"We cannot well forget the hand that holdsAnd pierces us and will not let us go,However much we strive from under it.The heavy pressure of a constant pain ...Is it not God's own very finger-tipsLaid on thee in a tender steadfastness?"Hamilton King.
"MY dear Mrs. Burke, you are never going out this afternoon?"
Rowena looked up from a newspaper which she was reading. She was toasting her feet over a roaring wood fire in Mrs. Burke's pleasant morning-room at Minley Court. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. Outside the house, a storm of wind and rain was raging. For three days the weather had been so bad that they had been confined to the house. The rain was not quite so violent now, but after luncheon Mrs. Burke had told Rowena she was going to lie down in her room, with a novel, till tea-time.
"There is nothing else to do," she had mournfully complained.
Now she burst open the door attired in an old tweed hat and in her fur coat.
"Yes; I'm going out," she said. "I couldn't stand my book, and I couldn't sleep; so I thought I'd go over to Vi and Di. I haven't seen them yet; and I've ordered out the car. And I may go on and look up the Sheringhams. I want the Colonel for my theatricals, on Boxing night."
"I don't expect Vale likes the prospect of driving in this storm," said Rowena, looking at her friend with some dismay in her eyes. "Are you wise in going? You have a slight cold."
"I shall be under cover, so will Vale."
"It will soon be dark, remember."
"What of that? We have lamps."
"I wish I was better at amusing you," said Rowena, with a twinkle of humour. "You are the sort that would appreciate a house fool, like the royalties used to have. He would keep you in the house an afternoon like this, by sitting at your feet and by amusing you with stories and songs and clever wit. I am too dull for you, and that's the fact. If I had only known you were bored with your book, I would have rummaged through Mudie's box and brought you another."
"Oh, you're all right," said Mrs. Burke, patting her shoulder affectionately. "When I come in, I want to look through my gowns for a suitable one for me in the character of Lady Teazle. Your taste is so good that you will help me in that. Don't wait tea for me. I may be late."
Rowena came to the front door to see her off. The wind made a determined onslaught upon them directly the door was opened. The butler helped Mrs. Burke down the steps, holding an umbrella over her to keep off the driving rain. She waved her hand airily to Rowena when she was in the car, and Rowena went back to her comfortable seat by the fire. Her idle time was over; she had an hour's work before her, finishing Mrs. Burke's correspondence for the day. But she was writing letters now of great interest to her. One was to Mrs. Panton, Mrs. Burke's sister, to enclose a Christmas cheque, and to ask her to let her grandchildren come to Minley Court for part of their holidays. Also to suggest to her to come down to the South of England, where schools were cheap, and where she could sometimes be seen by her sister. They were selling their furniture at the Vicarage, and Marion was going to Scotland the last week in January.
When Rowena had finished her work for Mrs. Burke, she began writing letters for herself.
She had seen her sister-in-law before leaving town, and she was, of course, delighted with her engagement. Now she wrote to her telling her she hoped to come to her for a week after the New Year to talk over her coming marriage; and lastly she wrote her letter to General Macdonald. They kept up a brisk correspondence with each other, and his letters revealed more of his real self than did any of his conversation. He possessed the Scotch reserve, in talking, which disappeared in his letters.
Rowena wrote to him with gladness in her eyes and smile.
"MY DEAREST,—""Your letter is before me. It arrived in a howling, blustering storm, when outside all was cheerless and grey; and it warmed my heart, as your letters always do, and made me feel as if the sun was shining out upon a gloriously happy world. Dear Hugh! May I prove worthy of such love as yours. Only don't, I beseech you, place me on a high pedestal. I assuredly shall have a tumble if you do; and I want to keep my feet, for Mysie's sake as well as your own. As you are greedy for all details in my daily life I will proceed to describe my day—"
She had only got this far when Dodge, the butler, appeared, ostensibly to close up for the night, as it was getting dark, and to bring in tea; but he moved about so uneasily that at last Rowena looked up.
"The storm seems getting worse again," she remarked.
"It does, ma'am; and I wish the mistress were back. The postman says the bridge across Minley Weir is getting shaky. He thinks it unsafe. The river is terribly high."
"They'll have to go round by Tanbury if they can't pass it," said Rowena.
He said no more; but when her tea was brought in, and she heard the howling wind and the torrents of rain which were falling, she grew anxious. It was a pitch-dark night. Supposing that Vale, the chauffeur, was not told about the unsafe condition of the bridge? She knew he was a fast driver, and Mrs. Burke had more than once remarked that he was not cautious enough. If they dashed over the bridge and it gave way, there would be an awful accident, and the weir was only ten minutes' walk from there.
Rowena shuddered. She began to long that Mrs. Burke was home; then she wished that she had accompanied her. Time went on, an hour passed, then two; and then Rowena expressed her fears to Dodge.
"Couldn't some of the men in the stables go down to the bridge and see if it is all right? I wish we had thought of it before. They could at least have hung up a warning light."
"Webster did go off half an hour ago, ma'am; and he took the two stable lads with him."
"Oh, I am glad. Of course, Mrs. Burke may have stayed with the Miss Dunstans. They have sometimes kept her for the night; but she would have sent a message to us, and we ought to have had it by this time."
There was a slight bustle in the hall. Dodge hastened out, and Rowena followed him. There at the door was Mrs. Burke, streaming wet, the footman and Webster, her coachman, were supporting her in their arms. She was blue with cold, but looked up at Rowena with a glimmer of a smile, though her teeth chattered in her head as she spoke.
"I've had a ducking, and I'm frozen through. Get me to bed."
They did not take very long to do that. Rowena asked no questions, she rolled her up in hot blankets, gave her brandy-and-water, put hot bottles to her feet, and she and her maid rubbed her all over to restore her circulation. Then, when she was thoroughly comfortable, Rowena sat down by her, and Mrs. Burke began to talk.
"Don't stop me, I feel I must speak. People tell me luck is always with me. Why I am not lying drowned under the weir at this moment is the marvel. That fool of a man drove right into the river: part of the bridge had been washed away; and over we went, and the awful part was I couldn't get out. The car plunged its nose downwards, but stuck between some bits of timber, and there I was pinned. I clung to my seat, and the water came in right up to my shoulder, but not over my head. I yelled, but no one came to, my rescue, and it seemed to me I was there hours, and at last I heard footsteps and voices, and I think I must have done a little faint, for I remember nothing more till I was being carried up the steps here. Where is Vale?"
"He is safe," said Rowena. "They say he jumped off, but was lying unconscious on the bank when Webster found him. He struck his head against one of the posts of the bridge, they think."
"He'd better have the doctor."
"Webster will see to him. Lie still. You have had a marvellous escape. We must thank God for it."
But Mrs. Burke would not lie still. She seemed feverish and excited.
"My dear Rowena, I've been in purgatory. I really have. Now I know what it is to be left alone with your sins, and death staring you in the face. It was like a torture trick, to be bottled up in that car, slowly drowning in the dark, and not being able to get out of it. The water was rushing and whirling outside at such a rate that I dare say it was as well I could not get out—I should only have been carried over the weir. Well, you tell me I never give myself time to think; I've had the time to-day; and I was dumb, Rowena, and stupefied. An awful Bible verse came into my mind and stuck there. 'What wilt thou say when He shall punish thee?' What could I say? Nothing—I had cast away my confidence. And I knew I might be in the other world at any moment. I felt the car being gradually sucked down."
She shivered. Rowena looked a little anxiously at her bright eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Don't think any more about it now, but try to sleep," she said soothingly.
"I can't sleep. Why was I left to hang between life and death for so long?"
Rowena was silent, then she bent over her.
"I am sure you ought to sleep. Let me give you a verse for you to sleep on: I will heal their backsliding, I will love them freely.'"
Mrs. Burke gave a little impatient snort.
Rowena added—
"I am going to send Phillips to watch by you whilst I go and see how Vale is. Do try to sleep, dear. Are you warm now?"
"I have been badly scared and shaken," said Mrs. Burke, trying to speak indifferently; "but I shall be myself to-morrow."
Rowena bent down and kissed her, then slipped out of the room.
She found that Vale was recovering, but she wrote a note to the doctor, for she did not like the look of Mrs. Burke, and she asked him to come over early the next morning.
When the next day arrived, Mrs. Burke was tossing on her bed in agony, and before very long, she was in the throes of rheumatic fever. It was so severe that she had to be wrapped in cotton wool from head to foot, and two nurses were brought in by the doctor to attend to her.
Rowena spent most of her time in the sick-room. All the Christmas festivities had to be postponed. At one time the doctor thought his patient would not pull through. He told Rowena that her heart would not bear the strain of the attack. But she rallied wonderfully, and her constant cry through both her conscious and unconscious times was that Rowena should be close to her.
"Keep death away from me, if you can," she whispered once. "Pray. You will be heard. I sha'n't."
Rowena never left off praying that her life might be spared. On Christmas Day she lay very weak, but perfectly conscious.
"What a Christmas you are having, poor child!" she murmured, looking up into Rowena's face with a flicker of a smile. "Have my sister's young people arrived?"
"No," said Rowena; "I put them off. The doctor said I had better do so."
"That's a pity; but it would be dull for them. Does the doctor think I'm on the mend?"
"Oh, yes—decidedly."
"It's going to be a long business, eh?"
"I am afraid so."
"How is the General? I thought of him when I was in the river. I made sure my summons had come. 'Soul, this night—' You know how it goes on. But it didn't come."
"No," said Rowena softly; "God wanted you here."
"I shall be no good to anyone. I wonder why I was given a fresh lease of life?"
"To live to His glory," said Rowena quickly.
She said no more, for she knew that Mrs. Burke must be kept absolutely quiet and not excited in any way. The sick woman moved her head restlessly on her pillow.
"If He would only put me out of pain. I can't think, when red-hot wires are pulling me in every direction!"
It was long before she was able to leave her bed. Rowena was horrified to see how twisted and swollen her joints were, and she spoke to the doctor about it. He looked grave.
"My dear Miss Arbuthnot, I'm afraid she will never be the same woman again. For a long time she has overtaxed her strength, and lived too fast for health; and now this rheumatism has come to stay, and her heart is much affected by it."
"Yet you have told her she will recover."
"I think she may live many years yet; but she must be content with a quiet invalid's life. She will, I fear, always be crippled."
"Oh, how dreadful! She has been such an active woman. How will she bear it?"
"As many others have borne it. Pluck is not lacking in her composition."
"She is always asking when she will be well again. You must break it to her."
"I would rather leave it to you," said the doctor, with a little rueful smile. "You manage her better than we do."
And so it came to pass that, two or three weeks later, Rowena got her chance; and when Mrs. Burke said impatiently that, if the doctor could not cure her quicker she would go up to town for special treatment, she answered her.
"I wonder if you realize how very, very ill you have been?"
"I should think I do. They say I never do things by halves; and I've never been ill in my life before, so I have done the job pretty thoroughly now!"
"Rheumatic fever generally leaves its effects behind," Rowena went on. "I am afraid you will be no exception to the rule."
"What do you mean?"
Real fright showed itself in Mrs. Burke's eyes.
Rowena leant forward and took one of her poor swollen hands in hers.
"You have never shirked difficulties, or even danger, have you? Can you be brave if I tell you what every doctor would fear in your case?"
"Go on. For goodness' sake don't beat about the bush."
"The fear is that you may never wholly get the use of your limbs again. You are getting better, and you will be able to walk soon, I hope, with the help of a stick; but you must make up your mind to lead a quiet life and be more or less of an invalid."
"Rubbish! I won't make up my mind to it. I will resist with all the power that is in my body against such a verdict. I shall go to Harrogate. I have seen cripples cured there. I shall go abroad to the baths. I will travel all over the world before I'll lie down under such an infamous assertion."
"You see, you cannot do the cures because of the weakness of your heart."
Mrs. Burke laughed scornfully.
"So this old molly of a doctor says. Now make arrangements for the best specialist on rheumatism to come down and see me. I will make him tell me a different tale to that. Write at once, Rowena; don't lose a post."
"But," said Rowena, with a little helpless laugh, "whom can I write to? I must ask Dr. Hole to give me the name of one."
"Telephone to the little wretch at once, then."
Rowena went to the telephone in the hall. She came back presently with the name of a specialist, and as Mrs. Burke happened to know of him, he was summoned at once.
In two days' time he arrived. But he could not give her much hope.
"If you were ten years younger, madam, you would have a better chance. As it is, time may be kind to you, and you may to a great extent get the better of the disease. I should hope for it, if I were you; and you will find that you can still enjoy life quietly and peacefully."
"My good man, I hate quiet and peace! I loathe a quiet life! There, say no more, I never did think much of doctors; and if they can't manage to make a cure of a strong healthy woman like myself, well, they're not of any account at all."
She was so furiously angry that she brought on a heart attack, and lay like a frightened exhausted child an hour later. But when she recovered she said no more on the subject, and for several days was very quiet and subdued.
Then, one sunny afternoon towards the end of February, as she lay on her couch by her bedroom window looking down upon the spring bulbs in the beds below, she called Rowena to her.
"I want to have a real good talk with you. Come and sit down and give me your whole undivided attention. I'm thankful to have got rid of those nurses at last. They were always coming in and interrupting if I happened to get you to myself for a moment or two. And you're rather an elusive sort of creature sometimes, Rowena. You've had such splendid chances of preaching to me on the vanity of life, and the iniquities of my past, and the judgment that has descended upon me, and you've never taken them."
"I'm not good at preaching," said Rowena; "but I have prayed for you hard."
"I know you have. But now I want a thorough good sermon from you. I'm ready and waiting for it. Begin." Rowena smiled.
"What is it you want to be told? You know your Bible as well as I do."
"I want to be told," said Mrs. Burke very slowly and impressively, "how my present life can be made bearable. You tried to take away my zest for the life I loved when you first came to me. Now I want you to give me zest for this changed life of mine. Can you do it?"
"I don't think I can," said Rowena slowly and thoughtfully; "but I can tell you how to get it. Why should your life be emptier now than it has been? On the contrary, you can make it much fuller."
"My dear, when a woman of my age becomes a hopeless, helpless invalid she drops out of everything. Her friends will write letters of condolence. As you know, I have had a good many already, and some of them will come over and see me for a week or two, then they will go their way and forget all about me. Their lives are too much in a rush to remember me. I remember a very young woman. I was very fond of her—struck down by a kind of paralysis. I saw her once after the illness, but never again. It was too painful, and I was too busy. That is how I shall be treated now by my most intimate friends. You see I am looking the thing in the face. Now, what is going to sustain me through this lean time? How can I get through it cheerfully and happily, when everything that I live for has been swept away from me at one fell swoop?"
"You'll never do it. It is an impossibility," said Rowena soberly; "if you still persist in living your life apart from God."
"Ah! now here comes the sermon. Proceed. Do you think I am going to creep to the feet of the Almighty because I am in trouble?"
"It is your proper rightful place," said Rowena firmly. "You used to be happy in His service—you have acknowledged it. You have tried, like the Prodigal, to feed your soul on husks, and you have been brought very low. There is nothing for it but for you to come home with that cry on your lips, 'Father, I have sinned.'"
There was silence in the room, then Mrs. Burke said in a strangely gentle tone for her:
"I told you in town that I was getting old and tired, didn't I? That I envied you the comfort you get out of your religion. Now I lie on my couch here and I think and think and think until I nearly go mad. Do you honestly think, having cast away my confidence, that I can ever get it again? There's an awful verse—I looked it up on the sly this morning when I was alone—it's in Hebrews. It says it's impossible for those who've once had the real thing and have fallen away to come back again—to renew them again unto repentance. What do you say to that?"
"What do you make of the parable of the lost sheep?" Rowena said. "Our Saviour told that Himself, and He gave two other instances in the same chapter. There were the lost sheep, the lost bit of money, and the lost son. Dear Mrs. Burke, if you want to return to your rightful Owner, do you think He will refuse to take you? Don't you remember this verse spoken to the people who had forsaken God for idolatry: 'Return, thou backsliding Israel, saith the Lord, and I will not cause Mine anger to fall upon you: for I am merciful, saith the Lord, and I will not keep anger for ever. Only acknowledge thine iniquity, that thou hast transgressed against the Lord thy God.'"
"How can you remember so much of the Bible?"
"I love it," said Rowena simply. "I am always reading it. If you started to read it, you would find it would tell you all you want to know."
"I suppose I may as well tell you that when I was seeing death so close to me out of the car windows, when we stuck in the river, that I was in such a funk that I vowed a vow—I really did. I promised to alter my life, if it was spared. I suppose I shall have to do it."
"Then if you have made up your mind to do that, you'll end by being a very happy woman," said Rowena. "And you don't want any more sermons from me, for you know what will bring peace to your soul."
They sat very silent then for some time. This was only one of the many serious talks they had together. Rowena marvelled at the gentle childishness which Mrs. Burke showed in these conversations, and then one day she told Rowena that she had begun to pray again.
"I find it much more difficult than I used to do, so many doubts come into my head. But I just go on, and I feel better, after a bit. I want to make my peace with God. If He'll be willing to take just these last failing years of my life, I'm willing to hand myself over to His care."
Rowena at times could hardly believe that this was Mrs. Burke who was speaking. She had never thought the change in her life could come so quietly and gently.
But it was the fact, and before very long Mrs. Burke was able to say, with a happy shining face, that she believed she was forgiven and received back within the fold.
Rowena loved this quiet time of convalescence. She devoted herself to the invalid, and though her thoughts were often in the Highlands, she was content and happy to be where she was.
She knew that the purpose of her stay with Mrs. Burke had now been most wonderfully fulfilled.
"In any repentance I have joy—such joyThat I could almost sin to seek for it."Clough.
"WELL, I've come over at last! I heard that Mrs. Burke was receiving visitors."
It was Vi Dunstan who spoke, and Rowena replied: "She has only seen the rector as yet, but I'm sure she will be glad to see you."
"What an awful thing it is! Di and I have been quite upset over her; but we hate sickness in any shape or form, and always keep away from it. We hear the poor thing will never be the same again. Is it true?"
"That is quite true. But you will find her very cheery. Come along. It does her good to see visitors. She will know then that you haven't quite forgotten her!"
"We think it's partly our fault for not keeping her for the night that awful day. It was such a ghastly accident."
Rowena led the way upstairs. It was March now, but Mrs. Burke had not yet left her rooms. A room adjoining her bedroom had been furnished as a sitting-room, and she was carried in there every morning, where she lay on her couch, as she was still unable to walk.
Vi greeted her affectionately, and Rowena left them alone. Mrs. Burke had often wondered that neither of the girls had been over to see her.
"You look better than I expected," Vi said, after she had expressed her sympathy. "I don't believe anything would ever upset your serenity. You look jollier than ever. You must hurry up and get well. Di and I were saying that this part stagnates unless you are down here to stir us up and keep us going!"
"I shan't be able to do that any more," said Mrs. Burke gravely.
"Never say die! Rheumatism is a thing that comes and goes, doesn't it?"
"It won't leave me, I am afraid. I wonder how much you care about me, Vi? I don't expect you'll understand, but an accident like mine makes one think. I've stared death in the face, and it has altered my life. I see now that this world isn't enough. I want another."
Vi gave an embarrassed laugh.
"I can't fancy your taking to Pi jaw! How you've always mocked at such things!"
"And now I'm going to love them and uphold them," said Mrs. Burke with emphasis. "If you give me a wide berth because of it, I shall understand, but I hope you won't. I shan't preach to you; I shall only try to live out my religion. The fact is, Vi, I used to believe in these things once, and then I gave it all up, and it made me extra bitter and reckless against the people who believed in it still. Of course, you'll say I've taken to religion, because I've had to give up all my gaieties. It does seem mean, on the face of it. But I only know that I am twice as happy as I ever was before."
"You look A 1," said Vi.
She seemed slightly uncomfortable at this talk.
"Of course, I know who's talked you over," she said, after a minute's silence. "It's Miss Arbuthnot; she nearly talked me into it once. At least, she didn't talk much, but she suddenly hit the nail on the head fair and square, and left me to think it out. Well, I'm glad you've something to cheer you! We're a pretty dismal house at present. Have you heard the news? Bob is going to be married."
"Oh, my dear, I'm sorry for you!"
"Isn't it rotten? And it's to that Dolly Duccombe of the Gaiety. She's an awful little bounder. Di and I are pretty sick! Out of the house we have to go before next June. I mean to take on old Colonel Sheringham. He's proposed to me five or six times, so I shall still be in the neighbourhood. What Di means to do I don't know."
"Are you really going to marry Tom Sheringham? My congratulations. He's a nice man. I always liked him; but what will the General do?"
"He'll have to go; so that will be another turn out. The house is the Colonel's, not his. It's pretty dreary for us all; and now the hunting is stopping! We're always like bears with sore heads when that's off. When is Miss Arbuthnot going to be married?"
"Oh, don't ask! It's awfully good of her staying on with me. But I know that I shall have to lose her soon."
Vi chatted away for a good half-hour. When she left, she said:
"I'll tell Di to come and see you. And she might be the better for a preach on her iniquities. She's knee-deep in debt, and doesn't know how to pay her bills. Ta, ta!"
Mrs. Burke was relieved when the visit was over. She had rather been dreading it, but her warm heart still went out to the two girls, especially now when they were experiencing, for the first time in their lives, what it was to lose their home.
They were the only ones of her old friends who still stuck to her. The rector and his daughter Maude came round very often. The days were long and monotonous to Mrs. Burke. She had never worked, and got tired of reading. Sometimes Rowena found it hard work to keep her cheerful.
Easter was coming round, and then Mrs. Burke called Rowena to her one morning.
"I mean to have an Easter party. I am well enough to enjoy young people. Will you write to my sister and tell her to bring her grandchildren here? And then, after they are settled in, wouldn't you like to go to your people?"
"I should, very much," said Rowena frankly; "but I can wait."
"And is your Scotch General content to wait? How he must hate me! I'm a selfish woman, Rowena, and the habits of a lifetime can't easily be discarded. I am selfish still. It will be a black day for me when you leave me."
Rowena wrote to Mrs. Panton; she was still in the North, but had been in constant correspondence with her sister; and she gratefully accepted the invitation to stay at Minley Court.
The little party arrived at the close of a bright spring day. Mrs. Burke received them upstairs in her room. There were tears in her sister's eyes as she embraced her. And Mrs. Burke remarked in her cheery way:
"There's nothing left of me to be afraid of. I'm just an old rheumatic cripple, and there will be nothing in my house now to shock or distress you. Now introduce me to my great-nephew and nieces."
George Holt was a handsome boy, slight in make but very upright. The elder girl Bertha was fair, with a sweet, sunny face. The young one, Milly, was a bright little tomboy. Her short curly hair and piquant mischievous face attracted Mrs. Burke at once.
Before very long the young people were chatting to her as if they had known her all her life, and she was, in her genial happy way, promising them all kinds of joys through the holidays—ponies to ride, expeditions to the sea, and boating on the river. Their delight in their new surroundings amused and pleased her.
"We never knew you had such a lovely house," said Milly. "Why it seems like a palace to us! You should just see our lodgings that we have left. Granny was miserable in them—they were so dirty."
"You must all make yourselves at home," Mrs. Burke told them. "Don't ask what you may do, but just do it, if you want to."
It brought much enjoyment to her hearing the young voices about the house. Rowena found her gazing out of the window one day following, with real enjoyment, the antics of George and Milly as they chased each other over and round the flower-beds, a couple of dogs yelling at their heels.
"It keeps me young to have them here, Rowena," she said rather pathetically. "Couldn't I keep them altogether? Must they go away to school?"
"George ought to, of course," said Rowena. "I don't know what your plans are. But you might have a resident governess for the girls and keep them with you, if you would like them."
Mrs. Burke laughed.
"That ridiculous child Bertha tells me she has finished her education. Finished at sixteen! And her French is too awful for words. And her general knowledge hopelessly deficient. But her music is delightful. She has inherited that from her grandmother. Would a governess drive me wild, I wonder?"
"Have over a daily governess from Crossington," suggested Rowena. "It's a big town, and must contain some teachers. She could come in by train, and you would get rid of her between four and five in the afternoon."
"That would be a good idea. I feel inclined to deluge these children with luxuries—they have had to go without so much. And my sister Helen too—she's a mere shadow. I believe the whole batch of them have been at starvation point these last two or three difficult winters. I want to make it up to them now."
"Happy woman!" murmured Rowena, half under her breath, but Mrs. Burke caught the words.
"Well, I am happy," she said; "a good deal happier than I have ever been before. But why do you make that ejaculation at this present moment?"
"Because you have the means and power to give such happiness to others," replied Rowena quickly. "Only don't err on the side of spoiling them. Their grandmother told me she was afraid of it."
"Oh, Helen is a born Spartan; thinks it wrong to have anything comfortable, rejoices in cold baths and open windows all through the winter. But she and I understand one another. I shall make her have a home with me. She has really no money to start one herself."
For a moment Rowena wondered whether the gentle Mrs. Panton would be happy in her sister's house, but later on she had a talk with her. Everybody confided in Rowena, and she found that the sorrowing widow had no desire to start another home.
"It would be no home to me now that he has gone. I am only waiting till I can join him; and if I can be of any use to poor Caroline, I will gladly stay with her. It is very generous of her to offer us all a home. Do you think my noisy young people will be too much for her?"
"I think they will be the greatest comfort and cheer to her. She has always loved the young; and I should let her have her way with them. She won't do them any harm by giving them as much pleasure as she can. You know I must leave her before long. If I can feel you are settled in here, I shall go much more happily."
"She won't let me help her by writing her letters, and you do that for her. Who will do it when you go?"
"I am trying to get her to tackle her correspondence herself. She will have the time now, and it will give her occupation. But I think, when I am gone, that you will find she will be glad of your help."
Rowena had a busy time before she went to her sister-in-law. She managed to find a suitable daily governess who would come over from the nearest town, and teach the two girls. At first gentle Bertha ventured to remonstrate.
"Am I to do lessons with Milly when I have been teaching her for the past year?" she asked her grandmother.
"My dear, accept your aunt's offer gratefully. You are old enough now to realize how little you know. I have not been able to educate you properly. You will not be learning the same things as Milly, and you will be thankful, later on, to have had this chance of improving yourself."
Milly, of course, was delighted. She was a quick, clever child, and had been rather too much for her sister.
"It's so ripping staying on here," she informed Mrs. Burke. "I was so afraid I would be packed off to school. I pinch myself, sometimes, to make sure it is true. Do you think we shall tire you out if we stay on?"
"I don't think so," said Mrs. Burke, with her old jolly laugh. "You'll keep me young, Milly. I've always hated a house full of middle-aged sober people who are past making jokes and playing the fool."
Milly hugged her on the spot.
"You are a delicious great-aunt. George says you might be only twenty, to hear you talk."
And, of course, Mrs. Burke was human enough to be delighted with such a compliment.
The day came when Rowena went down to Sussex to her sister-in-law's home. Geraldine welcomed her warmly, and her gentle old mother received her with old-fashioned sweetness and courtesy. The children were grown almost beyond recognition, but the little boys, Buttons and Bertie, remembered her, and flung themselves into her arms.
"You are looking thin and worn," commented Geraldine. "Mother, we must feed her up, and treat her like an invalid. She must not go to her bridegroom a bag of bones."
Rowena put her hands up to her cheeks, with her happy laugh.
"Spare my blushes; I am not going to be married yet."
"How long are you going to keep him waiting? Now come and sit down and let me talk to you for your good. You have a most unhappy trait of attaching yourself like a vice to any people you meet or places in which you may find yourself. Look at your year in that God-forsaken place, Abertarlie. Who but you would ever stick out a whole winter there?"
Rowena's face grew very soft and grave.
"Not 'God-forsaken,' Geraldine, for I found Him there!"
"My dear, I know; it was the desolation of it drove you to seek consolation in religion. Now you have attached yourself to this old freak Mrs. Burke. I never approved of it from the first. If I had not known she was treating you well, I would have moved heaven and earth to get you away. You have forsaken us for her. You are even making Hugh Macdonald step aside and take the second place. He must be a saint to wait so patiently."
"My dear Geraldine, we have only been engaged four or five months. He is not a young man, nor am I a very young woman. There is no occasion for us to rush into marriage so precipitously."
"The fact that he is not a boy is in favour of a speedy marriage, I consider. You are both quite old enough to be certain of your own minds. He has been too long alone, and that nice child of his wants a woman to look after her."
"She is very happy with her governess."
"Don't go on making excuses for yourself, but tell me if you have fixed the day. The sooner you leave that old woman the better. You are simply a nurse-attendant to her. It isn't good enough. She has her sister now, and doesn't want you."
"I am conceited enough to fear that she will always want me," said Rowena, with a little sigh. "I am really fond of her, Geraldine, and so is she of me."
"Yes, I know all that; I believe if you were shut up with criminals of the deepest dye you would tell me that you were becoming most attached to them, and felt that you could not live with anyone else. It is your fatal adaptability to your environment. There! With that big word, I've finished."
"Well, listen to me then. Hugh wants me to come to him in June. We mean to have no honeymoon, except that perhaps we may stay a few days in Edinburgh on our way down. And you and I must fix the date. Somewhere in the middle of the month."
"That's something; now I see light. And what kind of wedding do you mean to have?"
"A very quiet one. No friends asked at all. Neither of us wishes it. If you will have me here, I would like to walk into your little village church early one morning, with only you in attendance, and he would like it, too."
Geraldine only looked half-satisfied, but Rowena had her way.
She spent a very pleasant fortnight with her sister-in-law, and in that time got a simple trousseau together. Mrs. Burke had given her a most generous cheque for a wedding present, but she displeased her sister-in-law by the modesty of her requirements. In her worldly wisdom Geraldine said:
"My dear Rowena, you must be handsomely dressed as Hugh's wife. He has one of the biggest properties in that part of the Highlands, and you must not shame him, by going to him in gowns that a minister's wife would choose. He will only have to supplement your trousseau afterwards, if you don't go to him with a thoroughly good outfit, and that is most galling to a woman's self-respect, I always think."
"Yes, I see your point," said Rowena humbly, "and I will get all that will be suitable; but as for taking fashionable ball gowns down to Abertarlie, it's ridiculous!"
"Don't you intend to be sociable? For two or three months in the year at least you will be in the habit of meeting your neighbours. Do you know that the Arnold Rashleighs have taken Ted's old lodge?"
"No, I had not heard it. I don't know them. Who are they?"
"She was a McTaggart of Loch Filley. She has two daughters, and a son in the Blues. His mother lives in this part. Quite nice, they are, but not Hugh's sort. Thoroughly up-to-date, and the girls rather strenuous. Think women ought to be in Parliament, and that sort of thing."
"Oh dear, I was looking forward to stealing over there, and having a chat with old Granny Mactavish. But I suppose the lodge is empty most of the year."
"Of course; and I hope you'll bring Hugh to town for the winter. Don't bury yourselves down there all the year round. You've served an apprenticeship with Mrs. Burke in gadding about, so you'll know how to make him sociable. He used to be a very nice fellow before he married. That marriage soured him. I still think he's not quite good enough for you."
Rowena let her sister-in-law ramble on. She and Geraldine were sincerely fond of each other, but held very different views on most subjects, and she did not take the trouble to defend herself from many of the charges that were brought up against her.
She returned to Mrs. Burke when the fortnight was over, and found, to her great delight, that her household was working very smoothly. Mrs. Burke still kept the house-keeping in her own hands, but she was allowing her sister to take over many of Rowena's duties.
George had just been sent to a good public school, and the governess, Miss Cummings by name, had started lessons with the girls. Mrs. Burke herself was getting stronger, and could now hobble up and down the garden paths with the help of two sticks. She was extraordinarily patient and content. Rowena marvelled at it.
"My dear, I never was a discontented woman," Mrs. Burke said to her one day. "I had one phase of it just before my marriage, but that did not last. You know I am one who seizes with both hands all the good that can be got out of life. I have had some years of the world's best, and though I seized as much of it as I could hold, and carried a smiling front to all outside, I was gradually made aware that there was something better still. After you came to me, I saw that I had seized the shadow and lost the substance. And then, as you know, in the most wonderful way I have got hold of the substance again. I have seized it with both hands and, please God, I will never let it go. Of course, I am happy and content; I'm permeated with content now, and don't miss my old life in the least little bit. I'm only-sorry for the shadow-seekers—Vi and Di especially. Di was over when you were away, and she is perfectly miserable at leaving her home. Can see no comfort anywhere. Vi is engaged to her colonel, so is not to be pitied, but Di was badly hit some years ago over a worthless and inconstant lover, and I don't think she will marry. They will be very badly off, I fear, from what they tell me. They have very little, independent of their brother."
"Have her over as much as possible," advised Rowena, "and show her that life is a much grander thing than she has ever thought it yet."
And Mrs. Burke promised to do so.
Time slipped by, and then came the last day of Rowena's stay with her old friend. It was necessarily rather a sad one, and yet, when Rowena looked back and thought of the difference in her friend's outlook when she first knew her, she could not but feel deeply thankful for her present happiness.
"I will write to you," she said, as she was wishing her good-bye; "and you will write to me when your poor hands permit it. And one day you will come and stay at Abertarlie with us, and I will show you the beauties of our glen and lochs."
Mrs. Burke smiled ruefully.
"Well, if your good general bears me no malice for my rude behaviour to him in town, I will come. I think I would really enjoy his conversation now. How different the whole world has become to me!"
As Rowena sat in the express train to town, her soul was full of thankfulness for this bit of her way, and she murmured to herself:
"I always liked her from the first. I knew that sooner or later she would be led back to her old faith, and it has strengthened my own to see her so happy and whole-hearted now. I never, to my dying day, shall regret my time with her."
"We in our wedded life shall know no loss,We shall new-date our years! What went beforeWill be the time of promise, shadow, dream,But this full revelation of great love!For rivers blent take in a broader heaven,And we shall blend our souls."From Cloud of Witness.
"NOW we are together at last."
It was in a tone of deep triumphant content that General Macdonald made this assertion.
He and Rowena were facing each other in a first-class carriage. The Scotch express was taking them up to Scotland, and it was between nine and ten in the evening.
Their wedding-day, and the weather had been perfect: a typical June day, when all the freshness of early summer is at its sweetest and best. They had got their way, and only about half a dozen people were in the quiet little Sussex church when they made their vows together.
Rowena sat back looking radiant. She was dressed in a dark powder-blue coat and skirt with a travelling felt hat of the same hue, which intensified the blue in her eyes. But even now an irrepressible twinkle, of fun shot through them as she said:
"So you think we shall always find our own company sufficient, Hugh?"
"I shall never need anyone but you," he replied quickly.
"Except your little Mysie."
And then the General's grave intense look melted and he smiled.
"Ah—Mysie! I left her in tears because I would not bring her up. I felt it was too sacred a service at which to have a curious child commenting and looking on. How long you have kept me waiting! I can hardly even now realize that the waiting time is over. I thought at one time that the old lady would never let you go."
"Poor Mrs. Burke!" Rowena's eyes grew soft with pity. "You were always hard upon her; but you would not be hard if you could see her now. I used to wonder if she could ever have the necessary strength and pluck to alter her life; but it has all come about so easily."
"Do you think me very hard? You will have to teach me how to look at people leniently when their views clash with my own. I could do with more tolerance and sympathy, I own. But it has always been my way to go straight ahead, and black is never white to me."
Rowena put her hand on his very softly.
"And that is what I always admired in you—you drive straight for your goal. There is no uncertain sound when you sound your trumpet. When I think that my feet and yours will be treading the same path now, that I shall be able to look to you for support when I trip—why, I feel inclined to burst into a song of thanksgiving!" Then she added with a little laugh: "Now, after that rhapsody, may I come down to earth, and ask you if your old housekeeper will give me a pleasant welcome? Do you think she will like having a mistress, after having managed for you all these years?"
"Mrs. Dalziel serves me faithfully," said the General in a contented tone; "and she will, of course, be ready to serve you, too. Long ago she hoped you were coming to us. She actually had the audacity to tell me so. Our Scotch folk are not like anyone else."
"I have never asked you about Marion, yet. Do you really like her?"
"She is a real comfort: keeps in the background, and is never seen unless I send for her. And the child is learning well from her. Rowena, I will not spend these precious first few hours with you in talking about anyone else but ourselves. I want to feel that there is just you and myself here in the world. Let us shut every one else out."
So they talked in the same old way that both young and old lovers always talk, and the journey seemed one golden dream to Rowena. It was so new to her to be waited upon and cared for and protected, that at first she felt inclined to expostulate. Later she learnt to take it as her due.
They spent a few days in Edinburgh, and then turned towards the Highlands. It was a most lovely evening when they at last arrived at Abertarlie. A beautiful car was at the station—a great surprise to Rowena.
"You never told me you had started a car; I expected a shabby trap and horse hired for the occasion."
"I bought this a few months back; I determined that you should be able to get about and see your friends. I realize we are isolated, but I won't have you feel that you are shut up, and stranded away from your fellow-creatures. You are very sociable by nature, I know."
"Am I?" said Rowena, laughing. "I was very happy that year when I was laid upon my back and saw no one. And I have been happy this last year living amongst crowds. They say I can make myself happy anywhere, and I believe I can. Don't you think, you dear foolish man, that your company is good enough for me? But I won't pretend that I don't love a car. You and I can see the beauties of the Highlands in it. You will take me to some of the lochs that I have never seen, won't you?"
General Macdonald was a proud man when, a little later, he drove up to his weather-beaten old house and handed Rowena out of the car. There was a scream and a rush of flying feet, and Mysie was embracing them both. "Oh, you've come at last! At last! Miss Panton and I are simply sick of waiting for you! Oh, Mignon, you darling, stoop down and let me whisper to you. May I really call you 'Mother'? Dad said he would like me to."
"My darling, of course you may. Dad's wishes are mine."
Then up the steps she went, her hand in her husband's arm, and Mysie clinging hold of her at the other side. In the hall was the housekeeper, Mrs. Dalziel, and behind her a little group of servants.
General Macdonald turned to them very simply:
"I have brought my wife home, but she is not a stranger to you, and I am sure you will welcome her."
"Ah, indeed, we will with all our hearts," said Mrs. Dalziel, coming forward.
Rowena shook hands with her warmly.
"That is very sweet of you," she said. "I don't feel a stranger, for I love every inch of ground in the Highlands, and my heart never wanders from it."
Marion Panton was found in the inner hall, where tea was laid. Rowena hardly knew her, she was looking so bright and well. Three long windows that looked into the flower garden were wide open, and the scent of sweetbrier hedges and of wallflowers and narcissi filled the hall. A bowl of daffodils was upon the old oak table that held the tea. The shining silver and platter of Scotch scones and cakes gave a homely touch to the rather gloomy hall with its stone floor and dark oak-panelled walls.
Rowena was led up to the big chair at the table by her husband.
"There!" he said, smiling, as she seated herself. "That is where Mysie and I have been wanting to see you for many a long day."
"And it's strange how thoroughly at home I feel," said Rowena, with her laugh, as she slipped off her gloves and took hold of the massive silver teapot.
Tea was a most cheerful meal. Mysie was in her kilt.
"In honour of you," she informed Rowena. "I couldn't wear it in London. Cousin Bel was quite shocked when I put it on once. She said it was boy's clothes, so Dad said I mustn't offend her eyes. But you love it, don't you? You like me to be thorough Scotch?"
"You can't be too Scotch for me," said Rowena.
When tea was over Miss Panton took Mysie away to the schoolroom, and General Macdonald took his wife all over the house. She had never been over it before, and was surprised at its spaciousness.
"Why, you could lodge fifty people here," she said, when they had finished going in and out of the quaint old rooms, all gloomily and sparsely furnished, except those in use. "We shall never be able to say we have no room for our friends."
Then she returned to the little suite of rooms that had been prepared for her. There was a little boudoir leading out of her bedroom which was now illumined by golden sunshine.
"I love a west room!" she exclaimed. "And oh, Hugh, what an exquisite enchanting view!"
Kneeling on the low window-seat, she leant out of the open window. She faced the loch in the distance, and the blue hills at the farther end of it. The woods in the glen were all in their freshest green, but now they seemed gleaming with gold. The colours and shadows on the silver waters of the loch were indescribably beautiful.
Rowena turned to meet her husband's eyes resting on her in grave content.
"Oh," she said, throwing out her hands, "isn't it easy to be good and happy with such a scene as this before one's eyes! I thought I remembered the beauties of our loch, but it has come to me with fresh force this evening. Hugh, I hope I shall live and die here. I never shall want to leave it."
Her rooms had been freshly papered and painted, and pretty fresh chintzes brightened the old furniture in them. "Miss Panton has helped us get them ready for you," said the General. "She and Mysie made a trip to Glasgow, and were most important and busy over it all. Nothing was too good. Nothing too expensive for you, so Mysie informed me."
"They have given me most charming rooms," said Rowena; then with an impulsive movement she clasped her arms round her husband's. "But what does anything matter, Hugh, as long as we are together? I feel I would be as jolly as a sandboy in an empty attic if you were by my side."
He could only smile at her. Speech was always difficult to him when he felt the deepest.
When they had looked over the house they wandered over the garden and grounds. Here Rowena saw much that could be improved, and longed to set to work at once.
"Do you give me carte blanche, Hugh, to make a lovely garden here? The ground would lend itself to my schemes; and I honestly enjoy having a wealth of flowers round any house."
"You can do as you like, if you can persuade Andrew to carry out your schemes. I think that will be the difficulty."
"I feel afraid of no one," said Rowena lightly. "I know Scotch gardeners are generally very formidable personages; but I will try my powers of persuasion upon Andrew."
They dined later on in the long dining-room, which held on its walls portraits of several generations of Macdonalds, and then Mysie appeared again, and insisted upon taking Rowena out into the garden again to see some of her pet nooks and haunts. She was introduced to the stables and to the dogs; even the poultry-yard had to be visited, and the little girl's bed-time came too soon for her.
"I haven't shown you half. Will you come with me to the Fairies' Knoll up the glen to-morrow? Dad won't believe in them. It's the only place I don't like him to come to with me. If an unbeliever is with you, you never see the little people. You and I will go quite by ourselves, eh?"
"Indeed we will, Flora," was the laughing response; and then she was hugged and kissed.
"Good night, Mother! There, I've said it, and I'll say it a hundred times a day till I get quite accustomed to it. It does seem funny at first, you know. I told Dad there must be no step about it, not one, there's not a single step between us, is there?"
"Not one, I hope," asserted Rowena.
When Mysie had disappeared she turned to her husband, who had been very silent during his child's chatter.
"Hugh, dearest, you and I will have to pray hard that we may be taught to train her aright. She is such a strong character, that she must grow up a noble woman. And don't laugh at her childish fancies. Let us keep her a child as long as we can."
"I have hope for her future now you are here," General Macdonald rejoined. "But a man is quite unfitted to cope with a girl. I have been divided between my love for her and a longing that she should know discipline whilst she is young. I shall hand her training over to you with thankfulness. Make her like yourself, and I shall be happy."
In the days that followed Rowena found that she had plenty of occupation for hands and brain. Mrs. Dalziel was very thorough in her kitchen premises, but the rest of the house sadly needed a lady's supervision. Then there were old friends to be visited, and new ones came to call, and General Macdonald demanded a good deal of his wife's leisure time. He was never so happy as when she was with him. Occasionally he had to go away on business, and then Mysie was to the fore, and often begged for a holiday to go out into the glen with "Mother." One day she and Rowena climbed up the face of a rugged cliff, and explored a cave in which Mysie was pretty sure that Prince Charlie had once hidden.
"Angus says there aren't many caves about here which Prince Charlie didn't know," said Mysie. "It isn't the one that is in the picture when Flora watched by him when he was asleep, but I'm pretty sure he must have found it out. Isn't it a splendid hiding-place? It seems such a pity, there's no one to hide in it. It's quite a waste, isn't it?"
Mysie stood looking round the low-vaulted cave as she spoke with wistfulness in her eyes.
"Only Angus and I know about this," she went on. "It's our secret, but I thought I must tell you. Promise to keep it secret, won't you?"
"Oh, yes," said Rowena, laughing, "indeed I will. And if ever a prince comes by our way, Flora, and wants to be hidden, you and I will hide him here."
"A prince may want our help one day," said Mysie hopefully. "He may be wandering about, trying to get up an army to fight for his throne like David did in the Bible, and then you and I will help him, won't we?"
As Rowena thought of the troubled world in which poor Mysie would be growing up, her face grew grave.
"I hope she won't be a hunter after false visions," she said later on, when talking about her to her father. "She has such a passion for self-sacrifice, and would seal her devotion by death."
"Teach her to fix her devotion upon our Master," said General Macdonald gravely. And Rowena tried to do it, but at present Mysie was not interested in religious talks.
"You're good, and Dad is good, and Miss Panton is good, but you're all grown-up. I shall get like it one day, but not just yet," she would say. Then she would add hastily, "I do pray always when I get into a fix, and God hears me sometimes. But I can't be always thinking about heaven. I do love my dear earth so much; and as for the loch, I adore it, and if heaven has no lochs, I don't think I shall be happy there at all!"
Rowena did not reprove her for such speeches, but she talked to her about having wider views and longer sight, and prayed continually for her.
She heard very often from Mrs. Burke, and then, about a month after her marriage, she received the sad tidings by telegram that her old friend had passed away. The following letter from Mrs. Panton arrived later:
"MY DEAR MRS. MACDONALD,—""You will be grieved at the sad news. It was all so sudden, that even now I can hardly believe she has left us. Only last Thursday she was downstairs, wonderfully bright and most interested in the village school-treat which was going to take place in her grounds. On Friday she wrote letters all the morning, and in the afternoon we went for a drive. The girls were with us, and she insisted upon going to the sea and having tea at the little inn there. She seemed rather tired when we returned home, but came down to dinner as usual, and stayed in the drawing-room afterwards till ten o'clock, her usual time for going to bed. She talked to me of you, and, as she often did, lamented her wasted years. I remember her saying:""'I am going to try to have some of my old friends down to stay with me. There are just a few who will come, I believe. I want to influence them as Rowena influenced me. I think it was her tremendous sympathy and love that was her power. I felt she never despised me even when I was at my worst. And gradually I came to despise myself and see what empty rubbish filled my life.'""She talked of Di Dunstan, who has been over here pretty often lately and is going through a very miserable time. She said of her:""'She is being emptied as I was, and I only hope she won't miss the right filling.'""I saw her into her room, and her maid was with her till she went to bed. The next morning when her maid went to call her she found she had passed away in her sleep. The doctor says that her heart has been very weak ever since her illness, and that it failed suddenly.""I can only add that all of us are feeling her loss deeply. She has been so wonderfully good and generous to me and mine.""Yours most sincerely,""M. PANTON."
Rowena felt this blow very much. She and the General both went to England to the funeral.
When Mrs. Burke's will was read, it was found that she had left nearly the whole of her property to her sister. Her great-nephew and nieces came in for a very handsome legacy each, and to Rowena was left the sum of ten thousand pounds.
But what Rowena valued most of all was a little note, "To be delivered after my death," which was as follows:
"MY DEAREST ROWENA,—""I have just torn up a will in which I made you my sole legatee, but I see now that my relatives have a claim upon me, especially as they have so little of their own. I never can express my gratitude to you sufficiently. I hope your good husband will not prevent you succouring the worldlings as you go through life. I am convinced this is your mission. I am not good at it, but I commend to your care Di Dunstan, who is wondering if there is another better world than that in which she has been living; she has taken a flat in town. God bless you, dear. My doctor has told me that a long life will not be mine. Happy me to have Eternity in view!""Yours always lovingly,""C. BURKE."
"Be useful where thou livest, that they mayBoth want and wish thy pleasing presence still ...Find out men's wants and willAnd meet them there."Herbert.
"HUGH, we shall have to do entertaining."
General Macdonald gave a little groan.
"I have patiently gone round with you to leave cards when people are out. Then you have dragged me to dinners and lunches and teas, and I hoped now that we might be left in peace. Of course, I expected the neighbours to call, and they have done their duty. Are we to go round and round the treadmill of society as they do in town?"
Rowena laughed lightly. She was a three-months-old bride now, and was quite able to manage this husband of hers.
"My dear, we have our duties as well as they. And we are told to be 'given to hospitality.' We cannot accept invitations and never give any in return. Shall we have a simple garden-party? An 'At Home' in about a fortnight from now? The strawberries and peaches will be ripe, and we can have tea under the cedars on the lawn."
"I believe you love crowds. Personally, I loathe them." General Macdonald's tone was sharp. He added more gently:
"We have not been very long married, Rowena, and we had no proper honeymoon. You must forgive me if I still wish to keep you to myself."
"We must not be selfish, dear. You wrong me when you think I love gaiety. But I do love my fellow-creatures; and this one afternoon in their society will not hurt us. I want to get it over before Mysie's holidays begin. Now, please, put on your pleasantest expression, for I am going to ask another favour. Don't you think Mysie would like some companions sometimes? It would be so good for her as she does not go to school. I thought we might ask George Holt and his sisters up here and give them a good time; and Marion would be able to have a nice quiet holiday with her mother. Will you let me invite them here for a month of their holidays? Oh, do!"
She had drawn nearer him, and General Macdonald put his arm round her.
"I will do anything you like, Rowena, when you look at me like that!"
She laughed again gaily.
"What a confession of weakness!" she said. "Now I know how I can get my way with you."
And so the garden-party was given, and Rowena moved about amongst her guests and captivated them all by her charming words and smiles. Mysie, in a soft muslin frock and large shady straw hat, was such a transformation from the little kilted tomboy that some who had seen her scrambling about in the glen before hardly recognized her now. The General was drawn out of his shell. He even found points of interest with Colonel Arnold Rashleigh, who had taken the lodge where Rowena had spent her year of convalescence.
The Miss Arnold Rashleighs spent most of their time on the tennis-courts, but one of them, Dora by name, attached herself to Rowena during the latter part of the afternoon, and they made friends over Shags, who had been with old Mrs. Mactavish when she was caretaker of the lodge, and who now had been adopted by the Arnold Rashleighs.
"I was very fond of him," Rowena admitted; "but when I came here, I heard that you had taken him, and my husband has six dogs already, so I felt I had better not add to the number. Shags is very human. As you may have heard, I spent a lonely year at the lodge, and he was my constant companion."
"How could you have stood it? Three months are all we can put in. Joyce and I are much too energetic to waste our time over these wilds."
"But you are young and strong. I had to follow doctor's orders, or I dare say I should have been on my back still. And I found during that year at the lodge that life was much fuller and richer than I had ever imagined before. I was introduced into a perfectly new environment."
"How interesting! Tell me."
"How can I tell you in a few words? I found that a part of me had never been cultivated or enjoyed life at all, it was sleeping—almost dead. It began to wake up, and every day or so I saw fresh things."
"Oh, I suppose you set to work to study Nature with microscopes, and that kind of thing?"
"I must tell you about it another day," said Rowena, smiling down upon the puzzled face of the girl. "Anyhow, I learnt some of the secret joys of solitude; and when I was frivolously inclined, Shags whiled away my time with his tricks and gambols. I wish you loved the loch and glen as I do. Now tell me about your life in town."
"Oh, I'm not quite so ambitious as Joyce. She means to go into Parliament, but I'm not keen on politics. I work a good deal for women's industries. We aren't idlers, I can assure you. We mean to take our proper place in the world now."
"It's splendid having work like that," said Rowena enthusiastically. "Are you an idealist, I wonder? What is your goal?"
"Oh, I suppose it is to do something worth living for before one dies," said Dora. "We can dispense with men, you know; they're very good for recreation and amusement, but as for settling down with one in these wilds, as you have done, I couldn't, to save my life!"
"You think it waste of time."
"You're right. Utter waste!"
Rowena shook her head, with her sunny smile.
"No," she said; "I hope and trust I'm not wasting my life. I have my own scheme of work, and I can pursue it even here. I would like to press you into it as a recruit, but we must know each other better first before I can venture to give you a full explanation of it."
"You sound most mysterious. May I come over one day when you're alone and have a talk with you?"