"Now, what on earth are you driving at?"
"Don't you see that the storms in life ought not to shake our faith in God? They are test times and sent to us for the purpose. Your religion is a very flimsy fabric if it will not stand you when trouble comes. A man learns to know the value of his fireproof safe if a fire takes place, in a way that he would never know otherwise. What do you think has happened to your Heavenly Father? Is not He above, ordering all things still? If He thinks fit to send you trouble and loneliness and the loss of your friend, ought you not to accept it at His hand? Think of Job in the first overwhelming moments of his trouble:
"'What? shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?'
"Surely your faith is robust enough, and your love sincere enough, to trust in the One Who has you in His keeping! I heard some one say once—'A knife does not only cut to wound but to beautify.' He was speaking of the gardener's ruthless pruning at times, but go into any Cathedral and see the effect of the knife and the chisel on the walls and roofs, making it a building of delight and joy to all who are in it. You have been touched by the knife now. Is it not going to beautify your character? Teach you patience and submission, and courage to endure?"
"Oh, you are severe! You make me feel so wicked! But I do believe I am, and it is myself that is all wrong, and God Who is all right!"
Gentian gazed before her with dreamy thoughtful eyes. Then she got up from her seat.
"I don't like long sermons, though I asked you to give me one, but I've had more than enough. Enough to think over and act up to, and perhaps one day thank you for! Isn't it like you, not to give me one little word of pity or of kindness, only stringent, pungent words bracing me to endure?"
Thorold had risen from his seat at the same time she had, now he turned abruptly to the window. His heart was hammering against his side, his whole soul was longing to take the girl into his arms and keep her there. He did not know when or how she had stolen her way to his heart, but she was enshrined there now, and he, in his old-fashioned, self-sacrificing way was daily trying to persuade himself that he was too old and dull a personage to mate with such a fresh young flower of youth.
When he could gain command of his feelings, he turned back and faced Gentian, who was regarding him with wistful, puzzled eyes.
"I do feel for you very much," he said, but his words fell coldly on the ears of the warmhearted girl. "I hurried off to you as soon as I could leave my young brother. I am only so sorry that I could not have been with you sooner."
"Are you going back to him?"
"No; he is coming down to me, as soon as he leaves hospital."
"To the Rectory?"
"No, I have taken rooms near. He asked to be remembered to you."
"Thank you."
"I was to tell you how he sympathizes with you, and that his mind and heart is as it was. He has not changed."
Gentian smiled, then impulsively she laid her hand on Thorold's coat sleeve.
"Do be nice and ask me down to Cornwall before he comes. I want to see your mine, and the Rectory, and—and Miss Frances Muir, your goddaughter, and the house you think of living in."
"I should like you to see it all," said Thorold heartily; "and as Mrs. Wharnecliffe wants to do so too, I'll ask her to bring you with her. If I take the house, I want her advice about the interior decorations. It has been owned by an old man who let it go to pieces, and it needs a lot of repairs."
Kate, the little maid, here interrupted them by saying that lunch was ready, and Gentian was soon presiding over some mutton chops and apple tart. She could eat little herself, but she seemed brighter and more like her old self, and Thorold tried to interest her in Gibraltar, and told her about the friends Godwin had there. He did not stay long. When the meal was over, he got up to go and asked her as he was leaving if she would not go to the Miss Buchans for a time.
"It is not only for your benefit, but for theirs; you could make Miss Anne's life much happier and brighter by being with her. There is nothing like interest in others for easing heart-ache."
"Oh, I'll go. I suppose I must. And is this dear little house to be empty again?"
"Shut it up! Consider it still yours, and leave all your belongings in it. Come to it when you want to rummage about."
"Thank you for that small mercy. And the quarterly cheque to the bank must stop. I only go to Miss Anne on that condition."
"Very well."
Then, as he held out his hand to her in farewell greeting, he said:
"Do you remember saying to me in a letter that you wanted to do something that would call out all the powers of your soul as well as of your body? Don't you think the illness and loss of your friend has done this?"
"Ah no, indeed! It hasn't. I have failed, entirely failed."
Tears came to her eyes with a rush. She let them brim over.
"But I'll try. I'll remember all you've said. The Catacombs, and the knife, and the waterproof. I'll go over and over them till I've impressed my subconscious self with them, and they remain with me for ever. Good-bye, Cousin Thor, and I'm coming down to Cornwall very soon. Tell Mrs. Wharnecliffe to let me know when she goes. And think of me sorting out Miss Anne's wools, and getting her footstools and reading out very goody and improving books; and in the evening, playing backgammon and card games, and hiding my yawns and my weariness behind a very smiling countenance."
"I shall think of you at the piano transporting a weary woman to the realms of light and beauty—and driving her out, with the spring awaking all around you. There is much happiness still in store for you—good-bye."
He was gone, and Gentian turned back into the empty house with a feeling of warmth and comfort in her heart that she had not experienced since Miss Ward had left her.
A VISIT TO CORNWALL
LIFE at the moment with the Miss Buchans was at first rather irksome, but Gentian's nature had its compensation. If she suffered intensely, she enjoyed intensely, and the little things of life laid hold of her with an absorbing interest. Miss Horatia's horses and a couple of young terriers were a perpetual joy to her. One morning Miss Horatia saw Gentian mounted on one of her hunters which the groom was exercising. The audacity of it amused her, but when she came to breakfast she took the girl to task for her rashness.
"If you want to learn to ride, practise on old Sophy, the grey mare. I don't want you to break your neck. Rufus is not fit for a novice."
"I only walked him up and down the avenue. I was out playing with the dogs, and I couldn't resist mounting when he came by with an empty saddle on him. Green says I've a born seat on horseback. Do you mind? I ought to have asked your permission."
"I won't have you ride my hunters," said Miss Horatia good-naturedly; "but you can ride out on Sophy if you like."
Gentian flushed with pleasure. Every morning before breakfast she accompanied the groom when he exercised the horses. There was a burst of warm weather, and the hunting had stopped. After breakfast she went up to Miss Anne's room and read and worked with her, writing some of her letters, and occasionally going to the town to pay her bills, or to shop for her. In the afternoon the car was taken out.
And after tea Gentian was allowed a couple of hours to herself. They dined at half-past seven, and music and games were the order of most evenings. Gentian would fly over and pay Mrs. Wharnecliffe a visit sometimes, and when Sir Gilbert was home again, she went over to him. Once a week she had her organ practices, for she resumed her organist's duties on Sundays at the little church, and always put fresh flowers on the new grave in the little churchyard.
Very slowly peace was returning to her heart. A long talk with Sir Gilbert had completed what Thorold had commenced. Gentian could look up now and take courage. A sharp attack of gout, which laid Mr. Wharnecliffe up, prevented his wife from going to Cornwall as soon as she had intended. Gentian was disappointed, but she had learnt to control her feelings.
The Miss Buchans were kind, and treated her quite as one of the family, but their surprised faces when Gentian at first burst into one of her tirades, showed her that she must put a curb upon her tongue. It was discipline to which she was not accustomed. She relieved her feelings by writing long letters to Thorold.
"I don't care whether you answer me or not, and I give you leave to tear my letters up directly you have read them, but I have no Waddy now, and I simply must pour out my heart to some one. You would not know me. So meek, so quiet, so gentle of tongue am I, so serene and unaware of all vexations and annoyances! That is the outside me. But the inside! Ah! It is a boiling cauldron, and a mass of contradictions, whims and whamsies."I am learning to ride; it is kind of Miss Horatia to let me. I work off a good many tempers and moods when I am jogging along the roads with Green, the groom. But when we get to a bit of grass we have a good canter, and away fly all my black shadows and rebellious feelings! I come back to the house ready for anything!"
And then one morning Mrs. Wharnecliffe arrived at the Mount asking the Miss Buchans if they would allow Gentian to come with her the next day to Cornwall.
"We shall only be away the week-end. I am going to put up at the small inn at Perrancombe. And I shall go down in the car; the trains are so tedious."
Miss Anne said she would be willing to spare Gentian, and so it was settled and the girl went about the house with such a radiant face that Miss Horatia chaffed her about it.
"I thought you and Thorold Holt were always sparring with one another. You have told me that you did not like his interference. Is it a case of 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'?"
"It isn't altogether him," said Gentian confusedly; "it's the sea, and the mines, and the Cornish people I want to see. Besides, it's a trip to an unknown place, and I always love that!"
Then she added with her natural truthfulness:
"I feel differently about Cousin Thor now; he's a link with the past—the only link I have; every one has been swept away from me. He's always a kind of buffer to me, and I miss him. And he has been very kind to me, hasn't he? I came to England a stranger. Now dear Waddy has gone, I feel stranger than ever. There isn't a person in the whole wide world who really belongs to me. How would you feel if you were I?"
"You'll be able to remedy that one day," said Miss Horatia.
Miss Anne looked horrified at the insinuation, and Gentian laughed her merry laugh.
"I'm not in a hurry to belong to a stranger," she said.
The next day came, and proved ideal for motoring. A bright blue sky, and very little wind. Mrs. Wharnecliffe called for Gentian at ten o'clock. They sped swiftly along and were both rather silent at first. Then Gentian began to talk.
"Do you think it would be impossible for me to live with Cousin Thor and keep his house for him? He would look after me so very well. You don't seem to like the idea of my living alone, and I do want a home. I've always had one. It's all very well being with the Miss Buchans for a time, but I shan't be able to keep on doing it for ever. I cry over it when I'm in bed at night. I never felt lonely when Waddy was alive. I knew she would never leave me, but I'm desperately lonely now."
"My poor child!" said Mrs. Wharnecliffe, laying her hand softly on the girl's arm. "I was hoping you were settling down happily. You have your riding to interest you, and it is a busy, useful life for you."
"Tell me, if Cousin Thor takes this house, couldn't I live with him in it? I should love to look after him; he never looks after himself."
"No; I don't think that plan would work at all," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe decidedly. "He has never expressed a wish to have you, has he?"
"Oh, no. I would go like a shot if he did."
Gentian gave a sigh, then brightened up.
"Shall I sound him on the subject, or will you?"
"Thorold has been too long a bachelor to like a woman in his house. She would embarrass him and be in his way. I tried for a long time to get him a lady housekeeper, but he would not have it."
"I dare say," said Gentian gloomily, "that this Miss Muir will marry him. I don't think he is a bit too old to be married. And a wife would soon get him out of his old-fashioned bachelor ways."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe could not help laughing. Gentian still talked at times like a child. She turned the conversation to other subjects, and Thorold was not mentioned again.
They arrived at Launceston about two o'clock, and had lunch at an hotel there. It was between four and five when they reached their destination. Gentian was charmed with the village in a wooded valley that ran down to the sea. They heard the thunder and roar of the surf breaking over the rocks before they came in sight of it. The church was perched on a hill, and they turned, up a steep lane to get to the Rectory which was close to it. Just as they came up to a big iron gate set in the middle of two granite walls, Thorold himself appeared.
"I've been looking for you for the last hour," he said: "have you had lunch?"
"Yes, at Launceston. We've seen no sign of the inn, so came on to ask you where it was."
"It isn't in the village, which is good, for you will be quieter away from the fisher-folk. It is five minutes' drive from here on the high road which leads across the moor."
"Come in, and we'll drive on together."
Thorold slipped into the front seat by the chauffeur, then he looked back at Gentian and smiled at her.
"How do you like Cornwall?"
"It's rather bare and wind-swept," said Gentian, "but the sun on the sea reminds me of Italy."
"If we follow this line along, we shall come to the house I want you to look at, but we'll find the inn first."
It was a very small place when they reached it—but it looked clean, and there were flowers in the small garden behind it, which delighted Gentian's heart.
They put up the car, then sat down and had tea together. Thorold told them that his friend the Rector had hoped to give them tea—but Mrs. Wharnecliffe was tired and wanted a rest. Motoring was not the exhilarating experience to her that it was to Gentian.
But in an hour's time she declared she was ready for a walk, and they sauntered through a sheltered lane which twisted and turned continually till Gentian said it made her quite giddy. Thorold was able to give them a good deal of information about his mine. Work was beginning, and he was very hopeful of the result.
"Is it tin or copper?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe.
"Tin," said Thorold.
"No radium about it?"
He laughed.
"No, that is only obtainable in the china clay. I am not going to make my fortune over this, Lallie."
"If you did, you would only give it away twenty-four hours after you had got it," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe.
Gentian was rather silent, listening to the talk but not joining in it. Presently they came in sight of a clump of pines, then a white gate was seen, and Thorold told them that this was the little house he wished them to see. They glided down a drive bordered by high tamarisk hedges, then came to a fair-sized shrubbery of rhododendrons and azaleas, with a background of trees, and then swept round to the front of the house.
"What a little darling!" exclaimed Gentian.
It was a solid granite house with a slate roof, but it was covered from end to end with creepers. Jasmine and rose, and the sweet-smelling stentonia, and a big magnolia hid the grey walls from view. There was a neglected lawn in front of it, with an old sundial in the middle, but when Gentian jumped out of the car and stood on the doorstep, she gave an exclamation of surprise and delight.
The lawn sloped down to green cornfields, and at the bottom of them lay the blue, shining sea. No trees hid the ocean from their eyes. The Cornish coast-line stretched away on the right. To the left against the sky-line was Rame Head, and nearer Tregantle Fort could be dimly seen.
The house was small and very old. There were casement windows, and the square stone hall was dark. An old staircase, with solid oak stairs, went up in the middle of it.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe looked about her, then opened a door at the back of the hall and found it led out into a square paved court.
"Oh," she said, "you must have glass panels in this door to let the light in, Thorold, and turn this little courtyard into a conservatory. What is the aspect?"
"East," said Thorold. "Frances Muir suggested a Dutch garden here."
"Oh," said Gentian quickly; "then she's been over the house with you?"
"She's known this house all her life," Thorold responded.
Gentian said no more, but her quick eyes were taking everything in. She liked the old-fashioned kitchen and dairies; there were two rooms on each side of the front door, and a third sitting-room in a side wing. Upstairs there were five good-sized bedrooms and some attics. Gentian danced in and out of the empty rooms in her light-hearted fashion; she loved the oak panelling in the dining-room, and the deep window recesses. Mrs. Wharnecliffe signified her approval of the house as a whole.
"A man won't find it lonely," she said, "but if you were bringing a wife here, I shouldn't be so content, for I think she would get the blues. Have you no neighbours?"
"Oh yes, within driving distance. Do you think it gloomy?"
He turned to Gentian.
"Now it is empty it is, but it won't be when it is furnished," said Gentian, looking about her with dreamy eyes. "I can see it with wood fires and thick curtains, and music, and books, and flowers."
Then she laughed.
"And you in it, Cousin Thor, moving about in your serene, cheerful way, never ruffled if the soot fell down the chimney and the water-pipes leaked and the fires smoked. Are you going to keep a car?"
"No, I'm thinking of a horse."
"And a man and his wife to look after you," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "Thorold, I am afraid you will be buried alive here."
He smiled and shook his head.
"I have too many people to consider and to help."
"Now let us come to your repairs," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "Of course, you must cut down your creepers, and one or two trees that are too close to the house, and the shrubberies want cutting back. I should put a south window in the biggest sitting-room which faces west, then you'll get plenty of sunshine."
She went through the rooms again, discussing many possible improvements. Gentian left them and wandered round the neglected garden. She followed a little path through the shrubbery which led her to a rising knoll on which was a seat looking seawards. She sat down and lapsed into day dreams.
"I must be getting very old," she mused; "I feel as if I want to settle down somewhere and stay there. I don't want to career about the world any more. How peaceful it is here!"
A thrush was singing in the bushes close to her; there was a sweet scent of syringa which was not far away; and as she raised her head she heard a lark singing in the cornfields. A moment after steps approached her. It was Thorold.
"I have tracked you at last," he said. "Mrs. Wharnecliffe is on her way back to the inn; I told her we would follow. What do you think of the view from here?"
"I think it is heavenly."
He sat down on the seat beside her.
"To-morrow you must come and see the mine. I am in two minds about taking this house. Dick Muir and his daughter advised me against it. They want me to remain on with them indefinitely, or else build on a site which Dick can let me have, but I don't care about doing that. I would rather take rooms in the village where Godwin was. I don't feel like starting another house just yet. The mine is a speculation. I may lose all my money over it."
"And then you would be a pauper like me," said Gentian cheerfully; "I wonder how you would like that."
"I have gone through poverty, child."
"Yes, I forgot. Forgive me. And I hope with all my heart that your mine will succeed. I think I would take the house, Cousin Thor, and then you could invite Mrs. Wharnecliffe and me down to visit you. I would like to come alone best, but Mrs. Wharnecliffe won't let me hint at such a thing! I can't fancy you in lodgings; you've always had a nice home. I only wish I could get the chance of having one."
Then she stole a look at him through her long eyelashes.
"I heard from Jim Paget the other day. He's been over the Rocky Mountains and now is on his way home. He would give me a home, any day. I might do worse than have him, but I'm afraid we should fight like cat and dog. Still, I would have a house of my own, and I should love furnishing it and arranging rooms."
"Don't marry for a home," said Thorold gravely. "The man must come first. You would have a miserable life if you did not care for your husband."
"Do you think so? It's a funny world. Things happen so contrary. He likes me, and I don't like him, and yet I may meet somebody else whom I shall like and he won't like me. I somehow feel as if I shall never have just what I want. And I think I'm getting dull and old, and I shan't be at all likeable when my teeth and hair fall out."
Thorold threw his head back with his quick laugh, as he did when she amused him.
"Cheer up, you are not so very ancient yet."
"Tell me truthfully, do you think I shall make any man a bad wife?"
Thorold turned to her. Something in his eyes made Gentian catch her breath. He was about to speak, when round the corner of the shrubbery path appeared Miss Frances Muir.
She greeted them delightedly.
"Here you are! I've been scouring the village for you, for I heard Mrs. Wharnecliffe, your friend, had returned to the inn. How do you do, Miss Brendon? We met in Edinburgh, didn't we? How are your old ladies? I thought them so quaint, especially the horsey one."
"They are quite well, thank you."
Gentian's tone was stiff; she resented the Miss Buchans being criticized.
"Now, Mr. Holt, you must come home at once. Your manager is at our house waiting to see you. It's something about the mine, some of the machinery has gone wrong."
"Ah!" said Thorold, with a concerned face. "Then my fears are realized. Gentian, I'm afraid I must leave you. Explain it to Mrs. Wharnecliffe. I hope to take you over the mine to-morrow, but I must go off with Dormer at once."
"I'll take Miss Brendon to the church," said Frances Muir, "that is, if she is not in a hurry to return to her friend. What do you think of this little house?"
"I like it," said Gentian. "I'm in no hurry at all, and should like to see the church. Has it a nice organ?"
Thorold smiled.
"It has a wheezy old harmonium, that is all," he said.
"It is awful, isn't it?" said Miss Muir. "But I'm not musical, I don't know one note from another. Our little schoolmistress plays it."
They were walking along the lane at a good brisk pace, then Thorold turned up one road and they took another. Gentian was quiet and grave, as she usually was when she did not feel sure of a person.
Miss Muir did most of the talking.
"Dad is so delighted to have Mr. Holt down here. It's making him quite young again, but we don't approve of that house for him. It's too desolate and lonely. I'm not going to let him take it if I can help it. And he would be better the other side of the village near his mine."
"If I had a mine, I wouldn't want it just outside my windows," said Gentian, "and Cousin Thor is accustomed to a nice house and has always lived alone. There aren't any other empty houses about are there?"
"Oh, he could build. I love planning houses; I always think I should have made a good architect. He and I spend our evenings in drawing out plans. I have a lovely one just completed, that would suit all his requirements."
"I hate new houses," said Gentian shortly, "they have no tradition or atmosphere."
"But you won't be asked to live in it," said Miss Muir laughing.
Gentian spoke with real temper now:
"Can't one like or dislike things for one's friends without being involved in them personally? I don't think I'll go to the church now, thank you. I'll wait till Cousin Thor can take me. Here's the inn, good-bye."
She flashed away from Miss Muir like a bright meteor, and burst in upon Mrs. Wharnecliffe in impetuous fashion.
"I dislike Miss Muir very much; I think I hate her," she announced, flinging her gloves down on the table, and facing her friend with hard, defiant eyes.
"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe with a smile.
"Oh, she's what people call 'catty.' She gives herself airs, and thinks she's going to frame Cousin Thor to her liking."
"Perhaps she will," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe slowly; "perhaps Thorold has met his fate in this little Cornish village."
"I wish him a better fate than that conceited girl," snapped out Gentian. "I don't believe he likes her a bit. I shall ask him. Fancy! She doesn't know one note of music from another and doesn't care! Boasts of it! A person without any love for music is a person without a soul!"
"My dear Gentian, don't get so hot over her."
"But, Mrs. Wharnecliffe, why should she take possession of him as she's doing? He never knew her before he came here, she's not going to let him take that house, she says. She wants to build him one of her own planning."
"Thorold is not a weak boy, my dear Gentian. He will please himself. He is a man who has decided opinions of his own, and is not easily influenced by others, as I have found to my cost."
"No," said Gentian, suddenly becoming quiet and rather despondent, "he's like a granite wall, and if you beat your head against him, you'll only break it, and not hurt him. Sometimes I think Cousin Thor has no feeling at all! Just once—now and then—very seldom, his eyes betray him!"
She stopped herself and relapsed into silence. What did that look of his mean? And what was he going to say when Miss Muir had so inopportunely interrupted them?
Mrs. Wharnecliffe glanced at her anxiously. She never could understand the girl, but she was fond of her. Her contradictions moods and irrelevant talk bewildered her. What a creature of impulse she was! Even her late sorrow had not steadied her, and yet how nobly she had stood by her sick friend in her last illness! How wonderfully patient and capable she had become!
"I think, my dear, you had better go and change your dress. Dinner is at the early hour of seven here. Thorold was to dine with us. Where has he gone?"
"Off to his old mine. There's something gone wrong."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe sighed. "I always feel he will ruin himself over this project. It is such a risk!"
Gentian left the room, murmuring to herself: "If she hadn't interrupted us! Oh, if she only hadn't!"
THOROLD'S SECRET
THOROLD appeared just in time for dinner, which was served in a quaint coffee-room overlooking the garden.
Gentian, in a filmy black gown which accentuated the fairness of her neck and arms, began the meal in a quiet, pensive mood. She let Mrs. Wharnecliffe and Thorold do most of the conversation, and listened to Thorold's account of some of the difficulties which now beset him.
"I think we shall get over the present difficulty," he said. "We have been trying to adapt some of the old machinery; it means a good bit of extra expense to have new, but we must do so. I have been wondering whether I have brought you down on a fool's errand, for I doubt if it will be wise for me at present to take that house. I must go slowly."
"You must live somewhere," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe.
"A single man doesn't need so much accommodation."
"Miss Muir doesn't want you to go there," struck in Gentian with rather a sharp tone in her voice; "she wants you to build one close to the Rectory and the mine."
"Yes," said Thorold, with a smile; "Frances thinks I should be too far away from my work."
"As if you're going to work in the mine!" said Gentian a little scornfully. Then the dimples came into her cheeks and she gave a little laugh.
"You are becoming like me, Cousin Thor. You're a wobbler. You actually can't make up your mind. I never knew you had it in you to hesitate or to change."
"Oh, I hesitate about lots of things," Thorold replied promptly; "it's only when we're very young that we're very sure."
"Well, that isn't a hit at me, for I'm never sure of anything, except what I want to do at the moment. But I'd like to know what kind of things you wobble about."
Thorold looked at her with his whimsical smile.
"I have considerable hesitation about you and your welfare very often," he said.
Gentian looked dumbfounded.
"Do you think about me very much, Cousin Thor?" she asked demurely.
"Really, Gentian," expostulated Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "We've wandered away from our subject of the house. Suppose we get back to that. Where do you propose living, Thorold? I hope you won't build."
"No, a new house is perfectly hateful," said Gentian; "I told Miss Muir so. I should be sorry to live in a house of her planning. She has no sense of beauty."
"She's a very clever girl," said Thorold. "Aren't you judging her rather hastily? About the house: I have the first refusal of it, and I think in two or three months' time, I shall know how the mine is going and be better able to judge what I can afford. I shall take rooms in the village."
"Yes," said Gentian quickly; "if you stay on at the Rectory you'll lose all independence. Miss Muir will manage you and all your affairs completely."
Thorold shook his head.
"A good many people have tried to manage me in my life. We'll except the present company! But it is an experience to which I am well accustomed, and it doesn't trouble me in the least."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe laughed.
"We need not have an uneasy thought about him, Gentian. As I told you he is well able to look after himself. Now don't you think we could have a walk as it is such a lovely evening? Is the tide in or out? Let us go down to the sea."
"It is out, I think," said Thorold.
"Run and put a warm wrap on, Gentian," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "I have a much thicker gown than you. We will wait for you in the verandah."
As the girl disappeared, Mrs. Wharnecliffe took hold of Thorold by the arm.
"Now come along, I want to talk to you. I am anxious about this child. Your Rector wants the little Vicarage house for a new-married curate who is going to be in charge of the church. I haven't told Gentian, for I know the outcry she will make. She cannot live there alone, and you must let the Rector have it. It will be a way out of the difficulty. I have some empty attics where she can store her boxes and things. It is very difficult to know what to do with her. I don't believe she'll go on living with the Miss Buchans year in and year out, she'll be too dull there. And she's not the sort of girl to be knocking about the world on her own."
"It will be a blow to her," said Thorold, looking grave. "She tells me that young fellow Jim Paget is on her track again. Coming back, isn't he? He may induce her to listen to him this time."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe shook her head.
"I wish I could think so, but I'm sure she won't have him. She ought to marry. I think she might develop into a good little wife."
There was silence between them for a moment or two. Then Mrs. Wharnecliffe said slowly:
"Thorold, have you ever thought that she may be caring for you?"
Thorold was just lighting his pipe. He let it slip through his fingers, and fall with a clatter on the ground.
"Caring for me," he said, stooping down to pick up his pipe; "what nonsense! I think she may like me better than she did, but she looks upon me as her elderly guardian—offered to come and keep house for me!"
His face was a dull red as he raised himself, but Mrs. Wharnecliffe's quick eyes noted his confusion.
"There's not much disparity in your ages. You are not elderly, Thorold. You are in the prime of life. I may be wrong. She is childishly jealous of Frances Muir, but, of course, that may be because she likes to come first with you."
"It would be wicked," muttered Thorold, "to tie her up to an old fogy like me."
"Gentian would not do anything she did not want to do."
"But she's in a dangerous state now. She wants a home. She might do anything to get one. I would not take advantage of a child like that for all the world."
"Thorold!"
Mrs. Wharnecliffe pressed his arm. "You love her!"
"I adore her!" he said, with a quick-caught breath, and then he tried to relight his pipe with nervous, trembling fingers.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe drew a long sigh.
"Well, it has come to you at last," she said; "now don't spoil your life and hers by stupid bashfulness and false modesty. You have a great deal to offer her. A clear, upright, honourable record, a comfortable home, and a love—well, I won't say more on that point, but any girl would be lucky with you for a husband, Thorold. I don't say she is good enough for you, but she's a fascinating little soul, and where she loves, she'll love to distraction. You won't have a dull moment with her, I know that, and I believe she'll develop into something grand and good, by and by."
"You've forced my confidence," Thorold said; "respect it and say no more. I'm not in a position to offer anyone a home until I see how the mine is going. And I can't believe, and I don't believe, that she would listen to me for a moment."
"Who won't listen to you?" asked a gay voice behind them.
It was Gentian, of course. She did not wait for an answer but slipped her arm into Mrs. Wharnecliffe's.
"Now let us sally forth," she said, "to see the wonders of the ocean shore."
There was no lack of conversation between the three of them, though Thorold was the one who spoke least. Mrs. Wharnecliffe talked eagerly, almost feverishly, and Gentian was her own gay chattering little self. It was a good walk from the inn to the fishing village, which was most picturesque. Like many of the Cornish fishing villages, the houses were placed at all angles, one above the other, with quaint cobbled paths twisting and turning in every direction, and rough stone steps up and down to the beach and cliffs. They came down to a stone bridge across the river, and here in the middle they turned their backs to the sea and looked along the wooded valley with the shining river winding its way at the bottom.
The sun was getting low, and sending its golden rays across the water. Gentian leant her arms on the stone wall and gazed dreamily in front of her.
"This is sweet," she murmured. "I don't think England's beauty spots are distributed fairly. River and woods are enough without the sea."
They turned round and walked on, past a row of old-fashioned shops facing the river, and then eventually found themselves on the sea front. Fishermen lounged about smoking their pipes, or tinkering at their boats. The tide was out. Across the short strip of sand in front of them and the grey rocks that stretched away to the cliff the golden sunshine was sending its long slanting rays. Away on the horizon were the fishing smacks starting for their night's fishing. Gentian looked at it all with interest and delight.
Then she slipped her hand into Thorold's arm.
"Let's walk down to the sea," she said, "it's too far off from us here."
"I think I shall sit down here," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe, sinking on one of the wooden seats near her; "don't be too long, for when the sun sets, it will be chilly."
Thorold and Gentian walked across the sand until they came to the ocean. Only rippling waves disturbed the silence.
"I like this," Gentian said contentedly. "I should like to live by the sea. It always brings peace to me. It reminds me of the sea in Italy. How far is the mine from here?"
"Quite five miles. It is inland. The Rectory is a good mile and a half from us here."
"And do your miners live in these dear little houses?"
"Oh, no. This is entirely a fisher population. There is a small hamlet near the mine where they will congregate; but a good many come by the train along the light railway from other villages. Every day I have applicants from all parts. It's extraordinary how news flies. I hope I shall be able to give them all work."
"I wish you could give me work," said Gentian, turning a face that was a mixture of wistfulness and mischief up to his. "I shall soon be unemployed again, I feel it in my bones. And I am not a very satisfactory companion to an indoors lady. Fancy! The other day I was saying how much I should love to hunt next winter, and Miss Horatia laughed and didn't seem against the idea, when Miss Anne drew herself up as if I had quite shocked her,—
"'That is hardly one of the duties of a lady's companion,' she said.
"So I was angry, of course, and I said quickly: 'I am only a temporary companion. I may end it any day,'
"And then Miss Anne said very sweetly: 'I think it would be your loss, if you did so.'
"Now do you think that quite nice of her? She tries to keep me in my place; but somehow bubble up away from it—and any day may bring a crisis."
"I agree with Miss Anne," said Thorold gravely; "that it will be your loss if you lose such a comfortable home."
"Now, Cousin Thor, do you think it is a home to me? How can it be? I have lost my home, and I have lost the love and care that went with it. I am hedged about with convention and duties and restrictions. I must be punctual and tidy and meek, and always must be at the beck and call of a very kind mistress certainly, but a very old-fashioned, punctilious lady."
"Do you want to go through life only pleasing yourself, and satisfying your own desires?"
"Now you're getting into the stern old martinet you were when I first knew you! You have been much kinder lately. I don't always want to please myself. There are some people that I would like to do anything for—I think I might be willing to die for them!"
Thorold's eyes twinkled as he looked at her.
"We'll hope that won't be necessary at your time of life," he said.
She was standing very close to him as she spoke; now she moved away with a dignified air.
"You like to laugh at me," she said. "You never take me in earnest, you treat me like a child, and now Waddy has left me I feel a hundred years old, as if my whole future life is my own responsibility, and I get frightened. I have no money at my back, and very few friends. I don't think you or Mrs. Wharnecliffe would let me starve, but then if I went away from you, you might not know. I sometimes wonder if I could earn my living in London by my music. I'll talk to Jim Paget about it when he comes over. He knows a lot of people in London."
Thorold's brows grew rather threatening.
"No," he said quickly; "don't do that. When you feel you must have a change of employment, tell me. I promise I will help you."
"I don't feel very sure of you down here," said Gentian, looking at him with earnest eyes. "I'm so afraid you will marry Miss Frances Muir! There! I know I ought not to say so, but somehow with you I must unburden myself. And if you marry her, you won't care about me any more. You'll forget all about me—and she—Miss Muir—will keep you from having anything to do with me—I know her kind. I don't like her and she doesn't like me. We are natural—what is the word? Not enemies—antagonists. Why are you laughing?"
"I can't help being amused at your matchmaking propensities. Am I so very susceptible to female charm? Haven't you always considered me a thorough old bachelor? We are talking nonsense, let us come back to Mrs. Wharnecliffe."
He turned; then, as Gentian seemed reduced to silence, he put his hand on her shoulder.
"Your future is not in your hands, child. A loving God is caring for you. Leave it to Him, He makes no mistakes. That is one of the facts that strengthen with years."
She did not speak. Her eyes filled with tears. She was very silent for the rest of the evening. Thorold left them as soon as he had taken them back to the hotel, promising to be with them again at ten o'clock the next morning, when Mrs. Wharnecliffe's car would take them to the mine.
And the next day dawned brilliantly. Blue sky, and no wind, the sea lay calm and still as a mill pond. They caught the glimpses of it as they sped up and down hill through the Cornish lanes.
Gentian was her bright self again, and keenly interested in all the working of the mine. She was very disappointed that she was not allowed to go down into it. She talked to the manager, and to every miner that she came across, and bewildered them by her questions and inquiries.
Later on, Thorold took them to see a row of cottages which were just being built. Gentian did not think much of the hamlet, but loved its quaint name, which was Menabockle. She spoke to a woman who stood at a cottage door.
"Aren't you very happy to have the mine working again?"
"'Twill give work to many," said the woman with a smile.
"Yes, and you're lucky to have Mr. Holt owning it. If you're in trouble, he'll get you out of it by hook or crook. He was born to do that, I believe."
She nodded and smiled and passed on. Only the woman caught her words. Thorold was busy talking to Mrs. Wharnecliffe. He was bent on reassuring her about his venture.
"It is a risk, of course, but all here know that tin is to be found; and the mine stopped working through want of capital to carry it on. Be patient, and you'll see that I have not wasted my money."
"Why need you be on the spot always?" asked Gentian. "When it's once started, can't your manager carry it on?"
"If the owners had lived on the spot before, it would have been better for their mines. Managers are not infallible. Besides, I want to know the people. I am going to start a small institute or club for the young men and boys. I am full of ideas from which I want practical results."
"And what about the house?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe.
"Just for the present, we'll leave it. As I said before, I have the first refusal of it. But I'm thankful for your suggestions and advice."
He returned to the inn with them and they had lunch together. They had hardly finished the meal before Thorold's friend, the Rector of the parish, and his daughter appeared.
Mr. Muir was a tall, stalwart man, with a cheerful face and breezy manner. He was very disappointed to hear that Mrs. Wharnecliffe was returning home immediately.
"We quite hoped you would dine with us to-night, or at least, come up and have a 'dish o' tay,' as our Cornish folk say. Do you approve of this Cornish benefactor?" He laid his hand on Thorold's shoulder as he spoke.
"It's a doubtful experiment," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe gravely; "but Thorold knows his own business best, and if his heart is in it, I can but wish him good luck. I hope he will succeed where others have failed."
"It's going to be a huge success," said Frances enthusiastically. "Mr. Holt always succeeds in everything he puts his hand to, now does he not?"
Mrs. Wharnecliffe smiled.
"He gets his own way with people as a rule."
Thorold looked across at Gentian with his humorous smile.
"Do you endorse that?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Yes, because you are so doggedly determined and persevering," she said.
"Well," said Frances, "we all want him to have his own way down here. There's no opposition from anyone. How could there be? We are most keenly interested in what he is doing. And as for the people round, they're wild with delight that the mines are going to be restarted."
"The only thing that I don't like about them," said Gentian, "is the mess they make of the country. They spoil the landscape, and foul the air with blacks and dust."
Frances' smile had a twinge of pity in it.
"That is rather a narrow outlook," she said; "when you put against a few acres of waste ground the employment and prosperity of hundreds of living souls."
Gentian was silent. She was glad when the car was announced, but vexed that she and Mrs. Wharnecliffe should drive off leaving Thorold by the side of the girl to whom she had taken such a hearty dislike.
A NEW FRIEND
IT was not long after Gentian's return to the Miss Buchans that the blow fell upon her about St. Anselm's Vicarage. Thorold wrote to her himself about it, and Mrs. Wharnecliffe had her over for the day to discuss plans. To her astonishment, Gentian took it very quietly.
"I am not surprised. I have no right to a house. I have no money to live there. I am alone in this grey old England. Cousin Thor gave it more to Waddy than to me, and now she is gone I have no right to expect that Cousin Thor should provide me with a house to keep my possessions in. He did tell me that I could have it for a time, but now this curate with his family wants it, and they will take possession of the darling organ. It has all gone from me. I shall only have memories of it now."
"You must look upon my house as your pied-à-terre, I won't say home, for you have become such an independent young lady that you resent the thought of any one taking care of you. But you know, dear, that you will be always welcome, and that I am ready to help you in every way possible."
"You are very kind," said Gentian, looking at her with a deep gravity in her blue starry eyes; "but I am learning to stand alone. I shall have to do it, and the sooner I begin the better. I shall be very grateful if you will store a few boxes for me. I haven't very many worldly goods, have I? Only just some mementoes from my darling Italy, and a few of my mother's treasures. I will write this evening and tell Cousin Thor that I will clear out my things to-morrow."
Thorold got her letter, and for some hours after receiving it, felt distracted and disturbed.
"DEAR CORNISH BENEFACTOR,—"You have broken your news very softly. But I am ready to quit, as the Americans would say, and shall march out with my head up, and my tears locked down into a pool at the bottom of my heart. You have a right to let your own house to anyone. I was only a charity pauper whilst there. This isn't bitterness but fact, and never was a poor orphan more kindly housed than I was. I knew when I turned the key in the door and went off to the Miss Buchans that I should never go back again. I felt it in my bones. Mrs. Wharnecliffe impressed upon me that I could not live there alone. I knew that I had not enough money of my own to feed myself and a chaperone, to say nothing of paying her to dance attendance on me. So there we are. I feel I am growing wise and old. That sunny chapter of my life is over. The clouds began to appear when you took your departure, and when Waddy left me for good, the sun disappeared altogether."But, and this is a big But. I will print it in large letters, BUT, I have I believe got my storm-proof and mackintosh on, and I'm assuring myself over and over, that this fresh storm may beat about my feelings and passions and hopes and desires, but can't reach my soul. I don't forget your little sermon, you see. I've discovered one of the Bible's secrets, that blessedness—that's happiness, is it not?—comes to those who believe when they can't see. And then after I have thought over that a good while, I give myself a pat on the shoulder and say, 'Your future is not in your hands, child.' Only I can't give it quite the nice kind of pat that you did."Anyhow, I want you to be assured that I accept my fate with placidity, and am still pursuing my daily rounds of duty combined with some small bits of pleasure. I am getting quite a good rider. Now I know and share Miss Horatia's feelings about cars. They're good to get to places, but for enjoying the country they're not in it with a horse. She has taken me for several long rides through lanes and woods where cars cannot go, and if ever I become a rich woman, I will buy a horse and keep it till I die."I suppose Jim Paget would give me a horse if I married him. He has written to-day to say he wants to see me, but I've put him off. I can't see him here. It would be awkward, and Miss Anne told me to-day that she's expecting a nephew of theirs from abroad to come and stay with them. He is arriving to-morrow. Do you know him? His name is Vernon Buchan. He is a great violinist and gives recitals in London. I am anxious and excited to meet him. I do love anyone who loves music, don t you? Miss Horatia rather sniffs when his name is mentioned. I don't think she approves of him. She said straight out yesterday when Miss Anne said how long it was since they had seen him:"'He is in want of something, my dear Anne, or he would not ask us to have him.'"Miss Anne shook her head and looked at me. I pretended, of course, to be engrossed in Miss Anne's knitting."This evening Miss Anne asked me if I would like a few days' holiday. I don't think she wants me to meet her nephew. Why? I have seen too many men and musicians abroad to be unduly impressed by them. But of course I said I could go to Mrs. Wharnecliffe. I think she will have me. I did not know about it this afternoon when I was over there. And I can't go to her to-morrow, so I shall have a glimpse of the nephew before I disappear."Oh, Cousin Thor, I am scribbling away like this to take my thoughts off my unfortunate existence. Does anyone in the whole wide world really want me, I wonder? I don't mean foolish creatures like Jim and your Godwin who like the outside of me, and have no more ideas of my real self than a cat has of a polar bear. Miss Anne, you see, can dispense with my services very easily when she likes."How is that darling little fishing village? I should like to own a boat and turn myself into a fisher girl and sail away into the sunset sky every evening, drawing my fishing net through the rippling water, and watch the stars come out one by one and twinkle in a thousand lights on the moonlit waves! I would be quite happy in one of those queer little whitewashed houses with my chimney touching my neighbour's doorstep above."Good-bye, Guardian, Mentor, and Granite Tor."Your lonely, bewildered, but not utterly beaten—"BUBBLE."
The Miss Buchans were at tea in the big drawing-room when their nephew arrived.
Gentian was with them. She wore a simple white gown. The only colour about her was that of the arresting blue of her eyes. But as Vernon Buchan came swiftly forward to greet his aunts, his eyes only took in one picture, that of the slim white girlish figure with the piquant oval face, the sunny cloud of hair and the wonderful eyes.
She was introduced to him, and for a moment he wondered how she came there. Miss Anne quietly enlightened him.
"Miss Brendon looks after me, and drives me out in the afternoon. In these days we have lady chauffeurs. It was some time before I became accustomed to the idea."
Gentian said to herself with mutinous lips: "And now I am put in my place and must stay there."
But Vernon was so talkative, and his conversation was so interesting, that she could not stay mute for long, and when she heard that he had only just arrived from Italy and had been to Capri three days before leaving, she clasped her hands in eager delight.
"Oh, tell me! It was my home for so many years. Tell me how it looks. Where did you stay? I know every one. And is Luigi still the first to come and offer to take you and your luggage to the Engleesh-speaking hotel?"
He laughed gaily. Miss Anne could as soon stop the current of a river towards the sea as the animated talk which followed between the two young people.
Before dinner time came, Vernon was well acquainted with Gentian's history, but he did not devote himself entirely to her; he only took good care to include her in conversation with his two aunts.
It was a lovely summer evening. In the big drawing-room later on, Gentian went to the piano. It was her custom to play to Miss Anne for half an hour every night. Vernon sat by the open window, and listened with his heart in his eyes.
"But your music is divine!" he exclaimed. "You have the soul of a true artist. I have my violin. I never go anywhere without it. Will you accompany me?"
"I don't know that I can," said Gentian simply, "but I will try."
Horatia smiled grimly when she saw them settle themselves at the piano for the rest of the evening.
Gentian was quick at reading at sight. Her touch and her execution entranced Vernon.
At last Miss Anne intervened.
"Please let us enjoy your society, Vernon. I think you had better practise in the mornings. Too much music makes my head ache. Oh, don't apologize, but it is nearly ten o'clock and I want to hear a great deal from you. How is your sister, and where is she?"
"Oh, she has a flat in town."
Vernon put by his violin with reluctance.
"I'm staying with her. I had to hurry back, for I have one or two recitals coming off before the season closes."
"Is her husband with her?"
"My dear aunt, is he ever with her? He's hunting big game in Ceylon at present. Emmie and I are always happy together. But just now I'm a harassed wretch. I felt I must have a couple of nights with you, and I've really come down here to look up a certain Miss Lascelles who is in your neighbourhood. My accompanist is ill, he's had to go off to Davos—lung trouble—and Miss Lascelles took his place once before. She lives in Winderball. Isn't that your nearest town?"
"Yes," said Miss Horatia. "I know whom you mean. Miss Lascelles is the daughter of a doctor there. She makes a living by her music, does she not, but some one told me only last week that she had gone abroad—to Austria, I think. She has obtained some musical post over there."
Vernon ran his hand nervously up and down through his hair.
"Disaster stares me in the face! I shall have to pelt back to town to-morrow to arrange something."
But when the next day came he did not go. Instead, he kept Gentian at the piano every moment of her spare time, and at five o'clock tea he sprang his bomb.
"I have been directed down here," he said solemnly; "by my good fairy. I have found my accompanist. Aunt Anne, will you spare Miss Brendon for a week or two? Emmie will gladly put her up. With her, my success in town will be assured. She's a born accompanist."
Miss Anne was simply speechless. Nothing more had been said about Gentian's proposed holiday. Miss Horatia had told her sister gruffly that it was too late in the day to save the situation.
"He is bowled over, as I knew he would be, by her pretty grace and her music. But it will be one of his passing emotions. Vernon is too fond of his own ease and comfort to mean anything serious."
Now Miss Horatia, if feeling startled, did not show it. She smiled at her nephew a little provokingly.
"Anything more?" she asked. "Would you like our good cook, and my hunter? Not that I class Miss Brendon with them, but she is here for a purpose and cannot be spared."
He waved his hand airily.
"She must be spared. You have got on without her for a good many years, and a month at the outside will see me through my recitals. Town will be getting empty very soon. This is my chance, and I am not going to lose it. It would be a sin and shame to keep her down here, whilst I am rushing all over the country and tearing my hair to find somebody who will do for me."
"There are hundreds of people in town who will jump at the job," said Miss Horatia, "and any Concert Directoire would find one for you."
Vernon got up from his seat.
"I mean to have Miss Brendon," he said emphatically. "I shall run away with her, abduct her. It's so easy in these days with a car. She may be going on an errand to the village, a car slows down, a shawl is flung over her head, and it's done. She's dropped in the bottom of the car a helpless heap, and away we go—in London before she is even missed!"
"Don't be so ridiculous, Vernon!"
"And improper," murmured Miss Anne.
Gentian began to laugh. Her happy infectious laugh made every one join in it.
"I am the person to be consulted," she said, "and I could not possibly leave my present situation, sir." Here she gave a little bow to Vernon.
"Oh, indeed you can. Aunt Anne and Aunt Horatia can come up to town with you if they like, if they won't trust Emmie to look after you. I mean you to come—and I'm a bit of a hypnotist; you'll find yourself doing it before you can say 'Jack Robinson.'"
"I am going upstairs to have a rest in my room before dinner," announced Miss Anne quietly. "Gentian, come with me, please."
Gentian offered her her arm at once and they left the room together.
Vernon settled down in his chair again. He meant to have it out with his Aunt Horatia.
A determined man can get the better of two women if they happen to be fond of him. Miss Anne and Miss Horatia did not approve of their nephew's ways. He was too Bohemian, too unconventional, and too improvident to please them. But they loved him, and had given him a home when his parents were abroad and he was a small schoolboy.
Before another day had elapsed, Gentian found herself ready to agree to his proposal. Secretly she was elated at the thought of it. She went over to Mrs. Wharnecliffe and coaxed her round to give her permission, but to Thorold she did not write till everything was settled and she was in the train with Vernon for Town.
The ensuing weeks seemed unreal to her. She was by turn delighted and wearied with the wild rush of life that was now her lot. Mrs. St. Lucas, Vernon's sister, was a bright happy-go-lucky little lady, who was as eager in her protestations of friendship for Gentian, as she was in getting rid of all responsibility concerning her.
The practices for the Recitals kept Gentian busy, but she was not at the piano the whole day, and Vernon was only too ready to take her out to lunch and dinner and then to the theatre afterwards. Mrs. St. Lucas was generally with them, but not always—and as time went on, Vernon began to assume airs of proprietorship which Gentian opposed with quiet dignity. She would laugh and talk with him about a hundred different things, but let personality be brought into prominence, then she stiffened immediately.
The first Recital was a great success—Gentian wrote a full account of it to Thorold.
"You see," she concluded, "that I am now being shown that the talent which has been given to me must be used. You have no idea of the flattering things that have been said to me. The Managing Director told me that if I stayed in London, he could give me continual work, and the pay he would offer me staggers me. It would be foolish, dear Cousin Thor, would it not, to go back to the Miss Buchans and wind wool and read magazine articles and drive a car when I could earn double here, and have such a lovely time? It is so exquisite, feeling I have a right and a duty to spend hours at the piano. I have always dreamt of playing to an audience, and they seem to think that I could manage a solo or two of my own later on. Mr. Buchan amuses me so much—he thinks he has a right to choose the dress I am to wear when I play for him. I have to buy new gowns up here. Mrs. St. Lucas has taken me to her dressmaker, and it seems to me that my first earnings will be swallowed up with frocks. He insisted upon my wearing a kind of moonlight blue when I made my first appearance in public. And then he wanted me to be in white and gold. But I stuck at that. It was not retiring enough for an accompanist."Oh, Cousin Thor, how he plays! He pours his whole soul out! I think his violin comes first in the world with him. He makes me thrill and quiver when he plays, and I could weep from sheer ecstasy."I must tell you, that the other day I met Jim in Bond Street. Mr. Buchan and I were going to the Academy. It was a surprise. Jim came with us, but it was uncomfortable being three, and they glared at each other like angry dogs over a bone. I needn't tell you I was the bone. And the poor bone wished herself miles away from them both."Then Jim came to see me yesterday, and Mrs. St. Lucas welcomed him sweetly, but when we were alone, he trotted out the old story, and I thought hard, of the home he would give me, and the fun, and the affection. And the managing. But he told me in the midst of it all, that the musical world was a rotten environment for any girl, and that he would never let any one he knew play in public! I thanked him and dismissed him, and cried when he had gone."Why do you all try to manage me? Mr. Buchan does—but I am in his pay, so he is my master. I think you are better than you used to be. Perhaps it is that you are rather tired of me and do not feel it worth while. I thought you might be angry when you heard I was here, but your letters say so little. They're as mild as toast and water. I don't want you to object to what I am doing, for I mean to go on doing it, and I am writing to the Miss Buchans to-day to break with them. Mrs. St. Lucas wants me to go to Vienna with her next month. What do you think of that! I mean to study music there, and next autumn I am assured of plenty of work."Sometimes I shut my eyes and see the little valley running down to the sea. Tell me how the mine is going, and if Miss Muir is still planning a house for you. And are you living in lodgings or still at the Rectory?"This is from the Bubble who is beginning to soar once more."
Thorold's answer was as follows:
"MY DEAR LITTLE FLEDGED MUSICIAN,—"Why should I try to cut your wings? And stamp upon your talent which is now seeing the light of London Town? I don't like the life for you, and rather agree with poor unfortunate Jim. It is too hard work for one of your calibre. The late hours, the strain, and rush, and artificial atmosphere will all tell on your nervous system, but this, I am sure, you will have to find out for yourself. The week or two you are experiencing now will be very different from the perpetual grind of a professional accompanist. And if you should develop into a professional soloist, it will be harder work still."I have nothing to say, except that if you get tired or disillusioned, send for me. I am at the end of a wire. And we'll fix up something else. Never be afraid of owning up to mistakes. Such a lot of trouble comes from false pride. What can I tell you about myself? I am in diggings at a farm near the mine, and I eat a lot of Cornish cream, and enjoy Cornish pasties and Saffron buns. We're very pleased with the mine—we've opened up a vein of tin, and now the work is going fast! I feel sorry that your time at the Mount is over. What will Miss Anne do without you? Vienna is not an attractive town to me. I knew it in my young days before my father died. To spend one of summer's best months there is pitiful. But the music, of course, is enchanting. Only—only—child—don't let the musical world swamp and drown your soul."Yours when you want me,"THOROLD."
Gentian tucked this letter inside her frock after kissing the signature.
"Yours when you want me," she murmured to herself; "how I wish I could make that into a proposal! Oh, Cousin Thor, I'll send for you, I know I shall, but not yet! Things are going too well, and I'm enjoying myself. And my musical soul is being fed and satisfied."