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Luke paced up and down the lawn of his pretty Rectory. The moon was shedding its silver light on grass and trees; the flowers were flinging their perfume around him; a nightingale trilled out its song from a tree in the distance; but it all meant nothing to Luke. His soul was crying out for crowds of human beings; for his fellow men; for the rush and excitement of city life; for the tumult and whirl of London.
The silence of this summer night broken only by the song of the nightingale was almost unbearable. The thought of his village church sparsely filled with farmers and their wives, and labourers, who listened to him with their mouths open in astonishment at the oratory of their new "parson," the remembrance of the cottages nestling on the hill below the Rectory, with their walls covered with roses and honey suckle, and whose occupants he had already visited several times during his short stay among them, had no charm for him.
He longed for strenuous work in courts and alleys, for congregations of people who could appreciate his sermons; he pined for London platforms and enthralled listeners to his eloquence. He felt he was wasted, utterly wasted in this quiet village on the hill that Rachel so loved.
Yes, Rachel loved it. That was the only compensation. Gradually it seemed that her health was returning. The open air life and comparative rest from worry were doing their work; and only a few minutes before, she had left him rejoicing in all the beauty of their surroundings, its peace and quietness. She revelled in the flowers and trees and soft green grass.
When Luke had told her two months ago of the Bishop's offer of Stagland, the news had struck her as so wonderful that she had burst into tears. She knew that a few more months in Trowsby would mean that she would have to say goodbye to husband and child and leave them to get through life alone; and the lifting of that burden seemed almost too good to be true. Moreover, living at Stagland meant an end to the perpetual struggle of keeping within their means, an end too of housework, for which she was entirely unfit. She decided before many hours were over to take the faithful little Polly as nursemaid and to help in the house, with another general servant. They would be able to grow their own vegetables and fruit, and no doubt Luke would do a certain amount of work in the garden with a man to help. The whole plan seemed ideal to Rachel. She lay awake thinking of it at night and panting for the fresh air of the country.
At times, however, she wondered if she ought to let Luke sacrifice himself to the extent of living in the country. Would he be able to endure it? Would he have enough to occupy his time? Was it right that a young and strong man should take a country living and spend his best years among fields and hedges instead of courts and alleys?
She looked anxiously at his face when he did not know that her eyes were upon him, and was afraid that she detected a shade of sadness in its expression. Luke, however, was very careful not to let her know by his words how almost unbearable the thought of the country was to him. But when Rachel was not with him he gave way to his miserable thoughts.
He had been inexpressibly touched by the warmth of feeling displayed by some of the members of his congregation at Trowsby when they heard that he was leaving them. As is often the case, he learnt then for the first time that which would have immensely encouraged him had he known it before, that he had helped so many of them spiritually. It made leaving them all the harder, though at the same time it warmed his heart to find that he had been used far more than he had imagined for the good of their souls. The last two Sundays at Trowsby, the Church had been full to overflowing, and he had again the wonderful feeling of being able to sway men's minds.
As he paced up and down in the moonlight, he lifted his eyes to the starlit sky and cried to God to forgive all his past unsatisfactoriness and to make him once more of use in the world.
As for Rachel she was in a dream of happiness. In fact it seemed as if life had suddenly opened to her in all its rich fulness. The presence of her husband, her child, the country air laden with all sorts of perfume; the feeling of rest and quiet after the strain and stress of Trowsby; and the consciousness that she was getting her strength back and had not to be always thinking of ways and means, filled her with thankfulness. Moreover, she had a most faithful nursemaid in Polly who she counted distinctly as one of her blessings. Polly's devotion to Pat showed itself in many ways; and Rachel felt that she could trust the child perfectly to her when she was feeling unable to make any effort on his behalf. For though she knew she was gradually getting stronger she was conscious that her amount of strength was at present very small and that any unnecessary effort was bad for her.
"I am going to Trowsby," said Luke one morning. "I am not happy about my mother. Her letters strike me as rather depressed."
"I am afraid that she must miss you very much," said Rachel.
"I fancy that is what is making her depressed. Anyhow I shall go and find out. I shall rather like to be in Trowsby again," he added.
"You mustn't like it so much that you'll want to be back again," said Rachel.
Luke laughed. He would have given the world to be back again, but he did not tell her so. Anyhow it would do him good just to have a look at the people. And if he started quite early in the morning, by 7.30, he would have a long day before he need return by the 8 o'clock train.
The streets of Trowsby did for him what the trees and flowers did for his wife. He felt he could breathe again, and the depression that had weighed him down rolled away. His first visit was to the church. It was empty. After kneeling in prayer, he sat down and lived over again the Sundays he had spent there. He remembered the crowded building, the earnest listeners, the hearty singing, and compared it with his present village Church.
Then with a sigh he rose and made his way to his mother's rooms. That she was missing him terribly, he saw at once.
"You must come and live with us," he said. "Why not?"
"My dear I could not do that," she answered. "If Rachel asked me that would be another thing. But she is not likely to do that."
"But why not?" said Luke. "I am quite sure she would be delighted. I can't think why the plan was not thought of before."
Mrs. Greville smiled.
"Have you ever come across a daughter-in-law who would welcome such an idea? I haven't. No, it would not answer."
"Perhaps not with most people; but you are different. I can't imagine Rachel not liking the suggestion. Of course she would be only too delighted."
Mrs. Greville shook her head. "It is impossible," she said. "I like Rachel and admire her in many ways, but I am perfectly sure that our feelings for one another would be strained and uncomfortable. I don't know if you are aware she has never once called me mother. I am Mrs. Greville to her and nothing more."
"What?" exclaimed Luke.
Mrs. Greville, seeing her son's astonishment, was sorry that she had mentioned the fact to him.
"Oh it really does not signify," she hurried to say. "I daresay it has never struck her. And I have not a word to say against her. She is a very nice girl and an excellent wife. But you see the kind of footing we are on. She would not welcome me I am quite sure."
"I am convinced that you are mistaken," said Luke. The idea had never entered his mind, that his wife and mother were not on the closest of terms with one another. His mother, he felt sure, was depressed from her late illness and was looking at things through dark spectacles.
"You must put those ideas quite away from you," he said, "and you must come and live with us. Wouldn't you like it?"
"I have never liked the thought of the country. But of course it would be far less lonely and I suppose I could find enough to do in the village."
"Of course you would. You could start all sorts of things which Rachel is not in a fit state to do."
"Well I shall not come unless I am definitely asked by your wife," said Mrs. Greville, "as I am convinced that I should not be welcomed. Neither do I think it at all wise for a mother-in-law to take up her abode with her son and his wife. You will see that I am right."
Luke made the best of his time in Trowsby. He visited every member of his men's Bible class; had tea with Mrs. Stone, looked up the district visitors and finally found himself just in time to spring into the 8 o'clock train as it was moving out of the station.
Meanwhile Rachel had had a lovely day in the garden. Little Pat was in his perambulator by her side, crowing and happy. The birds were singing in the trees above her. The gardener was cutting the grass in another part of the garden with a scythe; that most delicious of all sounds; an occasional heavily laden cart passed in the lane near by. She rejoiced in every sight, sound, and smell, and the quiet and peace were as balm to her spirit.
When baby was taken away to be put to sleep for the night Rachel still lay on under the trees, and was fast asleep herself when Luke opened the gate.
"Have you had a nice day?" she said, as she awoke at the sound of his footstep. But she saw the question was unnecessary. His face was radiant.
"First-rate," he said, taking a seat by her side. "I enjoyed every minute of it."
"How is your mother?"
For the moment Luke had forgotten about his suggestion to his mother; and the sudden remembrance of her words made him hesitate before answering; then he said:
"Of course she misses me terribly. I don't feel happy at her being so far away."
He was so afraid of seeing by the expression on his wife's face that his mother was right in her judgment, that he kept his eyes on the tree above him. Rachel was silent. A sudden presentiment filled her mind and made her heart flutter.
Was Luke wanting his mother to live with them? Was it possible that such a thought had entered his mind! How could she bear it? She had grown to like Mrs. Greville, indeed to love her in a way.
Her devotion to little Pat was almost pathetic and had drawn them together. But to have her in the house, for the peace to be interrupted by her restless activities; to hear her loud voice disturbing the quiet of the home and garden! How could she bear it! And yet—yes she was sure from the look on Luke's face as he gazed up into the tree, that this was what he wanted to propose and for some reason felt nervous of doing so. She was silent; then mastering herself she said quietly:
"Of course she must miss you terribly. What a pity Trowsby is so far away." With a fear lest he should then and there propose to her what she believed would wreck the happiness and peace of the home, she added quickly, "I think it is getting a little damp and chilly. Will you bring in my chair dear."
Luke was all concern in a moment. Rachel must not get cold. He folded up the chair and followed her into the house. He was just a little surprised that Rachel had not caught his thought. She was generally so quick at discovering his meaning; but evidently the idea of his mother living with them had never crossed her mind. He must try and broach the subject again later on. Had it not been for his mother's words he would not have felt the slightest hesitation in doing so; but what she had said was making him find it a little difficult for the first time to tell Rachel his wish.
"What is the time?" asked Rachel as she paused at the door of the drawing-room.
"Half past nine."
"Then I shall go straight to bed," she said. "Polly has laid your supper in the dining-room. I must wait to hear all about your day till to-morrow, then I shall be fresher."
On reaching her bedroom Rachel locked the door and sank into a chair. The shock of the discovery of what was in Luke's mind made her feel quite faint. Was her cup of happiness to be taken from her? She had so enjoyed having her husband and child to herself—and so thankful that for a time, at least, the subject of economy could be put on one side—that she need not worry any more over eggs being 4d each or that margarine was cheaper than butter. She hoped that she had left all that behind in Trowsby for ever; but she was convinced that if Mrs. Greville lived with them the subject of economy would continually crop up whether it were needful or not. Ways and means were too interesting a topic to her mother-in-law to allow of her dropping it for long.
Then there were the servants. Polly had a rooted objection to Mrs. Greville, and as for her new maid she was one who disliked any interference. Rachel felt that she would certainly lose her, and if it were not for Polly's devotion to little Pat and herself, there would have been small chance of keeping even her. Anyhow the peace and the intense happiness would be gone. She would feel that she had lost both husband and child. Mrs. Greville would dominate them all and would rule the house. Rachel knew by this time, moreover, that her ideas on the bringing up of children were in direct opposition to her own.
What should she do if Luke asked her outright to invite her mother-in-law to live with them? Should she tell him of the difficulties which would certainly arise? Would it be possible to talk them over together without hurting him too much? But no. She knew that Luke would not in the least understand them. It would only make matters worse. She must either put her foot down and say decidedly that it could not be, or give way.
Rachel in her distress knew there was only one thing to do. Only one answer to give. She must just pray for strength to do what she knew was her duty; and to take up the cross without murmuring.
Luke was spared the ordeal he had begun to dread; for at breakfast the next morning Rachel looked at him across the table with a smile.
"I have been thinking about your mother," she said. "Why not ask her to come and live with us. Would she like it?"
Luke's whole face lit up.
"That is exactly what I should wish, dearest," he said. "But will it put more on you? Happily we have Emma, and two servants ought to be able to work the house well."
"Anyhow," said Rachel, "we might try the experiment."
"I'll write this morning," said Luke joyfully. "No, it would come better from you. And Rachel," he said, with a little hesitation, "call her 'mother' will you? That would bring her I know. She would feel we really wanted her."
Rachel laughed. Had she not laughed she would have cried.
"All right," she said. "You shall see my letter before it goes."
Luke was overjoyed. He was so glad that he had been right. There was evidently no feeling whatever against his mother's coming in Rachel's judgment. In fact she was evidently pleased at the suggestion. He would write also and tell his mother that she had been quite wrong in imagining that his wife would not like the plan.
Rachel dashed off her letter as quickly as she could lest her heart should fail her, and showed it to Luke.
"Dear Mother," she wrote;"Why not come and live with us? You wouldlike this place and would feel much lesslonely than living on in Trowsby. We do notlike to think of you there by yourself.""Your affectionate daughter-in-law,""Rachel."
Rachel pointed to the beginning as Luke took it in his hands, saying, "I have called her mother for love of you."
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"We must have a Baby Show before the summer is over," said Mrs. Greville, as she sat in the garden by Rachel's side darning stockings, "and next year a Flower Show. The village has been dreadfully neglected, evidently, by the last Rector."
"I don't think so," said Rachel. "He was a splendid visitor and was looked upon as a father by the people."
"Perhaps; but there is nothing social by which to draw the people together. Now a Women's Institute ought to be started."
"But you must remember there is not a single helper in the parish with the exception of a very nice farmer's daughter, who conducts the whole Sunday School. It would be impossible to start things here that need helpers."
But Mrs. Greville was not to be put off.
"I expect if helpers were really looked for they would be found. I'll look round the parish and see what I can do."
Rachel sighed.
"You won't make the people want things that they can't have, will you?" she said.
"Certainly not. But there is no need to say they can't have them. Anyhow I am here to help; and anything in the way of writing I am sure you could do. There are two workers at once."
"Oh, you must not think of me as a worker," said Rachel. "I can only just live." She had been more conscious of her weakness since her mother-in-law's advent than ever before.
"My dear, of course you cannot be a worker in the ordinary sense. But believe me you would feel all the better with something to interest you a little. It never does anyone any good to lie and think about themselves all day. I found that out when I was ill; and no sooner did I begin to think of my work than I felt better at once."
Rachel was silent. She wondered how much longer she could endure the intense activity of her mother-in-law. She thought she would have to take to her bed; but she knew the air was the only thing for her.
"Let me see," continued Mrs. Greville. "There's a Mrs. Simpkins at the bottom of the hill who has a fine boy, and next door is that poor thriftless woman whose baby is nothing but skin and bones. It will do the mothers a world of good having to weigh their babies; they'd be ashamed then of their little puny creatures. We must certainly have the Show before the summer is over. When shall it be?"
"Whenever you like," said Rachel wearily. Then she added, "Ask Luke."
"Oh it won't make any difference to Luke. It is a question for his mother and wife to decide. Shall we say at the end of August?"
"Luke has a clerical meeting here one day in August. You had better ask him."
"Will the clergy be here to tea?"
"Yes, and they come to lunch too."
"Come to lunch! How ridiculous! In these days to give lunch is quite unnecessary I am sure. Why it can't be done under—"
"Oh don't say that to Luke," interrupted Rachel. "It's such a delight to him to be able at last to offer hospitality to his brother clergy. He is quite looking forward to it."
"Well I call it very unnecessary. What are they going to have? I hope you are not preparing a spread. Because you have a rather better living than your last it does not mean that you must forget the necessity of being economical."
Rachel laughed hysterically. Here it was again! Eggs at 4d and margarine instead of butter!
"Don't let us talk of economy yet," she said. "Let us enjoy, anyhow for a time, being able to give something to one's neighbours."
"And pray who is going to do the cooking?"
"Emma. In her last place she had to cook for clerical lunches and knows just what is necessary. And," she added laughing, "I mean to give them a good lunch."
"What do you mean by a good lunch?"
Mrs. Greville sarcastically. "Do you intend to give them chickens? They are nine shillings each at Trowsby."
"No I don't mean to give chickens. They are probably tired of them in the country. But they shall have a good lunch, I am determined about that, for Luke's sake."
"My dear you are talking like a very silly woman;" said Mrs. Greville gravely.
"Am I? I am sorry, but for once in my life I mean to be silly. So you must forgive me," said Rachel.
Mrs. Greville said no more, but came to the conclusion that Rachel was a little light-headed, particularly as the conversation had set her laughing weakly. She supposed her presence was too exciting for her, so in a few minutes she picked up her work and made for the house, and before long Rachel caught sight of her making her way towards the gate with a note book and pencil in hand.
"She is going to look after the babies," sighed Rachel. "I hope she won't make those poor mothers too miserable by her comments." Then her mind reverted to one of Mrs. Greville's remarks.
"I wonder," she thought, "if she really imagines that I lie and think of myself all day! A woman with a husband and child, not to mention a mother-in-law and the housekeeping, has scarcely time to lead an idle life even in thought. Little Pat's clothes would be enough to keep me busy even if I had nothing else to do." And Rachel, who had laid down her work while talking to Mrs. Greville, took it up again. It was not long before she heard the gate open and her mother-in-law's somewhat heavy tread on the gravel.
"You are back sooner than I expected," said Rachel. Mrs. Greville looked tired and dispirited.
"Yes. I found my suggestion of a Baby Show rather upset the women. They seemed to take offence and were up in arms at once. That thriftless creature with the puny baby was almost rude to me, so I felt it would be as well to put the show off for a time."
Rachel sighed a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry that you have had your walk for nothing," she said, "but on the other hand it would be such a pity to create an ill feeling. Besides I would so much rather that our first gathering should be a tea in the garden. They would get to know us then and Luke could talk to them. I am bent, when I feel a little stronger, on inviting the whole parish."
"Another expense," said Mrs. Greville.
"I know. But it need not be an annual affair; just a kind of house warming."
"I wonder how much it would cost."
Rachel, who had been anticipating managing the tea herself directly she felt strong enough, had noticed the disappointed expression on Mrs. Greville's face when her plan of the baby show had failed; she evidently felt a little depressed. Should she put the whole management of the tea into her mother-in-law's hands? She knew Mrs. Greville would not be happy unless she had plenty to do, In fact she was so restless that she would make work if it were not provided for her. It would be a disappointment, but anything was better than to have an unhappy, restless, person in the house.
When Rachel asked Mrs. Greville if she would undertake the tea for her she cheered up at once. Taking out her pocket book she put down the probable number that they might expect, and began to discuss at once how much bread would be wanted, and what the whole affair would cost.
"I shall give them margarine," she said. "It would be quite absurd to go to the expense of butter." Rachel would have given them butter but she knew it would be useless to suggest this.
"And the tea might be sugared also altogether. It is much easier to have it all ready mixed with the milk."
"But some may not like sugar in their tea," objected Rachel.
"Well they mustn't mind it just for once," answered Mrs. Greville. "It is by far the best way when you have a large party. Then I almost think the cake and bread and butter had better be divided up before they come, and put on their plates. They will all fare alike then, and they'll know exactly how much they can have. If they don't want to eat it all they can take it away with them."
"But they are not by any means all children. I want them to be treated just as we should treat our own friends," Rachel expostulated. She began to wish she had never asked her mother-in-law to undertake the tea.
"But," said Mrs. Greville, "you see you have not had much experience in these matters and have no idea how much easier it is if you arrange everything beforehand. Method is everything on these occasions."
"But I want to make it really nice for the people," said Rachel eagerly. "It's better not to have the tea at all than in any way to hurt their feelings. I don't think for instance the men would at all like the plan of the food being piled on to a plate. Besides I want them to have sandwiches, and they would not be nice all mixed up with cake. I do hope you don't mind," she added, seeing that Mrs. Greville, who was considered such a first-rate caterer in Trowsby, was a little flushed at the thought that her suggestions were not liked. "I fancy that people in a country village would not be used to that kind of thing; besides there will not be very many of them. I do want them to have a dainty tea."
"Dainty? How do you mean?" said Mrs. Greville. She was evidently put out.
"I mean the same kind of tea that we would give to our own personal friends. Of course, rather thicker sandwiches as they would not appreciate the thin ones, but I am thinking more of the way it is all arranged."
"Well," said Mrs. Greville shortly, "if you will tell me exactly how you wish things to be done I will follow your directions."
Rachel wished that the subject of the tea had never been mentioned. The slight discussion had tired and rather worried her.
"Shall we talk about it another day?" she said, "there is plenty of time, and," she added, "of course you may be right. I have had no experience in such things and you have had so much."
Mrs. Greville was slightly mollified. She was not used to having her plans criticised. She preferred criticising the plans of others.
"Well my dear," she said, "I don't think you need worry about it. I promise you that your guests will have enough to eat; and after all that is the main thing."
Rachel did not think so. She thought that the manner in which the food was presented to them was as important as the food itself; but she did not say so.
"You can leave it all in my hands perfectly happily," added Mrs. Greville. "I will take the whole responsibility of it so don't worry yourself. Why, you look quite flushed even at the thought of it. There is really no need to be anxious," and Mrs. Greville moved towards the house notebook and pencil in hand.
Rachel sighed.
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"What is Luke doing all day in his study? That sedentary life is very bad for him and he ought to be visiting his people."
Rachel, who was trying on a little frock for Pat which she had been making, looked up amused.
"He has visited every one of his people a dozen times since he came here. In fact he was afraid of over visiting them."
"But then what is he doing all day? He is young and strong and ought to be at work," said Mrs. Greville, standing in front of Rachel as if she was in some way to blame. Her face was anxious and perplexed. She could scarcely understand work without movement, and rush.
"You may be quite sure he is not wasting his time," said Rachel; then hoping to distract her mother-in-law's thought she held up the baby to be admired.
"Doesn't he look sweet," she said. "He shall wear this little frock when we have the villagers to tea. He must look his best."
But once Mrs. Greville was on the war path nothing would move her.
"It isn't as if he had an intellectual congregation to preach to as he had at Trowsby," she said. "Of course then he had to study and fit himself for the work. But here they are only uneducated people. I am sure he cannot want all this time to prepare for them."
"But don't you know that a man like Luke must find it much more difficult to speak to such people? He has to make everything so plain and to choose the simplest subjects. I am quite sure he finds it much harder to prepare his sermons here than he did at Trowsby."
"I don't understand it at all," said Mrs. Greville, moving away to the window. "And why he should object to me going into his study, I can't imagine. He does not say in so many words that he prefers my absence to my presence, but I see it worries him. Of course I used to leave him quite alone at Trowsby, but then I knew every moment was precious. But here there ought to be plenty of time for a chat with his mother now and then."
"I must make the sleeves a little shorter," said Rachel. "Don't you think so?" She hoped that Mrs. Greville would feel interest in the baby's frock and would not continue the conversation which was getting embarrassing. But no. It was of no use trying to turn her thoughts.
"I think it's very sad to see a young man getting so idle and losing all interest in his people," she said. "It's quite different to what it was at Trowsby. Of course, he worked far too hard before his marriage and, indeed, after it, too," she added rather grudgingly. "But I would far rather he worked too much, than too little."
Rachel's colour rose. She felt indignant.
"But he is working very hard," she said. "He is studying; and you know the complaint is that the clergy don't study and so can't help their people in these difficult times. Visiting their parishioners is only part of the work after all."
"Well, all I can say is that things are very different to what they were. And I never remember a time in which he did not welcome his mother." Mrs. Greville did not recollect how carefully she kept watch over the dining-room, which then stood for his study, so that he should never be interrupted. "Of course," she added, "I don't suppose I can quite expect things to be exactly the same as they were before his marriage. I don't imagine he objects to you going into his study at any time."
Rachel, glancing at her mother-in-law, was aware of a certain pathetic eagerness displayed in the expression of her face as she waited for the answer. The slight indignation that Rachel was conscious of feeling passed away, and she was glad that she could assure Mrs. Greville that she never interrupted her husband unless it was absolutely necessary as she knew he would not like it.
"But," she said, "don't you think that he may have been sent here so as to give him time to study before some great and important post is offered him? That is what I love to think. I could not bear to believe that he would be here all his life. When I am stronger, I hope we shall go to some town where he can have a larger sphere of work. That is one of the things that reconciles me to this country living."
"Well," said Mrs. Greville, "I feel that he ought to be doing something, and not spending all those hours in his study."
"He is doing something."
But Mrs. Greville was only half convinced.
Rachel was feeling stronger so that the conversation with her mother-in-law did not trouble her as it might have done. It almost amused her.
That Luke could possibly be wasting his time in his study was so absurd an idea that it made her smile. She had sometimes wondered herself at the amount of writing he was engaged in doing; but she had not asked him about it, as one of his peculiarities was the fact that he did not care to be questioned about his work. That she would know in time she had not a doubt. That he was doing anything that she did not know about did not make her either curious or restless. Apparently it had that effect on her mother-in-law.
Rachel had noticed that since coming to live with them Mrs. Greville had shown a propensity for wishing to know exactly what everyone in the house was doing. She wandered from room to room just to see what was going on. The servants were not the only people who found it trying. Rachel felt it getting on her own nerves. She put it down to a restlessness arising from Mrs. Greville's illness, but this did not make it less trying. She could seldom enjoy little Pat for long by himself. Mrs. Greville, under the impression that she was helping, would come into the nursery while Rachel bathed the child, giving her various hints as to the best way of doing it. Or she would take up a great deal of her time giving out her theories on the bringing up of children, while Rachel was busy putting him to bed. It was just as much as Rachel could do in her present state of health to dress and undress the child, and at times she had to pass over what was to her such a happy duty to Polly, so that to be talked to, and to have to listen to various theories on the training of children, was tiring in the extreme. But she felt she must bear it without complaining as Mrs. Greville had so little in which to occupy her time, and if she was shown that her advice was not welcome she would grow melancholy.
But till to-day Rachel had had no idea that Luke had found it trying. His study door was open that evening when after putting Pat to sleep she went down stairs. At the sound of her footstep, he called her in, closing the door after her. He was looking a little worried and distressed.
"I'm afraid I have hurt my mother," he said, "but I find it so difficult to get on with my work while she is in the room. Three times this afternoon she has interrupted me at the most unfortunate moment. I try not to let her know it, but I can't make out what she wants. I fancy it's only a chat, and I can't chat about nothing in the middle of my work."
"She has not enough to do," said Rachel, "and feels dull I expect."
"That's unfortunate," said Luke, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry for her. But I had to tell her I was doing some important work to-day and that I was sorry to say I could not have a chat just then. I'm afraid I've hurt her. I think," he added, "that my mother has altered a little since her illness. She used to have such tact."
"It would help matters if you could tell her what the important business is," said Rachel, laughing.
"I don't much want to tell her," he said. "I'm afraid she would be constantly referring to it and I could not stand that. You see dear," he said looking down at his wife with shining eyes, "I believe I have found my work."
"Your work?" said Rachel mystified.
"I believe my prayers are being answered and that I am being shown why I have been sent here. Sit down. I want to tell you something." He drew a chair up to the window for her and sat down by her side.
"I never told you that just before we left Trowsby I had a dream. It was the most painful dream I have ever had and I can't think of it even now without a shudder. I'd rather not tell you what it was; but it was nothing more or less than a looking glass in which I saw myself for the first time, and I want you to know that I believe we left Trowsby for my sake as well as for yours."
Any great emotion was bad for Rachel, and when Luke turned and looked at her he was distressed to see how white she had become.
"Am I tiring you dearest?" he said, with concern.
"No. I'm only so very glad to hear what you say," she answered. "The thought that you had to leave your interesting work for me, has been such a burden on my mind."
"Well it need be a burden no longer. I believe it was for the sake of your bodily health that we came here but also for my soul. You see, I doubt if your soul wants the discipline that mine does. Anyhow, my spiritual life was not in a healthy condition; I needed to take a back seat, if you understand what I mean. I am not sure that my work was not becoming my god, and I was too much in the lime-light. Anyhow, now I can work for God and for Him alone. I think He has given the work that is best for me."
Rachel, in her weak state could not prevent the tears of sympathy from falling, but she brushed them away with her hand, and Luke did not see them.
"What is the work?" she asked.
"I'm writing a book for young men. When I was in Trowsby I often felt the need of one which faced the difficult problems of the day honestly and wisely. I am trying to contend earnestly for the faith. Of course it means the need of much prayer and study."
Rachel held out her hand and Luke grasped it in his own.
"You see how much better it is for me than preaching," he explained. "I don't mean to put my name to the book, and shall never know what it has done for people. God only will know that, so there will be no chance of conceit and pride getting the better of me in my work. I do not see how I can forget God in the work as I need Him every moment. I feel I am contending with the devil and he does not leave me alone. But no-one knows but God—and now," he added, "my wife."
Rachel had never loved her husband or admired him more than she did at that moment. She sat and looked at him with her heart in her eyes; but she did not speak.
"I meant to keep it a secret," he said, "till I could put the finished book into your hands. But now you know. I have sent the first few chapters to Sharnis and he is pleased with them and quite hopes to undertake its publication. But I don't want anyone to know about it. Now do you think you can help me about my mother? I don't feel as if I could be constantly asked questions about it. It's such a sacred thing to me that I cannot talk about it. Besides, as I'm not putting my name to the book, it is important that no-one should know that I'm writing it."
"She would be so pleased that she would find it difficult to keep the fact to herself."
"That's just it."
"What a pity though that she will never know," said Rachel.
"Perhaps sometime after its publication I may tell her, but not now. But can you manage to keep her from disturbing me without hurting her? A woman can generally do this kind of thing better than a man. I would not hurt my dear mother for the world if I could help it."
They neither of them heard the door open and then softly close again, and Luke never knew that his mother had turned away from his study murmuring:
"Luke was talking to Rachel about me! His mother! I never thought he would talk to anyone about his mother." The pain was almost too much to bear.
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Rachel noticed a marked difference in her mother-in-law's behaviour to her after finding her talking with Luke in his study. She was perplexed as to its cause and it worried her. Moreover, she found that her efforts to keep her out of the study during Luke's busy time there were unavailing, and she came to the conclusion that it would hurt her feelings less if Luke mentioned the subject to her himself. Her pride would not be wounded. She told Luke so. But, manlike, he felt that to burn Pussy's paws was by far the better plan. But Rachel, unwilling to give him a hint as to his mother's strained feelings in respect to herself, determined to do nothing in the matter unless she found a particularly favourable moment in which to speak. Having suffered herself in the past from jealousy she began to suspect that the same wretched enemy to all happiness was attacking her mother-in-law; and instead of despising her for giving way, she felt the situation to be particularly pathetic.
Since the day on which Luke heard of his wife's delicacy, he had been filled with anxiety about her and was continually thinking of her comfort and good. In fact, Rachel's health was now his first concern, and plans which would in any way give her too much to do or think about were put on one side at once, even though they might be suggested by his mother. His wife and his book were at present the absorbing interests in his life and everything else fell into the background.
Rachel had long ago come to the conclusion that Luke found it difficult to concentrate his mind on many things at the same time. When he was at Trowsby, his parish and Church took up all his thoughts to the exclusion of almost everything else. In fact, he suffered from a want of seeing things in their right proportion. And now that his mind was full of anxiety for his wife, his mother was somewhat put on one side. It distressed Rachel, for she knew the signs of the terrible pain caused by jealousy and felt sure she saw them written on her mother-in-law's face. They had in fact changed places since leaving Trowsby. Luke now consulted his wife about matters of interest instead of his mother; and though Rachel loved that it should be so, she felt Mrs. Greville's position to be very difficult.
Some women would have been triumphant over the reversed positions but Rachel was above all such unworthy feelings; she could only see the pathetic side and it distressed her. Remembering too her own fight with the sin that brings such misery on those who give way to it, she longed to give Luke a hint as to how matters stood, and to ask him to be very careful; but she knew Luke would no more understand his mother's feelings than he would have understood those of his wife in the old days; and she felt it would not be fair to his mother to enlighten him. It would inevitably make her fall in his eyes; and up till now, he thought her perfection.
So Rachel came to the conclusion that the only course to take was to behave to Mrs. Greville as if nothing was the matter, and to ignore the severity of her expression of face and voice when she spoke to her. But the anxiety and constant effort not to say anything that might offend or hurt was not good for her and was tiring.
As the time drew near for the parish garden party, Mrs. Greville's thoughts became engaged with preparations for the event, and at times she seemed to forget that she was not pleased with her daughter-in-law.
She had taken the whole affair off Rachel's hands and was thoroughly enjoying the responsibility of it. Luke was thankful that it meant no effort for his wife.
"If it hadn't been for my mother being here," he said, "we could not have had it. The doctor said you were to have perfect rest."
But Rachel was disappointed, though at the same time she was thankful that her mother-in-law had something to interest her and to fill up her time.
That it was Mrs. Greville's party was quite evident when the day dawned. Rachel was amused when her mother-in-law told her that she had better stand at the gate and welcome the people, as she herself would be engaged seating them at the tables. Rachel had quite intended to be at the gate.
"But," she said, "I think it would be better not to have tea the moment they arrive. They might walk about the garden and have games first."
But Mrs. Greville had arranged in her own mind that tea was to be the first item of the programme and she did not wish it altered.
"It's far better to get the business of tea well over first," she said, "then we shall be free to think of games," and Rachel gave way. She felt it was not worth while discussing the matter.
About sixty people with their children arrived and were shown at once to their seats by Mrs. Greville. Rachel saw them looking at the plates before them with a smile, and heard them making jokes with one another. But after Luke had appeared and had said a word of welcome and tea began in earnest, they were silent. The business of eating did not seem in their estimation to need the effort of talking. Suddenly Rachel heard Mrs. Greville say:
"Mind you all make a good tea, and what you don't want you can put in your pockets and take home with you. I won't look!" There was a laugh and the sound of it sent the colour into Rachel's face. The talking too began in real earnest and did not cease till tea was over; but the words that Rachel occasionally heard convinced her that Mrs. Greville's tactless remark was not liked by the men; and she noticed that no-one save the woman with the puny baby took advantage of the invitation to take the food home.
Rachel did what she could to take away the impression made by her mother-in-law's mistake, by noticing the many babies that the mothers had brought with them. And the subject of babies was so absorbing that when Luke took the men off for a game of bowls, the women were quite contented to sit and tell Rachel of the various complaints their children had suffered from.
They were not allowed however to sit still for long. Mrs. Greville bustled them about from one part of the garden to the other dividing them into groups and setting them to games. The mother with the puny baby alone refused to budge. She was too tired, she explained, and Rachel, looking at her as she talked, came to the conclusion, that probably the reason why the baby was so thin and weird looking was because the money went in drink. She tried to gain the mother's confidence and to help her, but the woman simply sat and cried and complained of her hard life. One of the women who had been playing games and was a little jealous at seeing Mrs. Grot having such a long talk with the Rector's wife, informed her spitefully, that she was a "bad lot," and left the baby alone in the house while she went to spend her evenings at the public house. Rachel came to the conclusion that the village was not such a little heaven below as she had imagined; but that the great enemy of souls was as busy there as elsewhere.