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A DECISIVE STEP.
"I WANT a little talk with you myself to-day, Marigold," said Mrs. Heavitree. "Narcissus is out with the children; and you can see her by-and-by when she returns. Come into my boudoir now."
"I wanted to speak to you too, ma'am," said Marigold, following as directed.
"Which first?" asked Mrs. Heavitree, smiling. "I suppose our subjects are hardly the same. What is yours?"
"About mother's health, ma'am."
"Ah! I have suspected something to be wrong there."
"She never said a word till the other day,—when I got home from here. I found her so bad, she couldn't keep up any longer,—and then she told." Marigold gave particulars, adding,—"Mother don't want to see a doctor, but father says she must; and he thought perhaps you'd advise us."
"She ought to do so without delay. I think I can help you. My brother, Dr. Wilton—a London surgeon—is coming to me next week for a few days; and he is particularly skilful in such matters. You must have seen him once at the Vicarage. I have a visit from him occasionally. No? You think not? Well, tell your father, but not Mrs. Plunkett. She would only grow nervous beforehand. I will bring him in one day; and she will like him, before she knows that he is a doctor. He has a most kind manner. Then he shall look into her health, and tell us what he thinks."
"I'm sure I can't thank you enough, ma'am. And father will be so glad."
"You shall thank me by listening now to something else that I have to say. Can you at all guess what it is about?"
Marigold shook her head; though the thought of Todd did come up, and when his name was uttered by Mrs. Heavitree, she felt no surprise.
"It has been said lately—with how much truth you know—that you and Todd are engaged to be married, or at least likely to be engaged."
"We're not engaged," said Marigold, flushing. "He's been in pretty often at home lately."
"And your father approves of it?"
"Father likes James. Mother did say one day that he wouldn't like that," added Marigold. "But I don't see how she knew."
"Probably your father had said so to her."
"I don't know, ma'am. I don't see why. He's always pleased to see James."
"To see him as a friend. That may be. Todd is a pleasant young man, I believe. But is he a good man?"
"I'm sure he wants to do right," said Marigold rather faintly.
"If he can do it, without trouble to himself."
"He does want to get work, ma'am."
"But he has had work offered to him again and again; and he keeps to nothing. Marigold, I want you very much to look this matter in the face bravely. I don't even ask whether Todd is a man of high religious principle, because that unhappily I know he is not." Marigold opened her lips, and shut them again. "I ask only—is he steady and hard-working? Is he one who could be expected to make his wife happy?"
"I think he's steady," said Marigold, not so confidently as when she had spoken to Narcissus.
"I'm afraid—not—always," said Mrs. Heavitree gently. "My husband has twice come across him, lately, the worse for drink."
Marigold said nothing; but her downcast face showed what she felt.
"I know you too well to believe it possible that you could ever be happy with a drunkard for a husband. Impossible that you should. Life would be one long misery. And the habit is one which grows upon a man fearfully, unless nipped in a very early stage."
"He says he'd do anything for me," faltered the girl.
"He would not give up drinking for you! He would not keep steadily to hard work for you. He does neither now,—even for the hope of winning you; and if once you were his wife, you would be powerless. He would go his own way, and you would have to endure. Do you think I have not seen it, scores of times? Every girl thinks she can reform the man whom she wishes to marry; and it is only after marriage that she finds her mistake. I want you to know it beforehand."
"But James isn't a drinking man—commonly," urged Marigold. "Those two times he might have been overcome; but he don't commonly, ma'am. I've never seen him so. And if he had a good wife, and a nice little home—"
"You are trusting to a rope of sand. If once a man has put his foot on that steep slope, it takes far more to hold him back than wife or home. God's grace alone can do it . . . Besides, what chance is there that Todd can ever have a nice little home? Unless he were to work steadily, such a home could not exist . . . Probably he would expect you to work: and what sort of a home does that mean?
"An idle husband, and a toiling wife,—not to speak of neglected little ones. A wife and mother cannot do everything. She cannot support the household, make a comfortable home, and train her children, all at once. I am speaking very plainly, because girls do not think or look forward; and I want you to think; I want you to look forward. Marriage is no light matter. You enter upon it for life,—''till death you do part.'
"And it is not a question only as to yourself and Todd. You know as well as I do what marriage will probably mean. No man or woman has a right to marry, unless he and she have a reasonable prospect, not only of keeping themselves in comfort, but of feeding, and clothing, and rightly training, the helpless little ones, who may be given to them by God,—given to bring up for HIM! No man, whether gentleman or working man, has a right to marry unless such a prospect is his,—and no woman has a right either. Mere boys and girls rush recklessly into marriage, day after day, without a thought of the future,—yet by-and-by they will have to answer, before the Throne of God Himself, for the manner in which their children have turned out."
"I'm sure I never thought about all that," said Marigold in a subdued tone.
"Girls do not think; and a kind of false delicacy often keeps people from warning them in time. There is no step in life, about which one ought so seriously to count the cost, so anxiously to weigh one's responsibilities, as marriage,—just because it involves so much, and because it can never be undone . . . Will you give your mind to what I have said? Do not at least drift into a step which may spoil your whole life, not to speak of other lives.
"And pray to be guided. Even if James Todd's character were in other qualities all that one could desire,—I mean if he were entirely steady, thoroughly hard-working,—even then I should still ask you to think how far you, who try to serve God from the heart, could be happy with a husband who professes no religion at all. But he falls short of even such lower requirements. Think it over well, Marigold."
"I will indeed, ma'am," Marigold answered, and her eyes were full of tears.
Nothing passed that day between Marigold and Narcissus on the subject of Todd. Marigold did not refer to him, and Narcissus wisely held her peace. Marigold was very thoughtful while at the Vicarage, and still more on her way home. She was alone this time, having carefully abstained from telling Todd of her little expedition. But half-way back, to her surprise, he appeared as before, from behind a clump of bushes, and walked forward with a confident air.
Then a swift thought came to Marigold that now was the time to make a stand—to hold herself free. "I'm not to drift into it!" she told herself resolutely, and she stopped short.
"Well, so here you are, eh?" said Todd. "Didn't let me know, but I found out, you see!"
"I didn't tell, because I didn't mean to walk home with you," said Marigold.
Todd laughed easily. "Can't help it now,—as I'm here!"
"I don't think it's right. Father would not be pleased."
"Rubbish!"
"It's not rubbish. I mean what I say."
"Rubbish!" repeated Todd. "Come along."
"No. It is not right. I would rather walk home alone."
"But I say—! What on earth—? Who's been setting you against me?"
Marigold was silent, questioning in her mind what to say next.
"Eh? Who's been talking against me?"
Marigold moved on, and James walked by her side. She stopped again.
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"I've heard one thing," Marigold said slowly.
"I'd rather go home alone, please."
"And I'd rather you wouldn't."
"Very well;" and Marigold quietly proceeded. "Then it isn't my fault. You can do as you like, and I shall tell father,—and he can do as he likes."
"You won't! You wouldn't be such a—"
"I've warned you!"
Todd did not believe her. He thought she was half in fun; and he kept his place by her side resolutely.
Marigold quickened her pace, and answered his remarks only in monosyllables; but he was not to be driven off.
Reaching the street in which she lived, he again asked: "I say, who's been setting you against me?"
"I've heard one thing," Marigold said slowly. "And that is—that you've been seen—taking too much."
"Oh, come now! You ain't so particular as all that! If I did take just a drop more than I needed, once in a year, what then? A man can't always be shilly-shallying. I vow it wasn't more than a drop,—and just about once a year."
"Or once a month," said Marigold. Then she looked straight at him, and said firmly,—"I'd sooner do anything in the world—I'd sooner die—than marry a man who was on the way to become a drunkard."
"Now, Marigold! What nonsense you do talk!"
"I mean it," said Marigold. She had trembled a little at the beginning of their talk, but now she trembled no longer. "I would sooner die."
"It's all the fault of them strait-laced folks up at the Vicarage, meddling with what don't concern them."
"They are the best friends I ever had. It isn't meddling, and it does concern them, because they want to see me happy."
"And don't I want you to be happy? You know I'd do anything in the world for you! Don't you, now? I'd promise faithful never to touch a drop of anything again, if that would make it all right."
"You wouldn't keep your promise?"
"I swear I would."
"James, you are not to speak so! And it's no use. You promised me—faithfully—that you would stick to work, the next that came in your way; and you threw it up the first thing."
"I'll stick to it yet,—as soon as I get something to do."
Suddenly Plunkett turned into the street, and crossed over a little way in front of them. Marigold at once called,—
"Father!"
"You shut up!" said Todd, not too civilly.
"Father!" repeated Marigold, and he stopped.
"Eh; it's you, is it?" said Plunkett. He did not think much of seeing the two together, merely supposing that they had just met, and Todd remarked,—
"Fine day!"
"Father, James has walked with me all the way from the Common,—from half over the Common. I did not want him. I've let him do it before, and I was wrong; and I told him not to-day, and he would come."
"Well, why not?" said Todd sulkily.
Plunkett looked from the one to the other.
"I told him I would tell you, and now I have," said Marigold. Then she went indoors, leaving the two together.
Plunkett presently followed, to find her alone in the little kitchen.
"What's all this?" he demanded.
"Father, I thought I ought to speak about it. Mother said once you wouldn't be pleased . . . And I wouldn't listen . . . But Mrs. Heavitree's been talking . . . And—I thought—I ought—" Marigold's voice failed.
"An idle fellow like that! You've too much sense to care for him!"
Plunkett stared, as Marigold burst into tears.
"Eh? You don't mean for to say you like Todd?"
"He's been nice to me,—and I do like him," sobbed Marigold. "But Mrs. Heavitree says—says he's not—"
"Not the sort to make a girl happy? No, I should think not. He's smooth-spoken, and when you've said that, you've said all. I wouldn't see you marry Todd,—not for anything you could name! I told him he'd best make himself scarce, and he said it was all a mistake,—he'd no notion of marrying nobody."
"Oh!" Marigold's cheeks flamed.
"That isn't how he's talked to you, oh?"
"I should think not! Father, I did think he was one that would speak true."
"Well, the best thing you can do is to see no more of him," said Plunkett decisively. "There's no sort o' dependence to be put on Todd. He's not fit for you, and you're a deal too good for him. And what's more, you'll never marry him with my will. So the sooner you can forget him, the better. I've said enough to stop his looking in here, again, in a hurry. And I'm sure you'd need be grateful to Mrs. Heavitree, for the trouble she's taken."
Marigold's thoughts reverted to the beginning of her Vicarage conversation. "There's something else too,—" she said, "something you'll be glad of. Mrs. Heavitree said I'd best not speak to mother, but I might to you." Then she told Plunkett about the doctor who was to arrive at the Vicarage, and about Mrs. Heavitree's kind intentions.
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NOT SO BAD.
RESENTMENT at Todd's declaration that "it was all a mistake," and that "he hadn't meant to marry nobody," gave Marigold a good deal of help in casting aside overmuch thought of him. Had he been grieved and disappointed only, she would have been grieved too; and he might have retained his power over her; but now Marigold's womanly self-respect was up in arms.
Some girls seem to have no womanly self-respect at all, but Marigold happily was not deficient in this direction. If Todd counted it "all a mistake" that he had wanted to marry her, she would let nobody suppose that she wanted him. If Todd did not care for her, then she would not care for him.
Of course in a measure she did care; though to her surprise, by no means so much as she would have expected. Todd had managed to win her liking, but not to stir her feelings deeply. That might have come later, had the affair been allowed to go on. At present it was mainly a question of gratified vanity, and of escape from home troubles. Wounded vanity was the best possible antidote to the former; and as for the latter, home troubles had lessened.
Marigold found her time and thoughts much occupied with her stepmother; so much, that for hours together she often forgot Todd's very existence—a sure proof that her affections were not profoundly engaged.
Mrs. Plunkett suffered much, and was weighed down by anxious depression, as well as weakness. But from the day when she allowed herself to speak out to Marigold, there was an extraordinary cessation of the extreme irritability. She reverted suddenly to her old self; the kind and amiable self, which they had known for three months only. She no longer struggled to keep up, or to do work for which she was utterly unfit.
Marigold might arrange matters as she chose, and Mrs. Plunkett offered no opposition. It was easy now to be gentle and kind to one so passive; and love, no longer receiving a slap in the face at every other step, sprang into being, with a promise of rapid growth.
"I'm sure I can't think how ever it was you seemed so different, Marigold, till these last few days," Mrs. Plunkett said musingly one afternoon.
She had not come down till the middle of the day, and was suffering a good deal; but her face, though yellow and drawn, had lost much of its acidity. "Why, nothing I could do pleased you, and yet you're as good to me now—"
"Mother! Why, nothing I could do pleased you," broke from the surprised Marigold.
Mrs. Plunkett cast a puzzled glance backward.
"I'm sure I don't know," she said. "I know I used to feel so dreadful bad, I didn't know how to drag through the days; and I could have flown out at anybody. The day we went to the beasts' show—oh, dear! Part of the time I could get along; and then the pain came on, till it turned me sick, and I didn't half know what I was about, and the thought of going home all alone—oh dear me!"
"Mother, if you only had told! We thought you were just cross and vexed about something," said Marigold, tears in her eyes.
"I wasn't. I thought it as nice as could be of you to ask me to go—and if only I could have kep' on!—But it did seem hard, when I felt so awfully ill, to have all of you thinking of nothing but them snakes. And the pain was so bad."
"Oh, mother, if you only had told me!"
"Well, I see now that I had ought to—but I didn't feel as if I could. I thought you'd dislike me more than ever. I know you better now, Marigold!"
"Somebody outside. There's the bell, mother!"
And when Marigold opened the front door, she found Mrs. Heavitree, with a grave middle-aged gentleman, whom she at once guessed to be the expected Dr. Wilton.
"Mrs. Plunkett in, Marigold? I have come with my brother to pay her a little visit. Say only that," added Mrs. Heavitree softly.
Marigold obeyed with a grateful look, and the four were soon chatting pleasantly. Mrs. Plunkett was somewhat flustered, but also pleased. The doctor at first talked to Marigold; then he made his way to a seat by Mrs. Plunkett, and drew her into conversation.
"Marigold, I want to speak to you in another room," said Mrs. Heavitree, rising. "My brother will wait here."
Dr. Wilton made a gesture of assent, and Mrs. Plunkett showed no disapproval. She did not know him yet to be a doctor; but his kind manner won confidence immediately, and already she had begun to talk almost freely about herself and Marigold.
"That is well," Mrs. Heavitree said, when they were in the next room. "My brother will manage all the rest."
The interview was a long one; much longer than Marigold would have expected. Mrs. Plunkett's raised tones came from time to time through the door; while Dr. Wilton's low-voiced answers were inaudible.
At length, after what seemed to Marigold an interminable time, the door opened; Dr. Wilton could be heard to say "Good-bye," and with a quiet step, he entered.
"Well?" Mrs. Heavitree asked.
"Not so bad as you have all feared," he said. "It is—not cancer."
"Oh!" Marigold clasped her hands.
"A severe case of tumour, and it must be removed. But, once removed, she may enjoy good health. I should have little fear of its return."
"Then the former opinion was a mistake," said Mrs. Heavitree.
"Yes."
"You don't know who she went to see?"
"She told me. Not a medical man at all, in fact. A passing quack—nothing more. Extraordinary how people will take the opinion of anybody and everybody on such a question!"
"Will she submit to the operation?" asked Mrs. Heavitree, and Marigold's face asked the same question eloquently.
"At first she said not. I reasoned the matter with her. Some measure of risk must exist, of course, in such a case; but there is every probability that she would bear it well, and would enjoy excellent health afterwards. If she goes on in her present state, life cannot be lengthened many months. A year or two at most."
"And she gave in?"
"Entirely. She will, of course, go to the hospital. I shall see her again before I leave; and I have promised that you and her daughter will make all arrangements."
"I don't know how to thank you, sir," said Marigold, with difficulty. "It is so very very kind!"
The doctor smiled as he went off, and Marigold hastened to her stepmother. She found Mrs. Plunkett sobbing.
"Not as I mind. 'Tain't that!" said Mrs. Plunkett. "It's the relief. I never knowed what a weight it was on me, till now it's gone. Why, I feel as if anything else was nothing almost! I did say I'd never go to a hospital, and be in the hands of all them doctors. But if they're like Dr. Wilton, I'm sure I won't mind. He is kind! I never saw a kinder person, not in all my life. And understands like as if he'd got it himself. Oh, dear me! To think it isn't that, after all; and to think I may be quite well again. Yes, I'd bear some'at to get strong as I used to be. And he says he thinks I ought. It ain't but little risk, he says; and t'other way, if nothing is done, it means death. He don't think I'd ought to throw away my life, if there's a good chance of saving it. And I said I'd do what he thought right."
"Oh, mother, I can't tell you how glad I am."
"Well, I do believe you are," said Mrs. Plunkett. "I do believe you won't be sorry if I get well. A while back I'd have thought you wouldn't have been best pleased—not any of you. But it's different now. And I don't mean to get back into cross ways, nor to vex your father, nor to have things all in a mess, no more. It is nice, the house being kep' tidy, as you do now; and I'll see and go on with it."
"I'm sure you will," said Marigold affectionately. "And you'll let me be a help to you?"
"You ain't going to marry that Todd?"
"No! Never!" said Marigold, with firmness. Only the evening before, she had herself seen Todd reeling down the street in a tipsy condition—a shameful sight! He had shouted rudely after Marigold. And with burning cheeks she had thought, "That is the man I would have married!" No, never! Never! If her mind had not been already made up, this would have settled the matter.
"I'm glad. He wouldn't have made you a good husband—I know that! And you're too young—ever so much too young. When I come home, I'll like to have you with me—." She paused, and added, "If I ever do come home."
"Mother, Dr. Wilton didn't seem afraid."
"No; he said he wasn't, and he thought it was the right thing to do. But he said he couldn't be sure. People don't always get through—only he'd great hopes I should."
"And then you know, we shall be praying for you," said Marigold softly. "Narcissus and me, and I'm sure Mrs. Heavitree will."
"Yes, I know that," said Mrs. Plunkett. "I like to think it. And I want you to read to me every day till I go. The doctor says I'm to be in the hospital in a week or two. He don't want it put off long. And I'm frightened when I think of that. I want to learn how to trust that I shall be taken care of all through—and then I shan't be so afraid."
Marigold did read every day, as Mrs. Plunkett wished; and sometimes in her simple way, she would speak about the great kindness and love of God, and about the living presence of Christ in days of trouble. Mrs. Plunkett would drink in such words with positive thirst, feeling her need of help. Mr. Heavitree also came in two or three times, and his visits "gave her a sort of lift," she said afterwards. One way or another comfort seemed to be sent, just when it was most needed; and as the day drew near, when she would have to leave home, her dread distinctly lessened. She actually went at last with a smile on her face; and Marigold's first visit to the hospital, two days later, found her the cheerier of the two.
Then came days of suspense for others, gradually lightening as the operation proved to be a successful one. Weeks of tardy recovery followed, not lacking drawbacks, but on the whole satisfactory, and the doctors gave every hope of a complete and permanent restoration.
Nearly three months of absence drew at length to an end, and Mrs. Plunkett returned home, not yet strong, but no longer a sufferer.
"It's like beginning a new life," she said.
Marigold had decorated the little parlour with flowers, and had prepared quite a festive meal, in honour of her arrival; and Narcissus had been spared from the Vicarage for several hours. Mrs. Plunkett seemed quiet and dreamy, as if a little bewildered with the change from a hospital ward; but the old acidity of expression had given place to a look of steady happiness.
"It's like beginning a new life," she repeated. "And I hope it's going to be new—some ways. I hope I ain't going back to old ways. I've had a deal of time to think, lying there."
"Dare say you won't be none the worse," suggested Plunkett.
"No," she said. "I hope I shan't, nor the girls neither. I'd like to be a better friend to them than I was before I left; and a better wife to you. And most of all, I'd like to serve God truer. I thought I was going to leave you all; and now He's put me back into life; and I'd like to make a good use of my time. That's what I want."
"Ain't a bad wish, neither," said her husband; while Narcissus looked with touched and wondering eyes towards the speaker, and Marigold murmured:
"That's what I want, too."
LORIMER AND GILLIES, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.