CHAPTER XLIII.
PRINCESS FAIR-STAR.
'But the little Stars we found (out) Down amongst the Underwood.' _Jean Ingelow._
Even while Lance and Clement were in discussion, Charles Audleyhad paddled up the river, and mooring his little craft at thelanding-place, had taken the path to the garden.
There, beyond the cedar, so as to be hidden from any one upon theriver, sat Stella, decking a cross with lilies-of-the-valley and whitelilacs. Scamp was lying by her, and her doves parading and cooingon the grass and cedar boughs beside her; but the utter droop anddejection of her young figure were altogether out of keeping with thesummer surroundings; the shining head was bowed, and the heavy eyelidswith broad red rings around them showed that she had wept and wept onfor hours. She did not hear the step on the soft grass, for her low sadvoice was murmuring, 'My Tedo, my darling, my baby, is this the lastthing I shall ever do for him?'
Then Scamp wagged his tail and crested his ears in greeting, and thedoves circled about, and perched higher upon the cedar tree, whileCharles, holding one of the flat sweeping boughs back, stood lookingdown at her, as hardly knowing how to greet her, and with a teargathering in his eyes. She stood up, and looked up to him meekly andsweetly, with a touching sort of welcome, as she held out her hand,saying simply, 'You saved me, and I never thanked you yesterday.'
Instead of speaking, Charles lifted the little hand in both his to hislips and cheek for a moment, as if nothing else could express how heprized that chance; but if Stella thought at all, it was that it was akind action of comforting.
'Your brother is better,' he said, having inquired at Page's door.
'Yes, he is better. I saw him, and he just spoke; but he does look sobad!'
'He will soon mend now,' said Charles, with the confidence of one whoknew nothing about it. 'And you are all alone?'
'They are all busy or resting or something, and I want to do it all forTheodore myself--my own own darling!' The last words were a moan toherself, as she sat down in her low chair and resumed the little cross.
'May not I help a _little?_' softly entreated Charles, sitting downon the grass and quietly handing her the flowers, ready arranged inbunches, with a leaf. She did not speak, but seemed to like it. Therewas a loneliness about her that again struck him, so that he could nothelp half blaming those who had left her to herself; and to account fortheir absence asked after Lance.
'He is up, but he seems very poorly still,' she said; 'he is lying downin the Prior's room.'
'And they have left you all to yourself?'
'I like to be alone. Nobody did care for him like me. They were allvery kind to him. I don't think he knew the sound of a rough word, mydear little gentle Tedo! but nobody understood him like me, nobodycould make him understand--' and she rocked herself backwards andforwards under the load of her first real grief. It was very sad to theyoung man to watch, and he hardly knew what to say, as again he tookher hand. 'Well, now he can't have any troubles, you know, Stella, he'sa great deal happier than ever you could make him.'
'Oh yes, I know that. Only it is foolish. I can't think how he gets onall alone! I know it is very wrong, but if Felix or I had gone withhim it would not seem so strange for him. Yes, it is very silly,' sheadded, half laughing, but crying again, 'but it _will_ seem hard tofancy he does not want me.'
'He is not the only one to want you,' muttered Charles.
'Oh no! There are plenty of them. I want to be thankful, indeed Ido, but no one ever can be so dear! Never mind,' she added in herunselfishness, perceiving that her exceeding sorrow was causing griefand perplexity, 'it can't be helped; I do know he is happy, and I'lllearn to bear the being left alone.'
'Never! if dearest love can make up to you--dearest, sweetest littleone!' cried Charles. 'There!' as he took both her hands, and herwistful wondering eyes were raised, 'don't you see some one who wantsyou every moment, and that all your brothers put together can't loveyou a quarter as much as I do? There! there! Only do just promise,Stella, never to talk again of being left all alone while you haveCharlie.'
'I don't think I can,' said Stella, in a dreamy wondering voice, 'foryou are so kind.'
'And you'll let me try to comfort you?'--a dangerous proposal, for hedid not in the least know how he should have set about it if she hadnot answered, 'I think you do,' as if it rather surprised her, bringingsuch an approach to caressing as would have startled her at any momentwhen her heart was not so yearning for tenderness and sympathy. Andthere was a reaction the next moment, as finding herself guilty offorgetting Theodore and his cross, she gave a moan of pain--'Oh, myTedo!' and went on with her work; but she let him wait on her with theflowers, and now and then a little squeeze of the hand, and he knew hemust be content with that much. Presently she said that she ought tomake something for 'that other poor one, or it would look so unkindwhen his mother came.' In this task she could brook more help, and shespoke more over it, with a sweet soft languor that had an infinitepathos, as if somehow the acute anguish of her loss had been softened,and she were resting in the strange new peace which she did not yetknow for joy, but which had filled her heart. She was so very young,so very pure, so very unconscious, that Charlie, almost as young andnot much less simple and innocent, was as tender and reverent of herand her grief, and the state of her guardian brother, as though she hadbeen one of her own white flowers--those last sprays she let him takefrom her hand when all was done, and they went together to carry thewreaths and crosses to the Oratory.
The large heavy curtains that separated the hall from the long roomwere let down, and the screen, a tall wooden one, as usual cut off theOratory. Here the chairs had been removed to make room; and close underthe Cross, to the eastward, were the two tables that had been coveredwith white to receive the two who had so lately gone forth full of life.
On one of the chairs sat Cherry, endeavouring to obtain some record ofthat unearthly loveliness of expression, chiefly for Felix's sake. Shehad just done all she durst, and produced a drawing that would not looklike such an utter failure away from the original, when these two camein, Stella leading the way in gentle awe, very sad indeed, but stillnot with that utterly drooping downcast look of leaden grief which hadin the morning shrunk from all comforters who could only believe, notenter into, the intensity of her mourning for her twin.
Cherry, in the corner, almost hidden by the chairs, could not tellwhether her presence were perceived; but in truth the child was sosimple, that she would probably have done exactly the same whetherher sister was present or not, and Charles had no eyes for aught saveher. She knelt down for a moment, with her face in her hands; then shekissed the white brow set in fair hair, and seemed to expect Charles todo the same, as a great favour to him, after which she let him help herto lay her cross with the wreath round it on the breast, and change thenow closed Star of Bethlehem that lay under the waxen fingers, as wellas that withered spray of broom. Once more she knelt, and whisperedthe Lord's Prayer: and he did the same, imitating her in everything, agrave kind of light on his young brow. It was very solemn and beautifulto see them, and Cherry watched them almost with awe.
When they rose, Stella placed her decorations on the longer broaderform on the other table, but whispered that Clement had bidden her notto look at that face.
They went away hand in hand, and parted upon the lawn, for precious aseach other's presence was, they, in their reverence and inexperience,felt as if his coming in to the family meal might be an intrusion,which neither could propose. So he bade her tell her brothers that heshould meet them at the Rood.
'I shall hardly see you just yet,' he said, 'though I shall come tothe door every day, but never--never think yourself alone, dearest,dearest, dearest one!' And after holding both the little hands for somemoments in his, he drew her up to him for one second, then was gone.
No one saw Angela standing at the garden door, with contracted browsand bitten lip. As she crossed the hall, there was an entrance at th
efront door; but she darted up-stairs, and it was Stella who firstgreeted Bernard, who had been telegraphed for by Charlie, and camehome awed, subdued, and terribly alarmed by the report he had heard atChurch Ewe. 'But I see it was all clack, after all, and no harm done,'he said, as he looked at his little sister's face. 'Only why do youfrighten a fellow by having all the blinds down?'
And Stella, horrified at her own disloyalty, could hardly findutterance to explain that it was but too true; and when she led Bernardto the Oratory, somehow it was all the happy and glorious side of hertwin's removal that dwelt with her, while he, who had been in a roughway very fond of the little helpless one, and had never faced deathbefore, broke entirely down with 'Poor little chap! I wish I'd beenbetter to him! I meant to have got him a new thingumijig last half--butI spent--I wish I hadn't now. It seems so odd not to hear him humming.'And he yielded at last to a fit of crying; and when Stella spoke softlyof the present joyful songs, he said, 'Ay! ay! that's all very well foryou that were always good to him, and never kicked him about; but ifI'd only known--'
And yet it had always been the most hopeful part of Bernard's characterthat he had never been really unkind to Theodore, and very rarely evenimpatient, even when teased by a fit of imitation.
The mid-day meal was the first family assembly since the same hour theprevious day, and it did not collect all the members at the same time.Angela was only sent down after every one else had done, constrainedby Wilmet's command, enforced by a word from Felix. Cherry had lain inwait for her, to ask necessary questions about her mourning, for nocircumstances were likely to make Angela brook the having orders forher dress given without consulting her.
'There's a box of hats and bonnets in Sibby's room, if you would lookat them. The bonnets are all one worse than another; but if you wouldsee if you would like one like mine or like Stella's--'
Angela jumped as if she had been stung. 'Stella's! certainly not.'
'I have not chosen a very childish one for her. This will make her moreof a woman.'
'Don't go chattering on!' broke out Angela. 'Don't you think _I've_ notgot enough upon me without your worrying me out of my life with thatlittle humbug!'
'I don't think you know what you are saying.'
'_You_ don't, Cherry. That's the way people are always taken in by alittle sham softness and simplicity. I hate such snakes.'
It struck Cherry that Angela must have drawn the same conclusion as hadoccurred to her for one moment as she saw the hands clasped. The bitterword applied to their darling Fair-Star offended her not a little, butshe made a great effort to ask kindly, 'Has anything vexed you, Angel?'
'Vexed!' as if the word were utterly inadequate. 'No, not one thingmore than another! Have done, Cherry! You mean it well, but I can'tstand it!--No more! I've had enough to keep me going;' and she threwdown her knife and fork, and gulped down a tumbler of beer.
'You need not hurry. Wilmet is with Felix.'
'As if I didn't know that!'
There was a look and tone about her as if she were brimming over withinconceivable misery, to which every word added; and Cherry felt quitepowerless to deal with her as she darted up-stairs.
And just then came the feet of many men, treading as gently as theycould. John Harewood regretted for a moment that Stella and Clement hadnot delayed their arrangements till after this inspection, yet it mightbe well that these rougher spirits should see how little gloomy theyhad made the sleep of the innocent. The young men too were evidentlystruck by seeing that their comrade had not been neglected any morethan the child of the house, and Stella's cares were thus not thrownaway.
Clement, Bernard, and John Harewood had just crossed the churchyard,and were turning up the road to the village inn, when Clementperceived that Angela had joined them, and turning back to her, hesaid, 'My dear, you are not thinking of coming?'
'I am.'
'There is no need. Here are quite witnesses enough.'
'No. No one knows what I do,' she said, with face as hard set as marble.
'Has Felix spoken to you?' he said, understanding better.
'Only what you heard. That was enough.'
'It is a right purpose, Angela,' he said, kindly: 'but really you neednot expose yourself to this. We can quite exonerate the others byshowing that our boat swung round at the last moment, and that is allthat signifies. We neither saw nor knew why.'
'And I did,' said Angela.
To check her was plainly impossible. There was the sort of seared lookof misery about her face which had before struck Cherry, as if she wereperfectly indifferent what might happen to her, and hardly heard whatwas said; and Clement could only make a gesture indicating that he hadno choice, when he met the astonished glances of the others.
The Rood was almost as old as the Priory itself, and the inquest washeld in a curious old pannelled room. The other boat's crew had broughtan attorney to watch the proceedings, evidently anticipating that undueblame would be imputed to them, to the damage of their character evenif nothing more came of it.
The first to tell his story was the Reverend Edward Clement Underwood,who merely explained the manner in which they were seated, the suddenchallenge from the six-oar, and how just as he had thought the boatclear, he had felt whirled round in the eddy, the boat was struck inthe stern, and went down. His brother Theodore was instantly taken out;Francis Yates, the other sufferer, not till the last, he could not sayhow long.
Charles Audley then spoke of the shouts and violence of thepursuit--admitting, however, that it would have been harmless had notthe boat turned so as to expose her stern in the midst of the twostreams. An oar must have missed the stroke, but whose it was he couldnot say; and he finally mentioned having brought out poor Yates, whohad been sucked down by the eddy, and carried to the opposite bank. TheCoroner asked in a complimentary voice whether he had not been moresuccessful in other cases; and Charlie, colouring, allowed that he hadbrought two more out of the river.
There Angela started up. Clement had tried to keep her till shewas called for, but the Coroner, seeing her agitation, courteouslyexpressed himself willing to take her evidence. Her cheeks werecrimson, and she spoke breathlessly. 'I only want to say it wasnobody's fault but mine. They would not have raced with us if I hadnot begun singing. And then they would have cleared us, but I gotfrightened when we came to the meeting of the currents, and my strokefailed. That made the stern swing round. And I am ready to take theconsequences.'
'No consequences need be apprehended, Miss Underwood,' said theCoroner, a kind old man. 'No one can impute blame to a young lady for avery natural alarm; and every one must feel this voluntary explanationextremely honourable to you.'
He was making a cruel cut if he had only known it, but he was fullof consideration for her; and the young men themselves gave theirevidence in a very different style from the defensive and offensive oneintended; nor was the question of their sobriety, on which they hadbrought up the landlord of the Hook and Line, even alluded to, beforethe verdict of accidental death was returned.
Clement had the feeling that this was the most generous action ofAngela's life, and yet she had carried it out in so defiant a mannerthat it was not easy to give her full credit; and before he couldaddress her, she had sped away, between skimming and striding, and wasacross the churchyard before he had reached the door.
Bernard relieved himself by a low whistle.
'Well,' said Charlie, 'I thought her pluck indomitable. I neversupposed that she capsized us.'
'Why, whom did you think it could be?'
'Well, if you must know, I thought Lance just the spoon to do it--amusician, and he'd been looking moon-struck all day.'
'Much you know about Lance! Why, I'd have taken my oath beforehand itwas nobody's doing but Angel's. It's just the way with that sort ofgirl that runs into what she's no call to--'
Lance meantime was having a brief transaction with the reporter of theEwmouth paper, and then was detained by warm expressions from the otherboat's crew, who had bee
n quite disarmed, and were eager to tell oftheir sorrow and their sense of the kindness and 'handsomeness' of thetreatment they had received--speaking to him, indeed, a great deal morefreely than they could have done to his brother the Vicar, as a beingfar less removed from their own sphere, and giving him valuable datafor dealing with their comrade, young Light, who still lay very ill.Clement had visited him in the morning, and had found him gruff andreserved, and showing decided objections to clerical visits as such.
These lads seemed more careless than free-thinking, as they allowedthat Light certainly was; and they were now much impressed, and eagerto speak of poor Yates's steadiness and goodness. Indeed, he hadnot even meant to go to the Maying, and they had been in the act ofchaffing him for the abstinence which they now longed to have shared.It was the greater comfort, because his poor mother had just beenbrought over by her son's master, who would take charge of her till thefuneral. She was in the strange mixture of fuss and grief that nevershows to advantage, and when taken to see her boy was divided betweengratitude at the honours paid to him and dread of their novelty, andthe ground where it was easiest to meet her was his real dutifulnessand affection.
Attention to the poor woman and other calls hindered Clement from anyinterview with Angela, whom indeed he hardly saw till the night vigilwhich he was to share with her. The day had not been unfavourable,except from the exhaustion produced by the afternoon heat; andBernard's brief visit had exceedingly dismayed him. He declared thathe had never seen any one look like _that_ but a fellow who hadbeen really killed by a disastrous blow at foot-ball, and put allhis auditors in the lowest spirits by a series of tragic anecdotes;until Mr. Page, at his evening visit, declared that he saw more realimprovement than he had dared to expect.
Felix could not bear to see two watchers losing their whole night'srest; and as Angela was unpersuadable, Clement, to content him, laydown dressed on the bed in the next room, and being thoroughly tired,was fast asleep, when in the middle of the night an access of painreturned, probably from some inadvertent movement in slumber. Felixforbade Angela to summon his brother; but ere long the agony increasedso much, that, with a lip stiff and straightened by the struggle tosuppress a cry, he said, 'Help me!' and as thinking he wanted to changehis posture, she offered her arm and neck, he released another sob ofanguish, and answered, 'No! no! Say--prayers--what I can't recollect.'
Her lips quivered, but no sound came. However, Clement, with truenursing instinct, had been roused, and stood over him, uttering atintervals the supplications after which he had been feeling in thedistraction of acute pain, and the look of having lost something passedaway. The fomentations were renewed; and at last, just as Lance wasdressing to go for Mr. Page, a faint but free voice said, 'Don't go, itis getting better;' and in ten minutes more, the paroxysm had passedinto a sweet sleep, which lasted till long after morning had risen.
Clement would not leave him again, but Angela refused every sign ofdismissal, and sat cold, hard, stiff as a statue, with open fixedeyes, and cheeks so wan as to be almost green in the light of dawn. Hewatched her with almost as much anxiety as the sleeper; and when atfour o'clock their watch was relieved by John and Wilmet, he followedher to her own door, and said, 'Angel, my dear child, I am afraid youare very unhappy.'
'Well, why not? Good-night, or morning.'
'Should we not both be better able to rest if you would let me do whatI can for you?'
She laughed--a horrid painful scornful laugh it was. 'Much good thatwould do. Such a trouble as this!'
'Yet, Angel, would you but try! There is no grief or penitence toovast--'
The laugh again. 'So one says till one tries, and then one findsthat one hates it all! all! all! No, I tell you, Clement, I won't bebothered now! I can't stand it.'
And she locked her door.
Even Felix, who in spite of that one attack was evidently stronger,must have remarked her manner, for he asked Wilmet whether there wereanything amiss with Angel. 'She is grieving over her share in theaccident,' said Wilmet. 'I hope it may be a turning-point with her.'
No doubt he thought over this; for later in the day, when Angela wassponging his face and hands with warm water, and exclaimed at sightof a red mark on his arm, 'Did you hurt yourself there, Felix?' heanswered, 'No, it is the old scald. Do you remember our talk then?'
'You can't go on as you did then,' she hurriedly said.
'Then don't look as you did then,' he said. 'Remember, visible resultsare often merciful aids to correction.'
She perpetrated a hard stiff smile; and from that time shunned beingleft alone with him, and sometimes when the exterior family thought herin the sick-room was really shut up in her own, for she avoided thepresence of the others as much as possible, and when among them showedan irritability and unkindness to Stella that Cherry could hardly bearto see. She could hardly answer an inquiry after Felix from her withcommon courtesy, and roughly took things out of her hands to preventher bringing them into the room, when a moment's sight of her sweetface would have been no harm but rather good to her patient.
By Thursday much of the pain, tenderness, and disability to move weregone; and Tom May was well satisfied, not only thinking the firstdanger over, and ascribing the chief remaining damage to a sprain,but wishing that Felix should be lifted to a couch, where he couldbe a good deal cooler than in his bed. It was lucky that Wilmet andCherry had resisted Clement's desire to present all the old Squire'sinvalid machinery to the hospital, for there was great comfort in theeasy-going wheeled couch with angles of every inclination on which hewas brought to the window. Bernard longed to draw up the blind, insteadof his 'seeing nothing but that black cross and the old trumpetingangel under it,' as he said.
'My trumpeting angel is a dear friend,' said Felix. 'He says a greatdeal.'
Felix was obedient to the order to be moved, and showed that hewas less prostrate in strength than had been anticipated; but hispassiveness struck those who knew him best as not so much the langourof weakness as of sorrow. What Clement had rightly deemed no ill newsin what seemed his own last struggle, was a sore grief in his recovery.Little Theodore's loving dependence was greatly missed, and saddenedthe thought of returning to the family.
Nor was he the only mourner. The first practice of the choir-boyswithout him ended in a positive howl; one of them was reported to havesaid Master Theodore was a little angel among them; and the intimationof Stella's desire for broom blossom brought in such an accumulation ofgolden flowers as might have covered the whole family.
Sibby added to Clement's perplexities by announcing her intention ofnot going to mass any more barring at Church. She would cast in her lotwith her own children, the darlin' above all that was the Lord's ownlamb; and she hadn't need go further, when here was Master Clem, asgood a praste as any of her own clergy that was.
Though this was precisely Master Clem's own view, he could not tellwhether he were encouraging an act of schism or an act of Catholicity;and he had not much choice, for praste as she owned him, he knew thatthe least opposition would make him in his old nurse's eyes no morethan the long white boy she had victimized and allowed to be victimizedby all his brothers. He wondered whether to write to the Priest atEwmouth, who had certainly never attended to Sibby like his brotherat Bexley, nor exerted himself to encourage her weekly tramp to mass.Altogether, though touched and warmed, he was by no means so elatedabout his convert as Clan Hepburn would have thought proper.
Those good ladies, in spite of their belief that there was a regular_chapelle ardente_ round poor Theodore, and that the Vicar and thePapist woman spent their time there in telling beads and sprinklingholy-water, were too kind-hearted not to come daily to inquire, andsome one always went down to them. On Friday, when they were shown intothe drawing-room, they found Angela kneeling by the hearth, burningsome papers in the fire-place.
'Felix was better,' she said; 'he was being dressed, and was to betaken into the painting-room, it was so much cooler;' but even as shespoke, the hard silent misery of her
face went to their hearts.
'You look sadly worn, my dear,' said Miss Bridget kindly. 'I hear youare the best of nurses, but you must not be overtired.'
'Oh! nothing hurts me!' with her horrid little laugh.
'Fatigue of body is a rest to pain of mind,' said Miss Isabella; 'butthere is even a better rest, if you only knew your way to it, my poorchild.'
'And I fear it is studiously overlaid and concealed,' sighed MissBridget.
Angela looked from one to the other; then exclaimed, 'There's nota bit of help or comfort in anything! It is of no use talking.Nothing--nothing will ever touch it.'
The vast grief she meant, and Miss Isabella understood her. 'Yes, trulythere are times when all we have trusted in falls--falls away andleaves us alone.'
'And hating the humbug!' cried Angela, though even as she spoke she wasstartled at her words; but the hard wretchedness of the past days, whenall she had been wont to hear of as comfort seemed but child's playto the intensity of her grief, had exacerbated her against the wholesystem in which she had been bred, so that the very sight of Clementbrought an angry sense of mockery.
Miss Bridget was shocked at the language; but her sister understoodbetter. 'Yes, Bridget, the dear child is feeling the desolation thatsooner or later comes to all who have been content with unrealities!Most cruel, but better than the delusion.'
Bridget quoted, 'He feedeth on ashes; a deceived heart hath turned himaside, that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is there not a lie inmy right hand?'
'Ashes! ashes indeed!' cried Angela passionately, as she looked atthe black paper with grey crumbling edges that had once been a song,where she thought she met Charlie's heart. 'The more one cares the morehateful it all grows!' and she crushed the fragments into tinder withthe paper as she spoke.
'Dear, dear girl!' cried Isabella Hepburn; 'even as you crush thatpaper, throw aside all these vain shows that cannot profit, and simplycast yourself where Help is to be found!'
The real tender kindness, the promise of help, attracted the heartweary of its misery, and yet spurning all the love and help that hadlonged to aid all these days. She could in some strange way open to afresh person when the heart was closed to her own kindred; besides,it was better to have the circumstances blamed than herself, and theeffect of the good lady's appeal was to make her groan, with tightlycompressed hands, 'Oh! no one can tell--no one can reach near the depthof this unhappiness. Think what I have done! and what it has cost me!And then it all seems--words--words--words--'
'Words--yes, till you find Him only in whom is Power to comfort. Is henot rousing your heart by this utter destitution and powerlessness tocomfort, so as to bring you at once to lay the load on Him?'
The fervour of her voice carried force; and Angela said, 'If Icould--Not to find it all words again--'
'Poor child! Did He ever turn from such as come to Him? Take your Biblein your hand, and at the foot of the Cross--not the material cross,of which you have been taught to make a plaything, but the spiritualCross--cast your sorrows and your sins; believe, and be healed.'
'Believe! believe!' broke forth the girl. 'I suppose I do believe! Ivery nearly didn't when I found it all sounded so inadequate and empty!'
'He only can be her Teacher,' whispered Miss Bridget; but her sister,with true warmth of love and hope, said, 'He is teaching her;--but,dear Angela, we will do our best by praying for or with you, orpointing the way to the best of our power.'
At that moment Stella came in, and after quietly giving her hand to thevisitors, she said, 'Please, Angel, Clement wants to know if you havethe key of the walnut-press.'
'No! I don't know,' she crossly said, after feeling in her pocket invain.
'Most likely it is in the pocket of your blue skirt,' said Stella. 'MayI go and look?'
'No! I won't have my things pulled about! I don't believe it's there.What does he want?'
Stella reluctantly answered, 'We are getting the Church ready; he wantsthe pulpit-banner with the triangles.'
To the visitors this sounded like profane play at such a time. 'Poorchild!' they said; 'are these the devices that fritter away the deeplessons of grief?'
'Stella has devices enough,' muttered Angela under her breath; but thelittle maiden answered, 'We don't want to be sad;' but, spite of thepensive gentle tone, it seemed to the Hepburn sisters mere levity anddesire to escape sorrow.
However, they rose to take leave, telling Angela they would always beat her service; and as she accompanied them through the hall, cameClement on the wake of his messenger, in distress for the key. Shedashed impetuously up-stairs--found it where Stella had suggested, andflew down again with it.
'There! I've done with it! I'm sick of it all!'
'What?' asked the astonished Clement.
'I loathe it all,' she repeated. 'It is all of a piece--all ashesinstead of bread.'
'You are not mimicking the Hepburns,' said her brother. 'I beg yourpardon,' he instantly added.
'Mimicking! No, but like them I have learnt to rate all this fripperyat its worth! If you had any depth of feeling, you would loathe it as Ido. But that's the way you palter with truth and reality--deceiving anddeceived.'
The voice and flash in her eyes directed these last words on Stella;but cutting short the reply that Clement was beginning, she again flewup-stairs, leaving the other two aghast.
'This is a new phase!' said Clement.
'I wonder if grief drives people into a sort of distraction,' saidStella, in a tone of excuse.
'Had the Hepburns been talking to her?'
'Yes; I thought she looked, when I came in, as if they had been somecomfort to her.'
'Ah!'
She had never heard such a sigh from him. In amaze she said, 'Theyare so good. I thought great troubles made little differences beforgotten.'
'True! It is their genuine goodness that makes me fear.'
'If that made her quite--in earnest?' asked Stella.
'I wish Mr. Fulmort could have come before Monday!' ejaculated Clement.'She's past me!'
Then it struck him that he was talking to little Stella as to a woman,and looking to see whether she had become one, he saw new depths inher eyes. 'Well, Stella, if she deserts I must trust to you,' he said.'Have you seen much of her state of mind?'
'Not much,' said Stella. 'I think,' and her eyes filled with tears,'that it is so much worse for her than for any of us--that she is likeone bruised all over, who can't bear the least touch, and it comeson her all the more to-day, because she has been occupied by Felixhitherto, and now he wants her less.'
'But is not she specially unkind to you, Stella?'
'Oh! don't call it that. I believe she can't bear to see me, because Iput her so in mind of dear Baby.' And the bright tears dropped.
The simple-hearted child had no idea of any deeper and more personalcause of irritation; nor was it possible to pursue the subject, forwhereas the innocent's entrance to Paradise was not to cost the centralfeast of the Christian year one wreath, Angela's defection threw muchtoil upon her. The funeral was to be late on the Saturday afternoon,for the convenience of poor Yates's friends; and all must be finishedbefore, with the help of Bernard, Lance, and Will Harewood, who hadcome down, like the brother he was, and was a welcome assistant toClement, just as Angela's secession seemed like the last straw thatwould break the camel's back!
The best exhilaration was perhaps an occasional visit to thepainting-room, where Felix and Geraldine were so peacefully thankfulto be together again, that they hardly breathed a word to one another.And there was comfort too in finding how much the tone of young Lightwas softening from its hard defiance. Lance, who had a good deal ofexperience, and was to the young tradesmen at Bexley much what he hadbeen to the choristers at Minsterham, had devoted himself to the sicklad, and had certainly produced an effect upon him.
Felix was recovering strength quickly. As there was an awkward stepinto the painting-room, he begged the next day to perform the journeyon his own feet; and though
he needed both the balustrade and Clement'sarm, and was still sharply pained by any sidelong movement, this waswonderful progress in so few days. Here he meant to be during thefuneral, and to hear the service through the window opening into thetransept. There were many dissuasions, but he was for the first timeresolute on his own will, both to listen and to be alone. 'It is notnearly so likely to overcome me,' he said, 'as if any one were with me.I shall lie quietly back, and listen as to a most soothing strain!'
'Yes,' argued Cherry; 'but why risk it?'
'I cannot do the last thing for my boy, but it is the nearest I cancome to it! The son of my right hand, as Father said! So he has been;I only know now what an incentive his dependence was, and how thisloosens me from the world.'
'Please don't say that! We have been too much frightened, and you aregetting well so fast.'
'I think so!' he acquiesced, but without much elasticity. 'Yet it was agreat element of thankfulness that night, and is so still, though theair seems empty without his constant music.'
Many a note of praise was to come to his ears that day, as the choirpreceded their little member across the lawn to the Church gate. Theirvoices predominated in the Psalms; and the Lesson, read by Mr. Colman,the vicar of poor Yates's parish at Ewmouth, was almost inaudiblethrough the window; but the Lord's Prayer at the graves came to his earlike 'the voice of many waters;' and the final hymn, the same which hadbeen last on Theodore's lips, was sung by the tones of a multitude, andthrilled mightily through the summer air.
Felix was not the worse, though afterwards three doctors came upand tormented him, ending by allowing him to do whatever suited hisown feelings and discretion, only bidding him not persevere in whatpained him, and to rest thoroughly between every exertion. He asked noquestions, and seemed quite satisfied; but Clement was more explicit inhis inquiries in private, and was told that where there was so littlepower of examination, it was impossible to certify whether any harm wasdone beyond the undoubted sprain, and that this might make itself feltfor months, even years, without anything but muscles being in fault;nor could either of the May physicians detect any cause for alarm,except a vague impression that the countenance was more changed thanwas accounted for by the pain or loss of blood. There had been fromthe first an indescribable stricken look, less evident now as the facevaried with animation, but recurring in repose, and taking away thatyouthfulness that had endured so long.
Nothing of all this was said beyond Clement's study; the othersremained happy in the verdict of remarkable improvement. Dr. May hadbrought a note from his daughter.
DEAREST CHERRY,
I long to come, and dare to think I should be welcome, but Tom will not let Papa bring me. At least I know it is all right. I knew it would be. Lives with so many bound up in them are not so lightly wrenched away. The world cannot grow dark by losing the selfless. All my soul is with you. Your dear little Theodore has not lived in vain. Your ways--all of you--to him have been bitter reproof to me. Write to me all I cannot pick out of Papa. I hope Lancelot is looking better. Tell him I shall try his 'Lightning Messages,' as soon as I can play them without my eyes swimming or my voice getting upon the howl.
With my dear love, Your affectionate G.M. MAY.
Cherry gave the note to Lance to read, expecting to hear no more ofit; but he brought it out in the late evening as she was settling somePursuivant business with him, in preparation for his departure by theearly train on the Monday. 'Do you want this?' he asked.
'You may keep it if you like.'
He sighed, holding it close. 'I say--does he know--the Squire?'
'Of her coming over? No; I don't think any one saw her.'
'He ought. I had begun to think so before, but this note convinces meon whose account she came.'
'I don't imagine she knew she came on any one's account in particular.'
'All the nicer of her, but so much the worse for me. Look here, Cherry.Did you know I had been at Stoneborough on Monday? Well, she showedplain enough how it was. Every hope seemed gone--crushed--done for. Iwas so dazed, that if you said it was I who upset the boat, I shouldn'twonder. I had lived upon the thought ever since Christmas. O Cherry, Ido love her so!' cried the poor lad, quite beyond his usual reservedself-control.
'Yes; she is very bright and sweet,' said Cherry, by way of sympathy.
'The Daisy! the light of every place she goes to!' he went on. 'Howdifferent she made it all last winter! and I was fool enough tothink--Well, it is no good to talk of Monday morning, but it wasjust falling from Paradise to the abyss; and all the night after Iwas savage with them all for having dragged me back--nearly mad morethan once, I believe. Then in the morning, when I had just stumbledout into church, not able to put two thoughts together, but with onlysense enough to know that if I laid my love and my life on the Altaras best I could, God would take them and make the right thing of themsomehow--I looked up, and saw her in the morning sunshine clinging tome--the dear thing--then I did believe God had given her to me.'
'Dear Lance! still--'
'No; I understand now. The fancy bore me up from I don't know what,till I had got myself in hand again; but when I look at it reasonably,I see she was glad to find me alive, out of common humanity, andbecause she thought she had vexed me; but as to the real feeling, thisnote shows plainly enough where that goes.'
'If it were so, there would hardly be such openness of expression.'
'Do you think so?' (eagerly, then catching himself up). 'No; it is onlythat the consciousness has never been brought out.'
'I don't believe _he_ will ever voluntarily bring out anybody'sconsciousness.'
'Then he ought! Why is he to debar himself from happiness, anddisregard other people's feelings? I tell you, it is positively wrongto keep hanging about him and hampering him. You would do much betterto leave him to be happy, and come and let us get on together as we canat home. You might make it just tolerable!'
'My poor Lancey,' said Cherry, smiling, 'things are hardly so faradvanced; but if they were, you would be my best dependence.'
'But you'll tell him? And let no fancy stand in the way of his--oftheir happiness.'
'Tell? You mean of her coming over? Very well, if you think it right.Nay, indeed, it is not the wish to keep him to myself, but theassurance of his resolution--and, dear old Lancey, I don't like yourgoing back to the old mill without the bird in your bosom.'
He hid his face in both his arms as he sat over the table, butrecovering himself, said, 'Never mind! Hoping for him is _some_ hope,and there's too much on hand for being down in the mouth. It will allcome right somehow,' he repeated, secure in that faith, even under hissense of disappointment; but after all, is not a generous consent thebest balm in disappointment?
After this conversation, Cherry and Lance were struck, amid a somewhatastonished congregation, when the next day, the Vicar in his pulpitgave out in his clear ringing voice, like a trumpet proclamation, histext, 'And His Banner over me is Love.'
The church was quite full. The beauty of its musical services hadof late rendered it a resort from Ewmouth, and the present occasionhad attracted every one connected with the persons concerned in theaccident, as well as many of the curious. Mr. Colman, whose despairwas the young clerkhood of Ewmouth, had protested against having topreach; and indeed Clement felt that he had a word to say, for had notthe week been one of intensified feeling, and deepened experience?Yet even his brothers and sisters were not only sorry when they foundthis task unexpectedly lapsing on him, but feared that he was hardlyadequate to the occasion. In general he was a careful preacher, veryexact, and rather tediously accurate in citing arguments, much given tosimilitude and mystical interpretation, and instructive and interestingin a certain degree; but without much fire or individuality, and, asthe Hepburn clique asserted, deficient in the root of the matter.
/> But his voice made Cherry look at him, and his countenance not onlyglowed with unusual colour, but had a dignity and impressiveness thatassured her that she should hear something different from usual, aftera text so unlikely for a funeral discourse.
After twice proclaiming that Banner under which he served, he slowlyand distinctly spoke those other words, '"One shall be taken andanother left. They say unto Him, Where, Lord?" Yes! Strange, startling,arbitrary, as seem often the calls to the soldiers in Christ's army,each is at its true time, for the choice is made in Love.' Then camethe description of the mighty host, of their Leader and their conflict,steadfast in the Name that the day's Feast glorified, going forthconquering and to conquer, but, strange contradiction! under the Bannerof Love. Love, by which their Captain had won, the work to which allwere enlisted, the weapon wherewith each was to fight. Love had beentheir Captain's weapon, but they needed another, namely, Faith--forwho could fight for a vision--who, without reliance on his general?Cause and Captain, and His power to save to the uttermost, were dwelton in a few ardent words; and then came the picture of the serriedranks, standing fast in one army, warring as one band against darkness,foulness, cruelty, and all other evils, each fighting his individualbattle in private, yet even thus striking as much for the cause as forhimself. So they stood, soldiers in a campaign, aware that any momentmight snatch them out of the ranks, yet also aware that not one wouldbe taken save at the right moment when his warfare had come to thecrisis. Our forefathers of old believed in glorious maidens who floatedover the battle-field as choosers of the slain, and bore hero-spiritsaway to the Home of Triumph in chariots of light, to dwell among thebrave. Like them we believe in the Triumphant Home, where dwell thebrave who have stood steadfast in faith, joyful through hope, rootedin charity, bright in purity, dashing down the arrows of temptationthat glint against their armour. Like them, we believe in a Chooser ofthe slain, bearing us, one by one, from our several posts, with longeror shorter warning, exactly when our warfare is accomplished, ourindividual battle is, or ought to be, won.
'Is or ought to be! That is the point. That is it on which dependsthe awful question, "Where, Lord?" which He who has seen beyond thegrave, left unanswered. Where? Less than a week ago, on one of thedays especially given to us for joy and gladness, in the very heightof our mirth, came the moment of danger to fifteen of us. For thirteenof us, thanks have been today returned. "Where, Lord?" has not beensaid of us, but has not its echo been with us? Where? When I look backon duties neglected, on self-complacencies, on purposes fulfilledon the surface but not in the spirit, on cold-hearted devotions, ona thousand treasons against the Banner of Love, I can only cry out,"Where Lord?" and bless Him that it is the Lord my Redeemer, Who looksmercifully on His unprofitable servants, of whom the question is asked,and Who has spared me for a little space. He calls in due season. Butwhether the summons be welcome or the reverse, does not depend on itsfinding us in sunshine summer pleasure, or upon a bed of pain. No--itdepends on whether we are really in our camp, our face to the foe,our ensign above us, no treason or desertion at heart. Then, spite ofshort-comings and failures, with the Banner over us that is Love, weshall know that death is victory; and "Where, Lord?" will be answeredfor ever by "Him Who liveth and was dead, and is alive for evermore."'
Felix, from his window, caught the texts, and noted the breathlesshush. The Vicar of Ewmouth said, as he took leave, 'Thank you. You havetouched hearts I could not reach.'
And Lance followed Clement to the library, and begged for the sermonfor the Pursuivant. 'I know they would read it at Bexley, and if theycare for it as I do, it ought to tell. I never heard you go on likethat!'
'Here are my notes, but they will do you little good; I could not writelast night.'
'You came up late enough, though!'
'I had to make it up in thought and prayer.'
'A better thing, it seems,' said Lance. 'It is a sermon to set onegoing, however things look!'
He was nearly at Bexley the next morning by the time Felix hadfulfilled his intention of coming down-stairs, and had taken his seatin the Squire's chair before the writing-table, but with his backto the door whence the musical hum would never more issue. Cherrywanted to have put it off; and Clement had proposed an exchange ofsitting-rooms; but he had said such things were best faced at once,while no association made much difference.
Cherry was with him, looking over the letters of inquiry andcondolence, and sorting out those which she would answer at once, or heundertake by degrees--looking too at the first Pursuivant in which forat least twelve years he had had no share, and which, he said, told himmore about the accident than he had yet known.
'Lance has fared better than could have been hoped,' he said. 'I fearedfor both chest and head.'
'I believe he was very ill the first night,' said Cherry.
'Then--was it my fancy, or did not I hear Gertrude May's voice?'
'How could you hear it?'
'Through the open window, at the hall-door, as Tom May was going. Didshe come over with the carriage, good girl?'
'Yes; but we never guessed that you knew it.'
'Many things were borne in on me in a passive sort of way,' said Felix,'and among them the trust that she was as good an elixir to the boy asin the winter.'
'Quite true! I believe the glow she excited saved him from an illness;but he has come to another conclusion since.'
'Well--what?'
'I should not tell you, but for his entreaty. He thinks she cares lessfor him than for you.'
'Nonsense! He may put that out of his head, poor boy.'
The colour mounted in his bloodless cheek, but the decision of the tonesatisfied Geraldine.
At that moment, however, the door was gently opened, and Stella, hercheeks more deeply tinted than their wont, quietly said, 'Brother,Captain Audley is here. He wants to know whether you are well enough tosee him.'
Cherry divined what was coming; but Felix exclaimed, 'Captain Audley!How kind! Tell him I am quite ready.--But you had better make yourselfscarce, Cherry; the poor man has met one lady already, and I can'tanswer for the consequences of his falling in with another.'
There he was interrupted by her contention with his instinctive impulseto rise and give her his arm--a token of improvement; for whereasyesterday he had apologised whenever she crossed the room without him,to-day he began getting up, but was checked by the twinge betrayed bylips and brow, and as Lord Gerald had been fortunately left ashore,Cherry professed to have her most constant supporter.
Another moment, and Captain Audley crossed her, and bowed to her, asshe repaired to the drawing-room, from the window of which she sawthe two young things, not idling--Stella never dawdled--but cuttingflowers, and filling the whole stock of vases which she had broughtout, to renew the cheerfulness of the house for its convalescent master.
The sight was pretty, but Cherry wondered whether she ought to go outand protect her little sister's peace, deciding however, that whateverharm there was must have been done already, and that accessibility washer best condition for the present; and so she sat down to begin someof the numerous letters, though their subject was most incongruous withthat of her anticipations, and she wrote with divided attention, tillFelix came into the room.
'Cherry,' said he, deliberately placing himself on the settee, 'Had youany notion of this?'
'Only the last day or two, very dimly. Has it come to anything?'
'That I want to ascertain. Which did you think it was?'
'The poor little star, I'm afraid.'
'Why afraid?'
'Because there must be breakers ahead, and that poor little dear neednot have been molested for years to come.'
'Is she molested?'
'Look! Ah, no! you can't turn; but if you could see them on the lawn!'
'She is such a child. She might be with him as simply as with Will.'
'I'm afraid that is over. Is not the Captain dead against it?'
'No; that's the odd thing. She seems to hav
e vanquished him on the spotby one glint of her bonnie blue een, and he has not the heart to sayNo; but the worst of it is, he has no power.'
'He should not have let his son loose here.'
'So he allows, and that I saw clearer than he--which I did not, for mysuspicions were in another direction, and I fear not without cause, onone side at least.'
'That's the horrid part of it!'
'So persuaded was I, that I went on at cross-purposes at first, and hadto ask point-blank which of my sisters he meant, but I don't think Ibetrayed Angela. What is to be done about her?'
'Oh! tiresome love! Why could they not let you alone a little while? Ithink Angela has some notion, and that it must be what has made her sovery queer.'
'Perhaps! I thought it was her share in the disaster, poor girl!'
'That would not have made her almost spiteful to poor little Stella.'
'Where is she now?'
'Gone to the penny-club business as usual.'
'I hope this will be over before she comes back. I must speak to mylittle one, only first let me hear what you think about it. The Captainhas been most straightforward with me. He explained that he never was afavourite at home, and his marriage was a case of extorted consent. Hiswife was never cordially treated, and he could not forget the slightsshe received. Neither party wanted the other, and he had got into hislonely yachting existence, when, unluckily for him, his elder brother'sdeath has rendered him and his boy important. The widow lives with theold people, and he thinks they want Charlie to marry the daughter. Theywant him to spend his vacations with them, and he is always shirking.'
'I have heard him bemoan himself.'
'The worst of it is, that if the old people take offence, they arelikely to leave the bulk of the property to the grand-daughter. TheCaptain says he hates it all, and would freely let it go; but atCharlie's age, it would not be right to let him incur such a forfeitblindly.'
'They are both too young for anything.'
'Precisely so; but the thing must be either suffered or not, and itis a mere subterfuge to call it nothing, and let him be always abouthere. If the child knows nothing, the boy's mouth could be stopped, atleast till he has taken his degree. I came to see whether that be stillpossible. You think not? Well, I have some hope of her simplicity. Ifnot, what think you of this? We tell them they are a couple of babies,and bind the fellow to keep away somewhere till he has taken hisdegree, when it will either have blown over, or he can judge whether totake to a profession and endanger his prospects, and there will be sometest whether he really cares for the poor little dear.'
'I'm afraid there is trial for her any way!'
'The difficulty I foresee, is in keeping the Captain up to anything.If he were set against it, our part would be much easier; but he seemsto have surrendered at first sight of our Fair-Star, and he is weaker,more impulsive, and undecided than I could have conceived.'
'He has been indulging his feelings all his life. I should not wonderif Charlie were the more sensible.'
'Our other baby! So! I must see how far it has gone.'
'No! I'll call her. Don't move.'
'A shocking reversal,' resigning himself, 'but I believe you hadrather. I don't mind walking; it is getting up and sitting down thatbeats me. Don't startle the child. There's still hope that he has notstirred the waters.'
Cherry had no such hope, as she stood at the conservatory door, callingStella. Both came up to her; and as she sent the girl to her brother,Charlie looked at her with an anxious 'Well?' as the colour deepened inhis honest face.
'I think your father is in the study,' she evasively said.
'Come, now, Miss Underwood, I am sure you know all about it. What sortof a chance have I?'
'I don't think you ought to have any chance at your age. Indeed,Charlie, I do wish you had let it alone for the present.'
'I assure you, I didn't know I wasn't going to let it alone; but whatcould I do when I found the dear little darling crying enough tooverset a mill-stone? One couldn't but do one's best to comfort her;and when I found I had really got over the line, and been making sheerlove, I could not but have it out and go on with it.'
'Then was it only that moment?'
'No! no! no! I'd known her for my Star, my light, my darling, eversince I can't tell when; but of course I knew what a shindy there wouldbe, and as long as I could come here and look at her, I could have goneon quietly till I was of age, and could fight it out. Only when it cameto her being lonely--'
'Do you think she knew it for what you say?'
Charlie shrugged his shoulders, laughed, and coloured.
'And your father?'
'That _is_ comical,' he said confidentially. 'He was dead against it!hummed and hawed, called me no end of fools, said I should be cut offwith a shilling, and told me how my grandmother bullied my poor mother.I'd hard work to haul him here, and he said it was only to beg theSquire's pardon, cram full of objections. Well, there was the darlinggirl gathering forget-me-nots in the garden, with Scamp and the dovesround her. "That's she, bless her!" says I. "Is it she?" says he; andwith that, he whips out of the skiff, leaving me to moor it, you see,looks her full in the face--I believe he hadn't seen a young lady tolook at since my mother died--"Are you Charlie's little Stella?" sayshe; and behold, there he is, giving her a regular paternal kiss, beforeI could get quit of the boat. And when one's own father is all right,who is to make objections?'
Stella's examination had been short. Felix held out his hands, tookhers, and gazing into her blushing face, said, 'Look at me, my child,and tell me if you know what Captain Audley is come for.'
She hung her flower-like head, and answered, 'I think I do.'
'And what do you think of it?'
'O Brother,' the eyes overflowed, 'I didn't know it was _that_, whenhe came and was so good to me, or I would not have been so unkind inall the trouble. I only thought how nice he was. Indeed it was notforgetting Tedo.'
'No, indeed, my sweet; that was the last thing I meant. Only, since youdo know the meaning of it, tell me--whether you like it.'
'Like! O Brother! It did just seem to take away all the unhappiness. Icouldn't help it, you know!'
'Ah! No, no, my dear, you didn't hurt me. Now will you be patient, soas not to get Charlie into trouble, and trust me?'
'Trust you, Brother?' in a tone of wonder, as if it would have beenimpious to do otherwise; and then she faltered, 'I thought CaptainAudley didn't mind it _much_--for, Brother, he kissed me.'
'He is ready to like you with all his heart; but he has a father too,and can't do all he pleases. So you may have to be kept waiting to growolder.'
'Oh yes,' said Stella; 'I know I'm too young, and I could not go awayfrom everybody for a long long time.'
So the edict was given in form, with more assumption of authority onFelix's part than had been his wont towards his sisters' lovers; buthe saw it was the best way to spare the little maid from what mightprove trifling and end in disappointment, and the young lover fromunfair usage of his grandparents, and its punishment. Someone must beresolute, and the father would not; so the brother had to depict theimpossibility of fostering an attachment between an undergraduate and achild, under the certainty of displeasing the head of the family.
Charlie argued that it was hard his father's consent should notsuffice--that he cared not for the property--he would go to his unclein Australia, become printer's-devil at Bexley--anything to be freeto win his Cynosure, while his father seemed far more disposed toapplaud him than to say, Nonsense; and it fell to Felix to explain thatwhatever course Charlie might decide on, it must not be till his Oxfordcareer was ended, and that till then there must be neither engagementnor correspondence, and the vacation must be spent elsewhere, sincedaily meetings in present circumstances would be a wrong towards allparties concerned.
Captain Audley could not gainsay that this was both reasonable andhonourable, and even reminded Charlie of an invitation from LordLiddesdale, to pay a visit at his foreign embassy in
the long vacation.Meantime there was to be nothing to bind either party; but as Charliehad to return to Oxford that night, a parting interview was allowed inthe drawing-room, in which he raved a good deal, and she was very quietand rational.
Then Felix was left to repose, which he so sorely needed as to have togive up both coming in to dinner, and driving to meet Mr. Fulmort.
'Sisters' lovers are tough customers,' he said. 'Thank you, Cherry,'as she elevated the front and lowered the back of his chair, so as torender it a couch; 'it is well for me that you would have nothing tosay to the sculptor.'
She kissed him silently; and as she looked at the pallid sunkenface, with the eyes closed, she recollected her declaration that hemust be more to her dead than any other man alive, and though farfrom retracting the sentiment, she wished she had uttered nothing soill-omened.
The effect on Angela was the present anxiety; and it was impossiblenot to feel it staved off by the announcement, through a school-child,that she was staying to dine and spend the rest of the day at MissHepburn's. Whatever this might portend, it was a present relief toCherry, though Clement looked very gloomy upon it; and the Vicar of StMatthew's had not been many hours in the house before Cherry, ratherto her own surprise, found herself invited into Clement's library, toassist at a council over the perplexing girl.
Neither brother nor sister could say more than that, up to the momentof the accident, she had been in her usual state of ultra-observanceand ultra-gaiety, alike wilful and exaggerated, and that on findingherself the real delinquent in the fatal catastrophe, she had petrifiedinto hard fierce reserve. On Sunday alone had she been at Church, andthen had been absent from the Feast where all the family had met; shehad thrown over all the little ecclesiastical offices that had been herpride and pleasure, and repelled all sympathy, except perhaps that ofthe ladies to whom she had been most opposed, and whom she had deridedand contemned for years. Indeed, she might be said to have hoistedtheir flag, for the cross round her neck had been discarded, and herhair had descended from the stupendous fabric which no asseverationwould avail to persuade the Miss Hepburns to be of native growth, andwas now coiled about her head--with an effect, certainly, preferable initself, save for the signification. Things were come to a droll pass,that the absence of Angel's lofty coiffure should be complained of byone vicar to the other; but Mr. Fulmort had been Angela's first guide,who had prepared her for Confirmation and Communion, and Clement hadfrom the first looked to him to deal with her; but Mr. Fulmort wasscarcely encouraging. 'Nothing will be gained by forcing me on her,' hesaid. 'If I cannot draw, driving will be of no avail.'
'If Miss Isabella has got hold of her,' said Cherry, 'she is likely toimitate the people in books whose first act of virtue is shunning theirpriest; and when Angel's conscience gets on the side of perverseness,there is no saying what she will not do.'
'One is so in the dark!' said Clement.
'I think I can guess the process,' said the elder clergyman. 'Onlyactual experience teaches that no system is infallible.'
'Of all plans of education, I should have chosen hers!' said Clement.
'So we trusted to the framework!'
'And how admirably it has answered with Robina, and many more.'
'As far as we see; but this is what I imagine this poor child'shistory. She has more vehemence and energy than depth, and hermusical taste found ritual so congenial, that excitability passed fordevotion, in spite of the lack of trustworthy fruit of submission orself-discipline.'
'I believe it did.'
'So she is in a manner justified in complaining that she was allowed totrust to the shell alone. She has been content with the outward formall this time; and when real sorrow makes her find its failure, sheis naturally distrustful of the whole teaching that was to her meresurface work.'
'Nothing could be more ungrateful, or improper, than to charge it onyou, Sir,' cried the younger vicar.
'Less unjust than you think, though there may be some human nature init too. When my sister collected those girls, we thought, like most whotry experiments, that we had a set of puppets, on whom certain wiresmust produce certain results--and if we saw untoward specimens, chargedit on the want of our system.'
'The system is not ours, but Divine.'
'There was a Divine system in the Wilderness, but with how many did itsucceed?'
'According to that,' said Clement, 'nothing would be anybody's fault.'
'And,' said Geraldine, 'did it not succeed with all the mighty men whooverlived Joshua?'
'True; but even of that generation, who had never seen Egypt, therewere many who lacked faith to drive out the Canaanites. It is the samestory over and over again. People who have been led out of somethinglike Egypt, are apt to think those secure who have never been fromunder the shadow of the Cloud, and have known no bread but manna. Weforget how much depends on being "mixed with faith in the hearers."'
'Faith cannot be given from without,' said Clement.
'Certainly not; but looking back at our dealing with our earlierpupils, I suspect that we worked away with the peculiarities we hadnewly discovered, rather than with the great universal foundations.I am sure we did so with you, Underwood: though happily there wasstuff enough beneath to prevent us from doing more than make youunnecessarily priggish.'
'Geraldine can testify that that was done to your hand, Sir,' saidClement, laughing. 'I believe I should have made any place I cared forodious in the ears of my family.'
'We did not know how much party spirit we infused, fancying thatonce in our groove all must go right. Now, I believe Angela oughtto have been held back. She would have done better in a commonplacewell-principled school.'
'I don't think her teachers were deceived in her,' said Cherry.
'No; but the observances which she genuinely enjoyed deceived herself.Probably at a dull bare service she would have been naughty anduninterested, but then she would have known her religion for what itwas worth. I don't say that I see what ought to have been done, ifwe could begin over again; but I do see that she has found out herunreality in the time of distress, and concludes that the fault is inwhat we taught her. To use another metaphor, she thinks that becausethe Cross has been decked with flowers, it has been no Cross at all;but I trust she is learning the way thither.'
'By casting aside the means?' said Clement.
'Because to her they had not been means, but mirages. If I understandrightly, this is her first true awakening.'
'But is it to be a regular case of conversion?'
'I hope so. I pray so.'
'Is she to be left to these women, to learn contempt for the Sacramentsand the Church?'
'Are they Churchwomen?'
'After a fashion! I don't believe they hold a single Catholic doctrine.'
'They never say the Creed--eh?'
Clement looked abashed.
'If she were likely to be led into an act of schism, it might beneedful to interfere; but if they seem to be bringing her to the senseof repentance and individual spiritual contact, which is the essentialneed, resistance would do more harm than good.'
'Why should she not come the right way?'
'Do you remember Ezekiel's pure springs, which the evil shepherds hadfouled with their feet, so that the flock could not drink thereof?Without classing you among evil shepherds, whatever I may do withmyself, is it not natural to turn from what has been without benefit?'
'By her own fault. And is she to follow their ways, without check orwarning?'
'They are communicants?'
'Four times a year. Frequent Celebrations seem to them superstitiousand formal.'
'And irreverent,' added Cherry.
'Is it not doubtful whether our poor girl have been reverent? Shouldnot we perhaps be keeping her back for a time?'
'Not for their reasons.'
'No; but if she be in the way to what she needs and we have failed toafford her, it seems to me that while it is within the Church, we hadbetter abstain from distracting her attention by
trying to make her dothings in our own way.'
'_Our_ way, Sir?' said Clement, whose mind was never rapid; 'it is theright way. I cannot understand sitting still to see my sister carriedoff into ultra Low Church.'
'Better that than incur the risk of taking party spirit for zeal anddiverting her attention from vital religion to the excitement ofpersecution.'
'There's nothing that would gratify her more,' said Cherry.
'It is exceedingly mortifying,' added Mr. Fulmort, 'to see one's ownchild going over to a rival battalion, which disesteems our ensigns andwar-cries; but by your own account it is no worse--the army is all one.And for ourselves, nothing can be more wholesome. I wish it all fell onme, since the mismanagement began with me; but unluckily it comes mostheavily on you, both as brother and parish-priest.'
Clement was of course disarmed and humbled. 'No doubt you are right,Sir: I will try to accept the personal vexation as my due; I did notknow how much it biassed me. Shall you take no notice?'
'I shall express the interest I feel as old friend and guide, but Ishall not insist on confidence.'
He could afford to bide this time, for he contrived to give a parson'sweek, on finding how heavily this sad Whitsuntide had told uponClement, coming at the end of a clergyman's hardest half-year. Changecould not be had, for Felix was not fit for a journey, and was stillso much disabled as to be unable to put on his clothes unaided; butnothing could be better for both brothers than the presence of thisfriend, bringing them fresh interests from the great arena of conflictbetween good and evil, and giving warm sympathy and satisfaction totheir efforts in their own field. One of his scholars, at least, heconfessed to have far surpassed his expectations. He had never expectedto see his tall, docile, self-complacent chorister all the man that theVicar of Vale Leston Abbas had become; but on the other hand, Angela,once almost his devotee, eluded him by every means in her power, andnever willingly opened her lips in his presence. When at last hesucceeded in catching her, and expressing surprise that she was rushingaway when the church-bell was ringing, her reply was, 'I've done withthose things!'
'With prayers?'
'With heartless forms.'
'So I should hope.'
'Let me go, Mr. Fulmort; I don't want to be ungrateful, but it is allone great mistake.'
'I am afraid you have found it so.'
His tone was sad, and made her exclaim, 'You feel it too, then? Oh,come and learn as I have learnt--see as I have seen!' Some men wouldhave laughed at this sudden reversal of the order of things; but Mr.Fulmort felt the matter far too seriously, and the sound of inquiryhe emitted encouraged her to go on. 'Oh; the hollowness of my oldlife--the utter lack of all aid or light when the hour of darknesscame--the misery, the agony, that racked me all day and all night, whenall you told me to trust to proved broken reeds. Would that I couldproclaim to all what it was to see at last in Whom--in what assurancelies peace!'
'Yes, my child,' he said. 'There truly lies the only hope. May you beable to grasp it firmly, and for ever, and render the fruits of faithand repentance apparent in your life.'
'I shall never put my trust in my own works again. I hate them--Iloathe them.'
'You cannot do better than repent, and bring them for forgiveness.'
'To the foot of the Cross?'
'Certainly.'
'Then you really see the hollowness and emptiness of the system ofthinking them pardoned by a man's voice?'
'Did I ever tell you they were?'
She was a little conscience-stricken, but rallied enough to say, 'Itis the whole principle of auricular confession, to which nothing shallever bring me back. Not the utmost persecution!' and as he smiled alittle, she added, 'It was all form and human intervention.'
'If you can say so from personal experience, Angela,' he replied,'it proves how lamentably I have failed to express my doctrine andintention, and how vain it is for me to try to converse with you.Indeed, I only attempted it because I knew you had had a great shock,and were unhappy.'
'Unhappy till I turned my back on the world and its vanities, andbeheld the true and simple way of salvation! Would you but let me showit to you!'
'My dear child, do you think I have feebly tried to follow my Masterall these years, and never seen it? If I have so totally failed inguiding you to it, my words alone were in fault, and it is well thatthe one Truth has been brought to bear upon you. I thank Him for it,and pray that some day you may be led to _full_ truth.'
There he quitted her; and she could report that Mr. Fulmort had triedto get her under his direction again, and that she had almost broughthim to own the emptiness of the system that he inculcated. That he didnot was, Miss Martha decided, wholly owing to the Old Adam.