Thorold followed her without a word. He sat down on one end of the seat, she took the other.
She was looking distractingly pretty, in a white embroidered linen gown, and a shady white hat with a wreath of periwinkles round it which matched the colour of her eyes. Now she leant forward, elbow on knees, and her chin in the palm of her hand.
"I want to do something with my life," she said with earnest solemnity. "I am doing absolutely nothing now. I have been stuck down in this dear little corner of England, and all of you are drawing fences round me to keep me in. They are getting nearer and nearer, and my space is getting smaller and smaller. Waddy and you and Mrs. Wharnecliffe think I ought to be quite happy in my little cottage, watering the garden, and helping Waddy to housekeep and then driving out an old lady at a snail's pace every day. You say,—
"'Now she's protected—now she's safe!'
"And then you ask me out to tea to keep me from feeling dull, and Waddy says what a pleasant thing it is to have my organ and choir practice as a recreation. And you quite expect me to go on living like this for years! It's just stagnation of soul and body, that's what it is. And God in heaven looks down, and wonders when I'm going to begin to live!"
Thorold was not shocked at this outburst. He was surprised, but he concealed that, and said in his slow voice:
"And what is your idea of life? You have mentioned God Almighty's name, and I know you have not used it in mockery. Is it your idea to carry out His will or your own?"
"Oh, I don't know, but He has made me, I do believe, for something better than this. What a big world it is! And how much there is to do. Sir Gilbert talks to me about Heaven's purposes, and the earth's failures. I have brains, and strength, and leisure, and I can't sit about in armchairs and just be comfortable—I'm too young for it. And I have an uncomfortable feeling that I'm living on Waddy's savings. She always tells me there's plenty of money for our needs. But where does it come from? I don't earn enough to keep the house going. Miss Anne is very generous, and I shall be able to support myself on what she gives me, but I shan't be able to save much. And my life is too easy, and empty, and narrow. There now! That's the gist of the matter! I shall break away soon—I must. It's the Bubble's efforts to soar, before it bursts!"
"But you have had one effort to break away, haven't you? And it wasn't altogether a success."
"I knew that would come. I have failed. I own it. It is your nasty English people that have made me fail. But there are other vocations besides driving motors."
"I fear you are tired of it by now."
Laughter came into her eyes.
"Oh, I'm an awful creature, I know I am. Two days ago I was enchanted with this fresh job. I am cross to-day because I must make my car's speed match a horse's. But, all the same, deep down, I know my soul is meant to do something bigger. And I want to find out the biggest and best thing to do, and then DO it!"
"There are different estimates of size, I fancy," said Thorold. "We are like the children who think an orange in their hand much bigger than the brightest planet in the heavens. Our big things are so infinitesimal in God's eyes, and His big things are paltry and small in our estimation."
"That doesn't comfort or guide me in the least," said Gentian, looking at him thoughtfully.
"If you want to fulfil God's purpose for you, it will be shown you. Pray, and the answer will come."
Gentian drew in a long breath.
"I never thought that you were quite so good, Cousin Thorold," she said in a light and airy voice. "Thank you so much for having taken me seriously for once. I've had enough—"
He smiled at her.
"I'll say no more then—"
He got up from the seat. Gentian accompanied him as far as the gate.
"I have one of my young brothers coming home on leave," Thorold said as he wished her good-bye. "He's in the navy; he comes to me next Thursday. I think you'll like him. Godwin is a sunny-hearted youngster."
Gentian rounded her lips into a small ball.
"Boys are so boring," she said; "they always think such a lot of themselves."
"I have known girls who do the same," said Thorold, and with this parting shot, he left her.
Gentian went indoors to Miss Ward.
"Do you know I was within an ace of liking Cousin Thorold," she said; "and then he lapsed into his annoying way of talking, and I feel as if I never want to see him again!"
"My dear Gentian, you are never of the same mind about anything or anybody for two minutes together. I often wonder why you put up with me as you do."
"Waddy dear, you knew and loved my little mother. I have no one in the wide world left to love me but you, and I think you do just a little—"
Miss Ward looked at her affectionately, but she was not a demonstrative woman, and it wasn't till Gentian stole up softly to her and put her arms round her neck, looking into her eyes with such wistful longing, that she gave her the warm kiss she was expecting.
"Plenty of people will come along and love you, child, if you let them. I am getting an old woman, and my life will soon be over, but yours is all in front of you—and you'll never have to complain of being unloved, I am sure!"
"Do I think a lot of myself, Waddy?"
"Yes, I think you do."
Gentian hugged her.
"You are a dear old truth-teller. You see, I really have no one to think about but myself. And it is astonishing how fond all people are of themselves. I believe you are, but you don't show it. Of course I have to think about myself, because my future is in my own hands, I suppose. I can make or mar it, can't I? And I want to get the best out of life. I must—I will. And it's my will that must be kept up to the mark—
"'The souls of women are so smallThat some believe they've none at all.Or if they have, like cripples still,They've but one faculty, the WILL!'
"Some nasty man wrote that. Oh, Waddy dear, you're quite right. I'm one thing one day, and another the next. My small soul is like a bag of scraps, crammed full of rubbish, bits of good material mixed with the bad, and never properly sorted out. Now I'm going to water the garden. Good-bye."
She flashed out of the room and into the garden.
Miss Ward heard her breaking into song as she wielded her watering-pot, and she sighed heavily.
"I wish I did not love her so much," she murmured; "she needs a firmer hand, and some one to teach her discipline and self-control."
It was not very long before Gentian met young Godwin Holt. He arrived like a fresh sea-breeze, and made friends at once with Miss Ward and Gentian. He was a fair, curly-haired young lieutenant, with fresh complexion and mischievous blue eyes. He was very susceptible to all women's influences, and fell headlong in love with Gentian at first sight.
She treated him as if he were a schoolboy on holiday. Thorold watched their intimacy with quiet amusement.
One morning Godwin arrived at the Cottage at breakfast time.
"Look here," he said breathlessly; "can you 'phone to your old lady, Miss Brendon, to spare you to-day? We'll take a car—not yours—because it's my affair, and go down to the New Forest. You've never been there? Thought not. We'll lunch at one of the inns in the Forest. I'm going to drag Thor away from his books and writing. Miss Ward, you'll come too. Must have an even number. It's a shame to let this topping weather go by without doing something. I see so little green at sea that I revel in forests. And you ought to know what England produces in that way!"
"I can't spring it on Miss Buchan so late in the day," said Gentian, her eyes sparkling at the thought of such an outing. "Won't to-morrow do? I'm rather afraid she won't like it."
"You can easily get a substitute to take your place. I'll find one for you in an hour—"
"I'll try," said Gentian, "but we've no 'phone—"
"Thor has. Come on over."
He dragged her off with him.
The 'phone was in Thorold's study.
Gentian looked at him pleadingly.
"Don't tell me I'm a shirker. I've driven her for ten days now at a snail's pace. And she might give me one day off."
"You'd better ask for Miss Horatia. The old lady will never use the 'phone."
So Miss Horatia was called up.
She received Gentian's suggestion with great coldness.
"My sister does not like to be deprived of her afternoon drive, and I know she won't hear of a substitute. That is out of the question. She is far too nervous of cars at present to have a strange driver. Besides, she has arranged to go and see an old friend of hers this afternoon."
"Could I have to-morrow off then?"
"I will see—"
"Oh, chuck them," cried Godwin. "You aren't a slavey."
"I'm earning my daily bread," said Gentian in a dignified tone; "and I'm in her employ."
They waited rather impatiently. Miss Horatia returned in about ten minutes' time.
"My sister has agreed to forgo her drive to-morrow."
"A thousand thanks. I will be round at the usual time this afternoon."
"Won't to-morrow do as well?" asked Thorold, looking at his young brother's disappointed face.
"Oh, I hate to-morrows—always have—"
"So have I," said Gentian, "but we'll make the best of it. I shall love to see the New Forest. But do let us take my car, and let me drive. That will be half the fun."
"Do you want me to hire you?" asked Godwin. "For I mean to stand the treat."
"You can pay for the oil we use, if you like, nothing more."
Godwin frowned.
"I hate the independence of girls nowadays. You ought not to know how to drive!"
Gentian laughed.
"That is the style of the old-fashioned English gentlemen. Of course you take after your brother!"
"No man, if he's a decent sort, likes to see girls roughing it."
"You would like me in a white muslin gown lying back amongst the cushions of the car sighing plaintively: 'Please not quite so fast, driver, the wind is too strong upon my face, the motion shakes me—' That's what my old lady says to me, and I long to scorch for all I'm worth."
"What time shall we start?" said Godwin, wisely turning the subject. "I vote for eight o'clock. It will be a long run."
"I think," said Thorold slowly, looking at Gentian as he spoke, "that we'll have our own car, Godwin. It will give Gentian a rest. She shall lie back on comfortable cushions for once in her life, and then we shan't see those tired lines about her eyes that so often come there."
"You are very rude, Cousin Thorold."
"Miss Brendon couldn't look fitter than she does, but all the same, I'm with you, Thor. It will be my treat and my car, and I'll choose a capable driver."
Gentian laughed. Her laughter had such an infectious and delightful ripple in it, that both brothers smiled at her.
"As I'm to be your guest," she said, "I have nothing to say but a very grateful 'thank you.' And, if we rumbled along in a donkey-cart, I should enjoy myself. I love a jaunt of any sort, it reminds me of Italy. Waddy and I are too poor to take many in England."
THE DAY IN THE NEW FOREST
THE day for the New Forest dawned very brightly. Gentian was radiantly happy, and she and Godwin were like two children in their whole-hearted enjoyment of every hour. There was no lack of conversation during the run. She and Godwin chattered away together, Thorold occasionally joining in. Miss Ward for the most part took her pleasure in silence.
It was a perfect day for seeing the Forest. A gentle breeze kept the air cool. The green glades under the magnificent old oaks and beeches seemed like an enchanted country to Gentian. They had lunch at a picturesque old inn, and then she and Godwin wandered off to find the tree under which William Rufus was killed.
"I wish I was a gipsy," sighed Gentian; "I am sure a nomad wandering life would suit me. Women ought not to have such a dull time as they do. Look at you, now! You go over the seas and round the world and see a little of everything; and I am told I ought to be content to stay in my small corner for life."
"You'd long to find a corner to stick in if you were a sailor. I'm looking forward to a snug little home of my own one day."
"With a wife shut up in it all the year round," said Gentian, mischief in her eyes. "I know what a sailor's wife is. I knew two in Italy. One had come out there by doctor's orders. She said the loneliness of her home when her husband was at sea was more than she could stand."
"Oh," said Godwin, "I would have my wife meet me at different ports. I'd keep her lively. You bet I would. Don't disparage sailors, Miss Brendon. You'll send me into the blues if you do—"
They were sitting down in the bracken at the foot of an old oak. Gentian leant her back against the gnarled trunk and looked up dreamily into the green foliage above.
"A bird must be so happy," she observed. "It has command of the earth and air, and no one can prevent it soaring away from disagreeables when it chooses."
"You ought to have no disagreeables in your life," said Godwin. "You want a husband to shoulder all difficulties, and keep you safe and happy."
"I don't think men are fond of shouldering women's burdens," said Gentian reflectively; "when I go about in the village, and see how all the strain and work falls on the poor wife, who is on her feet from early morning to late at night, mending and making and cooking for her lord and master, as well as her children, it makes me feel that the man's lot in life is the comfortable one."
"Yes, but in our class things are slightly different. Do you think I would let my wife slave for me? Never—"
Then he put his hand softly over hers.
"I would always joyfully shoulder your burdens for you. Don't you know that?"
"But I haven't any," said Gentian, laughing as she quietly slipped her hand away. "Oh, look, isn't that a squirrel above us? The little darling! He has an acorn, I believe, in his paws."
"I expect he has a nest up there. I'll just see."
The squirrel had disappeared under a big branch. Godwin felt that the moment had not come for him, so he was willing to change the subject. In an instant he had thrown off his coat and sprung up on a low-lying branch. The old tree would have been easy for a child to climb, but he was quite unprepared to have Gentian following him. She was as agile as he, and when they failed to trace the squirrel's home, they sat astride a big branch and laughed at each other.
"I haven't climbed trees for years," she said; "what fun it is. And how shocked Waddy would be if she were to see me!"
"She's deep in 'The Times.' Thor has ungallantly left her—he's mooning round on his own—collecting beetles, I expect. He was always great on natural history."
"Isn't it delicious to be off the ground? It's the nearest approach to a bird, sitting up here out of sight."
A sudden gale of wind sprang up. Gentian's hat was off her head. In reaching out to catch it, she overbalanced herself and fell with a heavy thud upon the grass below. Godwin was down from the tree in a moment.
"Are you hurt? Darling Gentian, speak!"
"You needn't call me darling," murmured Gentian; "I am not dead yet."
She sat up. No bones were broken, but she had a cut one side of her forehead, against a projecting bit of root in the ground, and it was bleeding profusely. Godwin was in an awful state of mind. He took out his handkerchief, and was in the act of binding it up when Thorold suddenly appeared.
"I heard a crash," he said; "and thought there must be an accident."
Gentian turned impatiently from Godwin towards him.
"You do it," she said, "I would rather you did."
Godwin looked hurt, but taking a flask out of his pocket, Thorold bade him fetch some water from a stream near. In a few minutes the bleeding was staunched, and her head neatly bound up, but Gentian felt dizzy and faint. She persisted in walking back to the car, and Thorold's arm was taken, not Godwin's. Miss Ward, who was sitting in it under the shade of a chestnut tree, made her comfortable at once, and then they decided to go to the nearest town, and get a doctor to look at it.
"It shan't spoil our day," said Gentian. "I'm feeling all right again."
"What were you doing, dear?"
"Trying to imagine myself a bird, Waddy. Pride must have a fall."
"You might have been killed," said Godwin.
He looked white and shaken. His brother glanced at him curiously, but made no remark.
At the very entrance to the next village they were fortunate enough to come to a doctor's house. The brass plate on the gate told its tale. They were still more fortunate to find the doctor at home, and he very soon plastered up the cut, and reassured Miss Ward about it.
"It's only a surface wound," he said; "and her head is a little bruised. She is lucky to have escaped so easily."
"My accident mustn't shorten our day out," said Gentian, when they were in the car again. "I'm quite well. Do please let us do more of the Forest."
So they turned once again into the Forest, and drove through it to the place they had arranged to have tea. But Godwin's spirits had visibly declined; his eyes never left Gentian's face, and she noticed and resented the change in him.
"Why do you make such big eyes at me!" she exclaimed at last. "You needn't be glum and cross, because I made a fool of myself."
They had just left the car when she made this remark. Thorold and Miss Ward had gone into the hotel to order tea.
"Oh," he cried, "you don't realize what it meant to me—seeing you fall like that—you might have been killed on the spot! And I'm afraid even now that you are more hurt than you make out. You must be! I expect you'll feel it to-morrow."
"Thank you for your cheerful comfort! You sound like an old lady talking!"
A red flush mounted in Godwin's fair cheeks.
"No man would dare to say that to me," he said quickly.
Gentian gave one of her rippling laughs.
"That's how I like to see you. I wanted to get a rise out of you. It's very nice of you to be so interested in me, but I'd much rather you forgot all about me and told me some more of your sea yarns."
"Interested in you!" Godwin exclaimed. "I—I love you, Gentian—I wouldn't have any hurt happen to your little finger if I could help it. I feel I could die for you, and yet you wouldn't let me touch you when you were so hurt! You turned to Thor instead!"
They were standing on a balcony outside the hotel. In the distance the golden sun slanted across the old forest trees. It was only five o'clock, but there seemed already that preliminary hush before evening, when the active birds retire, wearied, to their beds, in the thick leafy trees, and the butterflies and bees creep to their respective lairs, giving place to the countless midges and mosquitos which haunt the evening air.
"I always turn to Cousin Thorold when I'm in trouble," Gentian said in a quiet dignified tone. The pink colour was coming into her cheeks.
Godwin pressed closer to her, and took possession of her hands.
"I don't want you to turn to any one except me when I am by your side," he said in a low passionate tone. "Gentian, tell me you care for me a little. I can't expect you to love ice as I love you. There's nothing in me to attract you, I daresay. You're an enchanting, adorable angel. But I've an honest heart to offer you. And your happiness will be always my first thought."
"Oh, please stop—"
Gentian's voice was troubled now.
"I like you very much as a friend, but nothing more. No, you could never be anything more. You're too young. I feel I know as much as you do. I've lived as long as you have, you know. We're just about the same age, aren't we? We won't talk any more about it. And if you only knew the real me, you'd find me a restless, discontented, selfish creature. And Waddy says I'm hopeless about housekeeping. I burnt a cake yesterday which she had made. I shouldn't be an enchanting wife. Anybody who married me would be bitterly, bitterly disappointed in me. Don't look so miserable."
Poor Godwin tried to smile. The softness of Gentian's voice, the kindness in her eyes, and the pretty little shake of her head as she mentioned her disabilities as a wife, only aggravated his disappointment. She had hurt him in his tenderest part, when she had alluded to his youth. But he choked back his feelings and tried to speak manfully. In his effort, he adopted rather a truculent tone.
"As far as my youth goes, that will mend itself. I will wait. I will come back from my next voyage, and then you may listen to me more patiently. A man who has seen the world as I have, and who has seen women and beautiful women, too, of all nationalities, is not to be easily moved, when once he has made his choice. You won't prevent my continuing to love you. And sometimes pertinacity conquers! Oh, blow them! Why can't they keep away!"
This last spluttering ejaculation was made as Thorold and Miss Ward appeared. And then Gentian added insult to injury by laughing outright. She checked herself at once and turned to Miss Ward.
"Is tea ready? We've been admiring the view—at least, I have. How many trees do you think are in the Forest? A million?"
She was the one who talked now. Through tea her tongue never faltered.
Thorold laughed and teased her as was his wont; Godwin was the only one who sat silent.
The drive home was not quite such a success. Gentian was rather relieved than otherwise when the Cottage was reached.
She slipped her hand into Godwin's with a little comforting pressure.
"Cheer up," she whispered to him. "I really am not worth what you think I am, and it is ungrateful of me to have spoiled the delicious day you have given us. I shall dream of those old Forest glades. Ever so many thanks."
"I am going to cheer up," said Godwin, setting his lips determinedly. "You are too young to know your own mind. You are still a child—"
This was a Roland for her Oliver.
Gentian looked at him with laughing tender eyes.
"I'm going to keep you as a friend," she said; and then she turned to Thorold. "Be very nice to your brother to-night, because we've had a difference of opinion."
Then she followed Miss Ward into the Cottage, and her smile disappeared.
"Oh, Waddy dear, I feel as if I've been beaten all over, and my head aches so I'll go straight to bed. I don't want any supper."
Miss Ward was full of anxiety and tenderness at once. She hovered over her till she was safely in bed. As she stooped over to give her a good night kiss, Gentian put her arms round her neck and hugged her.
"You're the only real friend I have, Waddy! The others are only friends for a time. Directly I won't marry them, they cut up rusty."
And though Miss Ward was told no more, she knew that Godwin had received his congé. She sighed as she stroked the curly head on the pillow.
"I hope the right man will come one day, dear. Now go to sleep, and that poor head of yours will be better in the morning."
Meanwhile Thorold and his young brother reached home, Godwin being unusually silent and subdued.
Later on, when they sat over the smoking-room fire, and smoked their pipes, Godwin gave his brother his confidence.
"I did think she might listen to me; she almost laughed it off. And having such a short time here is awfully rotten! But I'm in downright earnest and she'll find it out. I wish you'd sound her a bit, Thor—she might listen to you. She dismissed me too lightly. I don't believe she knows her own mind. I've never seen any one like her. It isn't mere beauty—it's the light and sparkling fire which seem to be covered over and hidden most of the time. Oh, she's adorable—bewitching—don't laugh at me—Don't you think she may relent? I'd give my life for her!"
Thorold did not smile. There was a tender, almost pitying look in his eyes, as he looked at the earnest boy beside him.
"I have known others, Godwin, who were going to make you desperate by not listening to you."
"Oh, calf love!" said Godwin hastily. "Don't remind me of those schoolgirls."
"One was a young widow—"
"You're very unpleasant!"
"Forgive me, my boy—I'm only wondering if Gentian Brendon would hold your heart for a lifetime. You sailors come and go, and you're apt to be extra susceptible on shore. She's a girl, I fancy, who will demand a good deal. You're as restless and emotional as she is. Will you suit each other? I'm only looking the thing fair and square in the face. I could wish for a different type of wife for your happiness. Two impatient, aspiring, eager young souls do not always go happily together in harness!"
"That's just clap-trap! I don't put her in the scales and weigh every mood and attribute that she possesses—I'm in love with her. I'll never marry anyone else! Never!"
A silence fell between them, which Thorold broke.
"She is not unaccustomed to having young fellows in love with her. I gather from Miss Ward that she has had several proposals already, and I interviewed one lover who was badly hit. I am only telling you this to prepare you for the worst. She's a very determined young lady, and will not easily change her mind."
"She's a child—a baby—she has no mind to change."
But Godwin's heart sank within him. He said no more, and retired early to bed, though not to sleep.
Thorold, looking across the breakfast table at him the next morning, felt very sympathetic towards him.
"I'll have a talk with Gentian, my boy—and tell you the result."
"If she won't have anything to do with me, I'll go up to town. I can't stay on here. The Cliffords want me to stay with them."
Godwin spoke quietly, but he looked quite miserable.
About twelve o'clock, Thorold went off down the road. He heard the sound of the organ in the little church, and slipped inside to listen. He was very fond of music, and Gentian was playing so exquisitely that he sat down just inside the door and lost himself in a dream. When she had finished, he waited for her in the churchyard. She came down the path talking to an old man who had been blowing for her. When she saw Thorold, she smiled and waved her hand to him.
"Have you come to make tender inquiries after my poor head?"
"I hope you are none the worse for the accident?" Thorold said gravely.
"Just a little," replied Gentian. "I'm in a nervy, irritable state of mind to-day. Waddy annoyed me at breakfast and I was rude to her, so I came into church to get good again."
"I want to have a little talk with you," said Thorold.
"Waddy has gone into the town to shop. Come along in."
She led the way to the Vicarage. The little room was full of fragrant roses in china bowls. The low windows were wide open, and the scent of mignonette and heliotrope came in from the beds outside.
Gentian took up her position with her back to the fireplace. She motioned to Thorold to take a seat, but he declined.
"Not while you stand."
"Oh, how old-fashioned you are! I never get a chance of looking down upon you. If I did, it would help me enormously."
She sat down on the couch, and Thorold took a seat opposite her. Then he cleared his throat and began:
"It's a rather delicate subject, but I have really come to you on Godwin's behalf. He is very unhappy, and is buoyed up with the hope that possibly you will reconsider your decision."
Gentian's blue eyes began to sparkle.
"Well now, honestly, Cousin Thorold, do you advise me to marry such a boy?"
There was a little silence.
"Godwin is a frank, straightforward, good-living lad," said Thorold slowly and a little heavily. "I don't think he is from a worldly point of view a good match. But he'll have some money at my death, and—"
A low ripple of laughter came from Gentian's lips.
"Please excuse me," she said checking herself. "Do you think my marriage with your brother will relieve you of a rather tiresome neighbour? It might for a time, but if you are really interested in your brother, I wouldn't advise you to urge it. I am positively certain I should run away from him before I had been married to him a twelvemonth. And I'm sure you wouldn't like that. It would worry you a lot."
"Do not think for a moment that I want to get rid of you."
Thorold's tone was earnest.
"Frankly, I have told Godwin that I consider you both too young for marriage. Not in years, perhaps, but in temperament. Still, I promised to speak to you. He is under the impression that you may alter your mind."
"Now, Cousin Thorold, look me straight in the face and tell me if you really and truly from the bottom of your heart think that I should make your brother a good wife? You know I shouldn't. Waddy says I think a lot of myself. But I know my limitations. It would take much more of a man than Godwin to have the patience necessary to bear with me. I think I'm only half-fledged. I'm not sufficiently developed to be a satisfactory wife for any one. And he hasn't the character to attract or inspire me. You've done your best, but you're too truthful by nature to be a good advocate in this case. Tell him you found me a veritable block of marble, and that nothing in this world would make me ever think of him in the light of a husband. I'm awfully sorry for you both. I don't think I'm a marrying sort. I'm sure I shall go on living here and get old and grey. You won't get rid of me in a hurry."
Then a dawning look came into her eyes. She clasped her hands round her knees and gazed out of the window.
"If I were to marry, the man must be like a rock for steadiness and reliability; he must never fail me, never deceive me, never disappoint me. And his soul must be the strongest part of him just as it is the weakest part of me. It would be rather a one-sided bargain, wouldn't it?"
She jumped up from her seat suddenly.
"And now we have done with the subject, haven't we? Do come out and eat a few strawberries with me. We have such stunning ones just now."
But Thorold shook his head, and went thoughtfully back to his young brother.
Why was he so devoutly thankful that Gentian did not want to be his sister-in-law?
Godwin listened to his brother's account of the interview with a moody face.
"I still believe she doesn't know her own mind, but I'm not one to be begging for snubs on my knees. I'll go up to town to-morrow and—and forget her if I can."
"I think that's the best thing you can do," said Thorold gravely.
So Godwin disappeared, and Gentian seemed perfectly indifferent as to his existence. She never asked for him, or mentioned his visit.
And Miss Ward wisely respected her silence, and kept clear of any reference to that day in the New Forest.
DARK CLOUDS
GENTIAN did not see Thorold for some time after this. He went away into Cornwall to visit an old friend, and though he only meant his visit to last a week or ten days, it prolonged itself into a month. She missed him more than she had thought it possible she could. Miss Ward looked at her in an amused fashion when one day she said rather impatiently that he ought to be back.
"Surely you like to be free from any kind of surveillance or influence, my dear? You are always telling me that Mr. Holt presumes upon his assumed cousinship."
"So he does, Waddy, but I do enjoy a scrap sometimes. It's so dull when no one opposes me. You are much too gentle, you know. It isn't much fun to fight a feather!"
"Is that what I am?"
"Oh, don't look hurt! You're an angel."
"I don't fancy," Miss Ward said slowly, "that Mr. Holt will always stay here. He has said several times to me lately that he is feeling lazy and self-indulgent, and that he is not old enough to live the life he is doing."
"Why, what other life could he live?" Gentian looked startled. "He's on ever so many philanthropic councils and committees, and always busy. How could he go away from his house? It's his own, and every one says he deserves the rest he is having. He has earned it they say."
"I suppose he does seem old to you—but he doesn't to me. I rather agree with him. He is a man of exceptional ability, and there is very little real work to occupy him here."
"Oh, Waddy, what stuff you are talking! People don't want work when they have money."
"You are very young, my child. Money supplies the needs of the body, not of the mind and soul."
"I'm not going to argue the point," said Gentian laughing; "you do love to put me in my place, Waddy, just under your feet, where if I do attempt a rise, you give me a firm pat down again. I know this much, that you and I could do with more money. My mind needs books, and intellectual entertainment, and a more crowded atmosphere to make it work properly. I think Cousin Thorold is the only one who stimulates me to think, and if he went away, I believe I should march after him! Don't look so horrified! I disliked him intensely when we first came here, but he has a way of impressing himself—his individuality you would say—upon you, which makes his absence quite a blank. Don't let us talk any more about him. I'm pretty certain he doesn't want to uproot himself from here—"
Gentian had perplexed and puzzled Miss Ward all her life, but perhaps never more than now. She seemed to have fits of preoccupation and moodiness, alternated with reckless gaiety and irresponsibility.
Miss Ward was more relieved than otherwise when Gentian came home one day and announced with glee that she was going to take the Miss Buchans up to Scotland in the car.
"We shall be gone three weeks or a month; they'll pay all my expenses. Isn't it too enchanting! We've been looking out a tour—up the Caledonian Canal. I've seen pictures of it—a perfect dream, through Braemar, and we shall end in the Trossachs—taking Edinburgh and Perth by the way. Oh, Waddy, if ever I shall have a good time, it will be now!"
"I wonder they trust themselves to you—I hope you'll do it by easy stages. It will be too much for you otherwise. I don't know that I altogether approve. But I suppose they will look after you."
Gentian laughed and scoffed at this last idea.
"I am going to look after them. It is a triumph for me. Miss Horatia said when I first went to them that she would never go in a car as long as she had a horse, but she's actually coming with us. Can't trust me with Miss Anne; she pretends she's making herself into a martyr, but I believe she'll enjoy it as much as I shall. The Scotch all seem to think their country is the most wonderful in the world, and they want to go and see the part to which they belong. Miss Anne is quite keen to go. She's always talking about the Scotch air in the Highlands. I laugh when I think that Miss Anne was so nervous when I began, that she wouldn't let me drive through the high street on market day! How delighted you will be to get rid of me, Waddy! It will be a peaceful holiday for you."
Miss Ward shook her head.
"I shall be anxious till I get you back again under my wing. I never have confidence in these cars." But she made no more objection, saw that Gentian had plenty of warm clothes for the tour, and packed all her belongings with her own hands.
The house was certainly very quiet when she had gone. Her letters were Miss Ward's greatest comfort. She wrote in the highest spirits, and beyond one or two slight mishaps, the tour seemed a great success.
Thorold was back before Gentian was, but he seemed strangely absorbed when Miss Ward met him, and did not come to the house as often as was his custom.
The days were closing in before Gentian returned. She sent a wire the day she expected to arrive, and turned up at the Cottage about seven o'clock one evening. Miss Ward was relieved to see her looking fit and well, though she thought her thinner—and Gentian took it as a compliment when she said so.
"I do dislike to be plump," she said; "and I can assure you I've kept them on the go the whole time. But they've thoroughly enjoyed it, and so have I. Only they say they've had enough of the car for the present, and have given me a fortnight's holiday. What shall we do, Waddy? Is Cousin Thor home? Wasn't it queer? We ran up against a daughter of the man he is staying with! She had just arrived in Edinburgh when we were leaving. Her father is a rector down in Cornwall. Such a handsome girl! But we didn't cotton to each other. She talked of Cousin Thor in a patronizing, appropriative kind of way. Said he was a thorough good sort, and that she and he had a lot in common, and it was nice to think of having him as a possible neighbour soon. Now what did she mean by that? I didn't let her see I was curious, but I am most dreadfully and painfully so. Are you in his confidence? Before I went away you spoke as if he might be leaving us."
"It was only conjecture, my dear. I know nothing, and have hardly seen him to speak to since he came back."
"Oh, well, I'll ask him straight out. He'll tell me. Men can never keep a secret."
And the very next afternoon Thorold appeared and found Gentian comfortably settled by the fire with a book. Miss Ward was out in the village doing a little shopping at the general shop there.
"Well," he said; "you're back again. Had a good time?"
"A heavenly one! And you?"
Thorold drew up a chair to the fire, and rubbed his hands together, looking reflectively into the glowing coals.
"I'm very glad I went down, very. I've come to rather a momentous decision. We've sometimes had talks together about work in life, haven't we? You rubbed it in one day when you talked of wanting to do something with your life."
"Yes," said Gentian, twinkling her eyes as she looked at him, "but you discouraged me. I must always be content to stay where I am and do what I'm bid—I am too young to strike out a new line for myself."
He smiled. "I think you are at present. But it's a different case with me. Dick Muir, my friend in Cornwall, opened a door to me. You know I'm a bit of a Socialist. I believe in sharing good things with those who are without them, and the people all round him are in an awfully bad way. No work—no money—no hope for better times. As their parson, he feels it—and he can do so little to help. The long and short is—I'm going to open up a mine there to provide work. I have the money to do it, for an investment I made some time ago has proved very remunerative. What's the good of living in idleness and luxury when others are starving? It isn't the life anyone but the helpless and aged ought to live. And I've strength and brain for a long time yet, I'm hoping."
Gentian's blue eyes were big with interest and concern.
"I don't know anything about mines," she said, "except that they're down in the earth. Will you be a miner? You don't live in idleness, Cousin Thorold. Mr. Wharnecliffe says you're taking the first rest you've had in your life!"
"Oh, I've had my rest right enough. The mines have been closed down—the owners found them a losing concern, but they got into difficulties through want of capital."
"Then you may lose, too, if you put your money in it, and then what would you do?"
"It wouldn't hurt me if I did. I have no one dependent on me now. But I don't think I shall lose. Anyway, I'm going to take the risk. I've been talking to an expert down there. The mines were not developed far enough. They stopped short when they ought to have gone on. It would give work to hundreds. That's worth thinking about in these days."
"Well, they'll only want your money, not yourself," said Gentian serenely. "You'll go on living here, won't you?"
Thorold shook his head.
"No, I want to be part and parcel of the concern; my own manager by and by. I shall sell up here and live in quite a small way down there at first. But I want to start it personally and get in touch with those I employ."
Gentian was silent.
Thorold looked at her with his kind, thoughtful eyes.
"It won't make any difference to you and Miss Ward," he said; "you'll go on living here just the same. I shan't sell the Vicarage. And you will be freed from my unwarranted interference in your doings!"
He smiled as he spoke, but Gentian did not smile.
"You've made such a substantial background to our life here, that I don't know what we shall feel like without you."
"A background can very easily be dispensed with," he said lightly.
"I am afraid I am very rude to call you a background," said Gentian, looking at him contritely. "And I don't think it quite describes you. You are too aggressive for that!"
"I'm generally considered a very mild-mannered man."
Gentian laughed, and her face cleared.
"I like you better than I did," she said; "and if I get very dull here having no one to contradict me, I shall drag Waddy off to Cornwall and take some lodgings just over your mines, and watch you trying to turn yourself into a miner or mine-owner. Do you know I have been to Scotland; and in Edinburgh I met a Miss Frances Muir, a great friend of yours?"
"Did you meet her? How strange! She's a nice girl. I'm her godfather."
Miss Ward came back at this moment, and she had to be told the news. She took it quietly, but she had a strange sinking of heart when she realized that she would no longer be able to appeal to Thorold for advice. She had certainly leant upon him more than she had ever done upon anyone before.
Thorold's news soon spread. Mrs. Wharnecliffe had known all about it from the beginning, and she highly disapproved of the step.
"He will lose his money, and his health, and die in the workhouse," she told her husband. "Why is it that some people will never take their rest in this world? I almost wish he had not come into money. I might have known it would never do him any lasting good!"
"I think it's a fine thing of him to do," said her husband. "I wish a few more moneyed folk would open up some Cornish mines. I've been told the land is rich with untold wealth below the surface, and anyone who gives employment, to our honest poor in these days is a benefactor."
Before the winter came, Thorold's house was for sale, and he was saying good-bye to his friends.
"You can't have got your mines ready yet to work," said Gentian, when he paid his farewell visit to her.
"No, but I want to know my manager and the people round, and every detail of the work if I can."
"You'll work yourself to death." She looked up at him with troubled eyes.
Thorold would not meet those blue eyes. He seemed nervous and ill at ease.
"If anything goes wrong here," he said, suddenly turning to Miss Ward, "be sure to let me know."
"What could go wrong?" said Gentian, giving a funny little laugh. "I shall only drive my car, and play my organ, and worry Waddy to death! Life is very monotonous. I shall try hard and make it hum if I can, but I'm getting rather tired of this part of the world. If only I could make a little more money, we might go back to Italy."
"That is out of the question," Miss Ward said sharply.
"We won't consider this a long farewell," said Thorold in a cheerful tone.
He took Gentian's hand in his.
She gave him a quick little grip, then pulled her hand away and whisked round to the window.
"It's raining," she said. "Even the sky is weeping at the thought of losing you."
But when Thorold went out at the hall door, there was a moist drop on his hand which had not fallen from the skies. And his lips compressed themselves together as he strode out into the wet.
"She hasn't had her chance yet. I'm an old fool—much, much too dull and old, to think of such a thing. But I'm glad the child likes me a little. I never thought she would."
He had not been in Cornwall many days before he got a letter from Gentian.
"My DEAR COUSIN THOROLD,—"Cousins can write to each other, can't they? And I want some safety valve—else I shall have spontaneous combustion. You told us to let you know if anything is wrong, and something is very wrong with me. I really don't think I can go on living here. Mrs. Wharnecliffe has shut up her house and gone to London. Sir Gilbert has gone off to Cannes. Miss Horatia is hunting and thinks and talks of nothing else. I wander up and down the road and look at your empty house. We hear some one has bought it—a single woman, they say, but she hasn't yet appeared. Your English winters are loathsome. Rain and mud, mud and rain—black skies, dead trees and hedges, and cold as the North Pole. How can you expect us to thrive without any sun? Miss Anne is in for the winter—at least, she is in unless we get a mild, sunny day. Instead of driving her out, I go over and read to her. That's the only nice time in my day. She gets books down from Mudie's and I live in them from three to four every afternoon. Do write and say what you're doing and where you are living, and if Miss Frances Muir has taken possession of you. And do, do find out a big piece of work—real work for me to do, with a very big W."Women can do anything nowadays—but there seems nothing that just suits me. I'm getting almost tired of my car, and I want to do something big—and worth living for. I'm praying for something to be sent to me. I know you believe in prayer. I wish I could lead a Crusade, or something of that sort. I want to do something that will call out all my powers of soul as well as of my body. You see how the poor Bubble wants to soar! And Waddy is trying to fasten me down with string to the earth. String composed of Convention and Caution and Contentment, three C's that I snap and break in fury."Write me a long letter and cheer me up."YOUR POOR DISTRACTED BUBBLE."
But before Thorold could reply to this, Gentian's prayers were answered in a way that she little expected.
It was a cold grey afternoon in December. Gentian was returning in her car from the Mount where she had been reading to Miss Anne. As she neared the Vicarage she saw a car with lights standing outside the gate.
Jumping out of her own car, she met the doctor who lived near coming down the path.
"Dr. Wild, what is the matter?" she cried out.
He looked at her gravely as he pulled on his gloves.
"It's your friend—Miss Ward. I fortunately happened to be passing when your small maid called me in. I'll come back into the house with you. I think you'll have to have a nurse."
"Oh," cried Gentian, "tell me quickly. Is it an accident?"
"No—it's a seizure, and a bad one. Your maid found her unconscious, and she's unconscious still. Was she quite well when you saw her last?"
But Gentian had dashed upstairs. She could hardly believe it to be true, and flung herself on the bed by Miss Ward's unconscious figure.
"Waddy, dearest Waddy, speak to me, speak! Oh, what can have happened to you!"
She was so unused to illness, and the shock was so sudden, that she was almost beside herself.
Dr. Wild got her out of the room and talked to her quietly downstairs, and in a short time she had regained her self-control.
"She was quite well when I left her this afternoon. She had been complaining of her head these last few days, but I thought it was only one of her ordinary headaches. We can't afford a nurse. I'll nurse her myself. She's all the world to me!"
So Gentian talked, but the doctor meant to have his way about a nurse.
"Have her for a week, and we shall then see how things are going. Has she ever had an attack like this before?"
"Never, that I know of. It's awful! What shall we do?"
"You'll get through all right," he said reassuringly. "I must go now as I've other patients to see, but I'll look in again this evening and bring back a nurse with me."
It seemed like some black dream to poor Gentian. She had never realized how dependent she was on Miss Ward till now, nor how deep was her affection for her.
Dr. Wild was able to bring back a nice capable nurse, and Gentian was persuaded to go to bed leaving her in charge. But she did not sleep.
Life, which had seemed so easy before, now presented horrible possibilities. She felt her own inexperience and irresponsibility. What would she do without her faithful friend beside her? She had no experience of housekeeping or money matters. Miss Ward had kept the house going economically, but comfortably. She would appear the first thing every morning at Gentian's bedside with a cup of tea and some daintily cut bread and butter. She tidied her room and drawers, she cooked, or supervised their village maid, she dusted the rooms and kept flowers fresh and clean, and mended Gentian's clothes; even darned her stockings.
All this the girl had taken as a matter of course. It had been done during her mother's lifetime. Miss Ward had been nurse, and maid, and companion, and friend, and chaperon, in turn to her. Now she was lying unconscious, stricken down in one moment, and the doctor seemed to think seriously of the case.
"O God," Gentian prayed, "have pity on me. I can't live without her! Make her well again, I beseech Thee to do it. I am quite helpless without her. I have been a selfish pig. I promise Thee I'll try to do better, and think more of her and less of myself if Thou sparest her!"
She tossed to and fro on her bed, and rose the next morning unrefreshed by her night's rest. Kate, the little maid, brought her a cup of tea with scared eyes.
"She ain't no better, miss. I've seen nurse. She be just the same, breathing so loud and hard, it fair frightens me!"
"Send nurse to me—"
And so the nurse came, but could give her little comfort. Gentian dressed and came downstairs, then set to work to keep things going as usual in the small household. She sent a note to Miss Buchan telling her what had happened. And then she waited patiently for the doctor's visit, hoping vainly that he would give her better news.
LEFT ALONE
IT was a sunny morning towards the end of February. The garden was gay with spring bulbs, and Gentian stood looking out of the window upon the bright scene in front of her with wistful lips and sad eyes. Her bright colour had faded, her face was white and rather strained. She seemed to be years older, and yet it was barely two months since Miss Ward had been first taken ill. For those two months Gentian and a nurse had hardly left the invalid's room.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe had been in and out, and wanted Gentian to come and stay with her for a little rest, but she firmly refused to leave the house even for one evening, and every one was surprised to see the merry, volatile girl, turn into the thoughtful, patient nurse. Gentian made many mistakes at first, and was rather rebellious and impatient when she found her earnest prayers for her dear Waddy were not going to be answered in the way she wished.
For a few weeks it seemed that Miss Ward would recover; then she had another seizure, and gradually became unconscious again.
It was a terrible time for poor Gentian when she was told by the doctor that there was no longer any hope of recovery. But she remained steadfastly at her post, tried not to think of the future, and gave up her whole heart and strength to minister to her friend's needs.
Just before Miss Ward passed away, she seemed to have a phase of consciousness. Gentian bent over her lovingly.
"Waddy, darling, I'm here."
The sick woman smiled, pointed upwards, and said, with a little effort, "Home!" Then her eyes closed, and a few moments after, her spirit had left her tired body and had reached its "Home."
Gentian was at first like one stunned. Mrs. Wharnecliffe swept down upon her again, but she would not leave the little house till her friend was laid to rest in the peaceful churchyard close by, and she insisted upon presiding at the organ and playing the "Dead March" when all was over.
Then Mrs. Wharnecliffe was allowed to have her way, and Gentian accompanied her home and stayed there for a few days. But she seemed as if she could not rest.
"I would rather go home," she told her hostess; "there is a good deal I must do."
"My dear child, you cannot continue to live there alone. I wish Thorold was here; it is most unfortunate that he should be abroad. I have written to him, and I know he will come as soon as his young brother is quite convalescent. He always has been the slave of those boys."
"Godwin has been very ill," said Gentian rebukingly; "when his ship left him at the hospital in Gibraltar, they did not think he would live."
"You know all about it," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe with a smile.
"Of course I do. Cousin Thor and I write to each other continually."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe looked at the girl, but said nothing. She was puzzled herself as to what had better be done with Gentian, now that her natural protector had left her.
"If you really want to live on in your present home," she said presently, "it will be quite easy to find you some nice person as companion—or somebody of that class to live with you."
"Thank you," said Gentian, with a little fire in her eye—"I shall not need anyone to supplant dear Waddy."
She had refused to discuss the subject further. She seemed to Mrs. Wharnecliffe to have suddenly developed into a very remote and self-reliant young woman. But then Mrs. Wharnecliffe had not seen her last letter to Thorold, a letter that was causing him to wrinkle his brows with much perplexity of soul.
"Oh, Cousin Thor, do you know what has happened? The skies have fallen on me, my world has gone to pieces, and I am crushed to atoms. My darling Waddy has left me. I hoped, as you know, that she was going to get well. But she had another seizure, and she left me without a word, excepting that she pointed upwards and murmured 'Home.' What does a girl do when her comforter, and mentor, and prop, and refuge is taken from her? Waddy filled my mother's place, she was my safety valve, she circled me with attentions and ministrations and love. I thought I was independent and self-reliant. Just as much as a limpet is independent of its rock! And I am rebellious, and desolate, and absolutely at the end of everything. What am I to do? How am I to live? I don't promise to do a single thing you say, but you must write to me at once—sheets, please! And inspire me with a desire to live, and imbue me with some fraction of courage—and tell me what I ought to be thinking, and saying, and doing. I am so frightfully unprepared for this awful blow. You are never unprepared for anything. But all the same I don't believe you can say anything that will bring me the least ray of light or comfort."I'm trying to be self-controlled. I say to myself—'I'll eat my breakfast, I'll take a walk—I'll order dinner and eat it. I'll darn my stockings and mend the household linen, and do all the things I most dislike, until tea comes, and then I'll take another walk, and then I'll eat my supper; and then I'll go to bed, and I'll go round and round this treadmill till I die, but never shall I feel happy and gay and young again.'"There's one thing I can't do. I can't go into church and play my beloved organ. I did it for her funeral, but I shudder at the thought of touching it again. And I think my nerves have gone to pieces. I feel if I took 'Mousie' out, I would drive myself into eternity. I daren't trust myself at her wheel. I daren't go over to the Miss Buchans yet. I daren't start driving Miss Anne out. So all my favourite pursuits are gone."This is all about myself, but now I have nobody in the world to love, or who loves me, so that I shall grow more selfish and egotistical than ever. Who wouldn't? I'm glad your brother is on the way to recovery."I may say that my religion has all gone to pieces as well as everything else. God seems nowhere. He hasn't listened to me. I feel He hasn't cared. He wanted Waddy and He took her, and He doesn't take the slightest notice of me, or cares for me at all—I have agonized my soul in prayer to no purpose at all. This is all I have to say."The Bubble at last has burst—"YOUR POOR BURST BUBBLE."Are you going to turn me out of the little Vicarage now that Waddy has gone?"
It was rather a relief than otherwise to Mrs. Wharnecliffe when Gentian had left her and returned to the Vicarage. She was concerned about the girl, but could not comfort her. She marvelled at her still icy composure, but she was a woman of experience and guessed that underneath was a depth of grief which she could hardly fathom.
She had been touched by the faithful love and adoration shown by Miss Ward to her charge, but she had not realized how much it was returned by the merry light-hearted girl.
And now Gentian was home again in the empty house, and was gazing out upon her flower-beds, wishing that winter would return and be more in unison with her feelings.
Kate the little maid had gone to the village on an errand. When the latch of the gate was lifted, Gentian thought it might be her returning.
Then a short quick rap on the door made her start, and flush with sudden excitement. Surely no one but Thorold Holt knocked like that!
In a moment she was out in the hall and at the door.
"Oh, Cousin Thor!" was her only exclamation, but seizing him by both hands she dragged him into the sitting-room.
He smiled at her as he relieved himself of his light overcoat, then he seated himself in the big arm-chair by the fire.
"I wonder if I can do you any good by coming," he said. "I am on my way back to Cornwall. I arrived last night. The Wharnecliffes are putting me up."
Gentian was struggling now for self-control. To her horror, tears were rising to her eyes.
In her impulsive fashion she exclaimed:
"If I cry, take no notice—I feel I would like to lie down on the hearthrug and sob myself to death."
Then she drew her hand lightly across her eyes.
"It is only the sight of you, just the same as ever, sitting there looking at me—that breaks me down. There! I'm better. It's waste of time crying whilst you're here. I suppose you have a flying half-hour to spend with me?"
"No—I am in no hurry. Can you give me lunch?"
Gentian flew out of the room. She returned after a short consultation with Kate in the kitchen. A ray of brightness was in her face.
Then she sobered down. For some minutes she talked of Miss Ward's last hours.
"I wrote to you, but there's nothing like talking," she said, with a long-drawn breath, when she had told him all.
"That's what I thought," said Thorold dryly. "I resolved to answer your letter in person. Shall I begin?"
"Oh, do—what am I to do? Is there any hope? It all seems so dark."
"It is a pity you did not live in the Early Christian times," said Thorold slowly. "What is such a misery to you was such a joy to them! Have you never, in your life abroad, visited the Catacombs in Rome?"
"Yes, I did once, but I thought it gruesome."
"Did you not notice the triumphant joy that was the keynote to all the inscriptions there?"
"I noticed nothing. I came out of it as soon as I could. What have the Catacombs to do with me?"
"Only that those early Christians took the right course as regards death. It was a joyful event to all of them, and so ought it to be to us, and if we love persons very much, we should rejoice in their joy and not think about ourselves."
"Ah, now you're coming down from heaven to earth. I knew you would call me selfish, my letter was a wail of self-misery, but it's just how I felt! Of course, I hope darling Waddy is happy, but that doesn't alter my misery—I thought I could live alone, but I find I can't."
"I quite agree with you."
"Oh, don't be fixing up some starched old woman to live with me who will look upon me as an unpleasant duty. After darling Waddy, who really loved me, anyone, however suitable in your sight, would be a torture to me."
There was silence. Then Gentian said appealingly:
"I know I'm pig-headed and unreasonable. Forgive me, I don't know what I'm saying, or what I want. I really would like—"
She paused, and a little bright mischief came into her eye.
"I would like to come down to Cornwall and keep house for you. You've made yourself into a kind of guardian of mine. Can't a ward live with her guardian? That reminds me, I am exceedingly annoyed about something and I had better have it out with you at once. I have been looking into our business affairs—my business affairs, I shall have to say now, and I find that in the banking account which is held jointly in Waddy's name and mine, there is a certain big quarterly sum which seems to come from you. What is the meaning of it? I just left all money matters to Waddy and the dear thing has left a written paper in which she bequeaths all her hard-earned savings to me. Have you been supplementing our income ever since we came to live here?"
"It was an arrangement I made with Miss Ward," said Thorold, fidgeting in his seat, and looking rather uncomfortable, "we talked it over. I considered that some of your cousin's money rightfully belonged to you, and I hope you will let the arrangement stand as it is."
"I shall do nothing of the sort. I am not going to receive charity from you."
Gentian's eyes flashed as she spoke. She looked really angry, then with her quick silvery moods, she dissolved into a tearful smile.
"Oh, forgive me! It's more than generous and good of you, but don't you see my pride or self-respect won't let me take it from you? Unless—unless—you would let me be your housekeeper in a business capacity and give me a salary. I really have become quite good at cooking and keeping house."
"My dear child," said Thorold hastily, "I don't yet possess a house in Cornwall. I am living at the Rectory, and I have no housekeeper at present."
"But you won't be always at the Rectory?
"No. I am thinking of taking a small house a couple of miles out of the village, but I may not do that. It is all uncertain. I am waiting to see how the mine develops."
"Well, what is to become of me?" said Gentian, the gloom returning to her face again. "I think I shall go back to Italy and try to earn a living there. Nobody wants me, or cares for me in this grey old England, and I have sunshine in Italy. I expect you'll say I must leave this little Vicarage, where I have been so happy. I shall have to earn my living in some way."
"Have you seen or heard anything of the Miss Buchans?"
"They wrote their sympathy and asked me to come over and see them. Miss Horatia called one day, but I was crying my eyes out and I wouldn't see her. I'm not ready to see people yet. I'm not controlled enough; at least, it's a strain to be so. I was at Mrs. Wharnecliffe's for a few days, and was quite glad to get back here again, where I can cry in peace, and go without my meals if I choose!"
"Well, I must tell you that Miss Anne Buchan told Mrs. Wharnecliffe yesterday that she would very much like you to go to her altogether as a companion as well as a chauffeur. She is one person who is fond of you. You like her, do you not? You would have a comfortable home with them."
Gentian looked at him with grave eyes.
"So dull, so commonplace," she murmured. "I know you will fix up some dreary groove for me. And I warn you I shall not stay in it—I suppose I ought not to care. I ought to be grateful for a roof over my head, and food to eat, and fires to warm me. I know what your winters are like, and of course it is good to be sheltered; I suppose it won't matter where I am or what I do, for I shall be too miserable to care. And I've lost my faith in God, that's the worst of all."
"That would be the worst fate of all, if you had," said Thorold gravely. "But you're in a fog at present and don't realize that the sun is the other side and will soon shine through."
"Now, let us leave my fate, and future alone for a bit, and you talk to me about my soul," said Gentian, crossing her hands in her lap like a little child, and looking up at him with wistful expectancy. "I know you're a good man from things you've said to me, but you bottle it all up inside and won't let yourself go. Be like Sir Gilbert. He talks to me like an angel. He is not like a stiff, reserved Englishman."
"Is that what you find me?"
"No, not when you find fault with me, you're quick enough and sharp enough then, but you don't let me know what you feel about Paradise, and God, and the Heavenly Things."
There was a little silence, then Thorold said suddenly:
"When I went down to Cornwall I got a new waterproof coat. I was not sure whether it was as genuine as the shopkeeper stated, I wanted a storm-proof garment, not a shower-proof one, and I told him so. There are wild storms round the Cornish coast, and I was soon out in one. My coat kept me dry, but it needed the storm for me to test it. It wouldn't have been any good to me if it had only kept the showers off."