"Did you suggest they should come to me?"
"No. How could you have them here in London? I said something about the holidays, but you must write to your sister about it."
"We'll have them down for Christmas, and give them a good time. I'll write at once, and if the boy is worth placing at a good school, I'll do it."
"That will be splendid. Oh dear, I do envy you your opportunities!"
"It is you pegging away at me, that makes me seize them." And it was true. Slowly, but surely Mrs. Burke was finding out the delights of sharing some of her wealth with those in need. Before Rowena had come, she made her banker her almoner; now she began to take interest in many individual cases, whom Rowena discovered. Sometimes when her spirits flagged, she would say: "I dare say I shall end my days in some secluded country cottage; I am sure you will gradually get all my wealth from me for your 'deserving poor'!"
And Rowena would reply with a glow in her eyes, "You might do many worse things than that."
"And I perceived no touch of change". . . . . . . ."But found him all in all the same."Tennyson.
"MY dear girl, you must come with me to Lady Graeme's At Home this afternoon."
"Oh, why?" asked Rowena, looking up from her desk with a wrinkle between her brows.
"Well, she made a special point of your accompanying me. She lost her heart to you the other afternoon when she was here. Now I let you off a good many places, but not this one. Will you be ready about half-past four?"
"If you wish."
And so it came to pass that Rowena found herself, on a foggy November afternoon, in a crowded drawing-room in Palace Gate. She knew many of the young people assembled there, for Lady Graeme, like Mrs. Burke, though old herself, loved to surround herself with the young. It was not a very staid gathering. There was a distinctly rowdy element in it. Every one smoked, and voices were loud and voluble. Rowena got as near the door as she could. She hoped she could slip out into an emptier ante-room, but first one and then another detained her. Lady Graeme's second son, Alan by name, was a special crony of hers. He had stayed at Minley Court on several occasions, and was a fresh frank young fellow in the Scots Guards. He now slipped into a seat close to her.
"Thanks be, that you are here, at any rate," he said. "I do loathe the mater's crushes so. I hardly see you anywhere in town. Don't you go about?"
"I'm not a gadder by choice," said Rowena cheerfully.
"You don't look it! Did you ever see such a set of women as are here this afternoon? I'm getting fed up with it. I should like to go off game hunting in Somaliland or in the Rockies."
"Why don't you do it when you get your leave? I agree with you, one does get fed up with all this. So much energy wasted."
"Oh, I know what you think of us. You and I have had some straight talks. Why don't you sober your giddy old friend over there. My word! she might be just eighteen!"
Mrs. Burke was the centre of a noisy group—the other end of the room. One of the men was taking off a well-known parliamentary character, and his audience was convulsed with laughter.
Rowena looked across at her and sighed; then she turned to her young companion and smiled.
"Well, you see what life does to those who grow old in this atmosphere! Get your own soul into fresher and clearer air, and do something before you die. Isn't it Young that says:
"Time wasted is existence—us'd is life."
"You ought to have lived in the mediæval days," laughed young Alan. "How you would have buckled on your man's sword and thrust him forth! Do you seriously think running down a tiger is more soul inspiring than dancing the Tango?"
"Your soul would get a chance of breathing. Life without a pause is so paralysing."
"We always get into metaphysics—you and I! Hulloo, here is Macdonald by all that's wonderful! The mater has beguiled him here under false pretences; he'll never stand this. Take a good look at him. He saved my life out in France—ought to have got a V.C. for it. He's a cousin of ours."
Rowena took one look at the tall figure coming in at the door, and a faint flush rose to her cheeks, a breath of Highland air seemed to accompany him. He looked irreproachable in his London clothes, and yet there was some indescribable stamp about him that set him apart from the men around him.
"Let me introduce him," said her young companion.
"But I know him," said Rowena.
Alan Graeme started forward and shook hands warmly with the General.
"Awfully good of you to come! The mater's just gone into the tea room; here's some one who knows you."
General Macdonald met Rowena's bright friendly eyes, with grave pleasure in his own.
He held out his hand to her.
"It seems a long time since we met," he said. "I have brought Mysie to town for a week or two."
Alan was seized hold of by a young girl in a startling dress of black and white striped velvet, very open at the neck and back; very short in the skirt.
"Oh, you slacker!" she exclaimed, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Don't you know that two lady loves await you in that further corner. They have sent me to fetch you. You promised to sing for one, and—"
They moved off.
General Macdonald's look of disgust made Rowena smile.
"Are you at home in this company?" he asked abruptly; "it somehow does not seem to fit you."
Then before she had time to reply he went on:
"I am told I am old-fashioned and censorious; but a scene like this repels me. Are these the mothers of our future generation? May God help me to keep Mysie out of fashionable society."
"Amen," breathed Rowena.
"Give me news of the Highlands," she said.
He did not respond, but looked at her in puzzled bewilderment.
"Do you often attend these functions? I feel like a fish out of water. Is there nowhere we can get away from this smoke and heat? I came to see my cousin."
"Shall we go into the tea room? I believe she is there." But the tea room was overcrowded, and they stood for a moment in the corridor outside. He told her he had brought Mysie up for a fortnight and they were staying with an old cousin of his in Eton Place. Then he asked her about herself, and Rowena pointed out Mrs. Burke to him.
"I live with her, as a companion-secretary."
General Macdonald looked at Mrs. Burke with her golden wig and rather loud style of dress. He noted the noisy circle in which she was, and he said shortly and sternly, "I am sorry to hear it."
Rowena's eyes first twinkled, then softened:
"I do like you," she said audaciously, "when you act the stern friend."
He did not smile.
"Mysie will be wild to get hold of you. Can you come round and see us?"
"I think I might perhaps to-morrow, darling Mysie! I expect she is grown."
He was silent. Rowena was conscious that she was the subject of his close scrutiny.
"You have been through trouble since we met. I did not know your address or would have written you a line of sympathy. Your brother was a great friend of mine."
"I know. Thank you. My sister-in-law has gone to live with her mother, so I am on my own."
"And you can do no better than this?"
"You are judging me hardly."
Rowena's tone was rather proud, though her heart was beating and her pulses throbbing strangely. She rather resented the effect that this tall grave friend of hers had upon her.
He smiled, and his smile warmed her heart.
"Perhaps I am. You must tell me all about yourself."
At this moment Lady Graeme came up, and whilst she was greeting her cousin, Mrs. Burke seized hold of Rowena.
"I am off. Come along. I have promised to go to the Ford Curries. If you don't want to come with me, you can go home."
So Rowena left the house with her, and when she got home felt strangely dispirited.
"He will never understand. How can I explain? How can I tell him that I am trying to dig out from the mud a treasure which has been lost. It's like the woman in the Bible. But he only sees the racket and the dust: he doesn't know the silver bit is there."
The next day she asked permission from Mrs. Burke for an afternoon to herself, and set off for Eton Place.
She was shown upstairs into a rather gloomy drawing-room, but in a moment Mysie flashed into the room, and in her old impulsive way flung herself upon her.
"Oh, you darling! I can't believe it's you. I yelled when Dad told me, and Cousin Bel asked if I was trying to do the Highland Fling. Cousin Bel has a cold and is in bed, and Dad and I sit downstairs in the smoking-room. There's no fire up here. Come along down."
Rowena found that Mysie was growing into a very handsome girl. She had developed in many ways, and it was pretty to see her with her father; there was absolute confidence and understanding between them.
"He has got younger, and she has got older," was Rowena's conviction. She took Rowena downstairs, and General Macdonald rose to greet her with a bright smile of welcome.
He pulled an easy-chair before the fire for her, and Mysie squatted down on the hearthrug and leant her brown curly head against her knees.
"Isn't this comfy, just us three! Dad and I often wanted you when the days got dark after you left us. And do you know I've got a new name for you. I used to call you the prisoner—now I call you Miss Mignon. I learn French now, so I know a lot of fresh words!"
Rowena laughed.
"Oh, Flora, it is nice to hear you talk again! Tell me all you have been doing."
Mysie was only too delighted to chatter away. She appealed to her father very often, and he sat for the most part listening to his small daughter, but sometimes putting in a word himself.
"Dad says you live with an old lady now. Couldn't you leave her, and come and stay with us for a nice long visit? Dad and I thought you were still in India; we would have come to see you long ago, wouldn't we, Dad, if we had known you were in London."
"I'm sorry to tell you that young Macintosh is leaving us," said General Macdonald. "He has been offered a Church in Edinburgh. That is one of the causes which has brought us to town. We are going to try another governess, but we have decided that she must be quite old; somebody who will be content to sit at home over the schoolroom fire whilst Mysie and I tramp the country together."
"I hope you will find her," said Rowena gaily. "But I am sorry the Macintoshes are leaving. I liked them so much."
Then she turned to General Macdonald.
"Are you more at home now? Perhaps you have finished your work?"
"It finished me unfortunately. I had a breakdown, and was ordered back to my native air. A quiet life is the only thing I'm fit for."
"Oh, I'm sorry, and yet I know Mysie must be glad—and your tenants!"
"That's a fact!" said Mysie, nodding her head.
"And how are the Kelpies and the fairies?" Rowena inquired.
Mysie began to tell her a fresh story she had heard from an old Highland woman of the fairies' existence.
"How is your Highland book?" asked General Macdonald.
"Oh," said Rowena with a little sigh, "I have never got any forrarder. I took it out to India with me, meaning to complete it there; but somehow I couldn't get on with it. The atmosphere was lacking, and then poor Ted died, and I haven't had the heart to touch it since."
"You must finish it."
"Perhaps I will. You have stirred me up afresh."
Presently Mysie slipped away.
"I'm going to hurry up tea," she said importantly. "Dad and I think Cousin Bel's old servants all go to bed in the afternoon. None of them can be found anywhere till tea-time, and sometimes we don't have it till half-past five!"
When she had gone, General Macdonald turned to Rowena. "Why did you not answer that letter of mine?"
"What letter? I remember your saying just before I left Abertarlie, that you would either come over again, or write, but you did neither."
"I most certainly wrote. Did you never receive it?"
He got up from his chair and paced the floor in agitation, and Rowena felt breathless, as if she were on the point of a crisis in her life.
"Never. Letters sometimes go astray, and I am afraid poor Sandy was addicted to the bottle."
"I wrote, and took it for granted from your silence that—"
He broke off suddenly, and looked at her strangely. "Don't think me interfering. I can't beat about the bush. But I cannot bear to think of you with that painted woman and in her noisy set. I know her well by name. My young friend Graeme has talked of her. If you value the things you once did, how can you live with her? I do ask you as a personal favour to leave her."
Rowena was astounded and dismayed by this sudden turn to their talk. She was proud, and she seemed to General Macdonald to stiffen from head to foot.
"I have my reasons for staying with her," she said coldly. "You may doubt and misunderstand my motives, but at present I have no intention of changing my life."
"I am sorry," he said simply, and at this unfortunate juncture Mysie danced back into the room.
"Tea is coming. I coaxed and coaxed old stiff Mary till she said she would bring it at once. And I'm going to pour out, Dad, and we can just imagine we are home in Abertarlie."
But conversation was dead. Mysie chattered away apparently unconscious of the effort it was to her elders to respond to her. And very soon Rowena rose to go. She felt bitterly hurt by General Macdonald's words, and was not inclined to justify herself in his eyes.
As she walked home alone, she said to herself: "Oh what a touchy fool I am! He saw me at that rowdy party, and did not know it was quite an exception, my being there. He thought it was my habit, my life! How can I tell him why I'm not going to leave Mrs. Burke yet! I hardly dare put it into words, but I've prayed so hard, that I will not despair. No, if he misjudges me he must. Oh, how I wish I knew what was in that letter! In any case he is cautious, and canny like a Scot! I hate his cold calculating mood. I almost feel as if I never want to see him again!"
But if Rowena persuaded herself that she did not want to see him again, he most certainly wanted to see her. For the next morning at twelve o'clock he called at the house and asked for her. Mrs. Burke had not left her room yet, but Rowena was hard at work in the library. She gave a little sigh when she heard who was in the drawing-room waiting to see her. She had had a sleepless night, wondering about the contents of the missing letter, regretting the way she had spoken to her old friend, turning over in her own mind if she had been right or wrong in electing to live with Mrs. Burke, and now hardly knowing in what frame of mind to meet him.
But the moment she entered the room, General Macdonald advanced in his most courteous and kindly manner.
"I have come round to apologize for the way I spoke to you yesterday afternoon. I had no right to dictate to you as to your choice in life. May I say in extenuation, it was only my extreme interest in you, my regard for your real welfare that made me so anxious and captious about your present surroundings."
Then Rowena smiled her old sunny smile.
"You treated me as a true friend should. I felt sorry that I had not an explanation I could give you. Perhaps one day I may be able to vindicate myself."
"Meanwhile, whilst we are in town will you give me the benefit of your counsel and advice? My cousin is old. She says, 'Send the child to school.' I tried that, as you know, with disastrous results. Could you—is it too much to ask of you? Could you interview some of these governesses for me? A man is at a disadvantage. I had one afternoon of it last week, and I can tell you I have been in tight corners in my life, and have had to face a good deal, but nothing equal to the horrors of that room behind the registry office, when one undesirable young woman appeared after the other in quick succession, and they all wanted so desperately to come!"
Rowena laughed outright. She pictured the scene.
"You poor man! Of course I will help you if I can. I wish I knew of some one suitable. I wonder—"
She stopped short. The remembrance of her visit to the North came to her.
"It is only a chance, but I do know of a nice woman—a governess. She is a niece of Mrs. Burke's."
"Oh, I hardly think she would suit me," said General Macdonald hastily.
Rowena smiled. "Please don't be so prejudiced. Mrs. Burke's father was a very saintly clergyman. Her sister is a most sweet woman, wife of a hard-worked vicar in Durham, and this woman is her daughter. She has the same sweet face and manners as her mother, but with more character I should say. She is at present looking after her nephew and niece, but she wants a situation as governess. She is certificated."
"Miss Falconer had very sweet manners."
"She is as different to Miss Falconer as chalk is to cheese. She is a real good woman. I know a genuine person when I see her. Couldn't you stop in Durham and interview her, on your return to Scotland? Let me write to her first."
"I wanted to have it all settled up before we leave."
"Well, if you would rather I went to a Registry for you, I will do so."
"Thank you very much. What do you think of Mysie?"
"She has grown and developed wonderfully."
"She is most intelligent—able to talk with me on any subject, and a most interesting companion. But she has a very strong will of her own."
"Like her father," said Rowena mischievously.
"Yes, but women are not required to have as strong wills as men."
"Oh, you old-fashioned person! If a strong will is a good thing why should we not share it? A weak woman very often makes a bad man! Don't try to eradicate the strength in Mysie's character."
"I don't agree with you. The weakness in woman awakens all the chivalry in man's nature. These strong-minded females are abhorrent to me. One of these would-be teachers of my child asked me if I did not believe in the emancipation of the female sex—now what did she mean by that? Mere clap-trap or real immorality!"
Then he checked himself.
"We won't discuss these questions. You and I always slipped into an argument, didn't we, in the old days? I shall be deeply grateful if you can help me. Mysie is to me now a cherished possession and I always consider I have to thank you for bringing me to my senses about her. Now before I go, we propose paying a visit to the Zoo to-morrow afternoon. Could you come with us?"
"I am afraid not," said Rowena regretfully. "It is Mrs. Burke's 'At Home' day to-morrow, and I must be here to help her."
"Mysie will be bitterly disappointed. Where do you go on Sunday?"
Rowena mentioned a certain Church not very far off.
"Canon Villars is a most earnest preacher," she said. "Have you ever heard him?"
"No, I'll bring Mysie round there!"
He got up to go.
"I must not transgress again; but if only you were with one of these philanthropic useful women of the day, how much happier you would be."
"You don't know Mrs. Burke," Rowena said gravely. "You only judge by outer appearances."
He looked at her with a flicker of a smile in his eyes.
"A tree is known by its fruits."
"Good-bye," said Rowena very sweetly. "I will let you have the last word, though it is a woman's prerogative."
At lunch, she told Mrs. Burke about the General's visit, and to her surprise that lady became quite enthusiastic.
"We'll send for Marion at once. I'll pay her fare! She can easily leave those young people for a day or two. It is too great a chance for her to miss. I should like to help her, poor thing, and that handsome General Macdonald must be a nice man to deal with. Let us ask him to dinner; we must get her here first. Nothing like striking whilst the iron is hot. Write directly after lunch, will you, and you had better enclose a cheque for travelling expenses. Don't you think you had better wire?"
"No," said Rowena, laughing, "the poor creature would be thoroughly mystified. You would like it all settled up by this time to-morrow now, wouldn't you?"
"You know how I hate to let the grass grow under my feet."
Rowena wrote the letter. She had been much impressed by Marion's personality and capability, and felt sure that if she agreed to go to Abertarlie, she would not be a failure there. "And oh," she thought with a little grimace of disgust at her own longing for the Highlands, "why did he not offer me the job, instead of wishing to relegate me to these useful philanthropical ladies of his acquaintance!"
"The character of a generation is moulded by personal character."Westcott.
ON the following Sunday Rowena met Mysie and her father at the doors of the church which she attended. It was a quiet old-fashioned service, and the congregation was not a fashionable one, but the preacher had an arresting, quickening power of delivery, and he took the Bible alone for his authority.
General Macdonald said when he came out:
"I don't as a rule feel at home in London churches, but that man has the power of raising one from earth altogether."
"Oh, Dad!" expostulated Mysie. "I didn't feel that. I felt I was wedged between the two people I love best in the world, and I longed to hug you both!"
Rowena laughed at Mysie, but replied to the General:
"Yes, Canon Villars always takes me right away with him. He is a wonderful mixture of practical common sense and mysticism."
"And do you never get your—your friend to come and hear him?"
"Once I did."
A shadow came over Rowena's face as she spoke. She had taken Mrs. Burke there soon after they came to town, and the Canon had preached a very scathing sermon on worldliness, and the unprofitableness of it. Mrs. Burke had come away furiously indignant with him, and had refused to set her foot inside the door ever again.
"Didn't she profit by it?"
"I am afraid not. His text was, 'Hear now then, thou that art given to pleasures,' and he was very severe and convincing. But with some people, most I should think, it is absolutely useless to tell them they should give up all that they have; empty their hearts, before they know how to fill them! Love draws, severity drives!"
"I don't quite agree," said General Macdonald. "In these days there is too much laxity and forbearance with sin. But you must remember I have centuries of Scotch training behind me."
"But in vulgar words, the 'proof of the pudding is in the eating.' That sermon has kept Mrs. Burke from going to church ever since she heard it."
"I wish you would leave her," said the General emphatically.
Rowena shook her head and changed the subject.
She began to tell him of Mrs. Burke's niece, and of the letters that had been sent to her, and asked him if he would be willing to interview her, if she would be able to come to town.
"And if Mrs. Burke asks you to dinner to meet her, will you come? I hope you will."
"If I can meet her in a quiet way I shall be glad to do so."
"Now that is nice and friendly of you. I assure you that you will not be shocked in any way."
Then with a little laugh she added:
"We want to see some good people sometimes, you know. They bring a different atmosphere with them."
They took a turn together in the Park before Rowena went home. As they parted he said:
"I hope you have a quiet Sunday. But it seems to be the fashion to receive visitors all the afternoon. Even my old cousin does it."
"You will have to run away as I do if you want to be quiet," said Rowena cheerfully.
She walked home with a little amusement as well as pity at the General's inadaptability to his circumstances. "He is a man in one groove," she said to herself. "I am sure he is much concerned at my atmosphere surroundings; but after all, my business is not his, and he has no right to try to manage my life."
The next day Mrs. Burke heard from her niece. "She is actually coming," she told Rowena, "but only for a couple of nights, as she is in charge whilst her mother is away. My dear, I am frightened of her, and feel I should like to run away and leave her to you. I shall scandalize her every minute of the day, I know; her very letter reeks of righteousness!"
"Oh, don't!" expostulated Rowena in a pained tone. "You really do respect sincerity and goodness in the bottom of your heart. Don't mock at it."
"Well, I respect you. But you're not what I call sanctimonious. Now write off to that good-looking old Scotchie, and ask him to dinner. Who shall we have besides? Some one to frivol with me, I think."
"No, let us be alone for once."
"My dear, I shall be bored to tears. I shall go off to the theatre then, and leave you to entertain them."
"That you can please yourself about. But I don't think it will be very polite."
"Then I shall be as cross as two sticks—unless we can manage to shake a little fun out of our guests. I haven't seen Marion since she was a child in pinafores, but I can imagine she will be a repetition of her mother."
Marion arrived in two days' time. Rowena was glad that Mrs. Burke was dining out, for she had her to herself, and told her all she knew about Mysie and her father.
Marion was a good-looking woman. Her clothes were shabby, but she had a sweet face and a quantity of soft brown hair coiled round a shapely little head. Rowena was satisfied that she would find favour in General Macdonald's sight. They sat over the drawing-room fire and talked, and Marion at last began to ask questions about her aunt.
"I don't feel at home in all this luxury," she said, "and yet I must confess I like it. I cannot understand why my parents were so averse to be helped in any way by Aunt Caroline. You say you are fond of her. She cannot be wholly bad!"
"No," said Rowena, "she is not. She is one of the most kindhearted creatures that I have ever come across, and—remember—she has known what is good and right, and still keeps memories of her young days packed away in her heart. She always tries to appear more empty-headed and frivolous than she really is. And I believe that one day she will search and find again what she has so carelessly thrown away. Bear this in mind when you hear her talking."
Marion was tired with her journey and went early to bed. She did not see her aunt till noon the next day. Her heart sank when she saw Mrs. Burke's smart attire, and noted the powder and rouge on her smiling good-natured face.
"Well, my dear, glad to see you! Rowena has made you welcome, and you will see more of her than you will do of me, for I have a good many engagements in town. Are you ready to go off to this immaculate Highland lair? According to Rowena, the child is a perfect child, and the father everything that an ordinary man is not. He is coming to dinner with us to-night, and I advise you to take stock of him. Now tell me about your father. How is he?"
"Not much better. The doctor says it is now only a question of weeks!"
"Dear me! How sad! But doctors are often mistaken. Now, my dear Marion, have you a decent dinner dress? As my niece I like to see you nicely dressed, and if you don't possess one, I will get Rowena to run you round to the shops. There are wonderful ready-made little gowns at Dalton & Lane's, and I think a nice dark velvet would suit you. Don't trouble about the price. I have an account there and it will be booked to me. And if you do come to terms, and agree to go off to Scotland, you must have a suitable outfit. Rowena will see to it for me, I know."
Marion looked very uncomfortable. She tried to thank her aunt, but Rowena saw that gentle though she was, she possessed a certain amount of pride.
"A governess is always very quietly dressed, Aunt Caroline," she said, "and I have been a resident governess before in quite good families. I shall be able to get what I require."
"Well, I mean to give you a very quiet but handsome gown for dinner parties. Rowena, take her out directly after luncheon."
And so it came to pass that when General Macdonald arrived that evening he was introduced to a very sweet-looking, dignified woman in a brown velvet gown which matched her brown eyes and hair. He came early, and had an interview with her in Mrs. Burke's back drawing-room. There was a light in his eyes, as he joined Rowena just before dinner, and had the opportunity of speaking to her alone. "She'll do," he said. "I like her extremely. A woman with religion and principle. She's willing to come, but not just yet, I'm afraid—says she must wait till her mother returns home. And she does not seem to know when that will be. She has shown me any amount of certificates and references, but I know a good woman when I see her, and I place that first; education comes afterwards."
Dinner was a difficult time. Mrs. Burke was in her usual high spirits, and rattled away in an astonishing fashion it seemed to her niece. General Macdonald was courteous, but rather stiff, and Rowena strove to bridge over awkward pauses and water down some of Mrs. Burke's rash statements.
"I'm sure my niece is one of your sort," she informed the General. "You Scotch people always take life seriously, and she has been brought up in the old-fashioned orthodox style. Her family never has approved of me."
"Why is it old-fashioned to take life seriously?" said General Macdonald gravely. "Isn't life with all of us a very wonderful and mysterious thing?"
"Oh, I have learnt to take things as I find them," said Mrs. Burke, deliberately giving a slow wink to Rowena. "I'm not good at theology, or at any of the other 'ologies. But I remember a maxim of Solomon's—or one of the Bible sages: 'A man hath no better thing under the sun than to eat and to drink and to be merry.' And I practise that every day of my life."
"Oh, Aunt Caroline!" protested her niece.
"We have the story of one who practised that too in the Bible," said General Macdonald, fixing a stern eye upon his hostess. "And his summons to meet his God came like a thunderbolt to him."
"Yes, I think I used to be terrorized by that story when I was a child," said Mrs. Burke with smiling indifference.
Rowena felt so nervous that she almost laughed, a habit which sometimes overcame her against her will.
General Macdonald looked at her in pained surprise.
"I want you to tell Miss Panton about Abertarlie," she said, hurriedly turning to him. "She has never been in Scotland before, and has no idea of the solitude of some parts of the Highlands. Didn't you find an eagle's nest on the crags above your house when you were a boy? Mysie was telling me about it one day."
A smile came to the General's face at the memory of a very bright day in his childhood; he began describing his home to Marion, and Rowena turned to Mrs. Burke and talked nonsense with her for the rest of the meal.
Things did not go much better in the drawing-room afterwards. Mrs. Burke lit up her cigarette, offered the General one, which he declined, and asked him if he would like a game of bridge. Then she told a society scandal, and finally went to the piano and began trying over some topical music-hall songs. Rowena saw that she was determined to show her worst side to her guests, and General Macdonald's stern face had the effect of egging her on.
She sat down by him presently and began talking to him about his child.
"What does a man know about a girl child!" she exclaimed. "Let me give you a piece of sound advice. Give her her head whilst she is young, don't blacken all earth's beauties and pleasures to her. If you tie her up and confine her to one tiny rut, if you make her an obedient follower of all your prejudices and vagrant fancies, she will break away from you when she is older. It's like bottling up steam. Let the young enjoy themselves, nature will have it so. I know what I'm talking about, and I've seen many girls and boys come to utter grief because their parents tried to make them into long-faced canting Puritans."
Then the General had his say:
"Madam, there are two classes in this world. Those who train their children for Heaven, and those who train them for the Prince of this world. I seek to train my child for her heavenly inheritance, and want no advice from anyone but God Himself."
Mrs. Burke had nothing to say. She was strangely subdued for the rest of the evening. She and General Macdonald parted from each other courteously but coldly, and when he had gone she took hold of Rowena and made her come upstairs to her room with her.
"Do you really like that stiff-starched Pharisee, Rowena? Don't tell me that he is your ideal of a gentleman and a father! He's a strong man, I admit. His eyes blazed when he turned upon me. I almost admired him then. But, oh, I wouldn't be Marion for a hundred—a thousand pounds! To be shut away in a lonely Scotch glen with a man of such views would be purgatory to me. How did you stand it when you were ill? But of course I feel he is disgusted and horrified by my ways. And with you he is tenderly sympathetic and protective. My dear, his eyes never left you. He watches for you to speak, and when you do, his eyes glisten and soften as a lover's would do. Has he ever made love to you, eh? I suppose he lives too close to heaven to have anything to do with earthly love. Oh, how I hate your good people! How righteously superior and complacently smug they all are! All except you! And why are you so different? Why have you such love for such poor sinners as I and my friends are? I do believe you have a sneaking love for me even when I am outraging your sense of decency and delicacy, now haven't you? Confess it!"
"I have more than a sneaking love for you," said Rowena warmly. "But you annoy me most dreadfully when you set yourself to disgust and alienate those who would be good friends to you if you would allow them to be. You don't believe or mean half you say. Why do you delight in making yourself out such an utterly worthless and empty-headed woman?"
"Because that is what I am, and no one knows it better than I do myself. I am utterly worthless, Rowena, and one night I shall be summoned to meet my Judge like the man who admonished his soul to eat, drink, and be merry. You see I know all the Bible stories as well as your pious friend does. I wish I didn't remember the Bible so well. We were taught so much of it, and learnt so much of it by rote, that I even now find whole passages and chapters coming into my mind."
"Then you will be comforted by it when you come to the deep waters," said Rowena.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you surely remember all the lovely promises in it, don't you?"
"They are not for me."
Rowena was silent. Mrs. Burke's face was pathetic, as it sometimes was when a mood of despondency seized her. Rowena bent over and kissed her with one of her warm, sweet kisses.
"I am praying every day for you," she said softly; "now good night, and may you have pleasant dreams."
Mrs. Burke seized hold of Rowena by both hands. "I won't have you pray for me. I forbid it. I won't be made uncomfortable. I want to be left alone in peace. I believe you think you are going to bring me over to your side. I like you, but I hate good people, and I've taken a real dislike to that old General!"
"Good night," repeated Rowena, as she left the room.
Sometimes Mrs. Burke reminded her of a spoilt pettish child. She had to be humoured and left alone.
The next day there was quite a consultation about Marion's future. Mrs. Burke said that she ought to be ready to go to Scotland after the Christmas holidays. "And if your mother has not returned by that time, send me your nephew and nieces. I will look after them, and you can shut the house up, or hand it over to the locum tenens. You can't keep that old tartar waiting. I'm sorry for you to be housed with such a cantankerous saint, but you'll suit him, and he'll suit you. Write and tell him you'll be ready by the middle or end of January."
"Circumstances permitting," put in Rowena.
So Marion meekly did as she was told, writing at the same time to her parents and telling them what she was doing. She left her aunt the next day. Rowena felt she was relieved to go, and Mrs. Burke made no pretence of her feelings.
"Oil and water will not mix. She opens her eyes in fright whenever I begin to speak, and when I smoke she simply turns her head away as if she cannot bear the sight of me. I have done my duty by her, and I get no thanks for it. I hope she will never come here again!"
It was only two weeks afterwards that Mrs. Burke heard from her sister. Her husband had died suddenly, and she was returning home after the funeral.
"And I suppose she is left without a penny," was Mrs. Burke's comment. "Well, it is none of my business. I shall wait and see what she does."
Rowena knew that help would be ready for the poor widow when she would need it.
One afternoon General Macdonald came round to see her. Mrs. Burke was out. Rowena was not very well. She had had a heavy cold, and was only just out of her room. She was sitting over the fire in the drawing-room, and a book was upon her lap.
"I am afraid this is a 'good-bye' visit," said the General. "Mysie will run round to see you to-morrow, but I have business to do in the City, and we leave by the night train to-morrow evening."
"I am sorry you are going," Rowena said frankly; "but you will be glad, I know, for you don't like town."
"I think London is now as frivolous as Paris," said the General gravely. "It is no pleasure to be in it."
"There are many circles," said Rowena thoughtfully. "In every big city there is a certain section who are taking their pleasures madly, but there is a great deal of good going on in a quiet way."
"You see good in every one," said the General with a smile; "even in your giddy old friend with whom you live."
"Now, we won't talk about her. I feel so glad that you are going to have Marion Panton. I am sure she will prove a success. She is devoted to children and wins their love wherever she goes. I have seen letters from some of her old pupils. They were most attached to her."
"Yes, I am grateful to you for the trouble you have taken."
He paused, and Rowena bent forward, a glint of laughter in her bright, soft eyes:
"And don't frighten her too much by giving her your views of a child's training! You sound so very alarming when you talk, and you are so delightfully different when you act! Let yourself go sometimes, and show her that you are human like the rest of us! Am I not impudent in talking like this?"
For a moment the General's eyes held a gleam of corresponding amusement in them, then he stood up, his back to the fire and his whole face full of softened emotion:
"I really came to talk to you about something very important," he said. "Will you give me a hearing?"
"I held her hand, the pledge of bliss,Her hand that trembled and withdrew;She bent her head before my kiss,My heart was sure that hers was true."Landor.
ROWENA drew a long breath, then she said very quietly: "Of course I will. I am all attention!"
"I want to refer again to that letter which I sent you before you went to India, and which you never received. In it I asked you if you would write regularly to me as a friend, and I felt then I had no right to ask you if you could link your life to mine, because of my delicate health, and because—I could not offer you the gift you deserve—the offer of a first fresh love! I told you in the letter that if I did not hear from you in response I should conclude you did not want our acquaintance to deepen into warm friendship; and, not hearing, I concluded you felt we must remain merely acquaintances. I have tried to put you out of my thoughts. It is quite impossible. I know I am years older than you, that I am a quiet humdrum sort of creature, who has no attractive qualities for a bright young woman like yourself; but I cannot help that. My child loves you, and I—well, you have been in my heart and life from the first day I ever saw you, and I want your love if you can give it to me. I want to take you away from this life you are leading, back to Abertarlie. Will you give me the right to do it?"
Rowena's eyes were downcast. She did not speak for a moment. The rush of happiness that came to her heart almost overcame her self-control. She had striven for many a long day to put this friend out of her thoughts. She had taken herself to task for thrilling all over when he spoke or looked at her. She had schooled herself to consider that he and she would always remain pleasant friends, but would never get nearer each other. And now he cared—he had always cared!
He waited patiently; and then she looked up. Tears were glistening in her eyes. She stretched out her hands to him.
"Here I am," she said simply; "to belong to you will be bliss, for you have had my love for a long time."
"Really?"
He seemed as if he could not quite believe it. His humble diffidence was most touching. Then he took her in his arms, and no further speech was needed.
"If you had had that letter," he said presently, "you would never have gone to live with Mrs. Burke. Rowena dearest, you must leave her at once. I cannot bear to think of you continuing to live with her."
Rowena looked at him with her old sunny smile.
"Hugh,—you see your name comes quite easily to my lips; I am afraid I have often called you by it in my heart before—if you love me, you must trust me. Look me in the eyes, and tell me if you can."
"Who would not?" was his emphatic response.
"Then don't overpower me with your protecting love and care. I am not a weak young girl. I have had to stand alone, and be a prop to others, and think of their faltering steps before my own. And at present Mrs. Burke is my mission in life. Your love won't shatter that to pieces."
"But you cannot enjoy her society."
"I am fond of her; and I want to help her back to the old paths in which her feet once were. It is slow work, but she is beginning to hanker after them. Her present life satisfies her less and less. You must not tear me away from her just yet."
"I feel I want you at once; and I don't and I can't approve of your home here."
"No; and it is difficult to make you understand. But we won't mar this best hour in my life by talking of disagreeables. Do you know, I am just a wee bit afraid of you? Am I to give up my own individuality and freedom of soul if I link my life to yours? Am I to look-out upon the world only through your eyes, and not through my own?"
"Never!" said the General fervently. "Your individuality is what has drawn me to you. You have always done me good by your wise counsel. I should have lost my child's affection had I not listened to you. No, Rowena, I want you to be your own true dear fearless self always. But—well, we will not discuss it now. You have made me too happy for words. I feel as if I am beginning life again, as if I have been walking under a forest of dark gloomy impenetrable trees, and have just emerged into glorious sunshine!"
"I believe tea is coming in," said Rowena demurely. "It's a pity we still have to eat and drink. Will you stay to tea, General Macdonald?"
The butler was in the room. The General looked as if he wished him farther, but his time alone with Rowena was over. Mrs. Burke returned home, bringing two young men and a girl with her, and General Macdonald promptly took his leave. As his hand touched Rowena's he said:
"When shall we see you? I won't send Mysie round now. May I call to-morrow, after I have done my business, and will you come to lunch with us? I will bring an invitation from my old cousin when I come."
She nodded to him brightly, then turned to help entertain Mrs. Burke's visitors. But she was rather dreamy and silent, and Mrs. Burke's quick eyes perceived it.
When they were alone together later she said:
"What has that old fusty friend of yours been saying to you? Something unpleasant about me I don't doubt."
"No; indeed he has not. We hardly mentioned you."
Rowena felt she could not announce her engagement till she had had some quiet time to herself. She was longing to get away into the solitude of her own room, but Mrs. Burke went on talking. If she had no visitors she liked to chat with Rowena over the fire between tea and dinner. She enjoyed talking over all her doings of the day, and making fresh plans for the morrow.
"I shall be quite glad when that man takes his departure. I think I feel jealous of him. I don't like him hanging round you as he does. Is he going to-morrow?"
"Yes—to-morrow evening."
Rowena stared into the fire as she spoke. Mrs. Burke looked at her sharply; then went on:
"I think we must leave town next week. It is getting near Christmas, and I mean to have a big house-party this year. You will be glad, I know. How you hate town, don't you?"
"It is always such a rush," Rowena said. "You make me breathless. I cannot keep pace with you. And I don't feel so young as you do. I get so tired."
"I'm rather tired myself," Mrs. Burke admitted; "but I'm only tired when I'm doing nothing. Now, to-morrow morning I'm going to drive the Carlton Hughes down to Richmond in a car—we shall lunch there. But I've promised to go to the matinée at Chelsea for the Poor Actors' Fund, so I must be back early. Would you like to come with me?"
"Not unless you really want me."
"I can do without you. I've asked Lady Goring and her brother to dinner, and the Yates, and I think Mr. Wales is coming in afterwards with his violin—I've asked him professionally. Lady Goring is mad on music, and so is her brother. He has just returned from India, rather a nice man. You'll see to the table decorations, won't you? The new parlour maid is such a fool—she's no ideas in the floral line."
"Oh, I'll see to the dinner; and I shall have a quiet day to myself," said Rowena contentedly. "Don't you think we had better write and let Mrs. Gates know we are returning to the Court so soon? She will want to get things ready."
"Yes; write to her to-morrow."
The talk went on. At last the dressing-bell rang, and Rowena was free. She went up to her room and sank into a chair before her fire. She could hardly believe, even now, how her whole future life would become altered by the event of the afternoon.
She realized that responsibilities and cares would mingle with the vista of sunshine and joy that lay before her. She wondered how Mysie would take the news.
"She loves me now; but she is also most devoted to her father. Will she think that I shall step in between them? I hope not. I hope that she will be willing to have me as a stepmother. Perhaps it is a good thing that she is still so young. A few years later, and it would be very difficult with a grown-up daughter. I don't think I should have the courage to go through it! And yet I don't know; with Hugh at my side I feel I would do and dare anything. It is wonderful to have got his love. He has always seemed a little unapproachable. I must make him unbend. I will—I must, for his own sake, get him to be less stern and autocratic. I dare say I shall have a few pitched battles with him. But it is his strength and determination that I love so. I wonder if we shall quarrel over Mrs. Burke? I will not be rushed into a hasty marriage; he must wait my time." Then she remembered that she had not mentioned the invitation to lunch which was coming for her. "I must tell her to-night, and get it over. It is of no use to hide it."
So after dinner Rowena said:
"I forgot to tell you that General Macdonald wants me to go round to lunch with them to-morrow. He may call here himself in the morning."
"Ah! This is your quiet day! Rowena, is there anything between you?"
Rowena sat in her low chair with her hands clasped loosely round her knees. She turned towards Mrs. Burke with a glow upon her cheeks as she said:
"I hope you won't be vexed if I tell you that there is."
"I knew it! It is my fate! Oh, I wish I had never brought you to town, and then you would never have met him! I felt from the first he was determined to take you from me!" Mrs. Burke got up from her chair and paced the floor furiously. "I hate him!" she burst forth. "A narrow-minded bigot! He condemns every one who doesn't think alike with him. He will rule you and keep you under his thumb, and be a despotic tyrant. How can you be such a fool as to marry him? Don't you value your liberty and independence? Is it all settled?"
"We have loved each other for a long time," said Rowena. "You must remember I knew him before I met you."
Mrs. Burke came back to her seat.
"I feel inclined to blubber like a baby. I can't let you go, Rowena. Are you going to leave me at once?"
"No; indeed I am not."
"I believe if you had stayed with me you could have done anything with me," said Mrs. Burke helplessly. "I don't know how it is, but I have said to myself more than once, 'It is no good for you to resist, Rowena means to drag you after her into heaven itself.' And I've been wretched. I confess to you I have. You've never preached to me; but just a word here and a word there—it's been like the dropping of water upon a stone. I've stifled my conscience and gone desperately on; but the honest truth is that I am getting old and tired, and would give worlds to have the peace and rest of soul which you have. Now I don't care! If you leave me I shall plunge along in the old way. I never thought I could get so fond of anyone as I have of you. I feel I could kill that gaunt grey man who has come here making love to you behind my back. I know his sort. He has an iron will, and can make you do anything he chooses. And I beg you to count the cost, and consider calmly while you have your senses in your own possession, whether this contemplated marriage of yours will be a success. I know men better than you do, and I know this Scotchman. I knew him by repute. He did not make his first wife very happy. He ignored and neglected his child, till he was shamed into doing something for her. She was being brought up as a little savage; his cousin, Mrs. Graeme, told me all about it. And he'll crush your spirit and lead you the life of the condemned. Let him marry Marion. She's the sort for him. The kind of woman who would black his boots and lie down for him to tread upon her. But you have character and a will of your own. You will never be happy with him. Do, I beseech you, reconsider it, and tell him you can't marry him!"
Mrs. Burke paused for breath.
Rowena leant towards her and took her hand in hers.
"My dear Mrs. Burke, I can't help being grateful to you for your affection. But you really don't know Hugh Macdonald, as I do, or as my brother did. You must remember he is an old friend of my family's. I won't discuss his character with you. You are doing him great injustice, and he would make any woman happy—of that I am assured."
"Not me!" put in Mrs. Burke emphatically.
Rowena laughed; she could not help it.
"No; I cannot fancy you and him pulling together. But I shall be more than content. Don't let us talk any more of my engagement. I am not leaving you at present. We will go down to Minley and have a nice Christmas together. Don't let us look on too far into the future. You have made me very happy to-night."
"How?" asked Mrs. Burke in a bewildered tone.
"Oh, it was something you said. You are turning round with wistful eyes to the old road on which your feet once travelled. And you will soon be back there again. Now forgive me, but I'm going to quote a prophet's words: 'Stand in the ways, and see and ask for the old paths, where is the good way and walk them, and ye shall find rest for your souls.' You are standing now and seeing. The rest will follow."
"Ridiculous girl!" Mrs. Burke moved restlessly in her seat as she spoke. Then she said: "You have a way of getting confessions out of me, and then you turn and rend me with your Bible verses. People don't believe in the Bible nowadays. It is only a collection of Eastern sages' sayings."
"I used not to believe in it, until I began to read it. You have only to read it, and read it, and read it by itself, without any commentaries or other books which justify its divinity, to be certain that it is inspired. It begins to feed and nourish your soul at once in the most wonderful way. I have proved it."
"And now your sermon is ended," said Mrs. Burke, with a forced laugh, "and we will go to bed edified by it. And to-morrow you will have to hear more of my opinions concerning your Scotch General. I am glad to hear you do not intend leaving me at present. Perhaps the fates will intervene, and he may meet with some accident or illness which will take him to the sphere for which he is fitted. He is certainly not fitted for this one."
Rowena felt it useless to protest. She knew and understood Mrs. Burke too well to be hurt or offended by her words, and she realized that she was talking recklessly to hide her feelings. She kissed her affectionately when she wished her good night, and Mrs. Burke had the grace to be ashamed of herself.
"You will have to go over to your sister-in-law to tell her the news. She will give you the sympathy you ought to have. You can't expect me to like it, if it means that you are going to leave me."
By mutual instinct they both avoided the subject of her engagement the next day. Mrs. Burke went down to Richmond, and about twelve o'clock General Macdonald appeared, his cousin's note in his hand.
Rowena was ready for him. In her dark green cloth coat and skirt, with sable furs, a present from the generous Mrs. Burke, and a green velvet picture hat, she looked very handsome and dignified. But her radiantly happy face as she turned towards him made him exclaim as he greeted her:
"Oh, Rowena, I hope I shall be worthy of you!"
"Now, I must make a stipulation that I have no more speeches of that sort," she said, laughing. "Let us both consider ourselves the best of human beings. It will give us such a nice satisfied, comfortable sort of feeling. Have you told Mysie?"
"In a kind of way."
"How did she take it?"
"She was of course overjoyed at the prospect. You don't think she would object?"
"She might. Stepmothers are not popular with children."
"Oh, I didn't go into details. Have you told your old lady?"
"Yes. She is not very pleased."
"I can understand that. Don't you think you and I could walk into some quiet church here and have the marriage service to ourselves? I don't want to hurry you, but Mysie is expecting you at Abertarlie for Christmas."
A flush came into Rowena's cheeks. That prospect seemed so alluring; but she shook her head.
"I cannot leave Mrs. Burke so soon. I am spending Christmas with her at her country house. We must wait a little longer."
General Macdonald looked disappointed. He called a taxi, and they drove off to Eton Place. Mysie had been watching out for them at the drawing-room window, and came dancing out into the hall. Rowena kissed her very lovingly.
"Oh," the little girl exclaimed as she hugged her tight, "Dad says you're coming to stay with us. What does it mean? Are you going to be my governess? Cousin Bel seems so mysterious about it, and Dad wouldn't tell me properly."
She was taking Rowena up to the drawing-room now, which was empty. For a moment they were alone, as General Macdonald had stopped to take some letters from the old butler.
Rowena put her hand under Mysie's chin and turned her face upwards.
"Now you and I are going to be quite fair and square, Flora. How would you like me to come and live with you and Dad for always?"
Mysie's blue eyes gleamed.
"But why haven't you done it before? I've always been telling Dad that you ought to. And then cousin Bel said the other day that it would not be proper. Such ridic'lous nonsense!"
"I could only do it one way," said Rowena softly, "and that would be by marrying your Dad. He wants me to do it. What do you say?"
Mysie gave a delighted yell.
"Then you'd belong to us for ever and ever! Oh, Mignon, it would be heavenly! And you and I would go and see the fairies' hills; and we'd tell each other stories by the fire when Dad was out; and—oh, I think I could scream for joy at the thought of it! You'd always be there when I wanted you, and you'd help me and love me always. Why didn't Dad tell me the whole of it, not just a little bit? I thought you were only coming for a visit."
Rowena's heart felt as light as a feather. She could say no more, for General Macdonald appeared, leading in his old cousin, Mrs. Peale, who greeted her very warmly.
"Very glad to see you, my dear. Your name is quite familiar to me; and now I have seen you I quite understand why I have heard so much about you. Hugh is to be congratulated."
"And I think I am, too," said Rowena, smiling.
They had a pleasant lunch together. Mysie was in the greatest delight, and chattered incessantly about all that Rowena would have to do and see at Abertarlie. Mrs. Peale checked her at last.
"My dear child, we don't want to hear any more about that wonderful Highland home of yours. I shall advise Miss Arbuthnot to live half the year in London—certainly the greater part of the winter she ought to be here."
"But she loves the Highlands; don't you, Mignon?"
"I adore them, Flora. Sometimes a bit of bracken or the smell of a wood fire will give me a whiff of the sweet Highland air, and then I forget everything and everybody, for my soul flies over there at once, and my body sits with a daft smile, deaf to every one till my soul comes back again."
Mysie clapped her hands.
"Yes, and now you'll belong to us altogether."
When lunch was over Mrs. Peale insisted upon Mysie going upstairs to the drawing-room with her, leaving the General and Rowena alone.
And they had a delightful hour together.
"It will be the first time that I return home regretfully," General Macdonald said; "but if you are leaving town at once, I should not have seen much more of you."
"No; we must just be patient. When the New Year comes perhaps we can make plans. Do you expect to hear from me?"
"Need you ask?"
"I am not very good at writing letters, but I shall write to you in my quiet times."
General Macdonald was standing looking down upon her. How he loved her low mellow voice and her happy laugh. As she raised her glowing mischievous eyes to him now, he just stooped and enclosed her face between his two hands.
"Rowena, I feel as if I cannot part from you. I don't think you know how impatience has seized my soul, and I do want to get you out of Mrs. Burke's clutches. How long are you going to keep me waiting?"
"Until I can provide her with a nice substitute. I want to get a great-niece of hers to come and live with her. If I am successful, I shall not mind leaving her. I promise to write and tell you everything that is going on, even how many At Homes and parties I attend in the week." Then he gently released herself. "I won't tease you," she said. "I assure you I live a very normal life when we are in the country. Very much the sort of life that you do at Abertarlie."
"Oh," he said, drawing a long breath, "what a lot of things we shall have to discuss together when you come down there, and how you will help me in some of my plans for the good of the people round!"
Time slipped away only too soon. Rowena had to return to Mrs. Burke's early, and the General and Mysie both accompanied her to the door. She wished them good-bye there; and after they had left her, she felt a sudden depression of spirit seize her.
"I could have gone to Geraldine for Christmas, got my things ready and married him in the New Year. Why do I cling on to Mrs. Burke so? I shall have to leave her sooner or later. I suppose it is my lack of courage in tackling anything disagreeable. But I do feel awfully sorry for her. She is like a child who has always had her own way."