Jean laughingly averred."Come, we are talking a great deal, and not making much headway, andit must be growing late."
"I am all tangled up in this maze of by-paths. In which direction isthe parsonage from here?"
"If you don't mind climbing a stone wall, we can turn to our right,and take a short cut, and we will be there in no time."
Farr agreed, and they walked on in silence until they had emerged fromthe shrubbery into a small clearing, skirted on the further side by awall, its line broken at a certain point where some stones had beenthrown down. Farr sprang lightly across, and turned back to assistJean. Just then the moon, which had slipped under a cloud, shone outagain, its soft rays falling directly on the girl's face. She had onefoot already on
the first stepping stone when he put up his hand tostay her.
"Well," she asked, as he did not speak. "What is it? Are you not goingto help me?"
"Of course I am, but," leaning a little toward her, "this wall is asort of a Rubicon. Once crossed we cannot go back, for we are then inthe parsonage grounds. It has been a pleasant walk, and one to beremembered, has it not?"
"Yes," she murmured, with a quick indrawing of her breath.
"I wish----" he began impetuously.
"Mr. Farr," she interposed with gentle decision, "will you please helpme over."
He gave her his hand, and gravely assisted her to the ground on theother side.
They were nearing the porch, and already the sounds of gay voicesreached them through the stillness of the summer night, when Jeanturned abruptly to the man at her side.
"By the way, Mr. Farr, we are to have a visitor shortly, and I hopeyou men will help us to make it pleasant for her."
He uttered some polite commonplace, and Jean went on:
"Perhaps you know Helen's friend, a Miss Stuart of New York."
A sudden recollection flashed through Farr's mind.
"Not one chance in a thousand that it should be the same," he thought,as he answered indifferently, "I think not."
"I thought possibly you might have met," she said carelessly. "Sheseems to know almost everyone."
He half turned to put a question to her, but already they were at thevine-covered porch, and Nan's jolly greeting lost him the opportunity.