CHAPTER IV.
WHAT SHALL BE DONE ABOUT IT?
Rachel was still thinking of Luke Rowan and of the man's arm whenshe opened the cottage door, but the sight of her sister's face,and the tone of her sister's voice, soon brought her back to a fullconsciousness of her immediate present position. "Oh, Dolly, do notspeak with that terrible voice, as though the world were coming toan end," she said, in answer to the first note of objurgation thatwas uttered; but the notes that came afterwards were so much moreterrible, so much more severe, that Rachel found herself quite unableto stop them by any would-be joking tone.
Mrs. Prime was desirous that her mother should speak the words ofcensure that must be spoken. She would have preferred herself toremain silent, knowing that she could be as severe in her silence asin her speech, if only her mother would use the occasion as it shouldbe used. Mrs. Ray had been made to feel how great was the necessityfor outspoken severity; but when the moment came, and her dearbeautiful child stood there before her, she could not utter the wordswith which she had been already prompted. "Oh, Rachel," she said,"Dorothea tells me--" and then she stopped.
"What has Dorothea told you?" asked Rachel.
"I have told her," said Mrs. Prime, now speaking out, "that I saw youstanding alone an hour since with that young man,--in the churchyard.And yet you had said that he was to have been away in Exeter!"
Rachel's cheeks and forehead were now suffused with red. We used tothink, when we pretended to read the faces of our neighbours, thata rising blush betrayed a conscious falsehood. For the most partwe know better now, and have learned to decipher more accuratelythe outward signs which are given by the impulses of the heart. Anunmerited accusation of untruth will ever bring the blood to the faceof the young and innocent. But Mrs. Ray was among the ignorant inthis matter, and she groaned inwardly when she saw her child'sconfusion.
"Oh, Rachel, is it true?" she said.
"Is what true, mamma? It is true that Mr. Rowan spoke to me in thechurchyard, though I did not know that Dorothea was acting as a spyon me."
"Rachel, Rachel!" said the mother.
"It is very necessary that some one should act the spy on you," saidthe sister. "A spy, indeed! You think to anger me by using such aword, but I will not be angered by any words. I went there to lookafter you, fearing that there was occasion,--fearing it, but hardlythinking it. Now we know that there was occasion."
"There was no occasion," said Rachel, looking into her sister's facewith eyes of which the incipient strength was becoming manifest."There was no occasion. Oh, mamma, you do not think there was anoccasion for watching me?"
"Why did you say that that young man was at Exeter?" asked Mrs.Prime.
"Because he had told me that he would be there;--he had told us allso, as we were walking together. He came to-day instead of comingto-morrow. What would you say if I questioned you in that way aboutyour friends?" Then, when the words had passed from her lips, sheremembered that she should not have called Mr. Rowan her friend. Shehad never called him so, in thinking of him, to herself. She hadnever admitted that she had any regard for him. She had acknowledgedto herself that it would be very dangerous to entertain friendshipfor such as he.
"Friend, Rachel!" said Mrs. Prime. "If you look for such friendshipas that, who can say what will come to you?"
"I haven't looked for it. I haven't looked for anything. People doget to know each other without any looking, and they can't help it."
Then Mrs. Prime took off her bonnet and her shawl, and Rachel laiddown her hat and her little light summer cloak; but it must not besupposed that the war was suspended during these operations. Mrs.Prime was aware that a great deal more must be said, but she was veryanxious that her mother should say it. Rachel also knew that muchmore would be said, and she was by no means anxious that the subjectshould be dropped, if only she could talk her mother over to herside.
"If mother thinks it right," exclaimed Mrs. Prime, "that you shouldbe standing alone with a young man after nightfall in the churchyard,then I have done. In that case I will say no more. But I must tellher, and I must tell you also, that if it is to be so, I cannotremain at the cottage any longer."
"Oh, Dorothea!" said Mrs. Ray.
"Indeed, mother, I cannot. If Rachel is not hindered from suchmeetings by her own sense of what is right, she must be hindered bythe authority of those older than herself."
"Hindered,--hindered from what?" said Rachel, who felt that her tearswere coming, but struggled hard to retain them. "Mamma, I have donenothing that was wrong. Mamma, you will believe me, will you not?"
Mrs. Ray did not know what to say. She strove to believe both ofthem, though the words of one were directly at variance with thewords of the other.
"Do you mean to claim it as your right," said Mrs. Prime, "to bestanding out there alone at any hour of the night, with any young manthat you please? If so, you cannot be my sister."
"I do not want to be your sister if you think such hard things," saidRachel, whose tears now could no longer be restrained. Honi soit quimal y pense. She did not, at the moment, remember the words to speakthem, but they contain exactly the purport of her thought. And now,having become conscious of her own weakness by reason of these tearswhich would overwhelm her, she determined that she would say nothingfurther till she pleaded her cause before her mother alone. How couldshe describe before her sister the way in which that interview at thechurchyard stile had been brought about? But she could kneel at hermother's feet and tell her everything;--she thought, at least, thatshe could tell her mother everything. She occupied generally the samebedroom as her sister; but, on certain occasions,--if her mother wasunwell or the like,--she would sleep in her mother's room. "Mamma,"she said, "you will let me sleep with you to-night. I will go now,and when you come I will tell you everything. Good night to you,Dolly."
"Good night, Rachel;" and the voice of Mrs. Prime, as she bade hersister adieu for the evening, sounded as the voice of the ravens.
The two widows sat in silence for a while, each waiting for the otherto speak. Then Mrs. Prime got up and folded her shawl very carefully,and carefully put her bonnet and gloves down upon it. It was herhabit to be very careful with her clothes, but in her anger she hadalmost thrown them upon the little sofa. "Will you have anythingbefore you go to bed, Dorothea?" said Mrs. Ray. "Nothing, thank you,"said Mrs. Prime; and her voice was very like the voice of the ravens.Then Mrs. Ray began to think it possible that she might escape awayto Rachel without any further words. "I am very tired," she said,"and I think I will go, Dorothea."
"Mother," said Mrs. Prime, "something must be done about this."
"Yes, my dear; she will talk to me to-night, and tell it me all."
"But will she tell you the truth?"
"She never told me a falsehood yet, Dorothea. I'm sure she didn'tknow that the young man was to be here. You know if he did come backfrom Exeter before he said he would she couldn't help it."
"And do you mean that she couldn't help being with him there,--allalone? Mother, what would you think of any other girl of whom youheard such a thing?"
Mrs. Ray shuddered; and then some thought, some shadow perhaps of aremembrance, flitted across her mind, which seemed to have the effectof palliating her child's iniquity. "Suppose--" she said. "Supposewhat?" said Mrs. Prime, sternly. But Mrs. Ray did not dare to go onwith her supposition. She did not dare to suggest that Mr. Rowanmight perhaps be a very proper young man, and that the two youngpeople might be growing fond of each other in a proper sort of way.She hardly believed in any such propriety herself, and she knew thather daughter would scout it to the winds. "Suppose what?" said Mrs.Prime again, more sternly than before. "If the other girls left herand went away to the brewery, perhaps she could not have helped it,"said Mrs. Ray.
"But she was not walking with him. Her face was not turned towardshome even. They were standing together under the trees, and, judgingfrom the time at which I got home, they must have remained togetherfor nearly half an hour afterwards.
And this with a perfect stranger,mother,--a man whose name she had never mentioned to us till she wastold how Miss Pucker had seen them together! You cannot suppose thatI want to make her out worse than she is. She is your child, and mysister; and we are bound together for weal or for woe."
"You talked about going away and leaving us," said Mrs. Ray, speakingin soreness rather than in anger.
"So I did; and so I must, unless something be done. It could not beright that I should remain here, seeing such things, if my voice isnot allowed to be heard. But though I did go, she would still be mysister. I should still share the sorrow,--and the shame."
"Oh, Dorothea, do not say such words."
"But they must be said, mother. Is it not from such meetings thatshame comes,--shame, and sorrow, and sin? You love her dearly, and sodo I; and are we therefore to allow her to be a castaway? Those whomyou love you must chastise. I have no authority over her,--as she hastold me, more than once already,--and therefore I say again, thatunless all this be stopped, I must leave the cottage. Good night,now, mother. I hope you will speak to her in earnest." Then Mrs.Prime took her candle and went her way.
For ten minutes the mother sat herself down, thinking of thecondition of her youngest daughter, and trying to think what wordsshe would use when she found herself in her daughter's presence.Sorrow, and Shame, and Sin! Her child a castaway! What terrible wordsthey were! And yet there had been nothing that she could allege inanswer to them. That comfortable idea of a decent husband for herchild had been banished from her mind almost before it had beenentertained. Then she thought of Rachel's eyes, and knew that shewould not be able to assume a perfect mastery over her girl. Whenthe ten minutes were over she had made up her mind to nothing, andthen she also took up her candle and went to her room. When shefirst entered it she did not see Rachel. She had silently closed thedoor and come some steps within the chamber before her child showedherself from behind the bed. "Mamma," she said, "put down the candlethat I may speak to you." Whereupon Mrs. Ray put down the candle, andRachel took hold of both her arms. "Mamma, you do not believe ill ofme; do you? You do not think of me the things that Dorothea says? Saythat you do not, or I shall die."
"My darling, I have never thought anything bad of you before."
"And do you think bad of me now? Did you not tell me before I wentout that you would trust me, and have you so soon forgotten yourtrust? Look at me, mamma. What have I ever done that you should thinkme to be such as she says?"
"I do not think that you have done anything; but you are very young,Rachel."
"Young, mamma! I am older than you were when you married, and olderthan Dolly was. I am old enough to know what is wrong. Shall I tellyou what happened this evening? He came and met us all in the fields.I knew before that he had come back, for the girls had said so, butI thought that he was in Exeter when I left here. Had I not believedthat, I should not have gone. I think I should not have gone."
"Then you are afraid of him?"
"No, mamma; I am not afraid of him. But he says such strange thingsto me; and I would not purposely have gone out to meet him. He cameto us in the fields, and then we returned up the lane to the brewery,and there we left the girls. As I went through the churchyard he camethere too, and then the sun was setting, and he stopped me to look atit; I did stop with him,--for a few moments, and I felt ashamed ofmyself; but how was I to help it? Mamma, if I could remember them Iwould tell you every word he said to me, and every look of his face.He asked me to be his friend. Mamma, if you will believe in me I willtell you everything. I will never deceive you."
She was still holding her mother's arms while she spoke. Now sheheld her very close and nestled in against her bosom, and graduallygot her cheek against her mother's cheek, and her lips against hermother's neck. How could any mother refuse such a caress as that, orremain hard and stern against such signs of love? Mrs. Ray, at anyrate, was not possessed of strength to do so. She was vanquished, andput her arm round her girl and embraced her. She spoke soft words,and told Rachel that she was her dear, dear, dearest darling. She wasstill awed and dismayed by the tidings which she had heard of theyoung man; she still thought there was some terrible danger againstwhich it behoved them all to be on their guard. But she no longerfelt herself divided from her child, and had ceased to believe inthe necessity of those terrible words which Mrs. Prime had used.
"You will believe me?" said Rachel. "You will not think that I ammaking up stories to deceive you?" Then the mother assured thedaughter with many kisses that she would believe her.
After that they sat long into the night, discussing all that LukeRowan had said, and the discussion certainly took place after afashion that would not have been considered satisfactory by Mrs.Prime had she heard it. Mrs. Ray was soon led into talking about Mr.Rowan as though he were not a wolf,--as though he might possibly beneither a wolf ravenous with his native wolfish fur and open wolfishgreed; or, worse than that, a wolf, more ravenous still, in sheep'sclothing. There was no word spoken of him as a lover; but Rachel toldher mother that the man had called her by her Christian name, andMrs. Ray had fully understood the sign. "My darling, you mustn't lethim do that." "No, mamma; I won't. But he went on talking so fastthat I had not time to stop him, and after that it was not worthwhile." The project of the party was also told to Mrs. Ray, andRachel, sitting now with her head upon her mother's lap, owned thatshe would like to go to it. "Parties are not always wicked, mamma,"she said. To this assertion Mrs. Ray expressed an undecided assent,but intimated her decided belief that very many parties were wicked."There will be dancing, and I do not like that," said Mrs. Ray. "YetI was taught dancing at school," said Rachel. When the matter hadgone so far as this it must be acknowledged that Rachel had done muchtowards securing her share of mastery over her mother. "He will bethere, of course," said Mrs. Ray. "Oh, yes; he will be there," saidRachel. "But why should I be afraid of him? Why should I live asthough I were afraid to meet him? Dolly thinks that I should be shutup close, to be taken care of; but you do not think of me like that.If I was minded to be bad, shutting me up would not keep me from it."Such arguments as these from Rachel's mouth sounded, at first, veryterrible to Mrs. Ray, but yet she yielded to them.
On the next morning Rachel was down first, and was found by hersister fast engaged on the usual work of the house, as though nothingout of the way had occurred on the previous evening. "Good morning,Dolly," she said, and then went on arranging the things on thebreakfast-table. "Good morning, Rachel," said Mrs. Prime, stillspeaking like a raven. There was not a word said between them aboutthe young man or the churchyard, and at nine o'clock Mrs. Ray camedown to them, dressed ready for church. They seated themselves andate their breakfast together, and still not a word was said.
It was Mrs. Prime's custom to go to morning service at one of thechurches in Baslehurst; not at the old parish church which stood inthe churchyard near the brewery, but at a new church which had beenbuilt as auxiliary to the other, and at which the Rev. Samuel Prongwas the ministering clergyman. As we shall have occasion to knowMr. Prong it may be as well to explain here that he was not simplya curate to old Dr. Harford, the rector of Baslehurst. He had aseparate district of his own, which had been divided from the oldparish, not exactly in accordance with the rector's good pleasure.Dr. Harford had held the living for more than forty years; he hadheld it for nearly forty years before the division had been made, andhe had thought that the parish should remain a parish entire,--moreespecially as the presentation to the new benefice was not concededto him. Therefore Dr. Harford did not love Mr. Prong.
But Mrs. Prime did love him,--with that sort of love which devoutwomen bestow upon the church minister of their choice. Mr. Prong wasan energetic, severe, hardworking, and, I fear, intolerant young man,who bestowed very much laudable care upon his sermons. The care andindustry were laudable, but not so the pride with which he thought ofthem and their results. He spoke much of preaching the Gospel, andwas sincere beyond all doubt in his desire to do so; but he allowedhimself t
o be led away into a belief that his brethren in theministry around him did not preach the Gospel,--that they werecareless shepherds, or shepherds' dogs indifferent to the wolf, andin this way he had made himself unpopular among the clergy and gentryof the neighbourhood. It may well be understood that such a mancoming down upon a district, cut out almost from the centre of Dr.Harford's parish, would be a thorn in the side of that old man. ButMr. Prong had his circle of friends, of very ardent friends, andamong them Mrs. Prime was one of the most ardent. For the last yearor two she had always attended morning service at his church, andvery frequently had gone there twice in the day, though the walkwas long and tedious, taking her the whole length of the town ofBaslehurst. And there had been some little uneasiness between Mrs.Ray and Mrs. Prime on the matter of this church attendance. Mrs.Prime had wished her mother and sister to have the benefit of Mr.Prong's eloquence; but Mrs. Ray, though she was weak in morals, wasstrong in her determination to adhere to Mr. Comfort of Cawston. Ithad been matter of great sorrow to her that her daughter should leaveMr. Comfort's church, and she had positively declined to be takenout of her own parish. Rachel had, of course, stuck to her motherin this controversy, and had said some sharp things about Mr. Prong.She declared that Mr. Prong had been educated at Islington, and thatsometimes he forgot his "h's." When such things were said Mrs. Primewould wax very angry, and would declare that no one could be savedby the perfection of Dr. Harford's pronunciation. But there was noquestion as to Dr. Harford, and no justification for the introductionof his name into the dispute. Mrs. Prime, however, did not chooseto say anything against Mr. Comfort, with whom her husband had beencurate, and who, in her younger days, had been a light to her ownfeet. Mr. Comfort was by no means such a one as Dr. Harford, thoughthe two old men were friends. Mr. Comfort had been regarded as aCalvinist when he was young, as Evangelical in middle life, and wasstill known as a Low Churchman in his old age. Therefore Mrs. Primewould spare him in her sneers, though she left his ministry. He hadbecome lukewarm, but not absolutely stone cold, like the old rectorat Baslehurst. So said Mrs. Prime. Old men would become lukewarm, andtherefore she could pardon Mr. Comfort. But Dr. Harford had neverbeen warm at all,--had never been warm with the warmth which shevalued. Therefore she scorned him and sneered at him. In return forwhich Rachel scorned Mr. Prong and sneered at him.
But though it was Mrs. Prime's custom to go to church at Baslehurst,on this special Sunday she declared her intention of accompanying hermother to Cawston. Not a word had been said about the young man, andthey all started off on their walk together in silence and gloom.With such thoughts as they had in their mind it was impossible thatthey should make the journey pleasantly. Rachel had counted on thewalk with her mother, and had determined that everything should bepleasant. She would have said a word or two about Luke Rowan, andwould have gradually reconciled her mother to his name. But as itwas she said nothing; and it may be feared that her mind, duringthe period of her worship, was not at charity with her sister. Mr.Comfort preached his half-hour as usual, and then they all walkedhome. Dr. Harford never exceeded twenty minutes, and had often beenknown to finish his discourse within ten. What might be the length ofa sermon of Mr. Prong's no man or woman could foretell, but he neverspared himself or his congregation much under an hour.
They all walked home gloomily to their dinner, and ate their coldmutton and potatoes in sorrow and sadness. It seemed as though nosort of conversation was open to them. They could not talk of theirusual Sunday subjects. Their minds were full of one matter, and itseemed that that matter was by common consent to be banished fromtheir lips for the day. In the evening, after tea, the two sistersagain went up to Cawston church, leaving their mother with herBible;--but hardly a word was spoken between them, and in the samesilence they sat till bed-time. To Mrs. Ray and to Rachel it hadbeen one of the saddest, dreariest days that either of them had everknown. I doubt whether the suffering of Mrs. Prime was so great. Shewas kept up by the excitement of feeling that some great crisis wasat hand. If Rachel were not made amenable to authority she wouldleave the cottage.
When Rachel had run with hurrying steps from the stile in thechurchyard, she left Luke Rowan still standing there. He watched hertill she crossed into the lane, and then he turned and again lookedout upon the still ruddy line of the horizon. The blaze of light wasgone, but there were left, high up in the heavens, those wonderfulhues which tinge with softly-changing colour the edges of the cloudswhen the brightness of some glorious sunset has passed away. He sathimself on the wooden rail, watching till all of it should be over,and thinking, with lazy half-formed thoughts, of Rachel Ray. He didnot ask himself what he meant by assuring her of his friendship,and by claiming hers, but he declared to himself that she was verylovely,--more lovely than beautiful, and then smiled inwardly at theprettiness of her perturbed spirit. He remembered well that he hadcalled her Rachel, and that she had allowed his doing so to passby without notice; but he understood also how and why she had doneso. He knew that she had been flurried, and that she had skippedthe thing because she had not known the moment at which to make herstand. He gave himself credit for no undue triumph, nor her discreditfor any undue easiness. "What a woman she is!" he said to himself;"so womanly in everything." Then his mind rambled away to othersubjects, possibly to the practicability of making good beer insteadof bad.
He was a young man, by no means of a bad sort, meaning to do well,with high hopes in life, one who had never wronged a woman, or beenuntrue to a friend, full of energy and hope and pride. But he wasconceited, prone to sarcasm, sometimes cynical, and perhaps sometimesaffected. It may be that he was not altogether devoid of that Byronicweakness which was so much more prevalent among young men twentyyears since than it is now. His two trades had been those of anattorney and a brewer, and yet he dabbled in romance, and probablywrote poetry in his bedroom. Nevertheless, there were worse young menabout Baslehurst than Luke Rowan.
"And now for Mr. Tappitt," said he, as he slowly took his legs fromoff the railing.