When Catherine ran up the steps of the villa on her return that night, she caught sight of Mrs. Arderne's anxious eyes peeping through a front window at her, and the door was quickly opened by that lady herself.
'My dear girl, I have been worrying about you! How dark it is outside!'
'I am not late for supper, am I?'
'No. I only worried because you were out alone in the darkness.'
'You dear soul! It was very kind of you, but there was nothing at all terrible to be met with in this peaceful English village! The poorer people are all out now, shopping for to-morrow—it is Saturday night, you know. There! I don't believe that a companion ought to call her employer "You dear soul." Why don't you scold me when I forget our new relation to one another?'
Mrs. Arderne patted Catherine's rosy cheek, and taking her arm led her into the sitting-room, where supper was spread for two.
'Because I do not wish you to be a bit different, child, except in the way of having more worldly wisdom in your private affairs. I hoped that your impecunious Uncle Jack would disappoint you, and his ward prove a captious, annoying, spoiled invalid, instead of which he has evidently pleased you so well that even Miss Agatha has not been able to put you out of spirits.'
'Poor little Agatha!—indeed, she too pleased me!'
Mrs. Arderne sighed.
'It is a disappointment tome, I assure you, to see you come back wearing that radiant face!'
'They have been so good to me! And the night air is deliciously cold, and I'm as hungry as a hunter! I must be an expensive companion, for I eat so much, don't I?'
'Not a morsel more than a healthy girl should. Satisfy your appetite, Catherine; then we will sit round the fire while you give me an honest account of your visit to Redan Cottage.'
So, when the servant had cleared away, the two friends began a cosy chat, the younger seated as usual on a low stool, leaning her right arm on the elder's knee.
It was a joy to Catherine, this description of her visit to her Uncle Jack and Agatha, for it enabled her to recall the incidents of an eventful evening, and helped her to understand better both his character and that of his ward. The more she reflected and spoke, the more did she see that she had chosen rightly, and Mrs. Arderne's well-meant regrets only made her own courage and gratitude the stronger.
After some discussion Mrs. Arderne asked, in bewildered tones:
'Is it mere preference for one uncle that has made you choose to sacrifice all your chances, child?'
'No. There are many, many reasons why I could not have chosen otherwise. You would not have had me refuse a kind offer, hurt Uncle Jack's feelings, disappoint Agatha, and deny my own wishes as well, and all for the sake of a possible financial advantage, would you? Uncle Ross did not offer me a home at all; and if he had done so, I don't think I could have accepted it. He would have expected me to share his line of policy towards Uncle Jack. Besides, I should have felt a mercenary wretch. Since I am blessedwith health and an opportunity to earn my own living, I ought not to live in idleness and luxury at any relative's expense. And I should be wrong, were I to accept from one uncle the wealth which belongs rightly to his nearest relative—the other uncle.'
'Now I do begin to understand!' cried Mrs. Arderne. 'Your pride influenced you principally in the making of your choice.'
Catherine raised her frank eyes to meet the disapproving gaze of her friend.
'I don't think it was a bad kind of pride,' she answered simply. 'And I was only leading up to my biggest reason of all.'
'Probably that is as absurd as the others, my dear!'
'I hope you won't try to think lightly of it, dear Mrs. Arderne, for it is the best and sincerest part of me. It is—my love for God. Uncle Jack and Agatha are actually in need of help that I can give them, while they in their turn will help me to lead the higher life, which is the only worthy one. We shall encourage one another to serve God better.'
'But you are not going to live at Redan Cottage, thank goodness!'
'No. I shall only spend most of my spare hours there so long as we are in the neighbourhood, and all my holidays will pass there, at home. Then I can write to them very, very often during the times I am away. As a rule people do not make half enough use of the post. It offers a splendid means of communication between friends who are parted.'
'And if you had agreed to live at Carm Hall, you would have been within five miles of these beloved relatives!'
'I should have been dependent upon a man who behaves persistently ill to them. Dear, kind friend, do you not suppose that if Uncle Ross became my benefactor, to theextent of giving me my daily all, he would not try, and be more or less justified in expecting, to make me obedient to his wishes in all important matters? If I let him be as a father to me, shouldn't I owe him consideration? And "consideration" in his opinion would mean giving up constant intercourse with those who have offended him.'
'But, child, child, your Uncle Jack and Agatha can surely become religious without your aid, if they desire to.'
Catherine laughed blithely.
'Why, of course—only I think that I can help them, and that God means me to do so. If a poor man asked you for an alms, and you weresurehe was very hungry, you wouldn't refuse to give to him because some one else might be just as well able to do so. I have had experience in regard to the destitution of souls that know not God's peace. There is a spiritual hunger which is worse, far, far worse, both to bear and to witness, than mere bodily starvation!'
An impatient sigh escaped Mrs. Arderne's lips.
'You are an incorrigible zealot, evidently!'
'I hope so.'
'At least you will admit that you could be just as religious yourself at Carm Hall as at Redan Cottage.'
'Oh yes; but Uncle Ross doesn't like people to be religious. He would attack my faith daily with sharp little weapons of perfectly courteous ridicule, and when I repulsed the attack he would be angry at heart with me.'
'You could have borne that for Brian's sake, I should have thought, and you could have told your Uncle Jack to apply for religious instruction to the proper person, namely, the clergyman of the parish.'
'Mr. Burnley, if he is still here, could scarcely be expected to spare time to smooth away all my poor little Agatha's nervous fears and doubts, even supposing she could be persuaded to tell them to him. Dear Mrs. Arderne, donot try to destroy my choice, for it is irrevocably made, and I am very happy in it.'
'It is full of conceit, Catherine! You imagine you have a solemn mission from God to convert your heathen relatives.'
Catherine's face clouded.
'Don't, dear!' she pleaded earnestly. 'Don't try to be bitter or cynical, for those moods are quite unlike you. I may be conceited, I daresay I am, about other matters, but not about my knowledge of the love and mercy of our Saviour. That is a subject upon which I own my ignorance, for every hour that I live I make some new, beautiful, blessed discovery in it! But it is certain that God gives to each one of us some particular duties, some work to be performed to His honour and glory, and I cannot refuse to do that which seems to me both right and necessary. You wouldn't really wish me to choose to serve Mammon instead of God!'
Mrs. Arderne would not own that she was convinced of Catherine's wisdom, though she could not advance another argument against the latter's decision. She contented herself with exclaiming:
'You are a most disappointing young woman, Catherine!'
'As a companion, please, ma'am?' asked the culprit, who was genuinely amused by this description of herself.
'N-no; disappointing to your friends—to me especially, because I had set my heart upon seeing you reinstated in a position suited to you, either by your uncle or by your marriage.'
'My Brian does not please you?'
'You will not please him by this last folly.'
'He isn't a bit mercenary. You will see, he will approve my choice, when he has read the long letter I mean to write him before breakfast to-morrow morning. He will sympathise, too, with my great wish, which is that, with God'shelp, I may be able to act as peacemaker between my uncles.'
'Good gracious, child, I never contemplated that possibility!'
'Did you not? It will be a difficult task.'
'So I should imagine.'
'But if I could but do it, they would all be so much happier! Dear Uncle Jack frets about the quarrel; he is really attached to his brother. Uncle Ross is terribly lonely in his big house, with no one to love him. Then Agatha could have the care and nursing she needs.'
'And Catherine Carmichael could have——'
'I don't understand you,' said the girl slowly, trying to read Mrs. Arderne's meaning in her face. 'I—should lose Redan Cottage for a home. And—oh, I suppose "home" would be Carm Hall then. How funny!'
'How ridiculously unpractical you are! A veritablebaby! This new plan of yours, Miss Peacemaker, is the one way in which you can make up to your friends, your lover, and yourself for the folly of your choice! Reconcile your uncles and go to live with them. Mr. Ross Carmichael will alter his will, and leave his thousands to you instead of to charities.'
There was a very mischievous smile playing round Catherine's lips while she listened to Mrs. Arderne's eagerly explained advice, a smile which increased as she answered, 'Iamglad that you approve of me for something, and that our wishes coincide for once! I mean to try my very hardest to bring about that reconciliation; but I shall work for dear Uncle Jack's sake principally, then for Agatha's, lastly for Uncle Ross's. And if I am happy enough to succeed, I shall be so glad and proud that no worldly prospects of my own could possibly make me happier!'
'Ican be mercenary-minded for you—that is one comfort, child.'
'It would be nicer if you would not.'
'Nonsense; you surely aren't so mad that you despise wealth and power?'
'No; only I hate to calculate about them, and I don't covet them. God will send me enough daily bread, and that is all that matters.'
'For the sake of Brian——'
'Riches and position are not always blessings, dear Mrs. Arderne. We are told in the Bible, "He that hasteth to be rich hath an evil eye," "He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver," and "How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God!" Neither for Brian nor for myself can I covet a stewardship the duties of which we may not be fitted to perform, which might take from us the best wealth—God's love.'
'Of course I cannot say any more, since you have taken to quoting the Bible, Catherine. My memory for texts was always a bad one.'
'Ted and Toddie shall not be able to say that when they are grown up—not unless they wilfully forget all I teach them, and they love their Scripture lessons too well to do that. Do you know, Toddie told me yesterday that God seems ever so muchrealerthan other kings? Wasn't it sweet of her?'
Mrs. Arderne gave Catherine's brow a quick kiss.
'NaturallyIthink most of Toddie's speeches sweet. Go on training my babes in the knowledge of the Creator, Catherine, for I—I shouldn't like them to grow up to be worldly like their mother.'
'You onlytryto be worldly, your heart isn't one bit so.'
'Yes, it is; I love all the pleasures and vanities of life. Now go to bed, Catherine, child, or you will oversleep yourself in the morning, and not be able to write that lengthy letter to Brian North.'
The girl sprang up, and clasped her strong young arms round her friend, crying:
'Good-night, then, you dearest of employers. Tell me once again that youdoreally want me, and that you will give me notice directly I cease to be of use to you.'
'Have I not told you, just this minute, that I want you for my babies' sakes as well as for my own? If Ted and Nora had not their "dear Carr" to teach them about God, they might question mother, and find out how little her knowledge is on the subject. You have another mission here, Catherine, for the enlightenment of ignorance.'
'And "mother" knows where to seek knowledge, whereas babies do not. Thank you again and again, dear, for making me welcome.'
Mrs. Arderne turned the conversation into a more shallow channel by laughingly reminding her young friend:
'We shall probably get on together famously for the future, because your plan and my plan for you are identical. We are both bent upon the reconciliation of your uncles.'
Catherine Carmichael was up and dressed next day fully two hours before any one else was stirring in Woodley Villa. Then she said her prayers, and read her Bible, and still had plenty of time left for the writing of her letter.
Softly opening the bedroom window, which was in the front of the house, she placed her desk on a small table, and sat down where she could feel the fresh wind and look out occasionally over the country scene.
A September sunrise, and an open window! Mrs. Arderne would have been horrified at Catherine's imprudence, but to this girl an open-air life had been natural in all weathers, and for early hours she had a strong preference.
'Before breakfast' was always her thinking-time. She was of opinion that men and women need leisure in which to reflect upon their lives, and to remember both the high purpose and the unimportance of earthly existence. Beginning the day thus, with happy realization of the creature's indebtedness to the Creator, she found daily crosses and perplexities much easier to bear with serenity, while joys and innocent pleasures acquired double powers of satisfaction, by being hallowed with foreseeing gratitude.
The country was very quiet at this early hour of the Sabbath; no agricultural workers were abroad, and smokehad scarcely begun to issue from the picturesquely irregular chimneys of the village. In front of the villa were fields, pasture land upon which grazed some venerable horses, and across which a path wound away to a distant wood. Over the trees hung a pearl-tinted mist, which the sunshine was beginning to dispel. When, presently, the sun contrived to peep between two barriers of cloud, the wood gleamed golden and gorgeous, as the light struck upon its copper beeches.
Catherine unconsciously smiled at the loveliness spread out before her eyes, and remembered the words of a poet:
'What sweeter aid my matins could befallThan this fair glory from the East hath made?What holy sleights hath God, the Lord of All,To bid us feel and see! We are not freeTo say we see not, for the glory comes,Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea.'
'What sweeter aid my matins could befallThan this fair glory from the East hath made?What holy sleights hath God, the Lord of All,To bid us feel and see! We are not freeTo say we see not, for the glory comes,Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea.'
Then she took up her pen and began to write to Brian.
This was no hard task, for she knew that he liked her letters to be rambling and unstudied, consisting of sentences from her heart, just as she loved best to make them. All her pure girl's fancies and imaginings about the higher life, all her tender anxieties—on the subject of himself usually—her fears for his health, and longings for his complete understanding of God, all her merry discoveries in her daily life, all the kindnesses she received, all her hopes for the future, these were written down simply for his interest. Fortunately, Brian North could be trusted to appreciate and reverence Catherine's sincerity. The letter, when written, was a precious revelation of a good woman's very soul.
Probably the 'good woman' herself would never guess how large an effect her letters wrought upon Brian's heart and intellect, how he was learning to accept her ideas, seeGod through her eyes, and exchange his worldly ambitions for her lofty content with aspirations infinitely nobler.
She was quite unconsciously setting him a lovable model of a Christian life, as all God-serving girls should be able to do for those who are dear to them.
Her pen flew over the several sheets of paper, until she felt satisfied that her lover had been given a really accurate description of her new experiences at Beverbridge. She had honestly tried not to allow her great affection for Uncle Jack to prejudice her in writing of Uncle Ross, yet she wanted Brian to be prepared to be devoted to the former.
Mrs. Arderne's suggestion that Brian would not approve of his betrothed's acceptance of Redan Cottage as 'home' scarcely occurred to Catherine this morning. She had not the least doubt that she had acted in the best way in regard to Uncle Jack's offer, and so, loyally, she felt certain that Brian must agree with her when he considered the subject.
The letter, though of even unusual length, was finished some time before the hour for breakfast, so Catherine began to write another to her cousin George in Melbourne, the cousin who had been in the same regiment with poor Loring Carmichael.
After sending messages to George's relatives, and giving him a spirited account of her experiences in London, describing the sights she had seen, she continued as follows:
'Do you remember that you used to call me "the most meddlesome of girls"?—that year when I tried to reconcile my stepfather and his men. Well, I am going to be meddlesome again, for I want, if God will let me, to make peace between our two English uncles. Would you believe that they are living in different houses in the same neighbourhood, and are still estranged because of Loring's choice of a profession? Yet I can see that they both desire to befriends again, if once their pride could be overcome. Now that Loring is dead, Uncle Jack must partly regret having persuaded him to be a soldier, and Uncle Ross should be able to forgive the choice, especially as he has been chiefly to blame for the strength to which this foolish family feud has attained. If you can tell me anything, George, about Loring's death, since you, his friend, were with him when he fell, I might be fortunate enough to effect a reconciliation through their mutual interest in the news. Did Loring send no messages to either uncle? Please let me know all you know, for I, being on the spot, can perhaps make good use of the knowledge.'
This letter was also finished, and the envelope addressed and stamped, before the breakfast bell sounded.
Catherine ran downstairs, to find Ted and Toddie awaiting her in the dining-room, two solemn-faced little people, wearing their best frocks, and standing side by side, hand in hand, on the hearth-rug.
'We've beenvewwygood, an' we're so tired wiv it,' announced Toddie, with emphasis.
'We didn't fink muvver was ever comin', nor you, nor bweakfast,' explained Ted. 'Bweakfast comed first though, an' we didn't peep one bit under the cover, did we, Toddie?'
'No, but it's sausages, I fink, 'cause it smells like it.'
'Then you comed next, dearie Carr, an' we won't have to be good no longer.'
Ted's face was roguish again, and he scrambled on to Catherine's knee as she sat down in the arm-chair, while Toddie, regardless of her Sunday dress, sank down in a happy heap on the rug at her feet.
'Not good any more! Oh, Ted, you know I always want you to be good!' she exclaimed, trying to preserve discipline.
'Oh yes, of course!' cried the culprit, 'only the nurse says"Be vewwy good children," when she just wants us not to cwumple our clothes.Youdon't do that.Youdon't like us best when we'restiff, does you, Carr?'
'You mustn't spoil your nice clothes on purpose, Ted and Toddie, but you—you needn't keep on remembering them. Why, they are sensibly-chosen clothes, they will not easily take harm. Some poor little children are always dressed in silks and satins, so grand that they are expected to take great care of them, but your kind mamma likes you to be happy and able to romp about.'
'Silks an' satins!' repeated Toddie. 'Gwacious!—wouldn'twe cwumple them all up!'
Mrs. Arderne came into the room, and found the usual picture awaiting her vision—Catherine and the babies laughing together, clinging together, perfectly happy in their merriment.
'Ah, chickies, plaguing "Carr" again. Catherine, dear, in a weak moment yesterday I promised those infants that they should spend Sunday with us, and come to church.'
'We'll bevewwygood.'
'We'll twy dreffully hard not to laugh.'
Catherine kissed them both as she lifted them comfortably on to their chairs close to the table.
'You must promise faithfully not to talk in church, children, not even if there is a funny-looking old lady in front of you, or any naughty little boys try to make you laugh at them.'
'Not if there's anover lady who can't find her pocket, Carr?'
'Or an old, old man wiv a spider cweeping up his back?'
'Not for any reason at all. You must promise to try to remember all the time that you are in church to please God, not to amuse yourselves.'
'But we mustn't speak pwayers out loud.'
'Muvver, you don't always 'member,doesyou?'
'I'sesuremuvver doesn't, 'cause once she laughed an' spoke to Carr something about bonnets,' cried Toddie delightedly.
'Now you are beginning to talk too much, and about matters you do not properly understand,' said Miss Carmichael quickly. 'Say grace, and eat your breakfasts, dears.'
The mother and children, and the companion, sallied forth early to find the village church. Ted and Toddie walked most demurely, one on either side of Catherine, sometimes uttering their quaint criticisms of the people and objects they passed, and proudly carrying their Prayer-books, so that their own destination was plainly intimated to all persons curious on the subject.
'Won't look as though we was goin' no wicked walk,' explained Toddie.
The church proved to be quite a long walk away. It was a beautiful old grey brick building, wreathed and wrapped round by ivies of many species, and stood, in the midst of its little graveyard, on the summit of a hill. Two roads approached it from different sides of the country, and there was also a much-used footpath leading from a vista of park-like meadows to the vestry door.
By this path came the clergyman, a venerable-looking gentleman, whom Catherine guessed to be the Mr. Burnley of whom her uncles had told her many years ago.
Just as Catherine passed at the wicket-gate of the churchyard she became aware of the approach of Mr. Ross Carmichael, who had just stepped out of his carriage. It was a rare event for him to be seen in the precincts of a church. The tall, straight old gentleman was dressed with his accustomed care, from the glossy hat to the perfectly-fittingSuédegloves, and the white 'spats' over patent-leather boots. Catherine noticed that his step was very firm, unlike that of Uncle Jack, who was approaching from a greaterdistance, coming slowly uphill, beside Agatha's wheel-chair, which Robert was pushing. The military uncle's face had none of the deep lines which creased that of the business man, yet he seemed the elder and less strong, and his moustache was quite as silvery as was the other's short beard.
Probably Uncle Ross was aware of the approach of Uncle Jack, for he advanced quickly to greet his niece, who introduced him to Mrs. Arderne.
'This is a pleasure. I trust you will add to it by helping to fill my pew.'
Now this invitation could not easily be refused, though Catherine reflected regretfully that her other relative might object to her having accepted it. Mrs. Arderne settled the question by answering gratefully:
'That is exceedingly kind of you, Mr. Carmichael. It is sometimes so difficult for strangers to find good seats in country churches. I only hope that the children will do nothing to make you regret your considerate offer.'
Ted and Toddie were gazing in an awe-stricken manner up into the face of the austere-looking, handsome old gentleman, who now shook hands ceremoniously with them both.
Uncle Jack and Agatha were nearly at the gate by this time. Uncle Ross, after a glance over his shoulder, lingered outside the porch to ask:
'Catherine, I am anxious for another talk with you. Can you come to see me to-morrow? Will you be able to spare her, Mrs. Arderne?'
'Oh, certainly.'
'I will walk up in the afternoon then,' said the girl; adding, with a laugh and a blush, 'and if by any happy chance Brian should run down to-morrow to see me, may I bring him also?'
'It will gratify me to make his acquaintance. Excuse my leading the way into church.'
Uncle Jack and Agatha were not more than twelve steps behind now, but Catherine could not refuse to follow Uncle Ross through the porch and up the aisle. Ted and Toddie peeped across her skirts at one another, and murmured, 'Dwefful!'
'I will speak to Uncle Jack at all costs, even if I have to appear rude to Uncle Ross, after service,' Catherine decided.
She tried her utmost to forget her family quarrel, at least its difficulties and perplexing incidents, while she listened to the sermon; and endeavoured, as she prayed for God's help in her effort at peace-making, not to be conscious of the reproachful glances which Agatha, from her chair in a side aisle, was directing towards her.
Afterwards, when the congregation had nearly dispersed, Uncle Jack and Uncle Ross remained in church, each waiting for the other to move first. Each happened to be resolved not to do so. Uncle Ross wished to prevent Catherine from speaking to his brother. Uncle Jack was simply determined to speak to her, as he and Agatha both desired to do so.
At length, when the long wait was becoming ridiculous, and Ted and Toddie were beginning to fidget, Mr. Ross Carmichael rose, and walking with more than usual stiffness, led the way out of church. Immediately the colonel marched out, too, down the side aisle.
The groups joined in the porch, and passed into the open air together.
Catherine saw the two old gentlemen exchange the stiffest of bows, but her quick eyes noted also the restrained impulse of Uncle Jack's right hand, and the wistful expression in the gaze with which he regarded his brother, who was now bending courteously over Agatha's chair, inquiring after her health.
'I'm tired, and in pain, but then I always am,' said thechild fretfully. 'And I've had a lot of neuralgia lately; the air seems damp and horrid down in the village, wherewelive.'
Uncle Ross murmured polite regrets, and after bowing to Mrs. Arderne, and reminding his niece, 'I shall expect you to-morrow afternoon, then,' turned away by the footpath across the fields.
By this time Mrs. Arderne and the colonel were chatting together.
Agatha beckoned to Catherine to come near, and whispered:
'You ought to have sat inourseat.'
'No; if I have accepted a "home" from one uncle, surely I may accept the occasional loan of a pew from the other? You must not be unreasonable, dear, if you want me to try to effect a reconciliation; you must leave me free to use my own methods.'
'Horrid old man! and you are going to him to-morrow!'
'Well, I am coming to you to-day. Mrs. Arderne has kindly promised to spare me this evening.'
'Come early, then, for I want some of you all to myself!'
Ted and Toddie ran up to the side of the wheel-chair at this moment, and scrutinized Agatha.
'Can't you get up?'
'No.'
'Never mind, though,' said Toddie, anxious to be consoling. 'You look vewwy nice, an' you must feel comfor'ble. I wishwehad sofas in church. Carr wouldn't let us even kneel back'ards this mornin'.'
''Cause of the stiff old man,' Ted explained. 'Yourold man's ever so much nicer!'
'I don't suppose she'll come at all, guardian. Everything turns out disappointing. That Mrs. Arderne will keep her indoors, or she'll be afraid to walk in the rain, or she'll forget all about me, or those—those extraordinary children will coax her to stay with them.'
Agatha had been fretting all the afternoon in this fashion, until she had forced herself to believe her own dismal prophecies, and no words of her guardian availed to comfort her.
He was standing beside her couch now, holding her thin right hand in his firm grasp, smilingly trying to persuade her to be more reasonable, and to take the tea and hot buttered toast which Harriet had prepared with so much care.
The colonel was enveloped in a huge cloak, for he was going out to read aloud at a Young Men's Club,—a habit of his on many Sunday evenings.
'Catherine is true to her promises, I am certain of that, dear. She will come to you if she possibly can.'
'Very likely; but she is sure to be afraid of the weather. Just listen to the wind and rain! It is a shame, when the morning was so lovely.'
'God's weather, my little woman: that must be for the best.'
'Oh,bother!' was the rude answer, and Agatha turned her head away from her best friend.
The colonel did not take offence. He was grieved by herrebellion against God far more than by her impertinence to himself; and he was sufficiently humble to recollect how short a time it was since he had learned to trust the All-Father, saying in his thoughts, 'If I, a grown man, could be both ignorant and stubborn-willed, how dare I be shocked by this invalid child's foolishness?'
So, instead of scolding, he slipped an arm under Agatha's shoulders to raise her up, that she might take her tea before he was obliged to leave her.
'If Catherine comes, you will need strength to entertain her cheerfully. Be brave and good, dear.'
Agatha longed to push the cup away from her, but his patient kindness prevailed over her cross mood.
'I'm a savage little beast. Guardian, I'm—I'm sorry!'
'There's a dear girl! No doubt pain is very bad to bear.'
'I haven't any pain now—only in my temper. But I don't pretend to bereligiouslysorry, you know; I don't want to be bad to you—that's all.'
'Your Father in heaven loves you better than I, your adopted father on earth, can do.'
'You only love me out of duty. It must be that, because I'm not a bit nice; so probably my Father in heaven gave me up long ago!'
'Agatha, my darling, do you not know better than that?'
'Better thanwhich, guardian? better than to doubt God's love or yours?' she asked, smiling through tears that seemed to burn her weary eyes.
'I might answer truthfully, "Both"; but if you cannot trust in my love, you should be able to lean confidently upon the love of your Maker.'
'Are youreallyfond of me? Would you be sorry if I were to die?'
Colonel Jack looked his ward gravely in the face, his eyes filled with sincerity. He was a man of action, not ofwords, so he made no lengthy protestations, only saying with heartfelt fervour:
'I love you, for your own sake and that of my old friend, your father; and I should be lonely without you.'
Agatha gazed at him in silence for a minute or two, studying the sincerity of his eyes, which had so often looked at death calmly. Then she pressed her lips to his hand, and cried:
'I'm happier now, then! It's dreadful to think that no one does. Perhaps—I mean, I'll believe God does.'
'"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends,"' quoted the colonel reverently.
'Guardian, you are always repeating that. I believe it's the only text you know by heart!'
Seeing Agatha's natural expression come again to her face—the teasing, audacious, little smile he knew so well—he was contented.
'It is the best Icouldremember, little woman. Now, promise me you will not fret any more to-night, while I am away. Catherine will come to you, unless she is unavoidably prevented.'
'I'll try to be reasonable. It would be much nicer if you could stay with me till she comes, though. There's something very odd about persuading young men and boys to go to a club on Sunday evenings, just to hear reading, when they could quite well go to church.'
'None are allowed in but those who have been to church in the morning, and Mr. Burnley tells me that many go to service (who used never to be seen in church before), just that they may be entitled to join our Sunday evening circle. We read interesting books to them, and sometimes there are recitations of poems,—it is not surprising how many great literary works there are which raise the heart and mind to God. Then we always begin and end with prayer. It is not a bad service itself, Agatha; and the young fellowswould not go to church twice a day—they would probably spend their evenings in gambling and drinking, or in the company of street loafers. Beverbridge has its bad characters.'
'Now, why is it that you never address meetings of the club?' asked his ward mischievously. 'That was quite a speech!'
He laughed.
'Ispeak? My courage fails me even when I begin to read aloud! No, no, that is not the kind of action for which my poor powers are suitable.... Now, good-bye, my dear. Keep a brave heart until Catherine comes. Be God's plucky little soldier!'
Only half an hour later Agatha was nestling her face against Catherine Carmichael's shoulder, smiling up at her radiantly. They were talking of Agatha's own life,—its trials, pleasures, wants, and blessings.
'Oh, you can't guess how badly I've wanted a girl-friend, some one to tell everything to! I used to dream about you, when you were out in Australia, and I nearly began to write long letters to you.'
'I wish you had written.'
'You couldn't have known what I was like. I should have hated you to think me nice, and then to have come to England and been disappointed. It's best as it is. Help me, Cath;dohelp me! What am I to do to be nicer?'
'Leave off thinking so much about yourself.'
'Why? I ought to meditate continually upon my faults, ought I not? People have told me so.'
'That is a morbid idea of religion and duty, dear. Be as sorry as possible for your sins, but spare time to meditate upon God's mercy and goodness, otherwise how can you learn to love Him? Then again, by thinking always of your faults, you grow into a spiritual hypochondriac. How ill a person would feel who spent all his time in consideringthe exact strength and nature of every small pain or weariness! No, no, Agatha; to be healthily religious, you must trust in God a great deal more, and, in remembering Him, forget yourself!'
'It must be much easier for you, Catherine,' said the little girl wistfully, 'foryounever feel too ill to do anything but be cross, do you?'
'No, dear. But there will be a wonderful reward due to you in heaven, if, in spite of your bodily weakness, you serve the Father bravely. Tell Him your difficulties; speak to Him quite simply, at all hours, out of the fulness of your heart, and He will understand. You will learn to feel sure of His presence near you; you will love to bear pain patiently, to please Him, and in remembrance of the agony He chose for His portion in order that we, His rebellious servants, might be eternally happy. Once you have learned this lesson, you will never feel lonely any more.'
Catherine's face was glorified by the light of the peace of which she was speaking, that peace which truly passeth understanding! Perhaps Agatha learned more by watching her friend's face than even by listening to her words. Certainly she was both convinced and comforted.
'Catherine, I'll try.'
The promise (for as a promise the words were spoken) came slowly, earnestly, eagerly from the child's lips. Then, laying her head on her friend's shoulder, she went on to say:
'It won't be easy, I know that; and it means never trying to please myself only, never speaking angrily just to make other people angry, never calling Uncle Ross our enemy and trying to hate him, never.... Oh yes, itwillbe difficult! Only now I seem to understand, as I never did before, that it isn't only people who want to be extra good, but it'severy onewho ought to serve Godthoroughly. Do you know what I mean?'
'Yes, dear. It is very common for persons to say or think, "Ineedn't devote my whole efforts to serving God.Ishall be all right, so long as I do not sin in great matters." But that is a form of ignorance. Directly such a person is asked, "Why were you created?" "Are you fulfilling the Creator's purpose?" there is no answer forthcoming, except an admission of failure. Now we all of us despise failures that are the result of idleness; so how can we expect God, at the last judgment, to reward us for failing through our ill-will and slothfulness?'
'It all seems quite plain, when you talk of religion.'
Catherine's gentle hands were stroking Agatha's hot forehead, passing and repassing over her eyes with a soft touch which was very soothing.
'My mother taught me all these truths, and I have never forgotten them,' she answered. 'So you are going to give God your whole heart?'
'I'll begin this very evening, and I shall write down the promise, in cypher, in my diary, that I mayn't ever be able to forget for long. Cath, if I were to die now ... should I go to hell?'
'Ifyouhad a servant who had neglected his duty, but who was honestly sorry, and promised you that he would never wilfully sin against you again, would you wish to condemn him to eternal misery? Oh, childie, when you doubt God's mercy, you do Him a terrible injustice, for He is many million times more generous than the greatest and best of His creatures can ever become.'
'Oh, Catherine, youarebeautiful!'
'Why, what sudden nonsense is this, my pet?' was the amused question.
'I was watching you. Does Mr. North love you very,verymuch? He ought to.'
Blushes stole over the face that had been praised.
'He loves me a great deal more than I deserve.'
'I made guardian tell me all you told him. You don't mind my knowing, do you?'
'Of course not. It will be nice to be able to talk and write of him to you, little one, for there was no one to sympathise with my romance until I found you and Uncle Jack.... Brianmaycome down to see me to-morrow, but I am trying not to hope too much, or else I shall feel dismal if a disappointment follows. Still, he hasn't telegraphed yet, nor written for two whole days, so I think he must be coming.'
'If he does, you will bring him here?' asked Agatha excitedly.
Catherine nodded.
'I am simply longing to show him to Uncle Jack; they are sure to love one another. In the afternoon I have agreed to go to see Uncle Ross, and to take Brian with me, if possible.... Now, Agatha! What a dreadful frown!'
'It's gone, now, and I know you are quite right and wise, Cath. Please go on with what you were going to say.'
'But I shall insist upon leaving Carm Hall in time to spend the evening here. I shall say you have invited me to supper. That will be true, won't it?'
'Yes, yes, and Harriet shall lay the cloth and make the table look very nice, before she goes out for her "evening." Ah, Cath, you have made me happy!'
'God bless you, darling! He will teach you to be a great deal happier yet, I hope.'
When the colonel returned from his work at the club he heard Agatha's laughter resounding through the cottage,—a sound that was strange indeed. The girls were neither of them in the least tired of theirtête-à-tête, yet they gladly welcomed him and soon the three were chatting as gaily as two had done.
Before Catherine went home she shared in the evening prayer at Redan Cottage, and heard the colonel's voice falter as he offered up one special petition for the 'welfare, spiritual and temporal, of all relatives and friends.'
No wonder that the girl's heart was filled with rejoicing as she walked back to Woodley Villa! She had been able to comfort poor little Agatha, and had persuaded her to serve God. And there was still plenty of work to be done, a beautiful reconciliation to effect, if God would give her grace and aid sufficient.
Not for an instant did she count up the gains that might accrue to herself from this peace-making. Her intentions were pure and unselfish.
Little world-loving Mrs. Arderne would have marvelled again, had she been able to read her companion's heart to-night.
By ten o'clock on Monday morning Brian North had earned a holiday. He had been up and working since the small hours, but instead of going back to his lodgings to rest, he hurried to a station and took train for Beverbridge. Catherine's letter had been brought to him, and had made a precious interlude to his occupation. Generally he was as busy in the evening as in the morning, but his other occupation had been taken away from him,—a loss which he was obliged to regret, although it had obtained him an opportunity for a few days' holiday in the neighbourhood of Catherine Carmichael.
Had she been in London, Brian would have remained there, too; so when the landscape began to be green, and the buildings few, and the sky showed a clear expanse above, his spirits revived with his gratitude for the fact that his dear girl was in the country. The fresh pure air strengthened him already.
Beverbridge was a long journey from town, but he found time pass pleasantly, as he leaned back close to the open window, and let his thoughts rove over the subject of Catherine's perfections. There would be need to ponder over the question how to gain some new work, how secure a prize in an overcrowded amphitheatre, since his marriage would be delayed until he could earn not only a sufficient income to provide a home, but also a small sum 'laid by' as provision for 'rainy days.'
Brian was resolved not to persuade Catherine to make an improvident marriage; he had seen much misery resulting from such folly, and his love for her was deep enough to make his plans unselfish.
There was a smile on his lips as he sat thinking, alone in the railway carriage—the smile which thoughts of Catherine always created. Tired, disappointed, harassed though he was, his life was blessed by a great happiness, and but for the fear of being guilty of hypocrisy, he would have thanked God for it.
These were the doubts which prompted the fear: 'Was he not supposed to be resigned to any possible manifestation of God's will? Without this resignation would not gratitude be guilty of mockery, since the Creator possessed undoubtedly the right to take, as well as to give? How could he honestly thank God for the gift of Catherine, if he were not prepared also to acknowledge God's right to take Catherine from him?
It may be thought that Brian was too sincere with himself in this matter. The girl he loved was strong and healthy, and likely, humanly speaking, to live to a good old age. But he was essentially thorough, and now that he was groping after the light, he was anxious to invite it to shine into every corner of his heart. He had already perceived that religion must be all or nothing, a sham or a whole, so that he could not rest content with any reservations.
If he was to love God, then to the Creator must be given more love than to the creature. Human tenderness and sympathy do not enter into the devotion that a soul must cherish for its Maker. He was not so foolish as to expect to feel the same impulses of longing for a vision of God, for instance, as it was natural for him to feel for the presence of Catherine; but he was not able yet to give the love which is commanded, the perfect acknowledgment of God as Author of all good, the resignation of praying 'Thy will bedone,' of owning 'Thy will must be best,' and the confidence of leaving the future entirely, gladly, in God's care.
Brian often worried about the future. His health suffered from the feverish manner in which he pursued Fortune—all for Catherine's sake. As a youth he had fretted for fame; now he spent his life in restlessly striving after money and a secured position.
His pale, lined face, the grey hairs threading the dark curls over his temples, and his sunken eager eyes, proclaimed his want of peace.
There was no one but a porter in the little Beverbridge station when Brian arrived. Just as he was calling the man to take charge of his bag, and to direct him to a respectable inn, he chanced to look up at the bridge which spanned the rail. A tall girl standing, holding a little boy in her arms—Catherine herself!
Lovers' eyes are seldom deceived in such cases. Catherine, out for a walk with Ted and Toddie, had brought them within the precincts of the railway, not only because the small folks delighted in the sight of 'a big puffing engine,' but also because there was a possibility that Brian might come down to-day by the London express.
Her beaming smile as she gazed down at him over the parapet of the bridge was the cause of sympathetic beams upon his face.
'That gentleman is—a great friend of mine, Ted and Toddie!' she cried exultantly.
'How nice!' said Ted. 'Hemustbe nice ifyoulike him, Carr.'
'He's comin' up. Oh, poor, poor man! Is he ill, Carr?'
'No, dears, only hard-worked; and he lives in smoky dark London.'
By this time Brian had mounted the steps and emerged through the doorway on to the bridge.
Catherine had put down the child, so she put both herhands into Brian's, and so they stood for a few minutes, smiling, silent, looking into one another's eyes, in delicious contentment at having met once more.
Then the woman's practical mind read the significance of the presence of a bag.
'You are come, and you haven't got to go away again yet!'
'I may spend three days in Beverbridge, dear.'
'God is good!' was Catherine's simple answer.
'I'mTed Arderne,' announced a little voice.
'And I'm Toddie,' said another.
Brian responded warmly to the children's greeting, gave Ted his umbrella to play with, and made Toddie laugh at the energy with which he shouldered his bag. Together they went along the quiet country road and through the pretty village, Brian delighting in the autumnal crispness of the wind and in the beauty of the unpretentious scenery.
'Did you expect me, Catherine?' he asked.
'I only hoped for you.'
Mrs. Arderne welcomed Brian most kindly. True, she did not think that in becoming engaged to him Catherine had acted wisely, but her womanly instinct was aroused to take benevolent interest in a love affair. She could not help being prepossessed in Brian's favour by the first glimpse of his expressive, clever-looking, worn face. And the manner in which she showed her kindness was the best evidence she could have given of her sympathy.
'I will take care of the children,' she said. 'You and Mr. North can have a quiet half-hour in the garden before lunch. You must have reams to say to each other.'
So Catherine led him out, and they strolled up and down the narrow gravel paths, under the gnarled branches of venerable apple trees, in and out among the flower beds, and past the vegetables. Then he began to tell her about his troubles.
'You are much poorer, then, than you were?' she said quickly, glancing at his face. 'And I might have helped you—I mean, I might have schemed to gain a fortune—and I won't even try to do so. Brian, tell me all that is in your heart now, all the thoughts that came to you when you read my long letter.'
'I love and admire my dear brave girl more than ever. When I had read her letter all through, I told myself that she was a woman in a thousand, that it was a privilege indeed to be allowed to work for her. Then, if you want a complete account, I smiled over the description of Uncles Ross and Jack, and reflected, "What a first-rate old chap the colonel must be!"'
'Did you? I'm glad. You must love him. And you do not in the very least wee bit blame me for having accepted the home he offered me?'
'No, Catherine; I would have you happy and free to follow your own ideal. We should neither of us know much happiness, my dear one, if we were a rich relative's pensioners, obliged to humour all his whims, and keep silent when we disapproved of his practices.'
'You are—just the Brian I knew you were!' she exclaimed gratefully.
'Only poorer.'
'A new post will be found some day. Meanwhile you will have a badly-needed rest!'
'The literary labour-market is fearfully overcrowded, Catherine. I doubt if I shall obtain more employment,—not before Christmas, at all events. Every week of idleness postpones our wedding day.'
'God will help us, even in worldly matters, if we ask Him to, and if we trust Him, dearest. Tell me, have youthought, as you promised to think? Have you studied your Bible? Have you prayed for faith?'
'Yes, to all three questions. I do believe, but my newfaith is not strong enough to stand some tests I have put it to—one test especially.'
'What is it?'
'If God took you away from me, Cath, I could not forgive Him.'
'Yet God gave me to you. But for His will we should never have crossed one another's paths, never loved one another.'
'That truth would in no way minimise the loss we are supposing.'
'If I were to die, you would not wish that we had never loved one another?'
'No, no!'
'Then, by your own admission, God would have conferred a boon upon you, even if He had done that which, in thought, appals you.'
'The apparent cruelty of His will would not be less.'
'You are not rebellious now because we are parted for weeks together, Brian.'
'Because I am hoping for a time when we shall be always together, dearest.'
She smiled radiantly.
'Ah! you have answered your own doubt!Lifeis only as a day compared with eternity. What though God, for some wise and good purpose, were to part us on earth! has He not promised an everlasting home of perfect happiness after life? Oh, dear boy, let us praise Him every hour for the gift of love He has generously bestowed on us. Don't let us use His gift to deny Him! Besides, it is wrong for a weak human creature to consider persistently and hopelessly all the possible sorrows of his future. God has promised not to fail us, to send us grace sufficient for the differing needs of every crisis. We can't expect to be bravein advance, but we must trust Him to give us our "daily bread."'
'You mean that if God takes you from me some day, He will give me strength to bear the blow?'
'Yes, dear; that is certain.'
'And I am no hypocrite if I thank Him for a gift which I cannot yet bear the thought of His recalling?'
'Not if you try honestly to pray, as He taught us, "Thy will be done." That does not mean that you think yourself ready, unaided, to bear the blow, only that you admit His right to do as He pleases with His own creations, and that you believe His will to be designed for our highest welfare.'
Brian sighed, as a man does from whom a great trouble has departed.
'I will believe that God is good, therefore that He is merciful to the weakness of His servants. My faith grows stronger when you teach me, Catherine.'
Mrs. Arderne had kindly invited Brian North to stay to lunch, as he and Catherine were to go to Carm Hall early that afternoon.
'On your return from the visit to Mr. Carmichael you can take your bag and find an inn,' she suggested.
During the meal she occupied herself in studying Brian, 'drawing him out,' by artful questions on literary and other matters. While quite aware of her scrutiny and purpose, he allowed himself to gratify her curiosity as much as possible, acknowledging tacitly her right as Catherine's friend to be anxious lest Catherine's lover should prove a simpleton or a cad!
Brian was keenly amused. Not being a very young man, he was free from self-consciousness under the investigation, and was able to repay study by study. Vivacious, worldly little Mrs. Arderne, with her contradictory feelings towards Catherine's lover—half desirous of agreeing with Catherine's choice, yet disappointed because Catherine had been 'so romantic' as to accept a penniless suitor—was a charmingly inconsistent character for the writer to consider.
The result of this mutual interest was naturally twofold. Brian decided that he was glad Catherine possessed so true-hearted a friend, and Mrs. Arderne came to the conclusion that Brian was a man of delightful manners, brilliant wit, good breeding, and undoubted talents—a fit husband for Catherine in every way but that of fortune!
Lunch over, Ted and Toddie came down to be playedwith as usual, and immediately insisted upon questioning Mr. North at great length as to where he lived, and why he lived there, what he did all day long, and why he did it, etc., etc. By his answers he gave purposely an accurate account of his circumstances,—more for the information of Mrs. Arderne than to please her children.
'I write for papers—sometimes all night long, while you little people are comfortably sleeping,' he said, laughingly lifting them on to his knees. 'It is tiring work, and I can't say I'm fond of doing it; I should like to sit at home and write about things that interest me—to make books, you know. Only people are not paid for doing the things that amuse them, and if I did not work for money I shouldn't ever have any jam to eat with my bread and butter. I really doubt if I should have even the bread without the butter!'
Ted and Toddie stared solemnly at him.
'It'syourlessons. We don't get money at all for doing ours, though.'
'For shame, Ted!' cried Catherine. 'You get prizes when you are good, industrious children, and your work is not worth money yet. Some day, when you are quite grown up, you will be able to earn payment, as Mr. North does, but only if you learn well while you are young.'
'Didyoulearn well when you were six?' asked Toddie, anxiously peering into his face.
'I am not quite certain, dear, but I was always very fond of reading.'
'And I say, are you working for prizes too, as we are?'
Brian glanced smilingly at Catherine, who blushed radiantly as he answered:
'Yes, Ted, for a prize that is very beautiful; but I cannot stay to tell you now what the prize is, because I am going out with Miss Carmichael this afternoon.'
'Carr, you'll tell us all about it to-night, won't you?'
''Bout Mr. North's prize!' added Toddie.
An interruption occurred at this moment. A servant brought in a note for Catherine, and explained that Mr. Carmichael's carriage had come for her.
The letter was as follows:
'Carm Hall.'My dear Niece,—'I hope you will give me as much of your society as possible to-day (bringing Mr. North with you, if he has arrived yet in Beverbridge); but apart from this desire of mine, pray keep the carriage waiting as long as suits your convenience.'Believe me to be,'Your affectionate uncle,'Ross Carmichael.'
'Carm Hall.
'My dear Niece,—
'I hope you will give me as much of your society as possible to-day (bringing Mr. North with you, if he has arrived yet in Beverbridge); but apart from this desire of mine, pray keep the carriage waiting as long as suits your convenience.
'Believe me to be,
'Your affectionate uncle,
'Ross Carmichael.'
'Oh, good-bye to our nice walk!' sighed the girl mischievously, as she handed the note to Brian. 'A closed carriage too! I see it through the window! And this is such a lovely autumn day! Dear old uncle, I ought to be ashamed of my grumbles, though, for he meant to show me a most considerate attention!'
Brian laughed, as he answered:
'The walk is a loss, certainly, but by driving we shall be able to spend a longer time at Carm Hall, and I am anxious to make the acquaintance of your relatives.'
'Mr. Carmichael is a charming old gentleman,' said Mrs. Arderne.
'And what is Colonel Carmichael, please, ma'am?'
'My darling girl, don't question me in that impertinent fashion. My admiration for your elder uncle does not make me blind to the charm of the younger.'
'Uncle Jack impressed you favourably, I am certain, though you saw so little of him!'
'Mr. North, do you mean to allow Catherine to obstinately insist upon offending Mr. Ross Carmichael?'
Brian looked from the interrogator to Catherine's demurely smiling face, then back again.
'If I wished Catherine to be worldly-wise, Mrs. Arderne, I should be wishing her to give me up.'
'No, not necessarily,' cried the kind little woman, anxious to make amends for having reminded him of his poverty. 'If Mr. Ross takes a fancy to you, he might—do anything for you both. He is already much attached to his niece. It is only her obstinate choice of a home with Uncle Jack that stands in the way of her heiress-ship!'
'While Catherine sees a work awaiting her, she will become happy only by doing it. I would rather she should be happy than rich.'
'Thenyoubelieve in her possession of a serious vocation to convert the inhabitants of Redan Cottage?'
'I always believe in a woman's vocation to do that good which she clearly sees ought to be done, and for which her gifts and sympathies fit her,' he answered gravely.
'Oh, Brian, thank you!' the girl cried gratefully.
'I thought that only Catherine was quixotic and imprudent, but now I see that you are both in the conspiracy to ruin your prospects!' was Mrs. Arderne's regretful reply. 'At least you need not let Uncle Ross's horses catch their deaths of cold! Go and get ready, Catherine, foolish child!'
As they were driven along the well-kept country road leading to Carm Hall, Catherine and Brian talked of their 'prospects' almost as practically as Mrs. Arderne could have done, but they were the prospects of finding work for him, not an heiress-ship for her! And to an irreligious or God-forgetting person their trust in the efficacy of asking heavenly aid would, no doubt, have seemed childish. They were content, however, because now they bothbelieved that God would provide for the necessities of those who turned to Him in faith.
It was Mr. Carmichael's footman, not his personal attendant, James, who opened the door of Carm Hall to them, and they were ushered into the large drawing-room, where the master of the house was awaiting them.
'Uncle Ross, I have brought Brian, you see!'
'I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. North.'
These were the first words spoken.
Some time elapsed before the trio could shake off the strangeness of their meeting; even the elderly man was conscious of a feeling of awkwardness. Brian, who had come to be inspected, was perhaps most at ease. It was due, chiefly, to his adroit management of the situation that conversation became more confidential before long.
In speaking of some news of the day, he alluded to the opinion advocated on the subject by the paper for which he had formerly worked, and expressed his regret at having lost his employment.
'For, as you know, sir, I am a very poor man, with the best possible reason for desiring success in my profession.'
'Catherine says you are a hard worker when work is ready for you to do,' said Mr. Carmichael.
'It would be strange if I were not, since our home depends upon my industry,' answered Brian, with a smile. 'We have been making each other very hopeful—haven't we, Catherine?—by deciding that work usually comes to those who are anxious andableto do it.'
'Work, perhaps—though personally I doubt your optimistic theory—but not always the kind of work desired.'
'It would only be a question of capability with me. I would do any honourable remunerative task.'
Uncle Ross began to question Brian closely as to the writing he had done, and the extent of his literary and journalistic experience, and the talk became animated,interspersed with anecdotes of celebrated literature, and keen, clever expressions of opinion by the younger man.
Catherine sat silent, listening and taking pride in her lover. That Uncle Ross was pleased was evident.
It was after tea—over which Catherine presided—that a chance question brought discord among them. Mr. Carmichael asked their plans.
Was Mr. North staying long in Beverbridge? and how much of his time was already allotted?
'None, except this evening, when I believe I am to have the pleasure of making your brother's acquaintance,' answered Brian.
The frown, almost habitual, but which had been invisible during the last hour, returned to the squire's brow.
'I regret that my niece continues to court the favour of those persons—I should say of the person—who has wronged me.'
'It was an involuntary wrong; Uncle Jack desires nothing so much as to have his share in the quarrel forgiven him!'
'When trust has been once broken, trust can never again be established. Catherine, I wish you to be happy; Mr. North, I hope to make you an offer which you will be able to accept without loss of independence; but I do require from you both some practical evidence of your consideration.'
'But, uncle dear, I have been offered a home at Redan Cottage, and though I do not mean to give up my situation as Mrs. Arderne's companion, I have promised always to regard Uncle Jack's home as my own.'
'You have done this in defiance of my objection?'
'Agatha wants me, poor lonely little soul! and from whom but an uncle could I accept a shelter?'
'True. I regret that my offer was not made first. However, all that is necessary now is that you shouldinform—the—the other uncle that you are obliged, for Mr. North's sake, to withdraw your acceptance of the home.'
'Why "for Mr. North's sake"?' asked the girl, going at once to the root of the matter. Uncle Ross knew that this inducement was the strongest he could offer, and she, by her question, admitted as much.
'I will tell you my plan,' said Mr. Carmichael, 'though I had intended waiting for a day or two, until Mr. North and I had begun to understand one another more. It is this. I purchase the paper known asThe Circle, and become sole proprietor. It is in the market, and is as safe an investment as any I know. Then I offer Mr. North the editorship, with a yearly increasing share in the profits. At my death he shall become proprietor in my stead. The sole return I require from either of you is a reasonable amount of companionship—say a frequent Saturday to Monday visit, as the paper is a weekly one, and occasional longer stays here at Carm Hall—with a cessation of your visits to the brother who has injured me. In the interests of peace and goodwill, I would sanction a meeting between you and him at Christmastide.'