Chapter Twenty Five.Forgiveness.The longed-for dawn came to Katie with a sudden chill and sinking of the heart that felt for a minute like the utter failure of bodily strength. When she put the lamp out, and put aside the curtain so that the daylight fell on the two grey old faces lying on the same pillow, her heart beat hard with sudden fear.How wan and sunken and spent they looked! What if they were both to die? The little gleam of red that had now and then, through all her illness, showed itself on grannie’s cheeks was quite gone now, and she would never be whiter, Katie thought, as she bent down to catch the sound of her breath coming and going so faintly. The two wrinkled, toil-worn hands still clasped each other in sleep.“They should go together,” said Katie, with a sob, “but oh! not yet.”She was not experienced enough to know whether this motionless sleep, so different from the fitful, broken slumbers of the last few weeks, was a hopeful sign or not; if her strength could be kept up, the doctor had said, and so had Miss Betsey—and perhaps she ought to wake her and give her something. As she stood looking at her, her grandfather opened his eyes.“Grannie’s better, I think,” said she, with a quick impulse to give him comfort. “She has been sleeping quietly, and her hand is cool and moist. If you’ll bide still beside her, I’ll go and get a drop of warm milk from Brownie, to be ready when she wakes.”If she had stayed a minute longer she must have cried at the sight of the old man’s face as he raised himself up and bent over that other face so white and still. She did cry a little when she went out, and shivered in the chill of the September morning, but she did not linger over her task. When she came in she found her grandfather risen, and standing by the bed. Her grandmother was awake now.“Are you there, Katie? Is your tea masket? Give a cup of tea to your grandfather now; it will refresh him; and I think I could take a cup myself.”“All right, grannie dear,” said Katie, cheerfully; “and in the meantime take a little milk,” and she held the cup to her lips. “And now, if you should fall asleep, it will be all the better till the tea be ready.”Katie smoothed the pillows and put the bedclothes straight, and touched her lips to the white cheek; then it was turned to rest on the thin hand and grannie fell asleep. Davie rose up at Katie’s bidding, and went to get wood to kindle the fire. Katie let the curtain fall again over the open window, and softly closed the door, as she followed her grandfather out of the room.“We’ll let her sleep,” said the old man, and he went out with slow, languid steps into the sunshine.It was hardly sunshine yet, for though the light lay clear on the hill-tops, all the valley was in shadow, and the mist lay low along the course of Beaver River in great irregular masses, white, but with great “splatches” of colour here and there where the sun touched it. The dew lay heavy on the grass, and the garden bushes and the orchard trees, and on Katie’s flowers, and the sweet breath of green things came pleasantly to his sense as he sat down on his accustomed seat by the door.Birds were chirping in the orchard trees, and there was the scarcely less pleasant sound of barn-door fowls near at hand. The sheep behind the pasture-bars sent their greeting over the dewy fields, and the cows in the yard “mowed” placidly as they stirred one another with soft, slow movements. How fair and peaceful the place looked! How full of calm and quiet, yet strong life!The old man closed his eyes on it all. He was not thinking, he was hardly feeling. The night had brought broken slumbers, but not rest, and he was very weary. A wondering question, whether she could be going to die on such a day as this, passed through his mind. It did not seem possible.“And besides, she and he said she could not die till I had forgiven my enemy.”But he was too weary to go over it all again—the long heart-breaking story. He could only sit still with closed eyes, waiting.And it was thus that the minister and Jacob Holt found him. They had said little to one another as they passed through the dewy fields, and under the long shadows of the wayside trees together. Mr Maxwell at first had said a word as to the mission they had undertaken, and asked a question or two as to how they had better make it known, but Jacob had answered in monosyllables, or not at all.The last part of their walk had been over the fields again, and they came suddenly upon Mr Fleming sitting at the door. Katie had seen them coming, and was standing at her grandfather’s side, her hand laid on his shoulder, and she looked at them as they drew near with questioning, almost angry eyes. Mr Maxwell held out his hand to her.“Is he sleeping, Katie?”But as he spoke Mr Fleming looked up. He did not see Jacob for the moment. He held out his hand and tried to rise.“No; sit still,” and Mr Maxwell sat down beside him.“It is kind of you to come so early. Katie thinks her—no worse this morning. But you must think her dying to come so soon again, and at this hour.”“No. I am glad she is no worse. It was not that I thought her dying. I came for another reason.”“Well, you are kindly welcome anyway.”“I went to see Squire Holt this morning. No—he is not dying, though it cannot be long now.”“Ay! ay! Well, he is an old man, and he is ending a useful life.”He spoke dreamily in his utter weariness, looking away over the fields to the sunshiny hills beyond.“I have something to give you, Mr Fleming,” said the minister gently, “something which Miss Holt found among her father’s papers.”“Well, well,” said the old man, waiting quietly, almost indifferently, for what might be said.“It is a letter, written long ago by one dead and gone, who was very dear to you.”A change came over her grandfather’s face, but whether it was because of what Mr Maxwell had said, or because he saw Jacob Holt standing before him, and quite near him, Katie could not tell. Jacob moistened his dry lips, and tried twice to speak before a sound came.“It is a letter—and before you read it—I beg you to forgive me for any harm I may ever have done—to you or yours.”The little Flemings had gathered about the door, but their mother drew them away into the house. Katie kept her place by her grandfather, and so did Davie, but he was out of sight in the porch. Mr Fleming rose, and stood face to face with his enemy; but when he spoke it was to Mr Maxwell that he turned.“She said, she could never go—up yonder—till I have forgiven him—and I am an old man, now.”He tottered a little as he turned to Jacob, but he held out his hand:“God forgive you. And God help me to forgive you. And God forgive me too, for I doubt it has been rebellion with me all this time.”“Amen,” said Jacob, and then he moved away, and Mr Fleming sank down on the seat again. He seemed to have forgotten that there was anything more to be said, and after a moment’s hesitation, Mr Maxwell put the letter into Katie’s hand.“The letter, grandfather,” said she softly.“Ay, the letter.”He took it, holding it out at arm’s length that he might see, but when his eye rested on the familiar characters he uttered a sharp, inarticulate cry and let it fall. The blood rushed to his face till it was crimson, and then receding, left him pale as death.“Grandfather, come into grannie,” said Katie, putting her arms about him. “Davie, come and help our grandfather.”“Grannie’s better, grandfather,” said Davie; “come.”“But the letter,” said the old man, faintly. “Oh, ay! Grandmother will like to see the letter!”But he did not rise.“The letter. Where’s the letter?”Jacob Holt stooped and lifted it from the grass where it had fallen, and Davie looked at him with amazed and angry eyes, as he opened it and taking out the folded slip of paper, offered it to him, while he kept the squire’s letter and the money in his hand.“Read that first,” said Jacob hoarsely, and then he went away round the corner of the house out of sight, and Mr Maxwell followed him.“Read it, Katie, lassie.”With trembling fingers Davie opened the letter and gave it to his sister. Kneeling beside him, Katie read:“Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.”There was more written, but she got no further, for a cry burst from his lips—whether of joy or pain they could not tell—and his head fell on Katie’s shoulder.“Whisht, Davie. Lay him down gently, and get a little water. Be quiet, man. Grannie will hear you.”For Davie had cried out in his terror at the sight of his grandfather’s deathlike face. The cry brought out his mother, and Mr Maxwell and Jacob hurried back again. He was better in a minute, and they led him into the house, and made him lie down. In a little while Katie brought him some tea.“Grannie bade me, grandfather, and you must take it you ken.”She knelt beside him, holding the cup for him, and by coaxing and entreating made him take a little food.“And now you must just rest a while.”They had brought him into the front room “for quiet,” Katie said, as he looked round in surprise; “rest and think about it,” she whispered, hardly venturing to say more. Gradually it came back to him that something had happened. By this time breakfast was over, and worship, and Katie brought Mr Maxwell in and left him there.Jacob Holt would not stay to breakfast, though Davie and his mother had asked him to stay. Before he went he gave the squire’s letter to Davie.“Give it to your grandfather, but do not read it,” said he.He had something to say to Mr Maxwell also.“I don’t know just how much Mr Fleming knows of what happened long ago. Hugh Fleming, after much entreaty from several of us, signed my father’s name where he ought not. He alone had the skill to do it. It was to save—some of us from much trouble. He was not in the scrape. He was not to be benefited personally by it, except that he was persuaded that some foolish deed of his could be more easily kept from his father’s knowledge if he helped to screen the rest by yielding. If he had stayed at home and met it, it would have been well; my father made no trouble about it. But he went away—and died. And you must tell his father—”Jacob turned his back upon the minister for a full minute, and then without another word went away.It was Mr Maxwell who read the letter to Mr Fleming after all. There were only a few lines more than Katie read: “I trust God has forgiven me, and that He will keep me safe from sin. Forgive me, dear father and mother and James.”And then his name and another line: “I will make up to you, dear father, for all you suffer now for me.”“And He has kept him safe,” said the minister, “all these years.”Katie came now and then, and looked in, but she did not speak, except once to say that grannie was sleeping still. Even Katie never knew how the minister and her grandfather passed the long morning. It was noon when she went in and told them that dinner was nearly ready, and that grannie was awake and asking for them. Afterward Mr Maxwell told Miss Elizabeth something about it.How as it gradually became clear to the father that his dear son’s light had not gone out in darkness, but that he had repented of his sin, and confessed it, and had been as he trusted forgiven, his grief and shame and penitence were even deeper than his joy.“To think that I should have been misdoubting the Lord all this time, as though He had broken His promise to me! And how patient He has been—long-suffering and full of compassion. I have been hard on Jacob Holt. If God had dealt with me as I have in my heart dealt with him!”The minister did not always know whether he was speaking to him, or to himself. By and by, when he got calmer, and “better acquainted” with the thought of the new joy, he told the minister, in broken words, the story of his love for his son, and the bitterness of his loss, and his wonder and sympathy grew as he listened.What depths of woe the old man had sounded! With what agonies of bitterness and anger which had grown to be hatred almost, as the years went on, had he struggled. And he had sometimes yielded to the misery of doubt of God’s care. He had thought the struggle vain.He had never been quite at peace with himself through it all. God had never left him to an easy conscience, where Jacob Holt was concerned, even at his quietest time, and when things were at their best with him. He had never left him to himself, and now the evil spirit was cast out.“The patience He has had with me. It is wonderful!” he said again and again. “And now I ask nothing but that He may do His will with me and mine,” he added, as Katie came in.“I think grannie is no worse, though she is very weak and cannot bear much,” was Katie’s gentle caution, lest she should be excited overmuch.He did not answer her, but turned to Mr Maxwell and repeated his words:“I ask nothing but that God may do His will with me and mine.”“That is always best,” said the minister.Katie looked from one to the other.“Come, grandfather,” said she.He went slowly out, touching the door and the walls to steady himself by, and when he went in to grannie, Katie softly shut the door. There was no one to tell what was said there between the two. If Mr Fleming had needed anything utterly to break his heart with loving shame, and thankfulness, and sorrow, the glad serenity and trust of his dear old wife would have done it. He put restraint upon himself lest he should excite her beyond her strength, but she smiled at him.“Joy seldom does harm, and I am better, though I am but weak and feckless. I’ll soon mend now.”“And are you really better? I could almost find it in my heart to let you go to Him, nay, I canna say gladly, but God’s will be done, whether you be to stay or go.”“Surely. And in His good time He’ll take me, but no’ just yet. You canna spare me yet.”The old man laughed a glad, tremulous laugh, but the tears were not very far from his eyes, and he patted gently the wrinkled hand, grown thin and limp.“And you’ll just go to your dinner with the minister and the bairns, and I’ll rest myself a wee while, for, oh! I have little strength. But I’ll soon have more.”After dinner Mr Maxwell came in to say a few words to Mrs Fleming, and “to give thanks,” as she said, and then the old people were left alone together again. Whether they slept or not, grannie could not tell.“But we didna think long, my dear,” said she to Katie, with her faint, glad smile.Mr Maxwell would have liked to lie all the afternoon on the orchard grass, with Davie and his mother sitting near, and Katie and the rest coming and going, as the work permitted, for it was sweet and restful there. But the old squire might wish to see him. He had visited him almost daily for a while, and so after a little he rose and said he must go.“And grannie is better, but Miss Elizabeth will have no glad morning. Oh, if we could comfort her,” said Katie, gravely.“And don’t you think that all that has comforted you all to-day, will comfort her also?” said Mr Maxwell.“Miss Elizabeth has always rejoiced with the joyful, and sympathised with those who were in sorrow,” said Katie’s mother.“And that is why she is loved so dearly,” said Katie.“And she was ay fond of grannie,” said Davie.“She will be comforted,” said the minister.And Miss Betsey had her wish. One day her mother and Cynthia came down, and Ben went over for Mr Fleming, and old Mrs Wainwright, and Deacon Stone, and two or three others, and the minister, and they all remembered their Lord together. The “cup of blessing” was passed from the trembling hands of Mr Fleming to the hands of Jacob Holt, which trembled also, and so the very last drop of bitterness passed out of the old man’s heart forever.The end was drawing near now, and the old squire, looking glad and solemn too, held his daughter’s hand, and welcomed them all by name as they came, and bade them farewell as they went away, “hoping to see them again,” he said, but knowing, as did they all, that it must be on “the other side.” Mr Fleming stayed when the others went away, and Elizabeth gave him her seat by her father for a little while. They had not much to say to one another. In all their intercourse the squire had been the talker, but he was past all that now. But he was not past noticing the peaceful look that had already come to the face of his friend.“You feel better, don’t you? It has done you good?” meaning doubtless the communion they had enjoyed together with their Lord and Master.Mr Fleming hardly knew what he meant, but he said gently, “Ay, it has done me good.”For a moment it came into his thoughts to speak to the squire about the letter, and the joy it had brought to him at last. But he was tired and his thoughts were beginning to wander, and he doubted whether he could make him understand.“He’ll ken where he is going,” said he to himself, but to the dying man he said nothing but “Fare ye well; and the Lord be with you in the valley.” And then he went away.But not without a word from Elizabeth.“Dear Mr Fleming,” said she, holding his hand when they were at the door, “you must let me say how glad I am for you and for his mother.”“Ay, that you are, I am very sure.”“If only it had come—long ago,” said Elizabeth.A momentary shadow passed over his face.“Ay. It seems strange to us. There is only one thing sure—His time is best.”Then Elizabeth sent her love to Mrs Fleming and to Katie, and her mother, and then she touched with her lips the old man’s furrowed cheek, and some who saw him leave his old friend’s house could not but wonder at the peaceful brightness of his face that day.There was another day of watching and waiting, and then a few days of silence in the darkened house, and then the old squire was laid in his grave with such marks of honour as his fellow-townsmen could give. People from other towns, and from all the country round, came to Gershom that day, and many a kindly word was spoken of the dead, and many a tale told of good deeds done in secret, of friendly help and counsel given in time of need, and all agreed that a good man and true had gone to his rest from among them, and that not many like him were left behind.And though all that great multitude could not see the open grave and Elizabeth and Clifton and Jacob at the head, and Betsey and her mother and Ben and all the rest standing near, no man left Gershom that day who had not heard how, when the first clods fell on the coffin-lid, and Jacob shuddered and grew white as death, old David Fleming, one of the bearers, went forward and gave him his arm to lean upon till the grave was filled and the last word spoken. Of course these strangers did not know all that this implied to both these men, but every one in Gershom knew and was glad for them both.And then when all was over, and Mr Maxwell, in a voice that was not quite firm, had, in the name of the mourners, thanked the assembled friends for their presence and sympathy on the solemn occasion, Elizabeth and Clifton and Jacob went home with the feeling strong upon them that the old life was at an end forever, and it was truer for them all than either of them knew.
The longed-for dawn came to Katie with a sudden chill and sinking of the heart that felt for a minute like the utter failure of bodily strength. When she put the lamp out, and put aside the curtain so that the daylight fell on the two grey old faces lying on the same pillow, her heart beat hard with sudden fear.
How wan and sunken and spent they looked! What if they were both to die? The little gleam of red that had now and then, through all her illness, showed itself on grannie’s cheeks was quite gone now, and she would never be whiter, Katie thought, as she bent down to catch the sound of her breath coming and going so faintly. The two wrinkled, toil-worn hands still clasped each other in sleep.
“They should go together,” said Katie, with a sob, “but oh! not yet.”
She was not experienced enough to know whether this motionless sleep, so different from the fitful, broken slumbers of the last few weeks, was a hopeful sign or not; if her strength could be kept up, the doctor had said, and so had Miss Betsey—and perhaps she ought to wake her and give her something. As she stood looking at her, her grandfather opened his eyes.
“Grannie’s better, I think,” said she, with a quick impulse to give him comfort. “She has been sleeping quietly, and her hand is cool and moist. If you’ll bide still beside her, I’ll go and get a drop of warm milk from Brownie, to be ready when she wakes.”
If she had stayed a minute longer she must have cried at the sight of the old man’s face as he raised himself up and bent over that other face so white and still. She did cry a little when she went out, and shivered in the chill of the September morning, but she did not linger over her task. When she came in she found her grandfather risen, and standing by the bed. Her grandmother was awake now.
“Are you there, Katie? Is your tea masket? Give a cup of tea to your grandfather now; it will refresh him; and I think I could take a cup myself.”
“All right, grannie dear,” said Katie, cheerfully; “and in the meantime take a little milk,” and she held the cup to her lips. “And now, if you should fall asleep, it will be all the better till the tea be ready.”
Katie smoothed the pillows and put the bedclothes straight, and touched her lips to the white cheek; then it was turned to rest on the thin hand and grannie fell asleep. Davie rose up at Katie’s bidding, and went to get wood to kindle the fire. Katie let the curtain fall again over the open window, and softly closed the door, as she followed her grandfather out of the room.
“We’ll let her sleep,” said the old man, and he went out with slow, languid steps into the sunshine.
It was hardly sunshine yet, for though the light lay clear on the hill-tops, all the valley was in shadow, and the mist lay low along the course of Beaver River in great irregular masses, white, but with great “splatches” of colour here and there where the sun touched it. The dew lay heavy on the grass, and the garden bushes and the orchard trees, and on Katie’s flowers, and the sweet breath of green things came pleasantly to his sense as he sat down on his accustomed seat by the door.
Birds were chirping in the orchard trees, and there was the scarcely less pleasant sound of barn-door fowls near at hand. The sheep behind the pasture-bars sent their greeting over the dewy fields, and the cows in the yard “mowed” placidly as they stirred one another with soft, slow movements. How fair and peaceful the place looked! How full of calm and quiet, yet strong life!
The old man closed his eyes on it all. He was not thinking, he was hardly feeling. The night had brought broken slumbers, but not rest, and he was very weary. A wondering question, whether she could be going to die on such a day as this, passed through his mind. It did not seem possible.
“And besides, she and he said she could not die till I had forgiven my enemy.”
But he was too weary to go over it all again—the long heart-breaking story. He could only sit still with closed eyes, waiting.
And it was thus that the minister and Jacob Holt found him. They had said little to one another as they passed through the dewy fields, and under the long shadows of the wayside trees together. Mr Maxwell at first had said a word as to the mission they had undertaken, and asked a question or two as to how they had better make it known, but Jacob had answered in monosyllables, or not at all.
The last part of their walk had been over the fields again, and they came suddenly upon Mr Fleming sitting at the door. Katie had seen them coming, and was standing at her grandfather’s side, her hand laid on his shoulder, and she looked at them as they drew near with questioning, almost angry eyes. Mr Maxwell held out his hand to her.
“Is he sleeping, Katie?”
But as he spoke Mr Fleming looked up. He did not see Jacob for the moment. He held out his hand and tried to rise.
“No; sit still,” and Mr Maxwell sat down beside him.
“It is kind of you to come so early. Katie thinks her—no worse this morning. But you must think her dying to come so soon again, and at this hour.”
“No. I am glad she is no worse. It was not that I thought her dying. I came for another reason.”
“Well, you are kindly welcome anyway.”
“I went to see Squire Holt this morning. No—he is not dying, though it cannot be long now.”
“Ay! ay! Well, he is an old man, and he is ending a useful life.”
He spoke dreamily in his utter weariness, looking away over the fields to the sunshiny hills beyond.
“I have something to give you, Mr Fleming,” said the minister gently, “something which Miss Holt found among her father’s papers.”
“Well, well,” said the old man, waiting quietly, almost indifferently, for what might be said.
“It is a letter, written long ago by one dead and gone, who was very dear to you.”
A change came over her grandfather’s face, but whether it was because of what Mr Maxwell had said, or because he saw Jacob Holt standing before him, and quite near him, Katie could not tell. Jacob moistened his dry lips, and tried twice to speak before a sound came.
“It is a letter—and before you read it—I beg you to forgive me for any harm I may ever have done—to you or yours.”
The little Flemings had gathered about the door, but their mother drew them away into the house. Katie kept her place by her grandfather, and so did Davie, but he was out of sight in the porch. Mr Fleming rose, and stood face to face with his enemy; but when he spoke it was to Mr Maxwell that he turned.
“She said, she could never go—up yonder—till I have forgiven him—and I am an old man, now.”
He tottered a little as he turned to Jacob, but he held out his hand:
“God forgive you. And God help me to forgive you. And God forgive me too, for I doubt it has been rebellion with me all this time.”
“Amen,” said Jacob, and then he moved away, and Mr Fleming sank down on the seat again. He seemed to have forgotten that there was anything more to be said, and after a moment’s hesitation, Mr Maxwell put the letter into Katie’s hand.
“The letter, grandfather,” said she softly.
“Ay, the letter.”
He took it, holding it out at arm’s length that he might see, but when his eye rested on the familiar characters he uttered a sharp, inarticulate cry and let it fall. The blood rushed to his face till it was crimson, and then receding, left him pale as death.
“Grandfather, come into grannie,” said Katie, putting her arms about him. “Davie, come and help our grandfather.”
“Grannie’s better, grandfather,” said Davie; “come.”
“But the letter,” said the old man, faintly. “Oh, ay! Grandmother will like to see the letter!”
But he did not rise.
“The letter. Where’s the letter?”
Jacob Holt stooped and lifted it from the grass where it had fallen, and Davie looked at him with amazed and angry eyes, as he opened it and taking out the folded slip of paper, offered it to him, while he kept the squire’s letter and the money in his hand.
“Read that first,” said Jacob hoarsely, and then he went away round the corner of the house out of sight, and Mr Maxwell followed him.
“Read it, Katie, lassie.”
With trembling fingers Davie opened the letter and gave it to his sister. Kneeling beside him, Katie read:
“Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.”
There was more written, but she got no further, for a cry burst from his lips—whether of joy or pain they could not tell—and his head fell on Katie’s shoulder.
“Whisht, Davie. Lay him down gently, and get a little water. Be quiet, man. Grannie will hear you.”
For Davie had cried out in his terror at the sight of his grandfather’s deathlike face. The cry brought out his mother, and Mr Maxwell and Jacob hurried back again. He was better in a minute, and they led him into the house, and made him lie down. In a little while Katie brought him some tea.
“Grannie bade me, grandfather, and you must take it you ken.”
She knelt beside him, holding the cup for him, and by coaxing and entreating made him take a little food.
“And now you must just rest a while.”
They had brought him into the front room “for quiet,” Katie said, as he looked round in surprise; “rest and think about it,” she whispered, hardly venturing to say more. Gradually it came back to him that something had happened. By this time breakfast was over, and worship, and Katie brought Mr Maxwell in and left him there.
Jacob Holt would not stay to breakfast, though Davie and his mother had asked him to stay. Before he went he gave the squire’s letter to Davie.
“Give it to your grandfather, but do not read it,” said he.
He had something to say to Mr Maxwell also.
“I don’t know just how much Mr Fleming knows of what happened long ago. Hugh Fleming, after much entreaty from several of us, signed my father’s name where he ought not. He alone had the skill to do it. It was to save—some of us from much trouble. He was not in the scrape. He was not to be benefited personally by it, except that he was persuaded that some foolish deed of his could be more easily kept from his father’s knowledge if he helped to screen the rest by yielding. If he had stayed at home and met it, it would have been well; my father made no trouble about it. But he went away—and died. And you must tell his father—”
Jacob turned his back upon the minister for a full minute, and then without another word went away.
It was Mr Maxwell who read the letter to Mr Fleming after all. There were only a few lines more than Katie read: “I trust God has forgiven me, and that He will keep me safe from sin. Forgive me, dear father and mother and James.”
And then his name and another line: “I will make up to you, dear father, for all you suffer now for me.”
“And He has kept him safe,” said the minister, “all these years.”
Katie came now and then, and looked in, but she did not speak, except once to say that grannie was sleeping still. Even Katie never knew how the minister and her grandfather passed the long morning. It was noon when she went in and told them that dinner was nearly ready, and that grannie was awake and asking for them. Afterward Mr Maxwell told Miss Elizabeth something about it.
How as it gradually became clear to the father that his dear son’s light had not gone out in darkness, but that he had repented of his sin, and confessed it, and had been as he trusted forgiven, his grief and shame and penitence were even deeper than his joy.
“To think that I should have been misdoubting the Lord all this time, as though He had broken His promise to me! And how patient He has been—long-suffering and full of compassion. I have been hard on Jacob Holt. If God had dealt with me as I have in my heart dealt with him!”
The minister did not always know whether he was speaking to him, or to himself. By and by, when he got calmer, and “better acquainted” with the thought of the new joy, he told the minister, in broken words, the story of his love for his son, and the bitterness of his loss, and his wonder and sympathy grew as he listened.
What depths of woe the old man had sounded! With what agonies of bitterness and anger which had grown to be hatred almost, as the years went on, had he struggled. And he had sometimes yielded to the misery of doubt of God’s care. He had thought the struggle vain.
He had never been quite at peace with himself through it all. God had never left him to an easy conscience, where Jacob Holt was concerned, even at his quietest time, and when things were at their best with him. He had never left him to himself, and now the evil spirit was cast out.
“The patience He has had with me. It is wonderful!” he said again and again. “And now I ask nothing but that He may do His will with me and mine,” he added, as Katie came in.
“I think grannie is no worse, though she is very weak and cannot bear much,” was Katie’s gentle caution, lest she should be excited overmuch.
He did not answer her, but turned to Mr Maxwell and repeated his words:
“I ask nothing but that God may do His will with me and mine.”
“That is always best,” said the minister.
Katie looked from one to the other.
“Come, grandfather,” said she.
He went slowly out, touching the door and the walls to steady himself by, and when he went in to grannie, Katie softly shut the door. There was no one to tell what was said there between the two. If Mr Fleming had needed anything utterly to break his heart with loving shame, and thankfulness, and sorrow, the glad serenity and trust of his dear old wife would have done it. He put restraint upon himself lest he should excite her beyond her strength, but she smiled at him.
“Joy seldom does harm, and I am better, though I am but weak and feckless. I’ll soon mend now.”
“And are you really better? I could almost find it in my heart to let you go to Him, nay, I canna say gladly, but God’s will be done, whether you be to stay or go.”
“Surely. And in His good time He’ll take me, but no’ just yet. You canna spare me yet.”
The old man laughed a glad, tremulous laugh, but the tears were not very far from his eyes, and he patted gently the wrinkled hand, grown thin and limp.
“And you’ll just go to your dinner with the minister and the bairns, and I’ll rest myself a wee while, for, oh! I have little strength. But I’ll soon have more.”
After dinner Mr Maxwell came in to say a few words to Mrs Fleming, and “to give thanks,” as she said, and then the old people were left alone together again. Whether they slept or not, grannie could not tell.
“But we didna think long, my dear,” said she to Katie, with her faint, glad smile.
Mr Maxwell would have liked to lie all the afternoon on the orchard grass, with Davie and his mother sitting near, and Katie and the rest coming and going, as the work permitted, for it was sweet and restful there. But the old squire might wish to see him. He had visited him almost daily for a while, and so after a little he rose and said he must go.
“And grannie is better, but Miss Elizabeth will have no glad morning. Oh, if we could comfort her,” said Katie, gravely.
“And don’t you think that all that has comforted you all to-day, will comfort her also?” said Mr Maxwell.
“Miss Elizabeth has always rejoiced with the joyful, and sympathised with those who were in sorrow,” said Katie’s mother.
“And that is why she is loved so dearly,” said Katie.
“And she was ay fond of grannie,” said Davie.
“She will be comforted,” said the minister.
And Miss Betsey had her wish. One day her mother and Cynthia came down, and Ben went over for Mr Fleming, and old Mrs Wainwright, and Deacon Stone, and two or three others, and the minister, and they all remembered their Lord together. The “cup of blessing” was passed from the trembling hands of Mr Fleming to the hands of Jacob Holt, which trembled also, and so the very last drop of bitterness passed out of the old man’s heart forever.
The end was drawing near now, and the old squire, looking glad and solemn too, held his daughter’s hand, and welcomed them all by name as they came, and bade them farewell as they went away, “hoping to see them again,” he said, but knowing, as did they all, that it must be on “the other side.” Mr Fleming stayed when the others went away, and Elizabeth gave him her seat by her father for a little while. They had not much to say to one another. In all their intercourse the squire had been the talker, but he was past all that now. But he was not past noticing the peaceful look that had already come to the face of his friend.
“You feel better, don’t you? It has done you good?” meaning doubtless the communion they had enjoyed together with their Lord and Master.
Mr Fleming hardly knew what he meant, but he said gently, “Ay, it has done me good.”
For a moment it came into his thoughts to speak to the squire about the letter, and the joy it had brought to him at last. But he was tired and his thoughts were beginning to wander, and he doubted whether he could make him understand.
“He’ll ken where he is going,” said he to himself, but to the dying man he said nothing but “Fare ye well; and the Lord be with you in the valley.” And then he went away.
But not without a word from Elizabeth.
“Dear Mr Fleming,” said she, holding his hand when they were at the door, “you must let me say how glad I am for you and for his mother.”
“Ay, that you are, I am very sure.”
“If only it had come—long ago,” said Elizabeth.
A momentary shadow passed over his face.
“Ay. It seems strange to us. There is only one thing sure—His time is best.”
Then Elizabeth sent her love to Mrs Fleming and to Katie, and her mother, and then she touched with her lips the old man’s furrowed cheek, and some who saw him leave his old friend’s house could not but wonder at the peaceful brightness of his face that day.
There was another day of watching and waiting, and then a few days of silence in the darkened house, and then the old squire was laid in his grave with such marks of honour as his fellow-townsmen could give. People from other towns, and from all the country round, came to Gershom that day, and many a kindly word was spoken of the dead, and many a tale told of good deeds done in secret, of friendly help and counsel given in time of need, and all agreed that a good man and true had gone to his rest from among them, and that not many like him were left behind.
And though all that great multitude could not see the open grave and Elizabeth and Clifton and Jacob at the head, and Betsey and her mother and Ben and all the rest standing near, no man left Gershom that day who had not heard how, when the first clods fell on the coffin-lid, and Jacob shuddered and grew white as death, old David Fleming, one of the bearers, went forward and gave him his arm to lean upon till the grave was filled and the last word spoken. Of course these strangers did not know all that this implied to both these men, but every one in Gershom knew and was glad for them both.
And then when all was over, and Mr Maxwell, in a voice that was not quite firm, had, in the name of the mourners, thanked the assembled friends for their presence and sympathy on the solemn occasion, Elizabeth and Clifton and Jacob went home with the feeling strong upon them that the old life was at an end forever, and it was truer for them all than either of them knew.
Chapter Twenty Six.Business.It would have been no longer possible for Clifton Holt to refuse all active interest in the business that had hitherto been carried on by Jacob in the name of himself and father. The brothers had long known the arrangements made by their father with regard to the division of his property among his children after his death, and this division made it necessary that Clifton should give both time and pains to a right understanding of how affairs stood.Elizabeth was to have the house in the village and the home farm, together with a certain sum of money, part of which was invested in the business. She was not to be a partner in the business. It would be wrong, her father said, at least it would be uncomfortable for her to be made in that way responsible for risks of which she knew nothing. If all should agree that her money should be retained in the business, then of course her brothers would give her the same security that they would give to any one else who intrusted property to them. The sum was a large one, but, had all things been going well with them during the last few years, not larger than was right as her share of her father’s wealth.For the rest, the business was to be equally in the hands of the two brothers, and the real estate equally divided between them. All this had been arranged at the time when Jacob was formally received as his father’s partner. It was a just arrangement, giving the younger brother no undue advantage, though it might seem to do so, for Jacob had before that time spent a large part of the share of the property to which, according to Canadian law, he had a claim at his father’s second marriage. He had acknowledged the arrangement to be just at the time it was made, and still acknowledged it, although the fact that his brother had not, as was expected, come to take his share of the work and risks of the business when he came of age might have given him some cause to complain.He might have complained if all this time he had been prospering in his management of their affairs; but as it was, he said little, and allowed Clifton to come gradually to a knowledge of how it was with them.Up to a late date Clifton’s plan had been, either to remain as a sort of sleeping partner in the business, thus securing a certain income to himself without trouble; or to claim a division of the property, and take his share, leaving Jacob to carry on the business in his own name. This was the course which his sister foresaw and feared, knowing that such a course must bring trouble and loss to them all.But within the last few months Clifton’s idea and plans had undergone a change. By the way in which he set himself to work, intent on mastering the details of the business in all its branches, it became evident that before many years were over he would stand fair to take his father’s place as the first man in that part of the country.The more Clifton looked into the state of their affairs, the less satisfaction he felt with regard to them. When, in the course of his investigation, he discovered the extent of the sacrifice of real estate which had attended the settling up of the mining operations, it is scarcely too much to say that he was for the moment utterly appalled. He was, upon the whole, moderate in his expression of surprise and vexation at the state of things, and whatever he said which went beyond moderation, his brother did not often resent, at least he rarely answered otherwise than mildly. But Jacob’s cool way of answering questions and suggesting expedients that might serve for a time, as though he had been freed by his brother’s presence from any special responsibility with regard to their present straits, amazed and provoked Clifton. Of course he could not now abandon the concern without dishonour to the name, and without the sacrifice of plans and projects to which he had of late been giving many of his thoughts.No, there was nothing to be done but to make the best of matters as they stood.“If you had come into the firm two years ago, as you should have done,” said Jacob one day, returning, as his manner was, to matters discussed and dismissed too often already, in his brother’s opinion; “if you had thrown yourself right into it, you might have made the Gershom Manufacturing Company go. I hadn’t the time to give to it. And I haven’t the power of talking folks over to see a thing, as you have. It was all square with us then, as far as folks generally knew, and if the company had been formed, and the mills put right up and set a-going, it would have made all the difference in the world to us.”“It’s too late to talk now,” said Clifton, shortly, and he rose and left the room.But he recognised the fact. If he had been in the business for the last two years, he knew that he would now have been in a far better position for carrying out the plans, which more than anything else had brought him back to Gershom; and it was toward the forming of such a company—or, rather, it was toward the commencing and carrying on of the work which such a company might be expected to do, that all his plans now pointed.Business had not been a secondary consideration with Mr Langden when he paid his visit to Gershom. The success which had been almost the uniform result of his undertakings during the last ten years had been very pleasant to him, and had made it difficult for him to resist the temptation to engage in still other enterprises which offered fairly for the making of money. It was not that he loved money for its own sake, or for the sake of what it might bring. He parted with it readily enough, and held himself responsible for more liberal giving in proportion as his means increased.There was nothing added to the enjoyment of his life by the luxurious appliances which wealth can command. He took a certain pride in being regarded as a man who had built up his own fortune, and who had benefited his native place and the community generally, by his increasing wealth. But the highest enjoyment he had was in the actual doing of work—in the beginning and carrying on to a successful end any enterprise which it required skill and will and a strong hand to guide.It was not the passion for speculation—the passion of the gambler—which may take possession of the man of business as of the man of pleasure. He made no daring ventures and took no special risks. He investigated patiently and saw clearly, and then he acted. His weakness, if it could be called weakness, lay in this, that he found it difficult to refrain from entering into new schemes when opportunity occurred.A less clear-sighted man than he might during a ten days’ visit to Gershom have seen enough of the state of affairs there, and enough of Jacob Holt himself, to prevent him from entering into any serious business relations with him. He had disappointed Jacob by his apparent indifference to the evident advantages offered for the establishment of new industries, and the opening of new sources of wealth to himself, and of prosperity to Gershom. But he was not indifferent in the matter. He saw the opportunity clearly enough, but he did not see in Jacob Holt, or in any other man he met in Gershom, the right sort of agent by whom to make the opportunity available.He changed his opinion as to this, however, when he came to know more of Clifton. Their long sail together, down the Saint Lawrence, and up the Saguenay, gave time for much talk between them. Jacob was right when he said that Clifton had his father’s head for business, and the shrewd and observing Mr Langden was not long in discovering his powers. Squire Holt had been engrossed with business during the boyhood of his younger son, and Clifton had been on too familiar terms with him, not to have acquired much knowledge with regard to the details of business matters without any effort on his part. His views and opinions, modified and enlarged by contact with others during the two years’ residence in the city of Montreal, commended themselves to the judgment of his new friend, and Mr Langden expressed surprise that he should not have preferred entering on such a business as that left by his father, rather than to take a new and untried path.From one thing they went to another, till the capabilities of the Beaver River as a water-power, and the chances of Gershom as a manufacturing town, were fully discussed between them. The result was that Clifton almost decided to give up for the present his legal studies, and take up his abode in Gershom as Mr Langden’s partner in such a business as it had been Jacob’s hope that the Gershom Manufacturing Company might establish. Such an enterprise need not prevent him from going on as Jacob’s partner. On the contrary, his position in such a case would be an advantage to him, and from his share of his father’s wealth he expected to obtain the means necessary as his part in the investment of which Mr Langden was to supply the larger part. And so, to the surprise and joy of Elizabeth, and of Jacob as well, Clifton came home for good. Mr Langden did not see, or did not seem to see, one of the chief motives that had influenced the young man in considering this step. Clifton at first did not acknowledge to himself that his interest in Mr Langden’s daughter had much to do with the decision. There were good reasons enough for it to fall back upon without this, and these were so clearly and earnestly dwelt on in his talks with his sister, that he went far toward convincing himself that to settle in Gershom and do as his father had done before him was the most reasonable course to take.He had greatly admired Miss Langden everybody saw, and a good many people had seemed to see that the admiration was mutual. But if their intercourse had ended when they left Gershom, it would hardly have gone further than admiration between them. Up to that time Clifton had shared the general opinion that Miss Essie would at some future day probably become a resident of the parsonage, and he had his doubts, as some others in Gershom had, whether that might prove the most suitable place for the dainty little lady.But the sail together down the Saint Lawrence changed his opinion, and set his doubts at rest. Mr Maxwell was almost her dearest friend, as his mother had been the dearest friend of her Aunt Martha. He was like a cousin or an elder brother, she said, admiring and praising him quite openly, as no young lady would be likely to speak of her lover. And as for the parsonage, well, the intimations, quite frankly given, as to what she meant to see and to do in the future, did not point that way. And Clifton told himself, as he listened to her, that having seen them so much together, he might have known from the nature of their intercourse that there was nothing but friendship between them.In the comparative isolation of the sail on the two great rivers, these young people became more intimate than they could have become in so short a time in almost any other circumstances, and Miss Essie was a pretty and winning little creature. She was very frank and friendly with him, and an occasional touch of shyness and reserve made her frankness and friendliness all the more charming. What with the one way and the other, she bewitched the happy young fellow, and she had bewitched several others since the Thanksgiving visit of Mr Maxwell.Clifton scarcely knew what had happened to him till he stood in the desolate station in Montreal, watching the train that carried her and her friends to meet the upward-bound boat at Lachine. After that there came with the thought of the pretty, bright little girl, the thought of her father, who was a rich man, and who would not, he feared, be easily approached in any matter that had reference to his daughter. Clifton forth with came to what was probably the wisest resolution that he could have taken in the circumstances, to keep silence at present, and to do what might be done, at least to put himself in the way of becoming a rich man also.A good deal had passed between the gentlemen as to possible future business relations, but nothing had been definitely settled while Mr Langden was in Canada. That is, Clifton had not fully decided whether he should change his plans and settle in Gershom. But there had been a full discussion of all that was to follow should he do so.The unsatisfactory state into which their own affairs had fallen under his brother’s management was doubly vexing to him, because of the difficulties which were thus thrown in the way of the new enterprise. Not only must there be delay, there must be a new plan of operations.There was far more than enough of property of one kind or another in their possession still to cover all the liabilities of the firm, but money was needed and the banks were pressing. An honourable settlement might be made, and their good name preserved, and even their fortunes retrieved to some extent—provided that time should be given them, and provided also the settlement of their affairs should be left in their own hands. An extensive and varied country business like theirs might be carried on through years of ill-success without an utter breakdown, and years of care and labour would be required, if the sacrifice of much valuable property was to be avoided, and this care and labour he saw must fall on him. He could no longer hope for a partnership with Mr Langden in the new enterprise. It seemed even doubtful whether, occupied as he must be with their own affairs for the next year or two, Mr Langden would consider the question of making him his agent in carrying out his plans.“You can but lay the matter before him,” said his sister Elizabeth.To her alone had Clifton permitted himself to speak of Mr Langden’s plans, and of the disappointment that threatened his own hopes because of the losses that had come upon them.“That is easily said,” said he, impatiently. “A statement of our affairs; such as it would be necessary to put before him, would be almost impossible at the present moment, at least in writing.”“Why don’t you go and see him, then?”Clifton looked at her a moment in silence.“The matter ought to be settled in one way or another, at once,” said his sister. “You would feel quite differently about Jacob’s troubles and your own if you were not in suspense.”And so it came about that Clifton found his opportunity, and went.
It would have been no longer possible for Clifton Holt to refuse all active interest in the business that had hitherto been carried on by Jacob in the name of himself and father. The brothers had long known the arrangements made by their father with regard to the division of his property among his children after his death, and this division made it necessary that Clifton should give both time and pains to a right understanding of how affairs stood.
Elizabeth was to have the house in the village and the home farm, together with a certain sum of money, part of which was invested in the business. She was not to be a partner in the business. It would be wrong, her father said, at least it would be uncomfortable for her to be made in that way responsible for risks of which she knew nothing. If all should agree that her money should be retained in the business, then of course her brothers would give her the same security that they would give to any one else who intrusted property to them. The sum was a large one, but, had all things been going well with them during the last few years, not larger than was right as her share of her father’s wealth.
For the rest, the business was to be equally in the hands of the two brothers, and the real estate equally divided between them. All this had been arranged at the time when Jacob was formally received as his father’s partner. It was a just arrangement, giving the younger brother no undue advantage, though it might seem to do so, for Jacob had before that time spent a large part of the share of the property to which, according to Canadian law, he had a claim at his father’s second marriage. He had acknowledged the arrangement to be just at the time it was made, and still acknowledged it, although the fact that his brother had not, as was expected, come to take his share of the work and risks of the business when he came of age might have given him some cause to complain.
He might have complained if all this time he had been prospering in his management of their affairs; but as it was, he said little, and allowed Clifton to come gradually to a knowledge of how it was with them.
Up to a late date Clifton’s plan had been, either to remain as a sort of sleeping partner in the business, thus securing a certain income to himself without trouble; or to claim a division of the property, and take his share, leaving Jacob to carry on the business in his own name. This was the course which his sister foresaw and feared, knowing that such a course must bring trouble and loss to them all.
But within the last few months Clifton’s idea and plans had undergone a change. By the way in which he set himself to work, intent on mastering the details of the business in all its branches, it became evident that before many years were over he would stand fair to take his father’s place as the first man in that part of the country.
The more Clifton looked into the state of their affairs, the less satisfaction he felt with regard to them. When, in the course of his investigation, he discovered the extent of the sacrifice of real estate which had attended the settling up of the mining operations, it is scarcely too much to say that he was for the moment utterly appalled. He was, upon the whole, moderate in his expression of surprise and vexation at the state of things, and whatever he said which went beyond moderation, his brother did not often resent, at least he rarely answered otherwise than mildly. But Jacob’s cool way of answering questions and suggesting expedients that might serve for a time, as though he had been freed by his brother’s presence from any special responsibility with regard to their present straits, amazed and provoked Clifton. Of course he could not now abandon the concern without dishonour to the name, and without the sacrifice of plans and projects to which he had of late been giving many of his thoughts.
No, there was nothing to be done but to make the best of matters as they stood.
“If you had come into the firm two years ago, as you should have done,” said Jacob one day, returning, as his manner was, to matters discussed and dismissed too often already, in his brother’s opinion; “if you had thrown yourself right into it, you might have made the Gershom Manufacturing Company go. I hadn’t the time to give to it. And I haven’t the power of talking folks over to see a thing, as you have. It was all square with us then, as far as folks generally knew, and if the company had been formed, and the mills put right up and set a-going, it would have made all the difference in the world to us.”
“It’s too late to talk now,” said Clifton, shortly, and he rose and left the room.
But he recognised the fact. If he had been in the business for the last two years, he knew that he would now have been in a far better position for carrying out the plans, which more than anything else had brought him back to Gershom; and it was toward the forming of such a company—or, rather, it was toward the commencing and carrying on of the work which such a company might be expected to do, that all his plans now pointed.
Business had not been a secondary consideration with Mr Langden when he paid his visit to Gershom. The success which had been almost the uniform result of his undertakings during the last ten years had been very pleasant to him, and had made it difficult for him to resist the temptation to engage in still other enterprises which offered fairly for the making of money. It was not that he loved money for its own sake, or for the sake of what it might bring. He parted with it readily enough, and held himself responsible for more liberal giving in proportion as his means increased.
There was nothing added to the enjoyment of his life by the luxurious appliances which wealth can command. He took a certain pride in being regarded as a man who had built up his own fortune, and who had benefited his native place and the community generally, by his increasing wealth. But the highest enjoyment he had was in the actual doing of work—in the beginning and carrying on to a successful end any enterprise which it required skill and will and a strong hand to guide.
It was not the passion for speculation—the passion of the gambler—which may take possession of the man of business as of the man of pleasure. He made no daring ventures and took no special risks. He investigated patiently and saw clearly, and then he acted. His weakness, if it could be called weakness, lay in this, that he found it difficult to refrain from entering into new schemes when opportunity occurred.
A less clear-sighted man than he might during a ten days’ visit to Gershom have seen enough of the state of affairs there, and enough of Jacob Holt himself, to prevent him from entering into any serious business relations with him. He had disappointed Jacob by his apparent indifference to the evident advantages offered for the establishment of new industries, and the opening of new sources of wealth to himself, and of prosperity to Gershom. But he was not indifferent in the matter. He saw the opportunity clearly enough, but he did not see in Jacob Holt, or in any other man he met in Gershom, the right sort of agent by whom to make the opportunity available.
He changed his opinion as to this, however, when he came to know more of Clifton. Their long sail together, down the Saint Lawrence, and up the Saguenay, gave time for much talk between them. Jacob was right when he said that Clifton had his father’s head for business, and the shrewd and observing Mr Langden was not long in discovering his powers. Squire Holt had been engrossed with business during the boyhood of his younger son, and Clifton had been on too familiar terms with him, not to have acquired much knowledge with regard to the details of business matters without any effort on his part. His views and opinions, modified and enlarged by contact with others during the two years’ residence in the city of Montreal, commended themselves to the judgment of his new friend, and Mr Langden expressed surprise that he should not have preferred entering on such a business as that left by his father, rather than to take a new and untried path.
From one thing they went to another, till the capabilities of the Beaver River as a water-power, and the chances of Gershom as a manufacturing town, were fully discussed between them. The result was that Clifton almost decided to give up for the present his legal studies, and take up his abode in Gershom as Mr Langden’s partner in such a business as it had been Jacob’s hope that the Gershom Manufacturing Company might establish. Such an enterprise need not prevent him from going on as Jacob’s partner. On the contrary, his position in such a case would be an advantage to him, and from his share of his father’s wealth he expected to obtain the means necessary as his part in the investment of which Mr Langden was to supply the larger part. And so, to the surprise and joy of Elizabeth, and of Jacob as well, Clifton came home for good. Mr Langden did not see, or did not seem to see, one of the chief motives that had influenced the young man in considering this step. Clifton at first did not acknowledge to himself that his interest in Mr Langden’s daughter had much to do with the decision. There were good reasons enough for it to fall back upon without this, and these were so clearly and earnestly dwelt on in his talks with his sister, that he went far toward convincing himself that to settle in Gershom and do as his father had done before him was the most reasonable course to take.
He had greatly admired Miss Langden everybody saw, and a good many people had seemed to see that the admiration was mutual. But if their intercourse had ended when they left Gershom, it would hardly have gone further than admiration between them. Up to that time Clifton had shared the general opinion that Miss Essie would at some future day probably become a resident of the parsonage, and he had his doubts, as some others in Gershom had, whether that might prove the most suitable place for the dainty little lady.
But the sail together down the Saint Lawrence changed his opinion, and set his doubts at rest. Mr Maxwell was almost her dearest friend, as his mother had been the dearest friend of her Aunt Martha. He was like a cousin or an elder brother, she said, admiring and praising him quite openly, as no young lady would be likely to speak of her lover. And as for the parsonage, well, the intimations, quite frankly given, as to what she meant to see and to do in the future, did not point that way. And Clifton told himself, as he listened to her, that having seen them so much together, he might have known from the nature of their intercourse that there was nothing but friendship between them.
In the comparative isolation of the sail on the two great rivers, these young people became more intimate than they could have become in so short a time in almost any other circumstances, and Miss Essie was a pretty and winning little creature. She was very frank and friendly with him, and an occasional touch of shyness and reserve made her frankness and friendliness all the more charming. What with the one way and the other, she bewitched the happy young fellow, and she had bewitched several others since the Thanksgiving visit of Mr Maxwell.
Clifton scarcely knew what had happened to him till he stood in the desolate station in Montreal, watching the train that carried her and her friends to meet the upward-bound boat at Lachine. After that there came with the thought of the pretty, bright little girl, the thought of her father, who was a rich man, and who would not, he feared, be easily approached in any matter that had reference to his daughter. Clifton forth with came to what was probably the wisest resolution that he could have taken in the circumstances, to keep silence at present, and to do what might be done, at least to put himself in the way of becoming a rich man also.
A good deal had passed between the gentlemen as to possible future business relations, but nothing had been definitely settled while Mr Langden was in Canada. That is, Clifton had not fully decided whether he should change his plans and settle in Gershom. But there had been a full discussion of all that was to follow should he do so.
The unsatisfactory state into which their own affairs had fallen under his brother’s management was doubly vexing to him, because of the difficulties which were thus thrown in the way of the new enterprise. Not only must there be delay, there must be a new plan of operations.
There was far more than enough of property of one kind or another in their possession still to cover all the liabilities of the firm, but money was needed and the banks were pressing. An honourable settlement might be made, and their good name preserved, and even their fortunes retrieved to some extent—provided that time should be given them, and provided also the settlement of their affairs should be left in their own hands. An extensive and varied country business like theirs might be carried on through years of ill-success without an utter breakdown, and years of care and labour would be required, if the sacrifice of much valuable property was to be avoided, and this care and labour he saw must fall on him. He could no longer hope for a partnership with Mr Langden in the new enterprise. It seemed even doubtful whether, occupied as he must be with their own affairs for the next year or two, Mr Langden would consider the question of making him his agent in carrying out his plans.
“You can but lay the matter before him,” said his sister Elizabeth.
To her alone had Clifton permitted himself to speak of Mr Langden’s plans, and of the disappointment that threatened his own hopes because of the losses that had come upon them.
“That is easily said,” said he, impatiently. “A statement of our affairs; such as it would be necessary to put before him, would be almost impossible at the present moment, at least in writing.”
“Why don’t you go and see him, then?”
Clifton looked at her a moment in silence.
“The matter ought to be settled in one way or another, at once,” said his sister. “You would feel quite differently about Jacob’s troubles and your own if you were not in suspense.”
And so it came about that Clifton found his opportunity, and went.
Chapter Twenty Seven.Changes.A surprise awaited the people of Gershom—indeed a series of surprises. But the greatest of all was this, David Fleming not only sold that part of his farm which bordered on the Black Pool and lay beyond it, higher up the river, but he sold it to the Holts. He sold it on such terms that the longstanding debt to them was more than cancelled, and in so doing did well for himself and for the Holts also.When the winter had fairly set in, and there was snow enough for good winter roads, the stones and timber which Jacob Holt had accumulated on the Varney place last year were all removed higher up the river, and preparations on a larger scale than ever Jacob had attempted, commenced for the making of the new dam, at the point long ago decided upon as the best on the river for such a purpose. And the building of the dam was to be but the beginning of what was to be done.Clifton Holt did not say much to any one, except his sister Elizabeth, of all that was to be undertaken soon in Gershom. But the good people took too much interest in him and his undertakings not to give much time and talk to them. Clifton Holt’s undertakings, they were always called, though he was but the agent of Mr Langden, the complications in the old business with which he had still to do making it wiser for him to occupy that position for the present. But that he was to be at the head of all that was to be done, as far as buildings were concerned, was easily seen.And Mark Varney was to be one of his right hands. It was Mark who had the immediate oversight of the numerous workmen who were employed during the winter collecting the materials required. It was he who, when the spring opened, superintended the digging and levelling, the cutting and carting that were being carried on, on a scale and with a rapidity that surprised even Jacob Holt, who in imagination had seen something like it done a hundred times over. It was in Mark’s pastures, once again his own, that the horses and oxen used in the work found rest when it was needed, and it was he who had all to say that was to be said of them, and of much besides. And the surprise, as far as he was concerned, was that he should be capable of taking all this in hand, and that being trusted with it he should so quickly and clearly show that he was capable of doing it all well.No one was surprised at Clifton. He had the old squire’s head for business, they said, as Jacob had said before, and he had such an education as the squire had never had, which must tell in the long run. Then he had so good an opinion of his own powers, that he would never think any work too great to undertake, and being “backed” by Mr Langden, and by several other rich men, both at home and at a distance, to whom Mr Langden’s movement in the matter of the new mills had given confidence, the chances were, everybody said, that he would do what he had set out to do.And so he did, as far as the new dam on the Beaver River, and the mills and workshops, and many other works besides, which he put his hand to for the benefit of Gershom and his own benefit, were concerned. And so he did in the course of years in his own business—that is, he and Jacob together did much to recover that which had been lost, and to make once more the name of the firm a power in Gershom, and in all the countryside. But a good many years passed before all that was brought about.Mr Fleming parted with a portion of his farm, not without regret, indeed; but with none of the bitterness of feeling which in former days had always risen within him at the thought of possibly having to do so; and Davie was triumphant. Katie grieved over the prospect of having the “bonny quiet place” spoiled with mills and shops and other folks’ houses, and the clatter of looms and factory-bells. Grannie thought as Katie did, and would have grieved over this also if anything except a fear of the wrong-doing of any of the bairns could have moved her from the sweet content which, since the joyful ending of her long illness, had rested in her heart, and made itself evident in every word and deed.But still grannie found much that was to be rejoiced over in that which made Katie grieve. It was a fine thing to be free of debt, and it was well that since they must part with the land it was to be put to a good use.As for grandfather there was no sign of grumbling in him. Indeed, when the spring opened, and the work at the Pool made progress, he began to take much interest in all that was going on there, and his evening walk often took him in that direction. It was a silent, and not always an approving interest. But there was neither bitterness nor anger in his thoughts now. He was content, like his dear old wife, to let the world move on and take its way, since he had so nearly done with it all.There was for Davie a constant fascination in the skill and power displayed by those employed in directing the work that was going on. He haunted the place at every spare moment, and even did a day’s work there, at leisure times, for the sake of getting an insight into the principles of things of which he had read, but which he had never had an opportunity of seeing applied. The engineer employed about the dam, a scientific man, capable of doing far higher work than fell to him in Gershom, well pleased with the lad’s eager interest, gave him many a hint that went beyond the work in hand, and lent him books, and encouraged him in various other ways to educate himself in the direction toward which his tastes and inclinations seemed to lead. He claimed his help on occasions when intelligence and skill rather than strength were needed, and Davie, well pleased, did his best. The end of it all was, that the lad’s vulgar wishes for other work and another kind of life than that which had fallen to him on the farm, took a definite form, and as usual his confidence was given to his sister, and as usual, also, Katie’s first thought was:“But, Davie, think of grandfather.”“Oh, there is no special hurry about it, and we’ll break it to him easily. And you must mind that there is less land now, and Sandy and Jamie are coming on. There is not room for so many of us here, Katie. And I’ll be first to slip out of the nest, that is all.”“But that you should be so glad to think about it, Davie,” said Katie mournfully.“Oh, as to that, I’m no’ awa’ yet. You needna fear that I’ll do anything that grandfather will take to heart. And besides, Katie, grandfather is different now.”Davie said these last words with a little hesitation, because he had been taken up rather sharply on a former occasion when he had said something of the same kind. Katie seemed to have forgotten her old unhappy thoughts about her grandfather and Jacob Holt, and how hard it had been for her grandfather to forgive his enemy, and it almost seemed like reflection on his past life when it was said how greatly he was changed.“It is not so much that he is changed,” said Katie; “it is just the ‘shining more and more unto the perfect day.’ It is that he is becoming more like the ‘little child’ our Lord speaks about, and so more fit for the kingdom of heaven as the time draws nearer. For grandfather is growing an old man now, Davie,” said Katie, not without tears.“Yes, that’s so. Well, I’ll never grieve him, Katie, you needna fear. There is no hurry, and I am not losing time while Mr Davenport is here. And I don’t despair of being a civil engineer, as good as the best of them yet.”“Shining more and more unto the perfect day.” Yes, that was so. Mr Fleming was almost as silent in these days as had been his way all his life, but it was a different silence—a silence serene and peaceful, that told better than words could have done, of the joy and confidence with which he was waiting for all that life had to bring him, and for all that lay beyond.One Sabbath-day in the beginning of the winter, when Mrs Fleming had gathered a little strength after her illness, grandfather and she, with Davie and Katie and their mother, went to the village church and sat down together at the table of our Lord. Jacob Holt was there too, and a good many more who had sympathised with one or the other of them when trouble was between them, and every one who saw the old man’s bowed head, and the childlike look on his face as he sat there among them all, knew that all hard feelings had passed out of his heart forever.Jacob Holt’s head was bowed also, but his face did not tell of peace as yet. That might come later, but Jacob was now in the midst of his troubles, and was having a hard time. But there was peace between him and Mr Fleming. In former days the old man’s eyes had never lighted on his enemy, either in church or market, as all the world knew. But to-day it was Jacob who tied old Kelso in the shed, Davie not being at hand. He helped Mrs Fleming up the steps too, Cousin Betsey and a good many other people being there to see, and then the two men walked up the church aisle together.“It was as good to Jacob as Mr Fleming’s name to a note for a thousand dollars,” Mr Green said afterward. And that was quite true. For a thousand dollars, more or less, would have made little difference to him in the present state of affairs, and the open friendliness of the man who had so long shunned and slighted him, was good and pleasant to him to-day.“And it was done on purpose,” Betsey told her mother afterward, for Mr Fleming was not accustomed to say much to any one by salutation on Sunday, and had passed several of his friends, Betsey herself among the number, without a word or even a nod of recognition. But he seemed glad of the chance to say a word to Jacob before them all.“And it was a good day for Gershom,” people said. There was no longer any question as to union now in church matters, and in other matters as well. No one had said less about union and brotherly love and a Christian spirit among brethren than Mr Fleming; but his silent influence had always been stronger than most men’s loudly-spoken reasons, either for or against the union so much desired, and now his open adherence to the church in the village did much to decide those who had long hung back, and it was acknowledged to be a good day by them all.
A surprise awaited the people of Gershom—indeed a series of surprises. But the greatest of all was this, David Fleming not only sold that part of his farm which bordered on the Black Pool and lay beyond it, higher up the river, but he sold it to the Holts. He sold it on such terms that the longstanding debt to them was more than cancelled, and in so doing did well for himself and for the Holts also.
When the winter had fairly set in, and there was snow enough for good winter roads, the stones and timber which Jacob Holt had accumulated on the Varney place last year were all removed higher up the river, and preparations on a larger scale than ever Jacob had attempted, commenced for the making of the new dam, at the point long ago decided upon as the best on the river for such a purpose. And the building of the dam was to be but the beginning of what was to be done.
Clifton Holt did not say much to any one, except his sister Elizabeth, of all that was to be undertaken soon in Gershom. But the good people took too much interest in him and his undertakings not to give much time and talk to them. Clifton Holt’s undertakings, they were always called, though he was but the agent of Mr Langden, the complications in the old business with which he had still to do making it wiser for him to occupy that position for the present. But that he was to be at the head of all that was to be done, as far as buildings were concerned, was easily seen.
And Mark Varney was to be one of his right hands. It was Mark who had the immediate oversight of the numerous workmen who were employed during the winter collecting the materials required. It was he who, when the spring opened, superintended the digging and levelling, the cutting and carting that were being carried on, on a scale and with a rapidity that surprised even Jacob Holt, who in imagination had seen something like it done a hundred times over. It was in Mark’s pastures, once again his own, that the horses and oxen used in the work found rest when it was needed, and it was he who had all to say that was to be said of them, and of much besides. And the surprise, as far as he was concerned, was that he should be capable of taking all this in hand, and that being trusted with it he should so quickly and clearly show that he was capable of doing it all well.
No one was surprised at Clifton. He had the old squire’s head for business, they said, as Jacob had said before, and he had such an education as the squire had never had, which must tell in the long run. Then he had so good an opinion of his own powers, that he would never think any work too great to undertake, and being “backed” by Mr Langden, and by several other rich men, both at home and at a distance, to whom Mr Langden’s movement in the matter of the new mills had given confidence, the chances were, everybody said, that he would do what he had set out to do.
And so he did, as far as the new dam on the Beaver River, and the mills and workshops, and many other works besides, which he put his hand to for the benefit of Gershom and his own benefit, were concerned. And so he did in the course of years in his own business—that is, he and Jacob together did much to recover that which had been lost, and to make once more the name of the firm a power in Gershom, and in all the countryside. But a good many years passed before all that was brought about.
Mr Fleming parted with a portion of his farm, not without regret, indeed; but with none of the bitterness of feeling which in former days had always risen within him at the thought of possibly having to do so; and Davie was triumphant. Katie grieved over the prospect of having the “bonny quiet place” spoiled with mills and shops and other folks’ houses, and the clatter of looms and factory-bells. Grannie thought as Katie did, and would have grieved over this also if anything except a fear of the wrong-doing of any of the bairns could have moved her from the sweet content which, since the joyful ending of her long illness, had rested in her heart, and made itself evident in every word and deed.
But still grannie found much that was to be rejoiced over in that which made Katie grieve. It was a fine thing to be free of debt, and it was well that since they must part with the land it was to be put to a good use.
As for grandfather there was no sign of grumbling in him. Indeed, when the spring opened, and the work at the Pool made progress, he began to take much interest in all that was going on there, and his evening walk often took him in that direction. It was a silent, and not always an approving interest. But there was neither bitterness nor anger in his thoughts now. He was content, like his dear old wife, to let the world move on and take its way, since he had so nearly done with it all.
There was for Davie a constant fascination in the skill and power displayed by those employed in directing the work that was going on. He haunted the place at every spare moment, and even did a day’s work there, at leisure times, for the sake of getting an insight into the principles of things of which he had read, but which he had never had an opportunity of seeing applied. The engineer employed about the dam, a scientific man, capable of doing far higher work than fell to him in Gershom, well pleased with the lad’s eager interest, gave him many a hint that went beyond the work in hand, and lent him books, and encouraged him in various other ways to educate himself in the direction toward which his tastes and inclinations seemed to lead. He claimed his help on occasions when intelligence and skill rather than strength were needed, and Davie, well pleased, did his best. The end of it all was, that the lad’s vulgar wishes for other work and another kind of life than that which had fallen to him on the farm, took a definite form, and as usual his confidence was given to his sister, and as usual, also, Katie’s first thought was:
“But, Davie, think of grandfather.”
“Oh, there is no special hurry about it, and we’ll break it to him easily. And you must mind that there is less land now, and Sandy and Jamie are coming on. There is not room for so many of us here, Katie. And I’ll be first to slip out of the nest, that is all.”
“But that you should be so glad to think about it, Davie,” said Katie mournfully.
“Oh, as to that, I’m no’ awa’ yet. You needna fear that I’ll do anything that grandfather will take to heart. And besides, Katie, grandfather is different now.”
Davie said these last words with a little hesitation, because he had been taken up rather sharply on a former occasion when he had said something of the same kind. Katie seemed to have forgotten her old unhappy thoughts about her grandfather and Jacob Holt, and how hard it had been for her grandfather to forgive his enemy, and it almost seemed like reflection on his past life when it was said how greatly he was changed.
“It is not so much that he is changed,” said Katie; “it is just the ‘shining more and more unto the perfect day.’ It is that he is becoming more like the ‘little child’ our Lord speaks about, and so more fit for the kingdom of heaven as the time draws nearer. For grandfather is growing an old man now, Davie,” said Katie, not without tears.
“Yes, that’s so. Well, I’ll never grieve him, Katie, you needna fear. There is no hurry, and I am not losing time while Mr Davenport is here. And I don’t despair of being a civil engineer, as good as the best of them yet.”
“Shining more and more unto the perfect day.” Yes, that was so. Mr Fleming was almost as silent in these days as had been his way all his life, but it was a different silence—a silence serene and peaceful, that told better than words could have done, of the joy and confidence with which he was waiting for all that life had to bring him, and for all that lay beyond.
One Sabbath-day in the beginning of the winter, when Mrs Fleming had gathered a little strength after her illness, grandfather and she, with Davie and Katie and their mother, went to the village church and sat down together at the table of our Lord. Jacob Holt was there too, and a good many more who had sympathised with one or the other of them when trouble was between them, and every one who saw the old man’s bowed head, and the childlike look on his face as he sat there among them all, knew that all hard feelings had passed out of his heart forever.
Jacob Holt’s head was bowed also, but his face did not tell of peace as yet. That might come later, but Jacob was now in the midst of his troubles, and was having a hard time. But there was peace between him and Mr Fleming. In former days the old man’s eyes had never lighted on his enemy, either in church or market, as all the world knew. But to-day it was Jacob who tied old Kelso in the shed, Davie not being at hand. He helped Mrs Fleming up the steps too, Cousin Betsey and a good many other people being there to see, and then the two men walked up the church aisle together.
“It was as good to Jacob as Mr Fleming’s name to a note for a thousand dollars,” Mr Green said afterward. And that was quite true. For a thousand dollars, more or less, would have made little difference to him in the present state of affairs, and the open friendliness of the man who had so long shunned and slighted him, was good and pleasant to him to-day.
“And it was done on purpose,” Betsey told her mother afterward, for Mr Fleming was not accustomed to say much to any one by salutation on Sunday, and had passed several of his friends, Betsey herself among the number, without a word or even a nod of recognition. But he seemed glad of the chance to say a word to Jacob before them all.
“And it was a good day for Gershom,” people said. There was no longer any question as to union now in church matters, and in other matters as well. No one had said less about union and brotherly love and a Christian spirit among brethren than Mr Fleming; but his silent influence had always been stronger than most men’s loudly-spoken reasons, either for or against the union so much desired, and now his open adherence to the church in the village did much to decide those who had long hung back, and it was acknowledged to be a good day by them all.
Chapter Twenty Eight.Clifton’s Success.Jacob Holt was having a hard time, and it did not for the moment make his troubles any lighter that his younger brother seemed likely, by and by, to show him a way out of them all. Indeed, it was rather an aggravation to his troubles to see Clifton’s success. He was carrying out with apparent ease an enterprise on which he had spent time and strength in vain, and with fewer drawbacks than would have been likely to come to him had the Gershom Manufacturing Company been formed when he moved in the matter years ago.Of course success was for Jacob’s benefit, and by and by he would be able to appreciate and take advantage of it. But in the meantime it was not a pleasant thing to find himself superseded—left on one side—as he said to himself often. It was not pleasant to be second where he had so long been first.On the whole, Clifton carried himself with as much moderation as could have been expected toward his elder brother, and he made him useful in various ways that told for the good of both.Elizabeth rejoiced greatly, as each month passed over, that her brother not only showed himself equal to the duties of the position in which he was placed, but that he seemed to enjoy them, and would, therefore, not be likely to be tempted to seek other work elsewhere.Of his work and his plans, and all he meant to do and be in the future, Clifton said more to his sister than to all the rest of Gershom put together. He was as frank and free in his talk, and as eagerly claimed her sympathy and approval as ever he had done in his boyish days about less important matters, and the chief interest of her life now, as then, was in throwing herself heartily into all his plans and prospects.But on one subject he was for the most part silent, and his sister could only guess at the motives that had chiefly decided him in returning to Gershom, and at the hopes he might be cherishing with regard to Miss Langden, and of both motives and hopes she was afraid. She was afraid that disappointment awaited him, and that the end of it would be to unsettle him again, and to disgust him with the life he had chosen.Elizabeth’s knowledge of the tacit engagement existing between Miss Essie and Mr Maxwell made her anxious and unhappy about her brother, and at the same time it made it difficult for her to say anything that might incline him to speak more freely to her. For Clifton’s first successful visit to Mr Langden had by no means been his last. Business took him southward several times during the year, and more than one visit united business with pleasure. Once he had seen Miss Langden in her aunt’s house in New York, and once he had turned aside to one of the fashionable summer resorts in the mountains where she was staying with her aunt’s family. He enjoyed both visits, as may be supposed. Miss Essie was as bright and sweet as ever, and doubtless enjoyed them also.Even Mrs Weston, who had seen a good deal more of society, and of the world in general, than her niece, acknowledged that the young Canadian carried himself well, and held his place among the idle gentlemen who were helping them and their friends to spend their summer days agreeably. Mrs Weston would have been as well pleased if he had not carried himself so well, or made himself so agreeable, as far as her niece was concerned, though she did not allow him to suspect any such feelings, and had self-respect enough to say nothing to her niece till after their visitors had departed.She did not say much to her even then. She laughed a little at her and the conquest she had made, declaring that if she were determined to spend her life in the far North, it would be wise to give up all thoughts of the parsonage, and make good her claim to be the great lady of Gershom. Mrs Weston had always laughed at the idea of the parsonage, and had no thought of allowing her pretty niece to betake herself to the far North in any circumstances. But she did not express herself very openly with regard to this. For, with all Miss Essie’s gentleness and sweetness, and her willingness to submit to guidance when nothing of particular importance to herself was depending upon it, she had a mind and will of her own, and did not hesitate to assert herself on occasion, and her aunt had seen enough of this to make her cautious in dealing with her when their opinions differed. Upon the whole, however, she thought she had reason to congratulate herself on the success that had hitherto attended her efforts on her niece’s behalf.Miss Langden, who could “hold her own” among the scores of fine people—the fashionable and elegant ladies and gentlemen who formed the circle in which they moved at present—was a very different creature from the quaint and prudish little school-girl whom her father had brought to New York a year and a half ago.“Improved! Yes, indeed,” she said to herself, and Mr Langden agreed with his sister in the main, but on all points was not so sure. However, he doubted nothing less than that in all essential respects his good and pretty daughter would come out right in the end. Whether that might mean the parsonage and the far North, either or both, he did not say to himself or any one else. He had exchanged no words with his daughter on the subject, though they had been at Gershom together.Mrs Weston was not afraid of Mr Maxwell and the parsonage, but, after his summer visit, she was a little afraid of Clifton Holt. She knew how high he stood both as to character and capabilities in the opinion of Essie’s father, and though he had not liked the idea of his daughter’s marriage with the minister, she thought it possible that he might not object seriously a second time, should Essie indeed prefer the new aspirant to her favour.But all the same her aunt did not intend that either of them should have her pretty niece if she could manage matters so as to prevent it.
Jacob Holt was having a hard time, and it did not for the moment make his troubles any lighter that his younger brother seemed likely, by and by, to show him a way out of them all. Indeed, it was rather an aggravation to his troubles to see Clifton’s success. He was carrying out with apparent ease an enterprise on which he had spent time and strength in vain, and with fewer drawbacks than would have been likely to come to him had the Gershom Manufacturing Company been formed when he moved in the matter years ago.
Of course success was for Jacob’s benefit, and by and by he would be able to appreciate and take advantage of it. But in the meantime it was not a pleasant thing to find himself superseded—left on one side—as he said to himself often. It was not pleasant to be second where he had so long been first.
On the whole, Clifton carried himself with as much moderation as could have been expected toward his elder brother, and he made him useful in various ways that told for the good of both.
Elizabeth rejoiced greatly, as each month passed over, that her brother not only showed himself equal to the duties of the position in which he was placed, but that he seemed to enjoy them, and would, therefore, not be likely to be tempted to seek other work elsewhere.
Of his work and his plans, and all he meant to do and be in the future, Clifton said more to his sister than to all the rest of Gershom put together. He was as frank and free in his talk, and as eagerly claimed her sympathy and approval as ever he had done in his boyish days about less important matters, and the chief interest of her life now, as then, was in throwing herself heartily into all his plans and prospects.
But on one subject he was for the most part silent, and his sister could only guess at the motives that had chiefly decided him in returning to Gershom, and at the hopes he might be cherishing with regard to Miss Langden, and of both motives and hopes she was afraid. She was afraid that disappointment awaited him, and that the end of it would be to unsettle him again, and to disgust him with the life he had chosen.
Elizabeth’s knowledge of the tacit engagement existing between Miss Essie and Mr Maxwell made her anxious and unhappy about her brother, and at the same time it made it difficult for her to say anything that might incline him to speak more freely to her. For Clifton’s first successful visit to Mr Langden had by no means been his last. Business took him southward several times during the year, and more than one visit united business with pleasure. Once he had seen Miss Langden in her aunt’s house in New York, and once he had turned aside to one of the fashionable summer resorts in the mountains where she was staying with her aunt’s family. He enjoyed both visits, as may be supposed. Miss Essie was as bright and sweet as ever, and doubtless enjoyed them also.
Even Mrs Weston, who had seen a good deal more of society, and of the world in general, than her niece, acknowledged that the young Canadian carried himself well, and held his place among the idle gentlemen who were helping them and their friends to spend their summer days agreeably. Mrs Weston would have been as well pleased if he had not carried himself so well, or made himself so agreeable, as far as her niece was concerned, though she did not allow him to suspect any such feelings, and had self-respect enough to say nothing to her niece till after their visitors had departed.
She did not say much to her even then. She laughed a little at her and the conquest she had made, declaring that if she were determined to spend her life in the far North, it would be wise to give up all thoughts of the parsonage, and make good her claim to be the great lady of Gershom. Mrs Weston had always laughed at the idea of the parsonage, and had no thought of allowing her pretty niece to betake herself to the far North in any circumstances. But she did not express herself very openly with regard to this. For, with all Miss Essie’s gentleness and sweetness, and her willingness to submit to guidance when nothing of particular importance to herself was depending upon it, she had a mind and will of her own, and did not hesitate to assert herself on occasion, and her aunt had seen enough of this to make her cautious in dealing with her when their opinions differed. Upon the whole, however, she thought she had reason to congratulate herself on the success that had hitherto attended her efforts on her niece’s behalf.
Miss Langden, who could “hold her own” among the scores of fine people—the fashionable and elegant ladies and gentlemen who formed the circle in which they moved at present—was a very different creature from the quaint and prudish little school-girl whom her father had brought to New York a year and a half ago.
“Improved! Yes, indeed,” she said to herself, and Mr Langden agreed with his sister in the main, but on all points was not so sure. However, he doubted nothing less than that in all essential respects his good and pretty daughter would come out right in the end. Whether that might mean the parsonage and the far North, either or both, he did not say to himself or any one else. He had exchanged no words with his daughter on the subject, though they had been at Gershom together.
Mrs Weston was not afraid of Mr Maxwell and the parsonage, but, after his summer visit, she was a little afraid of Clifton Holt. She knew how high he stood both as to character and capabilities in the opinion of Essie’s father, and though he had not liked the idea of his daughter’s marriage with the minister, she thought it possible that he might not object seriously a second time, should Essie indeed prefer the new aspirant to her favour.
But all the same her aunt did not intend that either of them should have her pretty niece if she could manage matters so as to prevent it.