'O most lame and impotent conclusion!'—Shakespeare.
Agatha was naturally very vexed when she heard from her sisters what had happened. She was sometimes laughed at by her friends for her devotion to the clergy, and all her hopes of doing good were centred in the country church and its organizations.
'It is most unfortunate,' she said; 'I was hoping that perhaps some of them might call before Sunday, but really after such an encounter they may totally ignore us. It was not right to do such a thing, Elfie, without permission. I can't think how Gwen could have allowed it.'
'Well, really, I am not up in propriety and etiquette in such matters,' was Gwen's rather impatient response. 'We are not in town now, thank goodness! In the country you are supposed to have a little freedom. If they don't wish people to try the organ, they should not leave it open, or they should chain a bulldog to the organ stool. Wasn't that her suggestion, Clare? My dear Agatha, don't fuss yourself. This old woman must be quite a character, and would abuse anybody, I feel certain. We didn't tell her who we were, so if she comes to call on you, we will keep out of the way. She seemed half blind, so I don't expect she would recognise us again.'
'Jane says she lives alone with her brother, who is unmarried,' said Clare, 'and she is quite a Tartar in the village, though she is very good in relieving the villagers' wants.'
'What does Jane know about it?'
'Oh, she gets her gossip from Mrs. Tucker, who also told her that Miss Miller sees better through her green glasses than most people do without any glasses at all!'
'Mrs. Tucker talks a lot of rubbish, I expect,' said Gwen, rather loftily; then, changing the conversation, she said, 'I am going to unpack my books now. Who will come and help me? I am longing to fill up those empty bookshelves in Mr. Lester's study. What a good thing he left them as fixtures!'
'I will help you, if you like,' said Clare. 'Are you going to take sole possession of that study, may I ask?'
Gwen looked across at her rather queerly.
'Not if you dispute it,' she said, with a little laugh. 'Agatha is in love with the drawing-room. She has already arranged a corner for herself there; her writing-table in the west window, her work-basket and books in the corner by it, and her pet canary is now singing himself hoarse at the view he has from the window.'
'Yes,' Agatha replied, 'it is an ideal old maid's corner, and that is where you will always find me, when my housekeeping duties are not keeping me away.'
'I wish we could have a sitting-room each,' said Clare; 'we get so in each other's way.'
'You can share the study with me when you want to be quiet,' said Gwen. 'I won't have you there if you talk!'
'You're quite the owner of it already, then? And what are you going to do, Elfie?'
'Oh, I shall be everywhere. Agatha never minds my music. I shall be practising a good deal, and if I'm voted a bore, I shall take my violin up to the bedroom. You and Gwen are the blue stockings, so the study will be given over to you.'
This seemed satisfactory. Gwen was a great reader, and possessed already a most valuable library. She wrote essays for some periodical occasionally, but would never bind herself to any steady contributions, and she was never so happy as when deeply engrossed in some ancient histories of Egypt or Nineveh. The buried past had a fascination for her, and perhaps she of all the others had most reason for regretting the departure from London, for her constant visits to the reading-room at the British Museum had been a keen delight and pleasure to her. When quite a schoolgirl she used to say, with that masterful toss of her head, 'I am quite determined that I will understand and master every "ology" under the sun!'
And Gwen and her 'ologies' had been a perpetual joke in her family ever since. She had dabbled in a good many sciences—geology, astronomy, architecture, physiology, botany, natural history, and archaeology all had their turn, and she certainly seemed to get a good deal of interest and amusement out of them all. She announced to Clare, as a little later they were seated on the study floor surrounded by pyramids of books, that she intended to give her thoughts now to gardening and agriculture.
'I have some delightful old books on horticulture, which I shall read up,' she said enthusiastically; 'and there is an old Dutch writer amongst them who gives the most minute directions for laying out a flower and vegetable garden. I have told Agatha I shall take the garden into my charge. I am certain I shall succeed with it.'
'Do you ever doubt your capability for doing anything?'
Clare put the question gravely.
'No, I don't think I do, except teach a Sunday school class!' said Gwen, laughing.
'I sometimes feel I am incapable of living even,' said Clare dreamily.
Gwen stared at her. These two understood each other better than one would have thought possible with such opposite characteristics. Clare admired Gwen's intellect, and there were times when Gwen knew that Clare had depths of which she knew nothing. Reason and practical common sense had full sway in the one, imagination and mysticism in the other, and none of these qualities were tempered with real religion.
'You must be in the blues!' exclaimed Gwen, with a laugh.
'No,' said Clare, looking up, 'I am not, at all. I am longing to be up and doing, and leave some mark behind me as I go. Is that Browning you have in your hand? Just let me look up a passage!' Gwen laughed again as she handed across the book.
'No hope for any more help from you, if you once get hold of him!'
And for an hour Clare sat amongst the piles of books with her fair head resting against the carved cupboard, and not a word or sign could Gwen get out of her.
Elfie spent her time in helping Agatha to unpack, and it was a very tired little party that gathered round the drawing-room fire that evening.
'I wonder,' said Clare, 'if we shall find we have made a mistake in coming here. It seems so very quiet, and different to either London or Dane Hall. When we used to stay there with Aunt Mildred, there was always such a lot going on that it didn't seem quite like the country.'
'My dear Clare,' said Agatha quietly, 'you would be much happier yourself, and would make others happier too, if you always made the best of your circumstances. I remember you used to complain at Dane Hall of the frivolity and empty-headedness of aunt's visitors, and would say it was a mere waste of life to live as we did!'
'Oh, don't be so prosy, Agatha!' Clare returned impatiently. 'If you were dropped into a workhouse ward, you would look round and remark how comfortable you were, and how at last you had found your vocation!'
Elfie laughed aloud at this, but Agatha leant back in her chair and looked into the glowing coals in front of her with a smile that showed she was not destitute of humour. 'I daresay I might,' she said. 'I always love a community of old women, and if I could have chats with them, I am sure I should enjoy myself.'
'Well, I only wish I could be so easily contented,' said Clare, in a tone that showed she would be very sorry for herself if she were. She soon went off to bed, and Elfie followed, and then the two elder ones drew their chairs together and had a confidential talk over ways and means.
Agatha, though apparently apathetic at times and of a yielding disposition, had not always been so. When she first came home from school, she had all the bright hopes and restless longings of a young girl, and her aunt did all in her power to make life pleasant and bright for her. She went out into society, and was a general favourite, owing to her sweet temper and extreme unselfishness. Then one came on the scene who attracted her heart from the first. He was an earnest, whole-hearted Christian man, a vicar of an East End parish, and it was his influence that made Agatha view life in a different light. She vexed her aunt at first by gradually withdrawing from gaieties, and it was only with great difficulty that she was given permission to visit in the slums. The vicar was soon her betrothed, and Agatha had a few months of perpetual sunshine. But hard work, and a not very strong constitution, soon brought about a serious break-down, and he was ordered to the south of France to recruit his health. The parting was a sad one, and Agatha had wild thoughts of marrying then and there, and going with him as his wife and nurse. But this Miss Dane strenuously opposed, and poor Agatha had to bear the strain of five months away from the one who needed her so badly. He died, and for a time she was broken-hearted; but gradually she came to prove the reality and comfort of her religion, and then, taking up the interests of those around her, she had cheerfully buried her own sorrow, and became the mainstay of her aunt and her household. Perhaps Agatha felt most keenly being shut out from her aunt's dying room, she certainly uttered with heartfelt fervour morning and evening, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us.'
And she had never trusted herself to mention her cousin's unjust dealing to anyone; even her sisters had little idea how deep her feelings were about it.
The next few days were very busy ones. Saturday brought Captain Knox, to stay with them till Monday, and Clare showed him over house and garden in the best of spirits. 'It is rather strange,' he said, as he sat at dinner with them that night, 'but one of my sisters knows a lady in this neighbourhood, and she thinks you will like her. She lives somewhere on the outskirts of Brambleton. A Miss Villars. She is a charming woman, I hear, very comfortably off, but rather eccentric in the way she spends her money. My sister wrote to her when she knew of your arrival here, so you may have a visit from her soon.'
'Is she an old maid?' asked Elfie; 'because we have seen one, and, I was going to say, don't want to see another.'
Clare related their adventure in the church, and Captain Knox was much amused.
'I do not think there is anything queer about Miss Villars, except that she is a very religious woman.'
'Is that queer?' questioned Clare, a little wistfully.
'No,' Agatha said very quietly; 'it ought not to be.'
'But it is in the sight of the world,' retorted Captain Knox; 'that is, if your religion in an aggressive one.'
'Well, of course it ought not to be aggressive,' said Gwen briskly. 'Religion is a matter to be lived, not talked about. It only concerns oneself, and no one else.'
'That is a very selfish creed,' said Agatha. 'If you possess something good, you ought to wish to pass it on.'
'But not to thrust it on people who don't want it. I am thirsty, and like a glass of water, but need I insist upon your drinking it, when you are not thirsty at all?'
'Gwen loves an argument,' said Captain Knox good-naturedly.
'I am not good at arguing,' said Agatha, 'only, knowing that thirst can be a blessing, I think we should try to make people thirsty.'
'How do you mean?' asked Clare with interest, 'thirst is not, generally, a very happy experience.'
'Doesn't it say, "Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled"?'
'Oh, come, Agatha, we don't want a sermon with our dinner. You are not given to preach, so don't be trying to show us that you know how to be aggressive.'
Gwen's tone was a little scornful, and Agatha said no more; but as Clare was pacing up and down in the verandah with Captain Knox, a little time after, she suddenly said, 'I think I am a thirsty person, Hugh, only I never can tell what it is I am thirsting for; tell me, are you perfectly satisfied with yourself and with life?'
Captain Knox looked down at the sweet, pensive face of his betrothed. 'I shall be, Clare—on our wedding day.'
Clare frowned. 'You never will be in earnest about anything; you always turn my thoughts into ridicule.'
'Indeed I do not. But I am a plain, matter-of-fact soldier, and live on earth; you are in dreamland half your time, or in the clouds. Clare, darling, I cannot bear the thoughts of Africa sometimes; how shall I be able to stand being away from you so long? And time is slipping away so fast; only a fortnight more before I am off.'
'You will come down again before you start, of course?'
'Oh yes, I certainly intend to do so; but I have a lot to do in town—it may be only the last day that you will see me.'
Clare sighed, but said nothing, and then Captain Knox said suddenly,—
'Is Agatha very religious, Clare?
'No, I don't think so—not particularly. She is fond of church and all that, but she doesn't often speak out as she did at dinner to-night. Now, don't let us be gloomy; come indoors, and I will show you Bluebeard's cupboard in the study, It is well worth looking at, for it is beautifully carved, and I am going to try and copy it. You know how I love carving.'
She took him to the study, and there, by the aid of a lamp, they examined the old oak cupboard in the deep recess at the side of the fireplace.
'The strange thing is that there seems to be no lock or opening at all to it,' said Clare. 'I have spent hours in trying to find out where it is opened. Do you think one day I shall touch a spring, the doors will fly open, and there we shall see his headless wives?'
She was laughing now, and full of animation. Captain Knox passed his fingers lightly across the carving.
'I expect one of these carved bits is movable,' he said. 'It is a handsome bit of handicraft. What is this along the bottom, a scroll with writing?'
'That is what I say it is; Gwen says not, but I am sure those hieroglyphics mean something.'
It looks like Arabic characters,' said Captain Knox with interest. 'I believe it is so. Here, stop a minute; let me copy these in my notebook. I shall be studying Arabic on my way out, and if I find I can translate this, I will let you know.'
'Perhaps it is a clue to the mystery,' said Clare, with shining eyes; 'I am dying to know what this cupboard contains. Mrs. Tucker said she never saw it opened the whole time she was here; but Mr. Lester told her once that he prized this cupboard more than anything else in the house. She thinks, foolish woman, that it is full of gold! I only hope she won't spread that notion about Brambleton. The next thing will be that we shall have thieves in the house, and perhaps be all murdered in our beds!' Captain Knox laughed at her fears, and soon after, they joined the others in the drawing-room.
'O day most calm, most bright,The fruit of this, the next world's bud.****The week were dark, but for thy light,Thy torch doth show the way.'—G. Herbert.
The sisters, accompanied by Captain Knox, made quite a sensation in the little village church when they entered it on that Sunday morning. The old sexton fussed about as if all the seats were occupied; but eventually they were shown into one just beside the pulpit stairs. Miss Miller glared at them through her green spectacles, and Elfie felt miserably conscious that she had recognised them. There were a few other gentle-people in the church besides themselves, and a very fair sprinkling of farmers and villagers. The service was simple and hearty; the village schoolmaster played the organ, and Mr. Miller, a fine-looking, grey-headed man, delighted Agatha at least, by his earnest, faithful preaching. Coming out into the churchyard, Agatha was stopped by Miss Miller hastening up to her. She was dressed in black silk; but her bonnet, a wonderful erection of lace and ribbon, was quite awry, and she seemed agitated. She spoke jerkily, and Agatha had difficulty in preserving her usual equanimity of mind.
'Excuse me, but I believe you have taken Mr. Tom Lester's house—a most unsatisfactory parishioner he is, and not at all what he should be. I am hoping to call on you this week. Who is the gentleman? your brother? No? A great pity, then, for a houseful of women is only a hot-bed for scandal and gossip. We have too many women by far in this neighbourhood—a bachelor parson always draws them. Have you any acquaintances in the neighbourhood? Ah, so much the better. There is service at half-past six this evening; I hope you will be regular attendants. You live in a godless house; take care that the atmosphere does not affect you. Mr. Tom Lester never entered the House of God after I spoke to him about the irreverence of his yawns during the sermon! Good-bye, and I hope you will prove pleasant neighbours. That remains to be seen!'
She darted away as quickly as she came; and Elfie, who was walking with Agatha, gave one of her merry, rippling laughs.
'Isn't she an odd character? We shall have a good deal of fun out of her, I am sure! I am thankful she did not recognise me, or at least had the good taste not to appear as if she did.'
'I wonder,' said Agatha thoughtfully, 'if that old man who sat behind Miss Miller was our landlord's brother.'
'Oh, he was much too nice-looking; I imagine the other Mr. Lester is an awful old curmudgeon. He has got his property unjustly, I consider—the eldest son ought to have it.'
'Cousin James is not an old curmudgeon,' put in Gwen, stepping back to join in the conversation; 'supplanters and usurpers generally carry all the world before them, "like green bay trees," as the Psalmist says. I am sure our Jacob is most prepossessing in manner and appearance, like his namesake. History repeats itself!'
'Don't be bitter after church,' said Agatha, in her quiet voice.
Gwen laughed. 'I'm not bitter. I feel I can snap my fingers at him now! Hugh says he saw him in town the other day, and he said with his pleasant smile, "When we are quite settled at Dane Hall my wife will ask the girls down. They will be glad of the change, I expect, after their seclusion in the country!" Wasn't it truly kind and considerate of him?'
That first Sunday in the country was a very pleasant one to the sisters, Clare went off for a long walk with Hugh in the afternoon; Agatha settled herself in a wicker chair with her books in the sunny verandah overlooking the meadows and distant pine woods; and Gwen and Elfie wandered off across the fields, enjoying the sweet spring air, and noting all the spring flowers peeping out of the hedgerows.
'Yes, I'm thankful we are out of town,' said Gwen emphatically, standing up and drawing in long breaths of content and satisfaction. 'If I were starving, I would rather be in the country, because one can be clean. It's the oppression in the atmosphere that is so sickening in London, and never being able to get away from people!'
'This is an ideal Sunday,' said Elfie, turning her radiant face upwards and watching a lark soaring out of sight; 'I don't think I shall miss the concerts in town, with such music as this around one!'
Then after a pause she said, 'I suppose becoming lazy and self-indulgent is a danger in the country.'
'We are not rich enough for that,' responded Gwen with a short laugh; 'at least, I know I have my work cut out for me.'
'I wasn't meaning actual daily duties, but our responsibilities regarding others,' said Elfie, a little shyly.
Gwen shrugged her shoulders. 'I suppose you feel you ought to be in Sunday school this afternoon, is that it? I dare say Miss Miller will give you some parish work, if you ask her. Are you going to follow in Agatha's steps? I saw her from my bedroom window this morning stop a carter going by from the farm, and hand him some tracts.'
Elfie laughed. 'She's a good old thing; she never says anything about her good deeds, but I know she will soon be fast friends with all the farm labourers who pass up and down. You see if next week she doesn't know all their names and family histories!'
They were crossing a fresh meadow now, and as they came up to a stile, they saw in the next field a most picturesque little cottage standing in the midst of a mass of apple blossom. It was a low white-washed building, with thatched roof and latticed windows, green shutters opening back upon the wall.
The girls went up, and leaning against the gate, looked at it admiringly; then started at the sight of two oldish women sitting opposite one another in the old-fashioned porch. They were dressed exactly alike, two lilac sun-bonnets hiding their faces; their figures were thin and angular, and each had a book in her lap. Their dark-blue serge gowns, white aprons, and little red worsted shawls over their shoulders, were duplicates one of the other.
'It's like a book,' whispered Elfie. 'Do let us speak to them. We can ask them where the footpath leads to!'
Gwen opened the gate, and accordingly put the question.
Both women started to their feet, and one came forward.
'Where does this footpath lead to? Why, to our cottage, and no further, miss.'
She spoke respectfully, though rather shortly.
'I am afraid we have trespassed,' said Elfie, in her sweet, bright tone; 'but we are strangers here, and are trying to find our way about. What a lovely little cottage you have!'
'It's a tidy little place,' the woman responded, with an approving nod. 'Perhaps you'd like to come in and sit for a bit. Patty and me don't care for Sunday visitin', but you'll be the ladies from Jasmine Cottage, I reckon?'
'Yes,' said Gwen, 'we will come in for a minute before we go back.'
They followed her into a spotlessly clean and tidy kitchen. Patty drew forward two chairs, and began to speak rather breathlessly. 'My sister and me saw you in church to-day. We said you were the new family; and Deb is very good at upholsterin' and alterin' carpets, and doin' plain needlework, and we thought maybe you'd be wantin' help that way, for Deb goes to work by the day at most of the big houses round!'
'Tis the Lord's Day,' said Deb, giving her sister a sharp nudge with her elbow; 'we'll not be talking business now. Sit down, ladies.'
Gwen and Elfie exchanged amused glances. Then Gwen said,—
'Well, we won't transact business now; but we want a workwoman badly, and if you will come to the cottage tomorrow my sister will show you any amount of carpets that need refitting. But if I had a cottage like this, away from all sound and sight of any human beings, I think I wouldn't trouble to go out carpet-making!'
'You would if you wanted to keep your cottage,' said Deb brusquely. Then, taking off her sun-bonnet and smoothing down her grey hair, she sat down on an old oak settle beside the little cheery blazing fire, and grasping her angular knees with each hand, she looked at Given a little defiantly.
'Eight and forty year come next Christmas have Patty and I lived together here, and never a year have we been behind our rent since father died; but it have been done by downright hard labour. And if you and your people want new-laid eggs, or fresh spring chickens, or honey from the comb, why, 'tis Patty that will supply you, as also milk and butter from an Alderney cow.'
''Tis Sunday!' ejaculated Patty, as she stood by the fire with arms akimbo; and at this retort Gwen and Elfie laughed outright.
'And do you ever go away from home?' asked Gwen curiously, after a slight pause, in which Deb looked very discomposed.
'We are continually away,' said Deb, looking up and speaking very shortly. 'I know every gentry's house in the neighbourhood, not to speak of Brambleton, where Patty goes reg'lar once a week to market. But as to sleepin' away, that we never mean to do till we be taken to our last restin'-place!'
'And are you great readers? I am afraid we disturbed you from your books when we came in.'
Patty took up her book, which was on the window-ledge. ''Tis Bunyan's book,The Pilgrim's Progress. Father give Deb and me a copy each when we were fifteen years old, and we have read it every Sunday afternoon since. We don't always get very far, for 'tis a sleepy time in the afternoon, but a page or two is always edifyin' and improvin' to the soul!'
'It's a lovely book!' said Elfie enthusiastically; 'you must know it nearly by heart.'
The sisters smiled at each other.
'We do that,' said Deb.
'I suppose you have visitors from the village here occasionally?' asked Gwen.
Deb frowned grimly, then looked her questioner straight in the face, with hard-set lines about her mouth, as she replied,—
'We keeps ourselves to ourselves, miss. You are both young ladies, and haven't lived long enough to have it cast up in your teeth that you're not wed; but there be those who scorn us for choosin' to keep by each other, and not do as most young maids do. Patty and me have had our chances, but Patty's lad couldn't take us both, and 'twas the same with my lad, and neither of us could bear to be away from the other. We've always grown together, Patty and me—we came into the world together, and we pray the Lord He'll take us out in the same manner; and we know each other's ways, and when we don't agree, there's no one else to interfere.'
'Do you ever disagree?' asked Elfie, smiling.
Patty nodded her head solemnly.
'Ay, we ain't quite the same make through and through,' she said, in her little breathless way, 'and words run high at times. I keep to my opinions, and Deb keeps to hers; and if we have an extra hard dispute on, we know how to settle it!'
'How? with fists?' asked Gwen, looking from one hard-featured woman to the other with the greatest interest.
Deb looked up grimly, and said, as she raised her hand in emphasis,—
'Patty have never had a blow from me since we were children, nor I from her. When our tongues run away with us, one locks the t'other out, and when we get cool again the door is opened!'
'I would rather be inside than outside on a winter's day,' said Gwen, laughing heartily. 'Now come, Elfie, we must be off. I shall pay you another visit before long, to learn about bee-keeping. I see your hives are just like ours, and we know nothing about such things!'
'And I'll be very glad to tell you,' said Patty eagerly, 'for I've tended bees since I were a child, and know all their tricks, and as to their swarmings.'
''Tis the Lord's Day,' put in Deb grimly, and Gwen and Elfie promptly took their leave.
'Aren't they old dears?' said Elfie enthusiastically; 'they seem to live in quite another world. Imagine readingThe Pilgrim's Progressall your life, and no other book beside the Bible! Do they ever see a newspaper, I wonder?'
'It isn't often one meets such a couple; we shall get a good deal of entertainment out of them, I expect. What an awful existence! Is it what we shall come to years hence, I wonder? And yet I, for one, am quite certain that will not be my lot.'
'What?' inquired Elfie, 'the old maid's existence, do you mean, or the little secluded country cottage?'
'Neither. I have my plans and purposes; and not all Jacob's machinations and schemings will frustrate them.'
'What are they?' inquired Elfie.
'Ah, well, I had best not say. I mean to see you all thoroughly comfortable and settled here, and then break them to you. I have plenty of resources and interests to take up my time, so am in no hurry.'
'You always were a wonderful one for plans! Let me guess. You are going to start a magazine, and be the editor of it!'
'No, thank you. Magazines are as plentiful as pins just now; they appear and disappear like sky-rockets!'
'Is it a way of earning money?'
'No, of spending it; but I am not going to tell you. I generally find I can carry out my plans successfully, if I don't take too many people into my confidence!'
Elfie was silent for a few minutes; then she said, with a little sigh, 'I wonder how old Nannie is getting on?'
'What has put her into your head?'
'The verses she gave us. Don't you remember?'
'I'm sure I forget what mine was.'
'"Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass,"' said Elfie softly.
'Nannie never could stand my independence. I believe she thought we ought not to have taken this cottage without first having prayer about it!'
'Agatha did pray about it,' said Elfie very quietly.
'Well, I didn't, and I was the one to find it, and it has turned out quite a success. I never can understand such narrow views of life as Agatha takes. Prayer is all very well in church, or in great crises, but in everyday life I think it is perfectly unnatural and unnecessary!'
Elfie did not answer. She felt too inexperienced to argue the matter out with Gwen, though she totally disagreed with her.
They reached home, and found Clare and Captain Knox before them. Afternoon tea was had in the drawing-room, and afterwards, before evening church, Elfie brought her violin out, and Agatha went to the piano, whilst the others gathered round and sang some hymns with them. The evening closed quietly and peacefully; and as Captain Knox said good-night to his betrothed, he added, 'I am so glad I have seen you all here. I shall picture your quiet Sundays when I am in the wilds of Africa, and it will do me good!'
'The heart which like a staff was oneFor mine to lean and rest upon,The strongest on the longest day,With steadfast love, is caught away,And yet my days go on, go on.'—E. B. Browning.
Miss Miller came to call with her brother a few days afterwards. Agatha and Elfie were busy putting some finishing touches to the drawing-room when they arrived.
Miss Miller looked round the room, when she was seated, with some interest; and then she said abruptly,—
'Too much furniture, and too many useless ornaments, my dears. A drawing-room ought to be for use, and not for show. Who arranges your flowers?'
She might well ask, for none but an artist's hand could have grouped together so harmoniously the daffodils and primroses, with trails of ivy and fern in their beds of moss.
'Clare does,' responded Elfie brightly, sitting down by her side, whilst Agatha turned to the vicar. 'She went out this morning and picked them in a wood close to us. Aren't they lovely?'
'Not Major Lester's wood, I hope. He will not be best pleased to have any one from this house trespassing in his places. Miss Dane, do you know the history of your house?'
Agatha looked up, a little startled at the sharp voice. 'I did not know it had any history,' she said.
'It is best you should know facts. No, Wilfrid, you need not stop me; they will hear our village gossip fast enough. To begin with—your house used to be the old vicarage. It was built on the site of an old monastery. Our church is four hundred years old. The monastery came to grief long before the church. When old Squire Lester died, most of us thought the Hall would go to Mr. Tom. He had always been erratic and restless, spending most of his time abroad, and the squire never forgave his marriage with a French artist's daughter. He disinherited him, and made his second son leave the army and come home. A couple of years after, Mr. Tom returned, having lost his wife, and bringing a little son with him, a boy of four years. The old squire seemed to relent a little then, and was always having the child at the house. Mr. Tom, as we call him here, settled in this house, and was on friendly terms with his father till his death. Major Lester then took the property. He had an only son, too; and the boys, being of the same age, were much together; but their fathers would hardly speak to each other, and were angry at the friendship between the boys. I remember being at Major Lester's the very day of the sad event. I was calling on Mrs. Lester, and we heard a violent altercation going on in the hall between the brothers. Mr. Tom had come up for his son, who had made him anxious by his non-appearance at home the night before. The lads had been out for a night's rabbit-snaring with the gamekeeper, and Alick had slept at the Hall without the major's knowledge. I don't know why this should have led to such a violent quarrel, but Alick was summoned from the stables, where he was found with his cousin Roger, and forbidden ever to put his foot on Major Lester's property again. Then and there the lads were separated; but as Mr. Tom marched off with his son, he shouted out to his brother, "You'll live to see my son stand in Roger's shoes yet, and the property will come back to the rightful heir!"
'I remember Mrs. Lester turning to me, and trembling like a leaf: "He will murder Roger! The dreadful man!" she exclaimed; "that is the only way the property will come to Alick!"
'The very next day both boys were missing. Mr. Tom seemed quite as distracted as his brother, but he declared he knew nothing of them, and for a month no tidings were received, in spite of all the detectives at work. Then came a letter from Alick, written for both of them, saying they had taken their passage together for Australia, and had already got the promise of being taken on a farm; for they were made so miserable at home by the quarrels of their fathers, that they had "determined to clear out of it," and nothing would separate them from each other. They have not been in this neighbourhood since; but last autumn news came that Roger had disappeared. Alick wrote, giving details:—"I think Roger was sent on some confidential errand by the farmer, for he had money with him, and they fear that he was robbed, perhaps murdered on the way." Mrs. Lester, who was never very strong, took to her bed, and died a fortnight after the news was brought to her. But before she died she emphatically declared that Mr. Tom and his son had decoyed Roger out of the country to make away with him; and Alick was solely responsible for his death. She persisted in this until the major more than half believed it; and two days after the funeral he came down here, and had another most violent quarrel with his brother. It almost came to blows; and Mr. Tom decamped altogether within a week from that time. I only tell you the story. Some people here think badly of him, and his disappearance looks suspicious. Of course he gave out that he was going to Australia to find out the rights of it; but Major Lester does not believe this.'
'I wonder Major Lester does not go out himself,' said Agatha, feeling strangely interested in this story.
'He is too crippled by gout to do so. He has put the matter into the hands of the police out there. It's a sad story. The major is most regular at church, and highly respected in the neighbourhood. Mr. Tom is most erratic; I believe he has been seen in the Methodist chapel occasionally, but won't put his foot inside our church; and he is no loss at all to the neighbourhood, for he lived the life of a recluse. I always look upon this house as an ill-omened place. I didn't tell you that the last vicar who lived here died of delirium tremens. He was a disgrace to his profession, but that was thirty years ago. The new vicarage was built shortly after.' Miss Miller paused for breath, and her brother remarked, 'You must not prejudice the Miss Danes, Deborah, against their house. It is a quaint place, and its past need not be recorded.'
'We are charmed with it,' said Agatha simply; 'and we have moved into it at the right time. Spring in the country is always so delightful.'
Miss Miller was more agreeable when visiting than Agatha had hoped for, and though she insisted on the monopoly of the conversation, and gave the good vicar little chance of putting in a word, yet Agatha felt that they would be pleasant neighbours. There was a good deal of discussion over the Lesters' history, but Gwen dismissed the subject in her usual way.
'Major Lester is another Jacob. There's nothing more to be said, and Mr. Tom is a much-abused and misunderstood man!'
Agatha began to settle into her new life very happily. She became engrossed in housekeeping for several hours every morning, and was delighted to hear of a seamstress who could come in and work by the day. Deb Howitt was sent for, and she proved a skilful and industrious needlewoman, and amused and interested all who came in contact with her by her quaint remarks.
'Yes,' she remarked to Gwen, who had strolled into Agatha's bedroom one morning, and found Deb seated on the floor shaping a refractory carpet that would not fit, 'my sister is the stay-at-home, and I bring her the news of the world as I pick it up when I'm out visitin'. It's surprisin' the stories of high and low life that I hear. I take it all in, and think it over while I'm stitchin', and come to many a wise conclusion before I take it back with me and talk it over with Patty.'
'And what conclusion will you come to about us?' asked Gwen.
The old woman nodded her head with a meaning smile.
'Ay, well, ye're a house full of women, and there's an astonishin' little scoldin' and quarrellin'. I should say, taking the cluster of you together, that the one at either end keeps the peace in the middle.'
Gwen laughed delightedly. 'You are right: Agatha and Elfie are the peace-makers, Clare and I the disturbing elements! What else?'
But Deb shook her head, and would say no more.
Clare and Gwen shared the study very amicably together, but both were out of doors a great deal—Gwen tackling the untidy garden with a great deal of energy, but little experience; and Clare wandering about the lanes and fields, doing little, and dreaming much. Then came Captain Knox's farewell visit, and it was a very short one. He appeared at seven o'clock one evening, just as the sisters were sitting down to their high tea, which meal they had substituted for the orthodox dinner to which they had been accustomed in London.
Clare's cheeks grew pale as she greeted him. 'How long have you?' she asked, a little breathlessly.
'Till eight o'clock to-morrow morning. I must catch the 8.30 train from Brambleton. We sail to-morrow afternoon.'
It was rather a silent meal, and being a rough, stormy night Clare took him off to the study directly afterwards. She was in the mood that pleased her lover best: sweet and gentle, and showing more affection than she was wont to do, for she was not demonstrative usually.
'Hugh,' she said later in the evening, after sitting still and letting him do most of the talking, 'I wish I were going with you. I feel as if this parting is going to be a long one. I can't bear this wind and rain to-night—it makes me feel as if something awful is coming; it was just the same the first night we were here. I have a kind of presentiment about your going, as if something evil is coming upon us. Couldn't you give it up?'
Captain Knox smiled a little, though his face looked troubled as he drew her closer to him.
'My darling, you would not really wish me to. We must look forward to six months hence, when I return, and then, Clare, I shall wait no longer. You must come to me for good and all.'
Clare did not reply for a minute, then gently slipping her hand into the strong one near her, she said, very wistfully, 'Hugh, don't you think we should both have more comfort if we had more religion? I haven't enough of it to satisfy me, I think. Now Agatha trusts everything in her life to—to God, and is never worried or anxious. I can't do that, and oh, I'm so unsatisfied! You don't know how restless and wretched I feel sometimes! I should like to be able to pray for you properly when you are away, and feel that you were praying for me.'
Captain Knox was silent for a little, then he said quietly,—
'I have a certain amount of religion, as you know, and you couldn't have too much for me, at least as long as you keep it to yourself. I think every woman is the better for being truly religious; but we men who knock about amongst all kinds of evil, well, we can't expect to be very devout. It is soon knocked out of one. Pray for me as much as you like, darling; I need it!'
'I can't help thinking of Nannie's verse she gave me one evening,' said Clare, with a little sigh: '"Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him." It sounds so nice; but I don't know how to do it. And I am sure I shall need patience till you come back again!'
'We must write to each other, and think of next autumn. I shall not forget to send you the translation of those characters on that old cupboard. I am convinced they are Arabic.'
'Oh, bother the cupboard!' was Clare's petulant retort. 'It is too bad you are going away for so long, and you take it so coolly. I don't believe you mind a bit!'
Here she burst into a passion of tears, and poor Captain Knox, who was controlling his feelings for her sake, almost gave way himself.
It was not a happy evening, and Clare cried herself to sleep that night, feeling that she was the most unfortunate, wretched girl in the world. She crept down the next morning with a white face to give him his early breakfast, and then drove to Brambleton station with him; so no one saw the last parting. When she returned, she went upstairs to her room, and shut herself up for the rest of the morning.
'It is a pity Clare did not show her affection for him more when she was with him,' said Gwen impatiently, when Agatha came to her in the study, and wondered if she should go up and try to comfort her. 'I often marvel at Hugh's infatuation for her. I don't believe she knows what real love is. She is so taken up with her own feelings and moods, that she has no time for his, and I think he is far too good for her. If she is so discontented before marriage, what will she be afterwards? He will have a miserable time of it, I am afraid!'
'You are too hard upon her! I daresay his absence will prove to her how truly she loves him, for I am quite sure she does.'
'I have no patience with her!' said Gwen shortly; and then she buried herself in her book again, whilst Agatha went away and shed some tears herself over Captain Knox's departure.