MISS WEST'S CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE.
I.
"Miss West, I will thank you to see that the school-books and theschool-work are in their proper places, and the school-room locked forthe holidays."
The speaker, Miss Sandys, was the proprietor of Carter Hill School, andMiss West was the governess. The season was Christmas, and the children,without an exception, had departed rejoicing.
With a sense of liberty as keen as the children's, but with a glee of adecidedly soberer kind, Miss West executed the commission, and then tookher place beside her superior at the parlour-fire.
Miss Sandys was quite an elderly woman. She was over fifty, and hadgrown grey in the service. Her features, even in her prime, had beengaunt, like the rest of her person. But she had mellowed with age, andhad become what the Germans call _charakteristisch_, and what we mayterm original and sagacious. She dressed well--that is, soberly andsubstantially--in soft wools or strong silks, as she possibly did notfind it easy to do in her youth. She was stately, if somewhat stiff, inher deportment. At present she felt intoxicated at the prospect ofenjoying for ten days the irresponsibility of private life.
Miss West had not by any means attained the Indian summer of MissSandys; she was still in the more trying transition stage. In spite ofthe shady hollows in the cheeks, and the haggard lines about themouth, she was a young woman yet. Indeed, had it not been for thosehollows and lines, she would have been pretty--as she was when theclear cheeks had no wanness in their paleness, but were round andsoft; when the straight mouth pouted ever so little, and the sharpeyes were bright, and the fine dark hair was profuse instead ofscanty. But she laid no claim to prettiness now, and dressed asplainly as feminine propriety would allow.
As she sat in the linen and drugget-covered parlour, which was adrawing-room when in full-dress, she could not help a half-consciousrestraint creeping over her. But this was not because Miss Sandys was anogress, rather because she herself had grown semi-professional even inholiday trim. She looked into the compressed fire in the high,old-fashioned grate, and wondered how she would pass the coming idleweek. She had spent a good many idle weeks at Carter Hill before; butthey always came upon her afresh with a sense of strangeness, bringingat the same time a tide of old associations.
Miss Sandys was a blunt woman by nature, and it was only by great effortthat she had become fine-edged. So she said to Miss West, with a sortof naive abruptness, "I'll tell you what, Miss West, we'll have cake totea, because there are only you and I, and it is the first night of theholidays; and we'll have a strong cup, since we have all the teapot toourselves. I think I shall try my hand this week at some of my oldtea-cakes and pies and things which my mother taught me to bake. I amgoing to have my cousin Jamie and his wife here. He is a rough sailor,and his conversation does not suit before the girls. She was only asmall farmer's daughter, and cannot behave prettily at all. But they areworthy people, and are the nearest relations I have left in the world.Perhaps I'll take you to see them in the summer, Miss West. Ah, dear! itis liberty-hall at my cousin Jamie's little place. Peggy's Haven, hecalls it, after his old ship and his old wife. But it is a fine changefor me, though it would not do for the young people to hear aboutit--you understand, Miss West."
Miss West understood, and she readily acquiesced in the prospect ofmeeting Captain and Mrs. Berwick. She was even flattered by it. Theright chord of genuine nobility was in her, though she was reported tobe satirical. It was true that she was slightly disposed to make abrupt,ironical speeches, the practice being one of her few small privileges.But she felt that Miss Sandys' confidence was honourable alike to giverand receiver, and that the terms on which she lived with her employerdid no discredit to either. The fact was that Miss West returned thanksfor these same terms in the middle of her confession of errors every dayof her life.
Accordingly Miss West drank the strong tea, and did her best to relishthe little blocks of cake, though they were slightly stale; and not theless did she enjoy them that she settled in her private mind to proposebuttered toast next time, and to prepare it herself. She listened andreplied to Miss Sandys' conversation, which did not now run so much onschool incidents as on affairs in general. Miss Sandys' talk was shrewdand sensible at all times, and not without interest and amusement,especially when it diverged, at this point and that, to her ownexperience, and to the customs and opinions of her youth, when fadedMiss West was a baby.
Christmas brought holidays to Miss Sandys' school, but Christmas Evewas, in other respects, very unmarked. It would have been dull, almostgrim, to English notions. There was no Christmas tree, no waits, nodecorating of the church for the morrow. Still, it was the end of theyear--the period, by universal consent, dedicated to goodwill andrejoicing all over the world--the old "daft days" even of sober, austereScotland. Jenny and Menie, in the kitchen, were looking forward to thatHandsel Monday which is the Whit Monday of country servants, and thefamily gathering of the peasantry in Scotland. First footing and NewYear's gifts were lighting up the servant girls' imaginations. Theformer may be safely looked upon as over with Miss Sandys and Miss West,but they were not without visions of New Year's gifts--the useful,considerate New Year's gifts of mature years. Miss West was at thismoment knitting an exquisitely fine, yet warm, veil which she had beguntwo months ago, and which she had good hopes of completing within thenext few days. Miss Sandys had a guess that this veil was for her velvetbonnet, and looked at it admiringly as a grand panacea for her springface-ache.
In the course of the evening Miss Sandys, after a fit of absence ofmind, suddenly asked Miss West's name.
On the spur of the moment, she answered, with surprise, "Why, Miss West,to be sure. What do you mean, Miss Sandys?" Then she reflected, laughed,and owned that she had almost forgotten that she had a Christian name.But she had certainly got one, and it was Magdalene, or Madge, orMaddie; once it was Mad; and as she said Mad she laughed a second time,to conceal a break in her voice.
Miss Sandys smiled awkwardly and guiltily, and observed quickly, "MyChristian name is Christian. Did you know that, Miss West? Oh, I forgot;you must have seen it marked on the table and bed linen."
"Mine is to be read on my pocket-handkerchiefs. Our Christian namespreserved on table-cloths and pocket-handkerchiefs!--droll, isn't it,Miss Sandys?"
"Of course they are in our books and letters," corrected matter-of-factMiss Sandys. "I dare say they are in a couple of family Bibles, too (atleast, I can speak for one), and in the records of births and baptismsin session books, if these are not destroyed by damp and rats; and sincenames are recorded in heaven," Miss Sandys was drawn on to ramble,"surely our Christian names are there, my dear."
Miss West knew as well as if she had been told it, that Miss Sandys wasabout to bestow on her a present with which her Christian name was to beconnected. Miss Sandys' eyes had failed through long looking overlessons, and she no longer did any handiwork, save coarse knitting,hemming, and darning. But she had a fuller purse than her companion, andshops, even metropolitan shops, were to be reached by letter from CarterHill.
In addition to the strong tea and the cake, Miss Sandys further treatedMiss West to a supper of such dainties as toasted cheese and Edinburghale. There were prayers--they seemed quite family prayers--with only thefour worshippers to join in them. Then there was a shake of the hands,and Miss West lit her candle, retired, and shut herself up in her ownlittle room. Its daily aspect was so unchanged, that it appeared whenshe entered it as though the holidays had not come, and that it muststill be the ordinary bustling school life.
She sat down, though there was no fire, and thought a little, till shefell on her knees and prayed in low murmurs that God would enable her tobear this season, which made her heavy, sick, and faint withassociations, and that He would render her contented with manyundeserved blessings, and resigned to many natural penalties which Heordained. Next, with strange inconsistency to all but the Hearer ofprayer and the Framer of the wayward human heart, she besought to beforgiven and delivered f
rom levity and folly--to be kept humble andmindful of death. "It is ill tearing up weeds by the roots," she said toherself plainly, when she had risen from her knees, "and I am vain andvolatile, and I like to mystify and tease my neighbour to this day."
II.
Christmas Day rose with a clear, frosty blue sky. Miss Sandys and MissWest both felt the unwonted stillness of the house; and they could nothelp a lurking suspicion that time without public occupation might hanga dead weight on their hands. The two ladies went through the ceremonyof wishing each other a merry Christmas, Scotland though it was. MissSandys went off to put into execution her holiday cooking practice--forit was refreshing to her to have a bowl instead of a book in hergrasp--and to make her preparations for welcoming her primitive cousins.Miss West sat down to write her letters and to work at her veil and ather other New Year's gifts.
She wished she could work with her mind as well as her fingers, so thatit might not run on picturing what this day was in tens of thousands ofhomes throughout Christendom. It had always been an unruly member thisfancy of hers, and it was particularly busy at this season. Yesterdaythe roads had resounded with the blithe tramp of eager feet hieinghomewards. To-day the air was ringing with the pleasant echo of voicesround hearths, the fires of which flashed like the sun, and where ageand youth met in the perfect confidence and sweet fearlessness of familyaffection. In her mind's eye, she had yesterday seen railways andcoaches disgorging their cheerful loads; she had witnessed the meetingsat lodge gates, in halls, and on the thresholds of parlour and cottagekitchens; she had looked on the bountiful boards, where cherished guestscrowned the festival, of which Miss Sandys' rasping tea and stale cakewas a half-pathetic, half-comic version. To-day she was in spirit withthe multitude walking in close groups to holly-wreathed churches,sharing in the light-hearted thoughtlessness of many an acknowledgment,and in the deep gratitude of many a thanksgiving. She strove to putherself aside altogether in her meditations, and simply to rejoice withthose who rejoiced; but she had not attained this degree ofunselfishness; she could not help believing sometimes that she hadplucked all the thorns and none of the roses of life. But if you supposethat she betrayed this yearning and pining to the world at large, youare very much mistaken. As has been told, she had the right chord ofgenuine nobility and generosity in her, and she laboured to fit hercross to her own back, so that it might not overshadow and crush others.Her fingers went nimbly about her gifts--trifling things, only enough togladden simple hearts. She gratified Miss Sandys by praising her rustyaccomplishments in cookery; she uttered a jest or two for the benefit ofJenny and Menie, who had a liking for her, though they called her"scornful;" and she brought in holly and box from the garden to decoratethe sitting-rooms. The last move, however, proved nearly a failure, forthere was one little pink and white blossom of laurustinus, which hadventured out in a sheltered nook, though half of its leaves wereblanched ashen grey. It somehow or other raised such a tide of sentimentin her as all but overcame her.
Miss West desired work for this season, and she got work, and tolerablyhard work too, for besides completing her New Year's gifts, she had tohelp to entertain Captain and Mrs. Berwick.
The visitors were so vulgar, according to fine people, that they werenot even sensible of their own vulgarity. And so good-natured were they,that they were not offended because cousin Sandys did not invite themwith any of the genteel parents of her pupils. They took this reservedhospitality as a complimentary admission of their kinsmanship. But theywere not intrinsically more coarse-minded than many dukes and duchesses.Captain Berwick, it is true, was nautical in his tone, and talked shop,but that is permitted to sea captains in novels, nay, enjoined uponthem. He was apt to be broad in his jokes, and to use unwarrantableexpressions, for which he bent his shock head in penitent apology themoment after he had used them. "It is the effect of bad habits, Kirstenand Peggy," he would cry: "you women know nothing of bad habits any morethan of bad words."
Mrs. Berwick was a particularly round-eyed woman, and was plump andruddy where the Captain was battered and weather-beaten. She placed thescene of most of her narratives in the kitchens of her acquaintances,and scrambled with her _dramatis personae_ through the strong situationsof a servant's history.
Nevertheless the manner of the Berwicks was not without the refreshinginfluence of common, rude fresh air. They were not exceptionallycoarse-minded, but unluckily they were neither strong nor fine minded.They were ponderous, clumsy beings, and although genuine andwarm-hearted, were destitute of internal resources. They expected to beconstantly eating and drinking, or to be constantly entertained. If theywere not entertained, they showed their weariness without restraint, byyawning outrageously. The entertaining of Captain and Mrs. Berwick wastherefore no sinecure. But Miss West was loyal. She walked with theCaptain, so that he might have more than his one smoke a day, andperseveringly copied and sang Braham's songs for him. She designed andcut out patterns for Mrs. Berwick, who, as the Captain had saved money,did not make her own dresses, but nevertheless loved to accumulatepatterns of sleeves, capes, and flounces. She listened to her tales, andhelped her to as much more kitchiana as she could produce on shortnotice. She told how Betsy had worn feathers and been taken to prison onsuspicion of theft; and how Marianne her sister had hoarded her wages inorder to secure legal advice for Betsy, and had captivated and marriedan officer of the court in which Betsy had been tried, and how it hadall happened in a family where Miss West had lived.
III.
Captain and Mrs. Berwick were gone. The holidays at Carter Hill were allbut ended--"all but ended," Miss Sandys repeated with a little sigh ofrelief, and an inclination to moralize on that weariness which is theresult of pleasure. When Miss West came down in the morning the kettlewas steaming on the hob, the teapot under its cosie, and the couple ofrolls and the dish of sausages were set in their places. MissSandys--her working apron lying ready to take up on the side-tablebehind her--was bent to the last on buns and pork pies, though shefrankly admitted they were vanity. But the girls must be broken fromtheir home dainties by degrees, and Jenny and Menie must have "cakes" tocarry to their homes on their Handsel Monday.
Miss West found a letter on her plate. It caused her complexion tochange, and her sharp eyes to fasten on it fixedly. No wonder her headswam and her ears rang. She was going through the uncomfortable processof turning back some ten or twelve years in her life. It was a strangeletter to come to her--a large letter, which had been charged doublepostage; a letter with the elements of mortification in it, as well asother elements, both to sender and receiver. It was written in a big,scampering hand.
"Dear Mad," it began, "it is so queer to be addressing you again. I remember when I used to say 'Mad' to a white-faced, dark-eyed girl. Was she pretty, I wonder? Some people said so, but I don't know, only I have never seen a face quite equal to hers since--never. Mad and I were great friends when I used to visit her elder brother; great friends, indeed, in a bantering, biting way. But it was Mad who bantered and bit; certainly I did not banter and bite again, rarely even so much as gave a gentle pinch, for I would not have hurt Mad for the world, and Mad did not hurt me. At least she never meant it seriously, and she was always so piteously penitent when she thought she had wounded my feelings. Oh, dear, quizzing Mad! she had such a soft heart in its bristling shell, and I hurt it. I hurt Mad--yes, I know; I know to my sorrow and shame.
"Mad, do you remember how you went every day to meet a timid little brother coming from school along a lonely moorland road, where there were broomy braes in June and heathery braes in September? What a convenient custom it was for me, since the little brother, unlike little monsters of the same kind, had neither eyes nor ears but for his own avocations, and trotted on obediently in front of us. The sight of my own little Bill's satchel gives me a turn, and makes me feel spoony to this day. Do you remember your great dog, Mad? (what a child you were for pets!)--and who it was used to go to the kennel to f
eed it with you? If that dog had been a true Bevis, it would have torn that hulking fellow where he stood, yet he meant no harm; nay, he had a strong persuasion that he was doing something meritorious (how he hit it I can't tell) in not committing himself and binding you when he had no more than a clerk's paltry income. But I have heard that trees, stripped of leaves in flowery May, revenge themselves by bursting out green, if the frosts will let them, in foggy November. So the prudence of twenty-five may be the folly of thirty-five. It was rank mean-spiritedness in me not to go through thick and thin, through flood and fire, for Mad. What in the world was worth striving for if she was not worth it? Ah, I lost my chance when I might have taken it, and trusted the rest to Providence! But I did not know, though I fancied I did, the value of the jewel, the price of which, in stern self-restraint, I refused to pay. I might have been another man if I had not been so prudent, for, as I have said, not another face has been to me quite (no, not by a long chalk) what Mad's once was. It was only yesterday that I heard by chance--and the story has haunted me since--that Mad is still a single woman, her family all dispersed, and she a teacher in a school--my quizzing, affectionate Mad a drudging, lonely teacher!
"After being so prudent, it is not wonderful to record that I was fickle, though circumstances, and not my will, separated Mad and me at first. I could not get down to the old place so regularly as I was wont to do, which annoyed me, and I did my best to get rid of the obstacles. When I did get down, Mad was not at home, and I had no right to follow her. We met seldomer; we grew stiffer and stranger to each other. You are acquainted with the process, Miss West, though perhaps not fully with my share in it. The impression which Mad had made on me, unique as it was, faded and was overlaid by others. I met another girl, whom I liked too, and whom it appeared so much simpler--more expedient and advantageous--for me to love and to marry. I married her, breaking no vows, not writing myself faithless, far less treacherous, but only fickle. Yet I had once known, if ever man knew, that I had made Mad's strong heart--I think it was strong, although it was soft to me--beat in tune with mine. I had done all I could, short of saying the words, to impress Mad with what were my wishes and intentions, I had preferred her in every company, followed her when I was down at the old place, like her shadow (her shadow, indeed!). I had elected her my confidante and adviser, and poured all my precious opinions and plans--my very scrapes--into her curious, patient ears. Mad, have you forgotten how once, like an old-fashioned, grandiloquent muff, I showed you the picture of a perfect woman in a book of poetry--'Paradise Lost' it might have been, and 'Eve' for any special appropriateness in the picture--and broadly hinted my private idea that the perfect woman was fulfilled in Mad!--lively, faulty Mad! Your sisters were very anxious to read the passage which I had selected for your study, and from which I was evidently pointing a moral; but you closed the book abruptly in the old seat behind the round tea-table with the brass rim. I suppose the sisters don't know the passage to this day?
"Having been fickle, I was a great deal better off in my wife than I deserved. Remember, Mad, my wife and the mother of my children was a good woman; I was reasonably happy with her, and I trust I bore her tender reverence. She died and left me with our children two winters ago. When we meet again, it will be where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage. Now, when I can do her no wrong, I think of another to whom I did wrong; than whom there was never another to me the same--no, nothing like it. Learning that Mad has been true--oh! Mad, _you_ could never have been anything else but true--I have wondered whether I might not be allowed to do something to atone, whether I was not worth having still, and whether I could not--a bold phrase, but it will out--make it up to Mad, a solitary single woman, a teacher in a school. Oh! Mad, I say again, what a hard fate for you!
"I cannot offer an immense inducement. I am not a merchant prince, though I am richer than I was in the old days; yet somehow I do not care to boast of my riches to Mad, and I am a widower with two small children--not models. I dare not send you my _carte_, and I don't want yours. You are always the same Mad to me that you have been through all those years, and will be to the end of the chapter, whether you answer me yes or no. You will answer yes. You were always great for magnanimity, and flamed up on it, dark eyes, white cheeks, and all, when you were a wild lassie. Don't tell me you are less magnanimous as a brave, hard-working woman, or you will sap my faith in womankind.
"Mad, how this Christmas season stirs me with the far-off murmurs of another Christmas, when you and I pulled the holly and the other thing--the thing with the tiny, fair, frost-bitten clusters of blossom--some sort of laurel wasn't it? That old Christmas, who can describe? What glamour over the prosaic family dinner and carpet dance to see the old year out and the new year in? Say the word, Mad, and before the first full moon of this new year has waned to half a cheese she will shine down upon us, anew, with the old shining. I swear it on the part of your old friend,
BILL NAIRNE."
What Miss West said when she read the letter was, "Make it up, indeed!Redeem me from such degradation! Crown me with such honour! Intolerablearrogance! How could he take it upon him? But it is like Bill; conceitedfellow!"
Miss West was properly indignant. The letter was so unsuitable in everyrespect. All her life she had been famous as a woman of spirit--thespirit which will cause a woman to decline an obligation as long asindependence is possible, and which will not have for pity what itcannot have for love. She would prove to Bill Nairne that it was no suchhard fate as he supposed to teach a school under Miss Sandys, no suchpromotion, as he fondly imagined, to be placed at the head of thehousehold of a pompous widower with a pair of spoilt children. She wouldconvince him that a woman of her age is more difficult to please than agirl, and is not to be led off her feet by a few impertinently recalledreminiscences, nor to be won by the tardy wag of a finger. She wouldteach Bill Nairne a lesson undreamt of in his philosophy--that all thenonsense about old maids, their humiliations, their forlorn condition,and their desperate welcoming of late offers was wholly false.
She selected the smallest sheet of note-paper from the packet lyingbeside the exercises in her desk, and wrote:--
"Dear Sir,--I am glad to be able to tell you that, on the whole, teaching in a school is not so hard a fate as you think. Miss Sandys is an excellent woman, a reliable friend, and an agreeable companion. The girls and their antecedents exhibit life to me under considerable variety of characters and circumstances, and as pupils they are mostly affectionate as well as interesting. I must remain indebted for your good opinion, and you have my best wishes for your future welfare, but I beg to decline your--gratuitous" (Miss West had written the word, but she changed it into--not gracious, but) "generous offer. Without offence to you, old times do not come again.
"Believe me, yours very sincerely, M. WEST."
Miss West read her letter, and considered it was, perhaps, too brief.She did not want to part with him in an unfriendly fashion. Her lastwords to Bill Nairne must be such as she herself could think of withoutpain. So she rummaged among her Christmas gifts, and found a dancingDervish and a brightly-embroidered ball. These she wrapped up with theletter, and made a small parcel of the whole, after she had added thispostscript: "Please give the enclosed toys as cheap New Year'splaythings to the children. Tell them, if you choose, that they comefrom an old friend of papa's, whose name was--Mad."
IV.
Miss West took the letter to the post-office herself after dinner, asshe was going to inquire for a pupil who lived near Carter Hill, and whowas sick--unhappy child!--from holiday junketing. Miss West could notrecover her equanimity till that letter was out of the house. It hadshaken her, satirical and discreet though she was. It had also given hera guilty sensat
ion towards Miss Sandys. She could not endure that eventhe servants should read the address:--"W. Nairne, Esq., Waterloo Lodge,Bridgeton, Strokeshire," though W. Nairne, Esq., might have stood forher brother-in-law, her uncle by marriage, or her maternal grandfatherfor aught they could tell. She held her hand over the superscription asif to hide it from herself as she walked along under the newly-risenmoon, as it cast its light on a crisp sprinkling of snow. It was trueChristmas weather at last, and this was something like a Christmasadventure for her. But not the less did she wish the Christmas ended,and the moon replaced by gas jets of the smallest size. "A pretty storyfor the girls if they should get hold of it," she thought, andshuddered. She did not recover altogether till she had posted herpacket, and walked half a mile further on. At length she passed througha creaking gate and a shrubbery, and was shown up to a smartdrawing-room. She was there to ask for the health of Miss VictoriaMiddlemass, the daughter of a gentleman who led a country gentleman'slife on the proceeds of a sleeping partnership in a mercantile house ina large town at some distance.
Mrs. Middlemass came in hurriedly. She had only time to wish Miss West amerry Christmas and a good New Year, and to announce that Vicky wasquite herself again, except that the bun fever had left her rather pale,and she had not got back all her appetite. She could not, however, makethe same complaint of Mr. Middlemass, who had just come in ravenouslyhungry from the train. He had been accompanied by another gentleman, whohad been introduced to him before he left the north, and whom Mr.Middlemass would not allow to go over to the inn at Stoneham, where hewas to spend a few days with a friend. Mr. Middlemass and his newacquaintance were still at dinner.
Miss West was hurrying away after having discharged her commission, inorder not to detain Mrs. Middlemass from her husband and his guest, andnot to impose on master or servant the trouble of seeing her home.
But as they were exchanging smothered good-byes near the opendining-room door, Mr. Middlemass, who was frank and hospitable, brokethrough the clatter of knives and forks, and called out unceremoniously,"My dear, who is that you are taking leave of?"
"It is only Miss West, my dear," his wife replied softly to quiet him.
"Miss West!" and he banged from his seat and bounced to the door. "MissWest! the very woman in the nick of time. Stay, Miss West, and thankyour stars; here's an old friend come a long way to see you."
Miss West turned, and there, behind the cordial face of the master ofthe house, who suspected nothing, and was only happy to be helpful to abrother merchant, were the perfectly recognizable lineaments of that oldpersonable fellow, Bill Nairne.
Miss West for a second fancied that the letter she had posted to him tenminutes before had sped like a telegram to its destination, and that hehad sped back on the telegraphic wires to remonstrate with her andexpose her. The next instant she was sensible that the accident of hisbeing there in person must be a result of a previous change of mind onhis part.
Bill Nairne had stared, and stammered in mechanical accents, after Mr.Middlemass supplied him with the keynote, "Miss West, the very person,let us thank our stars!" But he soon recovered himself, and then shookher hand warmly, and declared, in his old, off-hand manner, "I shall seeyou home, Miss West;" for Miss West had no sooner recovered her breathand her small share of colour, than she combated Mr. Middlemass'spressing invitation to remain and spend the evening with them. No; MissSandys was expecting her; she thanked him and Mrs. Middlemass, but shecould not stay on any account, so that there would be no use in sendingover a message or a note to Carter Hill. Neither was it on Miss West'scards that Bill Nairne should escort her to Carter Hill, or, indeed,that she should have any escort at all. "Do not think of such a thing; Icould not allow it." Mrs. Middlemass came to Miss West's aid, andalleged in her ignorance, "There is no occasion for it, Mr. Nairne; itis only a step to Carter Hill, and Miss West is accustomed to walkacross after dinner, when Miss Sandys has a message for us. Remember, weare very quiet people here compared to what you are in the north.Besides, if Miss West is timid, I can manage to send a servant, or," shewent on with greater hesitation, "Mr. Middlemass will be delighted togo, he knows the way; but you must not put yourself about on anyconsideration."
Miss West rather indignantly denied being timid, timidity being out ofher _role_, and then she judged prematurely that the matter was settled.She had got so accustomed to order about girls that she had fallen intothe bad habit of expecting that her will should be law to all the world,with the exception of Miss Sandys. As for Mr. and Mrs. Middlemass, theyat least knew that she could take care of herself.
It was another shock to Miss West, another tumultuous, inopportunereturn to the experience of half a score years back, to find that shecould no more dictate to Bill Nairne on this small matter than she couldhave done it as Mad of the old days.
"Say no more about it, Miss West. I'll go home with you, of course."Bill thus put her down with an intrepidity, if anything, increased withhis increased weight physically and commercially.
This completely confounded Miss West, and made a greater muddle of herformer and her present identities than had yet been effected.
"I'll see Miss West home, and we'll have a talk together of our oldfriendship as we walk along," Bill maintained with the confidentcoolness of power, towards the self-contained, self-sustained teacher.
It was something unprecedented for Miss West to be walking to CarterHill on a man's arm, an old friend's arm. She felt an odd sensationstealing over her as if she were no longer able to take care of herself,as if she were no longer herself, her late self, at all; and the moonhelped the illusion.
Silence descended on Miss West and Bill Nairne, after the first forcedcommonplaces. He glanced furtively at her, and lost his confidence andcoolness, and hung his head--the respectable prosperous merchant!--butnot at what _he_ saw. What did she see? Nothing but that the sword hadworn the scabbard. Mad had been true to herself. Mad could not have beenotherwise than true, as he had written. But the consciousness of whatMad would see when she lifted up her eyes and looked him in the facemade him droop his head. He had got a glimpse of it that morning, when,as the thought of Mad grew more and more vivid in his mind, he sawsomething reflected in the glass which did not necessarily belong tobodily maturity. The conviction returned to him with fresh, poignantregret, in the peaceful hush and subdued splendour of the winter night.There were lines in his face which Mad should never have seen there,without which he would have been nearer heaven. There were hard,unbelieving lines, supercilious lines, self-indulgent lines, lines ofthe earth, earthy, corresponding to hard and gross lines in the spiritwithin. The respectable, prosperous merchant, had fallen from hisoriginal level. He had not attained to the chivalrous, Christian manhoodwhich he had the prospect of when he was Mad's promising lover. He hadlowered his standard, forsaken his principles, lost his faith a fewtimes since then. The gulf between Mad and him was wider now. He feltthis walking on the moonlight December night by Mad's side again.
It was in a somewhat different tone from that of his letter that BillNairne said at last, "Mad, will you have the worst of me? Will you dosomething for me and mine after all? I might have been another man if Ihad got you long ago, Mad."
"Would you have been a better and a happier man, Bill? Could I doanything for you yet? Answer me truly," she said, hurriedly heaping theself-forgetful, quivering sentences one upon another.
"Anything!" exclaimed big Bill Nairne with intense conviction andhyperbole, more excusable than his old prudence and fickleness,"Anything! Mad, you could do everything with me, and with little Billand Bob. We should no longer be egotistical and frivolous, with you tokeep us right, you good, single-hearted Mad."
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Miss Sandys was entitled to say, "You have come out this Christmas, MissWest. I shan't allow my assistant to be taken off her satirical staidfeet another Christmas. I'll lock the next one up for the holidays. Itis all those holidays; you would never have thought of such foolishthings had yo
u been busy teaching. I'll lock the next one up, or I'llsend her to her friends, who will live, I trust, in some peacefulvalley, where there are no old acquaintances, or for that matter, men ofany kind. I shall, indeed, Miss West, for I hate changes." Miss Sandyshad not to dread changes much longer. A sister of Miss West came andsupplied her place, and lived so long with Miss Sandys that she closedher superior's eyes like a dutiful daughter, and succeeded to thegoodwill of Carter Hill School.
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PRINTED BY J. S. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED, CITY ROAD, LONDON.
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Transcriber's Notes Page 21 "everyday" changed to "every-day" Page 30 "common-place" changed to "commonplace" Page 45 "lifelong" changed to "life-long" Page 62 duplicate "it" removed Page 77 "face was white" changed to "face was as white" Page 81 "confided in her; the" changed to "confided in her; she" Page 85 "Fox-holes" changed to Foxholes Page 110 "she "bridled" well," changed to "she "bridled" well." Page 112 "company travelled," changed to "company travelled." Page 152 "It had been a sen" changed to "It had been a sent" Page 186 "sea-weed" changed to "seaweed" Page 186 "careworn" changed to "care-worn" Page 201 "praise God and he" changed to "praise God and be" Page 215 "canary bird," changed to "canary bird." Page 222 "selfishnesss" changed to "selfishness" Page 241 "suspense?" changed to "suspense!" Page 247 "powr" changed to "power" Page 248 "their mother," changed to "their mother." Page 255 "to the pathos" changed to "to the pathos of" Page 293 "circnmstances" changed to "circumstances" Page 297 "small-pox" changed to "smallpox" Page 307 "horseflesh" changed to "horse-flesh" Page 342 duplicate "a" removed Page 344 "New-Year's" changed to "New Year's" Page 348 "themsevles" changed to "themselves"
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