CHAPTER VII
Unrest
'Thou hast made us for Thyself, And our hearts are restless till they rest in Thee.--_St. Augustine._
Some weeks passed. The girls were perfectly satisfied with their quietcountry life. Elfie brightened the whole house with her music and highspirits. Agatha soon found her way to the nearest cottages, and wasfriends with all the farm labourers who passed by the house, and Gwentried to manage everything and everybody. Clare shook off her lowspirits, but was uncertain-tempered, and would never settle at anyoccupation for long at a time. Still, she delighted in the countryround, and would return from her rambles with her arms full of Nature'streasures, making the little house beautiful with her lovely flowersand greenery.
Miss Miller fussed in and out, and was very glad of Agatha's help inparish matters; even unbending so far as to give Elfie permission toplay on the organ in church, which, of course, delighted her. Agathawas informed that she could visit as freely as she liked, but that norelief was to be given, except through the vicarage.
'I look after everybody myself. I know the deserving and theundeserving, and they know me! I won't have anything given to myparishioners without my knowledge. My brother leaves it all in myhands.'
One afternoon Miss Villars called, and found only Clare at home. Shewas a sweet-looking, attractive woman, and Clare, with her usualimpulsiveness, lost her heart to her at once. She confided to her thehistory of her engagement, and parting with Captain Knox; and the visitlengthened into nearly an hour before Miss Villars took her leave.
Clare went into raptures about her, when talking to her sistersafterwards.
'She is not a bit goody or eccentric, as Hugh hinted. She talked andlaughed as naturally as any one; and she has such a lovely face.Dresses very quietly, but with good taste; and is such a gracefulwoman! She is quite the nicest person I have met for a long time. Iam dying to see her in her own home. I am sure it must be a charmingone. She drove over in an open carriage with a handsome pair ofhorses; and has offered to take us for drives whenever we like.'
'We really must afford ourselves a small trap,' said Gwen. 'We cannotdo without it in the country. If we had a donkey, it would be betterthan nothing!'
'_I_ wouldn't go in a donkey-cart,' said Clare, with disdain.
'Then you could stay at home. Agatha, what do you say? We have astable. How much will it cost, do you think?'
When once Gwen took a matter in hand, she generally carried it through;and very shortly after, the sisters were the proud possessors of alittle two-wheeled trap, and a small rough pony. This was a greatconvenience as well as pleasure to them, and when Clare had a fit ofthe blues, she would go off to Brambleton and do some shopping, andreturn quite interested and eager to tell all she had seen and heard.She met Miss Villars on one of her expeditions, and she asked her to goand have a cup of tea with her before she returned home. This Clarewillingly did. She had not been to the house before, though Agatha andGwen had; but she found it quite answered her expectations. It was anideal old-fashioned country house, and Miss Villars was a perfecthostess. She introduced Clare to a delicate-looking girl staying withher: 'This is Miss Audrey Foster, who enjoys the country quite as muchas you do.'
'It is paradise to me,' said the girl enthusiastically. 'I am aLondoner, and have never stayed in the country before.'
Clare looked at her, and noted that her shabby serge dress and palepinched face seemed strangely incongruous with her surroundings. Butwhen she had left the room shortly afterwards, Miss Villars said: 'MissFoster is the eldest daughter of an East End vicar. She has not had aholiday or any change from home since her school-days; and she ismother and governess to five younger brothers and sisters. I hope tosend her back a different creature. It is a great pleasure to givepleasure to other people, is it not?'
'I don't think I ever have,' said Clare frankly.
'Ah, well, my circumstances have made it easy for me to do so. Myhouse is too big to live alone in it, and so I have relays of youngvisitors who need a little brightness in their lives. It is so sad tothink of some young lives being cramped and dwarfed by theirsurroundings; and some natures utterly sink beneath the burden ofhousehold cares and anxieties, that ought not to touch them at all inyouth.'
'You are very good, Miss Villars, are you not?'
Miss Villars laughed brightly. 'Not at all, my dear child. I wish Iwere.'
'I wish I were too,' said Clare, with sudden impulse. 'You look sohappy--I wish I knew your secret.'
'"Happy is that people whose God is the Lord,"' said Miss Villarssoftly.
Clare sighed. 'I never have found religion make me happy, MissVillars.'
'No more have I. It is only the Lord Himself who can do that. Do youknow Him as your Friend and Saviour?'
Clare had never had such a question put to her before. 'I don't knowHim at all,' she said earnestly; 'God seems such a long way off.'
'You know how you can get near Him?'
'By being very religious, I suppose.'
'The Bible doesn't say so. It says this: "But now in Christ Jesus yewho sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ. ForHe is our peace, who hath made both one, and hath broken down themiddle wall of partition between us." Think that verse over, dear, andlook it up in your own Bible.'
'But,' said Clare, hesitating a little, 'I don't think I want to bebrought nearer to God. That has no attraction for me.'
'Then you will never know real happiness. Any soul away from itsCreator knows no peace.'
Clare was silent, and then Miss Foster entered the room again, and thesubject was changed; but Clare had plenty of food for reflection as shedrove home.
It was a lovely afternoon in June--so warm that for once the foursisters were together in the shady verandah outside the drawing-roomwindows, taking their ease and waiting for their afternoon tea. Agathawas the only one who was doing anything, and she was stitching away atsome small garment for one of the farm carter's children. It was astill, drowsy afternoon; the very bees seemed too lazy to hum, and weresettling sleepily on the rose bushes close to their hives.
'This is the most sleepy time in the day,' observed Gwen, leaning backin her low wicker chair, her head resting on her arms behind it, 'Icould go to sleep in five minutes if I chose; there is not a creaturemoving for miles round us, I expect.'
'I love the stillness,' said Clare. 'Every one in the country has timeto rest. How different it is in London!'
'I think we're all living very lazy lives,' said Elfie, as she picked aclimbing rose beside her and placed it in her belt; 'I feel as if everyday here is one long holiday!'
'Well, we are not at school,' returned Clare; 'and I beg to state Ihave not been idle to-day. Attending to the flowers in the house everymorning is no joke! I was nearly two hours over them; then I wroteletters and took them to the post before luncheon, and I have beenmending a dress, and tidying my cupboards since.'
Gwen laughed a little derisively. 'You will never die of hard work,Clare.'
'I think it is harder work doing what I have done, than sitting stillin the same chair from ten o'clock to one, and simply reading andwriting!'
'Ted was asking for directions in the garden,' said Agatha, looking up;'but when I peeped inside the study, Gwen, and saw you had one of yourwriting crazes on, I knew it was no good coming to you.'
'No, he has plenty of work, and I shall be occupied in the morning forsome time now.'
'Why have you taken such a fit of it?' asked Clare. 'You're writing asif for your life.'
'I want money,' was the brief reply.
'What for?'
'That I shall not tell you at present. I want it so much, that I ameven condescending to write silly stories, which I despise myself fordoing.'
'Oh! that will be delightful,' exclaimed Elfie. 'Couldn't you read usone now, to pass the time?'
'I will read you a kind of conundrum I have dashed off this morning toamuse some s
entimental goose like Clare!'
'Thank you,' said Clare imperturbably; and when Gwen sauntered into thehouse to get her manuscript, she said, 'Gwen is preparing some surprisefor her family. You mark my words; before long she will unfold astartling plan of action!'
Gwen reappeared very soon, and settling herself in her easy chair,began to read in a lazy and slightly mocking tone as follows:--
'The princess walks in her garden alone. Her face is sad, and hersteps are slow. She reaches a low moss-covered wall, and leaning uponit gazes dreamily and wistfully upon the busy crowded city below.Sounds of toil and labour meet her ears. The busy multitudes are allengaged in the various occupations of their spheres. And whilst theringing laughter, the joyous mirth, of some is borne upwards by thebreeze, it is mingled with the sobs and bitter weeping of the neglectedand oppressed. Stretching out her soft white hands, she clasps them inpiteous yearning.
'"My soul craves for it," she cries. "Since first I became consciousof its absence I am longing to find it. If I could devote a lifetimeto it, and obtain it at last, I should die content!"
* * * * * *
'She stands in the deepest recess of a lonely forest. Far away fromthe city, no human habitation is near. Her feet are on themoss-covered ground, soft as velvet to the touch. Above is a canopy ofgreen, through which the pure blue heavens appear, and the rays of thesetting sun are giving the stately elms and rugged oaks a golden beautyof its own. She is leaning against a copper beech, and her soft brownhair is kissing the shining bark. Her blue eyes are turned upwards,full of expectancy and hope. She stands like a beautiful statue. Asquirrel darts up a tree close by, and rabbits sport amongst the fallenleaves. The birds are carolling forth their evening hymns of praise,and Nature seems to be parading its loveliness. But her face issorrowful still, and she shakes her head dejectedly. "It is of noavail," she murmurs; "even here in such a scene I cannot obtain myheart's desire! I yearn more for it day by day, and yet with thecrushing longing within my breast I seem further away than ever fromit!"
'She turns, and retraces her steps to the home of her forefathers.
* * * * * *
'A luxuriously furnished apartment; cool and refreshing after the glareof the sun outside. The Venetian shutters are closed. Sweet-scentedflowers are filling the room with their perfume. The sound ofchildren's happy voices, as they roam through the meadows and play inthe new-mown hay, the humming of bees, sipping their honey from thefull-blown flowers, come in at the open windows. Upon a couch in thedarkest corner of the room lies our princess. She is not asleep; herhands are folded listlessly across her breast, her lips are moving.Now burying her face in the cushions, she exclaims:--
'"No, I have it not. Methought I might find it even here. Nohappiness for me until I experience it All the gold I possess would Igladly give to have the exquisite pleasure of obtaining and realizingit!"
* * * * * *
It is night-time. She stands upon the summit of a hill alone, and herfigure looks weird and ghostly in the silver moonlight. Her head isthrown back, her lips parted breathlessly; her whole attitude bespeakseager and intense expectation. She is waiting and watching for thedesire of her heart.
'She overlooks the city, now wrapped in slumber. Green plains stretchaway in the dim distance, and the moon throws its light upon herupturned face, making fantastic shadows around her. Hark! From yondertree the nightingale trills out her midnight song. She listens anddoes not move, but hears it to the end. It ceases, and the wind rushesthrough the long grass at her feet, and shakes the leaves above, evenventuring with its lawless impudence to buffet her fair brow, andscatter her brown locks across her eyes. A deep sigh escapes from herheaving breast. "It is hopeless. I am well-nigh despairing. Whithershall I go? I will not be conquered. I must find, and will find itsoon!"
* * * * * *
'Again we see her. In a grotto, deep in the heart of the earth. Sheis seated on a rock, and all is darkness save a faint ray of light thatcreeps through a small crevice overhead.
'No one is near. No living creature but herself, and she is stillseeking and waiting for what she has not found. Water is tricklingdrop by drop from the moist roof above; the atmosphere is damp andclose, yet little she heeds the discomfort of her surroundings, andheavy sighs come from her lips. She looks up at last, then wends herway still further into the innermost recess of the cavern. She standsbeneath a deep vaulted roof, in deeper darkness, but in drieratmosphere, and here she pauses, a light coming into her sad blue eyes,and for the first time a smile hovering about her lips. A quiver ofexcitement, a thrill of suppressed awe vibrates through her nervouslystrung frame. "At last," she murmurs; "if nowhere else, I shall findit here."
'Her heart throbs violently, and in vain she places her hand upon it tostill its beating. Moments pass in anxious hope, then suddenly shesinks to the ground in a passion of sobs and bitter weeping.
'"No, no, poor weak fool that I have been," she breaks forth, indisdainful self-contempt; "never in this life shall I obtain it, foroutward circumstances influence it little. How vainly deluded I havebeen hitherto! Little did I imagine that the very longing and cravingof my heart for it, would thereby prevent my possessing it!"
'She leaves the cavern, and returns to her home a wiser woman.'
Gwen folded her manuscript up quietly, adding indifferently, 'Now whatwas it she wanted?'
'I should say, "Work,"' remarked Agatha in her matter-of-fact way.'She seems to have been a most idle young person.'
'Rest and contentment,' murmured Clare, looking at Gwen with dreamy,thoughtful eyes.
'Sleep, perhaps,' suggested Elfie.
'You're all wrong.'
'Tell us then.'
'She wanted silence.'
And humming an air, Gwen walked into the house without another word.
Elfie began to laugh. 'What a queer subject! Gwen never does writelike other people. There is no moral at all.'
Neither of the others spoke for a little. Then Agatha said, folding upher work, 'It may take in certain magazines, but I think she writes farbetter when she keeps to facts, not fancies.'
'It has a moral,' said Clare, looking away over the meadows.
'What is it?' asked Elfie, regarding her curiously.
'Failure is in self, not circumstances!'
After which slow denunciation, Clare also moved into the house, andwhen she reached her bedroom she murmured to herself, 'And I know allmy unrest and discontent come from within me. It is not mysurroundings. Miss Villars must be right.'