'A closed bud containethPossibilities infinite and unknown.'
Life went on very quietly with the three who were left. Elfie was the sunshine of the house; her ringing laugh and little snatches of song, as she came in and out, cheered all who heard her. And Clare, fitful and uncertain in her bright moods, could not understand Elfie's unfailing good-humour.
'You never will take life seriously,' she said to her one morning after breakfast, as they were waiting for the postman in the garden, and Elfie had seated herself on the top bar of the gate, swinging herself to and fro, and trilling out an old English ditty as she did so.
'I can't make cares when we have none,' she responded laughingly; 'I have never been so happy in my life as I am now.'
'I wish I could be contented with so little.'
'Oh, you! You're always straining after shadows, and won't live in the present at all. Now tell me, what have you to make you unhappy to-day? You're expecting a letter from Hugh, and Miss Villars is coming to tea with us this afternoon. Those are two pleasures for you. And then look at our weather! This is an ideal summer.
"Strange that summer skies and sunshineNever seem one half so fair,As when winter's snowy pinionsShake the white down in the air."
Why don't you live in the present?'
'Don't preach,' said Clare carelessly; 'it's too warm this morning to argue. Here comes that lazy man at last!'
Elfie sprang down and seized the letters with a bright nod of welcome to the stolid-looking postman.
'Here is one from Gwen! Agatha will be pleased; and here is Hugh's! Now, Clare, be happy! And there is not one for me, so I shall go to Agatha to hear how Gwen is getting on.'
She darted into the house, and Clare, sinking into a chair on the shady verandah, prepared herself to enjoy one of Captain Knox's periodical epistles. They were always full of life and interest; and Clare was beginning to feel a sick longing to have him back with her again. Even as she read she let the letter fall in her lap whilst she mused upon the past. 'I used to be so cross to him. I took all his love and attention so coolly. If I only had him back again, how different I would be! He was always so unselfish, and I was so selfish and discontented. I can't think now how I could have been unhappy when I was constantly seeing him. Oh, Hugh! if you could come to me now, I would never grumble again! One touch, one word, one look, if only I could have it!'
And Clare's blue eyes filled with tears, and her sight was dim as she finished reading her letter. She remained motionless for some minutes then, and was rising slowly from her seat to go and hear the news of Gwen, when a slip of paper fluttered out of the envelope. It was a postscript as follows:—
'Here is Mr. Lester's motto on the carved scroll. It was in Arabic, as I thought, and the translation is something like this:—
'A closed bud containethPossibilities infinite and unknown.'
Clare folded it up with a sigh.
'There is no clue there, that I can see. I will have another look at the cupboard this afternoon.'
She joined her sisters, and heard a racy account of Gwen's experiences on board ship. She had fallen in with nice people—a Mr. and Mrs. Montmorency, going out to California for the third time to look after some property of theirs.
'We are great friends,' Gwen wrote. 'Mr. Montmorency is a clever, well-read man—can talk on any subject, and has been in California for nearly thirty years. His advice would be invaluable to Walter. I am asking them to come and pay us a visit when they are in our neighbourhood, which they hope to be before long, and they have promised to do so. Mr. Montmorency does not think farming pays in Walter's locality. He says there are many things more profitable; but I will not tell you all our talk. I spend most of my time with them. You may be interested in hearing that Clement Arkwright is on board. But I give him a wide berth. He asked some rather impertinent questions the first time we spoke to each other. I showed him it would not answer, and now we pass each other with a bow!'
'Who is Clement Arkwright?' asked Elfie.
Clare laughed.
'One of Gwen's old admirers. He has too much of her self-will and dogged pride to pull with her. Do you remember, Agatha, how we used to enjoy their wordy combats? I always thought that at the bottom of all her antagonism to him she really liked him; but she never would allow it.'
'I dare say he wonders at her going out alone,' said Agatha musingly; 'she does not say where he is going. I remember he had a great idea of shielding women from the brunt of life, as he used to call it, and that was one thing that Gwen could not stand.'
'What more does she say?' asked Clare.
'Not much. She says she means to study farming while she is away, and hopes to get valuable hints from Mr. Montmorency, who seems to be a perfect mine of information.'
'One of Gwen's sudden friendships!' observed Clare. 'I only hope it will last out the voyage!'
She left the room and went to the study, where she spent the rest of the morning in trying to copy Mr. Lester's carving on the cupboard. She was very fond of this occupation, and had decorated several little tables and stools. She found Mr. Lester's handiwork a great help to her, and was ambitious of designing a cupboard herself, very much after the pattern of the study one.
As she was tracing a part of the delicate border edging the panels, she suddenly started, and the thought flashed across her:—
'It must be one of these buds that contains the secret of the lock or spring, and that is the meaning of the words:—
'"A closed bud containethPossibilities infinite and unknown."'
She passed her fingers over some thick buds that hung in festoons along the border, and then with finger and thumb she tried to move each one in succession. At last one began to revolve; she turned it breathlessly, and after three or four revolutions, a sharp click, and then the panel opened.
For one minute Clare stayed her hand—irresolute. She had discovered the secret, and the contents of the cupboard would be before her eyes.
Surprise, delight, and a little dismay were mingled in the discovery. Stories that Jane had told her of the mysterious cupboard that some thought contained proofs of a crime, came to her mind. The remembrance of the owner's express wish that it should remain locked, made her hesitate.
It was a battle between intense curiosity and the sense of honour; but the latter prevailed. Clare closed the panel hastily, turned round the carved bud till it was closed, and then walked to the window, turning her back on her temptation.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
'I am sure I deserve praise for such virtue. No one can taunt me with a woman's curiosity after this! Now the question is, shall I tell the others? I don't think I will. It wouldn't do to let the maids get wind of it. I shall write and tell Hugh, of course. How interested he will be! It was really rather clever of me to find it out, for it is a wonderfully ingenious device. And I suppose the old man never dreamt of women deciphering his Arabic characters, much less following the ambiguous hint given in his motto.'
And then sitting down at the writing-table, Clare commenced a letter at once to Captain Knox. Her discovery delighted her, and for the rest of the day she was sunshine itself.
Miss Villars arrived in the afternoon, bringing with her two shy, lanky girls of fourteen and fifteen.
'I knew you would let me bring two of my visitors,' she said aside to Agatha; 'they are recovering from influenza. Their father is a curate in Liverpool, and I am trying to feed them up, and get a little colour in their cheeks before they go home again. They are rather shy, but it is such a pleasure for them to be in the country.'
Elfie soon took possession of the girls, and wandered round the garden with them, where their tongues unloosed, and they poured forth such a flood of chatter that she had no difficulty in entertaining them.
'We are having such a lovely time. Miss Villars' house is like one you read of in books. We never thought we should ever stay in one like it. We feel as if we are in fairyland. You see, we are very poor, and only keep one servant, and there are seven of us at home, and our house is in a terrace, and smuts, and soot, and dust fly in at the windows all day long. Miss Villars is awfully nice, and she makes us enjoy ourselves. At home one feels quite wicked if one reads a storybook, because there are so many of the boys' stockings to be mended, and cooking, and our own lessons in between, for we go to a day school for three hours every morning. Now here, Miss Villars takes us out in the garden after breakfast under her shady trees, and puts one of us in a hammock, and the other in an easy chair, and leaves us there with some delicious books for a couple of hours. And then we see a dainty lunch coming out to us about eleven o'clock, and we drive and play tennis, and she treats us just like she might her own sisters!'
Elfie, looking at the radiant faces and sparkling eyes of the two delicate girls, envied Miss Villars the privilege of being able to bring such brightness and happiness into others' lives.
Meanwhile Clare was having a private talk with her friend, for after tea Agatha had sped down to the village on one of her benevolent errands.
'Have you found the true secret of happiness yet?' asked Miss Villars presently. 'You look brighter than when I last saw you.'
'I may be brighter now, but I shall have one of my black moods again soon. No, Miss Villars, I don't think I shall ever be satisfied in this life. The more I have, the more I want, and you couldn't expect me to be happy with Hugh in Africa!'
She laughed as she spoke, but her smile soon died away.
'I want him back dreadfully, Miss Villars. I never dreamt I would miss him so much; and I have a horrible feeling that he will not come back at all. I think I should die if he did not! I long sometimes to go out to him. But I can't. I must just wait, and I hate waiting! I never could wait for anything when I was a child, and it drives me nearly wild!'
Clare spoke with such vehemence and passion that for a moment Miss Villars thought it best not to speak. Then she said slowly,—
'Poor child! you take life's lessons hardly. And I can't help you except by sympathy. There is only One who can, and you will not go to Him for the patience and rest of soul you need.'
Tears filled Clare's blue eyes. She gazed away out of the window up to the sweet summer sky, and her face grew wistful and sad.
'I am seeking Him,' she said in a low voice, 'but it all seems dark, and the Bible seems no help, and prayer a weariness; and then I give up trying, and try to amuse myself, and make the time pass as best I can.'
Then Miss Villars did a thing which Clare owned to herself that no one else but Miss Villars could have done naturally. She took hold of Clare's hand, and with closed eyes and bent head began to pray.
A very short and simple prayer, but a strange thrill ran through Clare as she realized this was indeed speaking to One who was close to them. And nothing jarred her feelings. She only seemed to be drawn into the very presence of her Saviour, who with open arms was waiting to receive and bless her.
When Miss Villars ceased speaking, Clare's head still remained lowered, and there was perfect silence. It was broken by Elfie's return from the garden with the girls; and without a word Clare crept softly away up to her own room, and Miss Villars left without seeing her again.
But up in her room Clare was kneeling by her bedside in a passion of tears.
'O God, help me, help me! I want to be right with Thee, I want this rest of soul; give it to me. Oh, if Thou art waiting to bless, I am ready, I am willing. Forgive me and save me for Christ's sake. Amen.'
She had never prayed so earnestly before.
One by one, bright gifts from Heaven,Joys are sent thee here below;Take them readily when given,Ready, too, to let them go.'—Adelaide Procter.
'Why, Agatha, what is the matter? You look quite scared! No bad news by the post, is it?'
Elfie asked the question one morning as she came into the dining-room to breakfast, and found Agatha staring out of the window with troubled eyes, and letting the brass kettle boil over on the white tablecloth with the greatest indifference.
She turned round and faced Elfie with pale cheeks.
'Mr. Lester is dead. It seems so sudden. He caught cold and died on the voyage out to Australia. And his lawyer writes to tell me about it.'
Elfie looked startled.
'Must we turn out of the house?'
'That is the strange part of it. The lawyer says he had a visit from Mr. Lester before he went, in which he informed him he was going to leave this house to me unconditionally, and a codicil has been added to his will to that effect.'
'Why, Agatha, I can hardly believe it! He must have fallen in love with you on the spot. Whatever induced him to think of such a thing?'
'I am sure I don't know, unless he was afraid of his cupboard. When I say he leaves the house to us unconditionally, that is the only condition he makes, that we live in the house and keep that cupboard locked till his son returns, and then let him have the contents. He told the lawyer he had left it to me as a trust, and he knew I was a woman of honour, so he would have no anxiety about it. And in return for this he bequeaths to us the house for good and all. I wonder what his son will say to it, if he ever does come back! I hardly know what to do about it. It seems so very extraordinary!'
But, extraordinary as it was, Agatha found on further correspondence that it was a fact. The house was legally bequeathed to her; and, after the first excitement of it was over, she thanked God with all her heart that she had now a certain dwelling. She had a great dislike to change, and was so wedded to the country round her, and had made so many friends amongst the poor, that it had been a secret dread for a long time that the owner would return, and they would have to move. She was telling Elfie something of the relief it was to her, when the latter remarked,—
'Ah, well, Agatha, Nannie's text for you is true: "Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed!" You are provided for, at any rate.'
'And don't you find your verse true, too?' asked Agatha quietly.
Elfie coloured a little, then laughed.
'Yes, I do; but life is so pleasant that I have had nothing to put my happiness to the test.'
'And I hope it never need be,' was Agatha's response.
Not long after this Agatha was surprised by a visitor one afternoon, and this was no other than Major Lester.
He bowed stiffly to her when she entered the room.
'I have heard from my lawyer that the strange report flying about this neighbourhood is true,' he began abruptly. 'You will excuse my coming to you to make a few inquiries, but had you any acquaintance with my poor brother before you came here?'
'None whatever,' was Agatha's prompt reply.
'Then he is a perfect stranger to you?'
Agatha hesitated; then she said slowly,—
'I do not suppose it will matter now my mentioning it, but Mr. Lester came here about a month ago.'
Major Lester looked astonished.
'I was unaware that my brother had been in England at all since his visit abroad; but he always was most erratic. And may I ask why his visit was to be kept a mystery?'
'I don't think there was any mystery about it. He simply asked me not to mention it.'
'Did he leave no message for me? May I ask his errand?'
'He left no message.'
Agatha was dignity itself. She was going to reveal nothing more, and Major Lester saw as much, and resented it accordingly.
'Well, I see you and my brother came to some understanding together; and, I suppose, this freak of his is the result.'
Then, pulling himself up, as he felt his temper was getting the better of him, he added, more blandly, 'Pray do not think I object to you as permanent neighbours. If I had any ladies in my household, they would have called on you before this. I came to you this morning because there is a locked cupboard of my brother's, which, as his nearest relative, I presume I have a right to open. I believe there are family papers in it of great importance. Perhaps you will kindly allow me to go into the study at once, as I am rather pressed for time.'
'I am sorry to have to refuse you, Major Lester, but I promised your brother that that cupboard should remain closed till his son came to open it.'
Major Lester glared at her, but Agatha maintained her quiet composure.
'He must have been as mad as a hatter!' he muttered; then turned angrily to her.
'And may I ask when my nephew is to be back, as you seem fully conversant with the affairs of our family?'
'I do not know. Your brother thought he would return this year. Have you heard anything of your son?'
'My son has met his death by the hands of my nephew, at the instigation of his father! I warn you, Miss Dane, you may suffer the penalty of the law by refusing to let me have access to that cupboard. It is a mere question of time. If my nephew does not return soon, I shall insist upon having it opened, and I shall bring a lawyer with me to enforce my authority! I will not detain you longer now. Good-morning!' And Major Lester took his leave literally trembling with passion; so Agatha told her sisters afterwards.
'It is very unpleasant for us,' she added; 'I feel quite anxious lest Major Lester should insist upon having his way.'
'Have you nothing in writing from Mr. Lester himself about it?' asked Clare; 'I thought the lawyer sent you a written statement by him.'
'Yes, I have that; and, after all, the house is mine, and I suppose that includes the cupboard.'
'Of course it does. What did Mr. Lester say about the cupboard?'
'That it was not to be opened till his son came; and in this paper he bequeaths to me a certain portfolio of his that is in it. He says I can make what use I like of the contents. But of course I shall not get that till his son appears.'
'It is very romantic altogether,' said Clare; then, trying to speak indifferently, she added: 'Does Major Lester know how to open the cupboard, Agatha? I fancy it is not a very easy task.'
'I don't know,' said Agatha; 'perhaps he does not. In that case it is safe.'
And she thought with satisfaction of her sealed envelope safe at the bottom of her dressing-case. 'Well,' she added, after a pause, 'I am not going to worry over it. One must just do what is right, and leave the result.'
'But,' said Clare dreamily, 'supposing there is a hidden crime in that cupboard—papers that tell of the whereabouts of Major Lester's son—should we be right in keeping it hidden? Supposing I were to find a way to open that cupboard, Agatha, should I be wrong in doing it?'
Agatha looked startled.
'What do you mean? Are you trying to open it, Clare? I should hope you would not be so dishonourable. It is given as a charge to us. In fact, it is the condition of our keeping this house. And do you think anything would make it right for us to betray such a trust? I know an honest, upright man when I see him, and Mr. Lester was that, whatever Major Lester may be!'
Clare laughed a little confusedly.
'You are getting quite excited. I never said I intended opening it. I wish this wandering son would come back. Couldn't we advertise for him?'
Their conversation was here interrupted by another visitor, and this was Miss Miller.
She came hurriedly and breathlessly in, pulling out the bows of her bonnet-strings, which was a way of hers when excited.
'Miss Dane, what is the meaning of this? No; I cannot stay to sit down. I'm off to a committee meeting in Brambleton, for the "Friendly Girls." The pony cart is waiting at the top of the lane. I have just met Major Lester. He is terribly put out by his visit here. Would not tell me particulars, but said you were siding with his nephew, who was hiding from the hands of justice, and refused him admittance into his brother's study. You are new-comers, my dear, and this will not do. How did you get acquainted with Mr. Lester? The major says he has been paying you secret visits. Very improper—single young women cannot be too careful. Why have you been keeping it a mystery? And what is it all about? And what is the secret of this mysterious cupboard?'
'That I cannot tell you, Miss Miller,' said Agatha, answering only the last of her questions; 'for I do not know it myself.'
'But you know something! We are not accustomed to mysteries here, and the major is an upright man, and a regular churchgoer, and his brother was a ne'er-do-well, But we won't say anything against him now, poor man! Only I assure you, you will make yourselves the talk of the neighbourhood if you three unmarried women scrape acquaintance with his son, and espouse his cause with such hot vehemence!'
'Miss Miller,' said Clare, with burning cheeks, 'you have no business to say such things of us; we have given you no cause to do so!'
Miss Miller just nodded her head up and down excitedly.
'I say just what I like, my dear, and no one is to dictate to me as to my manner of speech, least of all a young chit of a girl who knows nothing of life!'
Then Elfie came to the rescue, whilst Clare flounced out of the room in great indignation.
'Don't be cross with us, Miss Miller,' she said, in her pretty coaxing way. 'Major Lester left us when very angry, and you mustn't believe all he said about us.'
But Miss Miller would not be appeased, and she left very soon, declaring that it was all very 'strange indeed, and most mysterious,' and that 'people who could not be straightforward, and made their own plans without reference to their spiritual guide, were a great trial to have in the neighbourhood!'
'It really seems,' said Agatha, with a weary sigh, 'that Mr. Lester's legacy will prove anything but a blessing! I do wish people would leave us alone.' But a short time afterwards Major Lester's wrath and Miss Miller's strong partisanship in his cause were quite eclipsed by a greater trouble.
Agatha took inThe Times, and it was generally delivered at their house about twelve o'clock in the morning, by the postmistress's little boy, directly he came home from school.
One morning Clare met him at the gate, and opened it herself. She was feeling anxious and uneasy. For the first time Captain Knox had missed the mail, and she was full of gloomy forebodings.
Agatha was tying up some straggling rose branches in the verandah, and Elfie practising away in the drawing-room.
'Any news, Clare?' Agatha asked carelessly.
There was no answer. She looked up. Clare slowly came towards her, paper in hand. She was in a fresh white dress, with a bunch of crimson roses in her belt, her golden hair shining in the sun, but her face was as white as her dress itself, and she stared at Agatha as if she did not see her. Agatha dropped her hammer and nails with a crash to the ground.
'What is it, Clare? anything about Gwen?' she asked, in frightened tones.
Clare handed her the paper without a word, and still gazed before her, as if she were in a dream.
Agatha soon found it. Only a terse, short telegram, mentioning that reports of a massacre of a surveying party had just reached the African coast, and it was feared that none had escaped alive.
Captain Knox's name was amongst those of the party.
'It is only a report,' faltered Agatha.
'I know it is true,' said Clare steadily; and then she passed Agatha by, and went up to her room.
She locked her door, and seated herself in an easy chair by her window with the calmness of despair.
'He is dead, he is murdered, and he will never come back! I shall never see him again, and my life is at an end with his!'
These thoughts burnt themselves into her brain.
She leant out of her window, and gazed over the sunny meadows, noticing the smoke appearing from Patty's chimney, and a flock of swallows flying through it. Then she watched the motions of a frisky colt in the next field, and wondered if life seemed one long bright holiday to him.
And then crushing her roses up in one hand, she flung them out of the window.
'What are roses and sunshine to me now?' she thought passionately, her whole soul swelling in protest at the black cloud enveloping her. 'What a bitter mockery this peaceful scenery is, when one remembers the awful fate that has fallen on Hugh and me!'
And then bending her head in her arms, she laid them on the low window-sill, and sobs began to come that shook her from head to foot. Dry, tearless sobs they were at first, and she got up and paced her room in hot rebellion.
'It is cruel—cruel of God! He does not care! He might have let me have him back, when I was trying to be a true Christian! Such an awful death! Oh, Hugh, Hugh! my heart is broken!'
She seized hold of a cabinet photo that stood on her dressing-table. It was Captain Knox in his regimentals; and as his frank, fearless gaze met hers, the flood of her tears was loosed, and they came thick and fast, relieving her brain, but exhausting all her strength by their vehemence. Luncheon time came, but no one could get her out of her room, and Agatha wisely let her alone. At five o'clock she tried her door again, and this time Clare unlocked it, and met her on the threshold with tumbled hair, flushed face, and defiant eyes.
'What do you want? Can't you leave me alone?'
'Oh, Clare darling, how I wish I could comfort you! You will be ill if you don't take any food. Will you not have a cup of tea?'
Agatha's eyes were red with crying, and her lips quivered as she spoke. She laid her hand gently on Clare's arm, but it was shaken off, and Clare turned her back upon her and walked to the window.
Then she burst forth passionately.
'I am not surprised! I knew when he went he would never come back again. I believe it is this house that is a curse to us! I always felt from the first night we entered it that it would bring us trouble; and why I am to be the victim I don't know! I hate and loathe it! Leave me alone. You needn't be afraid of my starving myself. I wish I could; but I have got to live, and I shall have to drag through it as best I can. There is no chance of my dying of a broken heart. People never do. I shall outlive you all, I expect. What are you waiting for? Do you want me to come downstairs?'
'No, I have some tea for you here.'
And Agatha disappeared, to bring in a dainty little meal on a tray.
As she put it down she said slowly: 'I wonder if you know where to take your trouble, Clare? God Himself will comfort you, if you let Him.'
'You needn't waste your breath in uttering platitudes, Agatha. I know that is the correct thing to say, but it doesn't do me an atom of good.' And Agatha left her with a sigh, and went to her own room to pray for her, and to ask that her trouble should soften, and not harden, her heart against the only Comforter.
'A woman will, or won't, depend on't;If she will do't, she will, and there's an end on't.'
On the wooden verandah of Walter Dane's ranch in Southern California sat Gwen one evening, enjoying the orange-flamed sunset in front of her. And lounging opposite her, smoking his pipe, was Walter—a good-looking young fellow, whose usual expression was supreme good-humour, but whose brow now was furrowed with anxious thought.
'You see, Gwen,' he said, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and ramming in a fresh supply of tobacco in a slow, meditative fashion, 'it has been very good of you to come out and look me up. I've been longing for a sight of my own flesh and blood for years, and if I was only a sight better off, I'd offer you a home for good.'
'That I would not take, with many thanks,' said Gwen, laughing. 'Now come, ever since I arrived I have seen you have had something on your mind, so unburden! What is it?'
Walter looked across the great sweep of uncultivated ground outside his ranch to the landmark of another ranch in the distance—a windmill which pumped up the water necessary for use from a great depth below.
'You saw the Setons yesterday. What did you think of them?'
As he asked the question he pulled at his heavy moustache rather nervously.
'I thought they were wonderfully nice people for colonials. The girl is a pretty little thing.'
'They are not colonials,' her brother returned quickly; 'at least, not more than I am: for they haven't been in this country as long. Meta only came out a couple of years ago. She was educated at home in Brighton.'
'Was she?'
Gwen was looking at her brother with keen eyes now. There was silence for a minute, then Walter said in a very quiet voice,—
'We have been engaged, she and I, for a twelvemonth, and the wedding is fixed some time next month.'
Another dead silence, then Gwen said, with a little laugh, 'Well, I am surprised. I did not think you were a marrying man. You never gave us a hint of this in your letters home.'
'No; for I foresaw a long engagement, and thought it might be deemed rash.'
'And how do you intend to support a wife?'
'I can manage it now. My ground is improving. The great difficulty in this part of the country is want of water, and I have overcome that. Of course, it will be hard work for some time yet, but Meta knows what the life will be like, and an aunt in England has lately died, and left her a legacy. She does not come to me portionless!'
Gwen gazed in front of her with compressed lips. She would not show her consternation and discomfiture to her brother, though to herself she was saying, 'I made a mistake in coming out to him!'
Aloud she said,—
'Well, I suppose I must congratulate you. And I will not stay out here after your marriage; you will have one of your family at the ceremony, which ought to comfort you.'
'You will like her as a sister, will you not?' asked Walter, with anxiety in his eyes, as he turned and faced his sister.
'Oh yes. I thought she was a nice little thing. Not much character, I suppose; but you men prefer that style of woman. She struck me as a lady.'
'Rather!' And with a short laugh Walter put his beloved pipe in his mouth, and with a sigh of relief at getting through his news, sank into a lounge chair, prepared to give his full confidence to his sister, now that the worst was over.
But Gwen disappointed him by rising carelessly from her seat.
'I am very tired. Your early hours here make the day interminable. Good-night.'
She passed into the house humming the air of a song, but once in her room her expression changed.
'He will marry and have a large family, and only just make his farming pay to support them all. He has no ambition, no desire to make his fortune and come back to England. It means a thorough colonial life for always. Oh, what fools men are!'
She paced her room with clenched hands.
'I never dreamt of such a thing. I came out here to shake him up, to make him better himself. And I find he is perfectly content, and considers my coming a decided nuisance, though he doesn't like to say so. He can barely afford to live comfortably himself, and yet he meditates a speedy marriage. I should like to postpone it. I suppose if I asked him to let me stay out here for three or four months and let his marriage wait till after I left him, he might agree, but then what should I gain by that? I want him to give up this farming, which will never make his fortune; but if he has a wife in view he will cling to it! How I wish he had heard Mr. Montmorency talk of the certainty of finding fresh goldfields, if only men of push and a certain amount of money could be forthcoming! I will not let my journey out here be all in vain! Walter must be roused, and made to do something better with his life than his present existence. I wish Mr. Montmorency would pay us a visit soon. He would advise him for his good. He says this country is teeming with riches under the surface, only colonists are often content with so little that they do not develop half the resources so close to them. After all, it won't hurt that girl to wait another year longer. She looks a simple, stupid little thing; and if Walter can be got to postpone his marriage, we may be able to do something with him yet.'
As Gwen thus cogitated, the scene in the cottage garden at home came before her, when she found Patty Howitt locked out by her irate sister, and her words flashed across her with clear distinctness now,—
'If I'm kept out here till dark, I'll maintain a promised wife comes before a sister!'
A shadow crossed Gwen's determined face at this recollection.
'It is not a case of me or the promised wife,' she muttered to herself with a little laugh. 'I would willingly go home again at once and leave the young couple to themselves, but it is of their future that I am thinking; and they will thank me in the end for it, I know.'
Not a doubt crossed her mind of the wisdom or expediency of trying to upset her brother's plans and purposes. She knew what influence she possessed over him. His was a placid, rather weak nature, true and steadfast in his dealings with others, and quite capable of holding his own as long as he kept in a certain groove; but for a man he was strangely uncertain and distrustful of himself, and one who always found it easier to take advice than to give it.
Gwen had a restless night. Her head was full of plans, and when the next morning there was a stir outside the house, and she was told that a 'strange gentleman and lady' had arrived, she was quite enough versed in colonial ways to show no surprise when she went out upon the verandah and greeted 'Mr. and Mrs. Montmorency.'
Walter was a capital host, and was genuinely pleased to see any friends of his sister. And Gwen felt that fortune had indeed favoured her, and sent to her aid the very one who could help best at this crisis.
Mr. Montmorency inspired most people with confidence, and it was not long before he was deep in discussions of the country with Walter, telling him many valuable facts about agriculture that had come under his own observation, and from that drifting on to talk of the mineral wealth that had as yet hardly been touched.
He remembered the gold rush in Northern California, and prophesied the same would take place in the part they were in. Walter listened, but said little, and even when Mr. Montmorency went on to unfold a scheme of his shortly to be put into project, he showed little interest.
'It is very well for men of means to venture on such undertakings. It wants capital, and there are few about here who would risk their hardly-earned savings on a speculation which might fail.'
Then Gwen, with her clear head and quick brain, took the matter up. Even bright little Mrs. Montmorency could talk well on the subject, and for the next few days little else was mentioned but a certain region a few hundreds of miles away, where Mr. Montmorency intended to begin operations, and where he had already found proof enough of the existence of gold to make it worth his while to start a company and set to work in earnest.
The next mail that left for England contained the following letter from Gwen to Agatha;—
'DEAREST AGATHA,—
'This is purely a business letter, and a very important one. I have told you all about Walter and his surroundings already, so will not go into that again. Mr. Montmorency has been staying with us. He is a clever, able man, very well connected, a nephew of Lord D——, and has spent most of his life out here. He is starting a company for working a gold-mine in this neighbourhood. There is a certain prospect of its being a grand success. I send you a bundle of prospectuses and papers, which I want you to look carefully through. I know how cautious you are where investments are concerned, and, of course, one cannot be too careful. You will see the directors are all wealthy men, and their names well known at home. Show the papers to old Mr. Watkins if you like, and if you're afraid of acting without legal advice. Now I come to the point. Mr. Montmorency has taken a great liking to Walter. He says he is too good to rust in this part as he is doing, and waste the best years of his life in slaving to earn a livelihood, with no prospect of anything better in years to come. And he has asked him to join him in his undertaking, and become an active partner in the concern. I won't waste time by going into it all, but it is a grand chance for Walter, and he is certain to make his fortune. The one condition is that he must have capital to invest. He is going to sell his farm, but that will not bring in much. What I propose is that we four should invest our capital in this. Hand it over to Walter, and then Mr. Montmorency will be able to take him into the concern. We shall not lose, but be gainers by this. Mr. Montmorency can assure us 5 per cent. interest from the first, and that is more than we are getting now. There is not the slightest risk or speculation in the matter, and Walter is fortunate to have found such a friend in Mr. Montmorency. I have already promised my portion. Talk it over with Clare and Elfie, and show them that it will not only be benefiting themselves, but will be the making of Walter.
'I must tell you that he is engaged to be married to a very nice girl out here, and she is going to invest a legacy of hers in the same company. Every one round here has the greatest confidence in Mr. Montmorency. He is still staying with us, and Walter quite enjoys his society. If you want any more information about the company, you can get it by applying at their office in London. I do hope, for Walter's sake, that you will not be long in making up your minds. It seems so wonderfully fortunate that I should have come out in the same steamer with the Montmorencys. The mail is going. I must stop. If Walter gets the capital he needs, he will go off with Mr. Montmorency to the centre of operations next month, and I shall then return home. I may tell you that he was thinking of getting married shortly, but he and Meta Seton have wisely settled to postpone it until he has a good income. I believe myself that he will soon be a rich man. If he is, I shall be well repaid for my journey out here. Love to all. Will write again soon.
'Your affectionate sister,'GWEN.'
I hold it true whate'er befall,I feel it when I sorrow most:''Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.'—Tennyson.
This letter reached Agatha soon after the sad news had come to Clare of Captain Knox's death. At first his relatives hoped there might be some mistake, but when further details came to hand, they corroborated the first tidings received, and some weeks after his baggage was sent home, and as much information was given to his sorrowing relatives as could be gleaned from the one or two survivors of the fated party.
His mother wrote kindly to Clare, and gave her as much information as she had herself received, but that was not much. The little party had been surprised one day when out surveying, and were shot down one after the other by an unfriendly tribe who surrounded them. Two escaped to tell the tale, but when a punitive force was sent out at once, there were no signs of the fray. The enemy had carried off the bodies of their victims, and escaped beyond the reach of justice.
For days Clare was almost beside herself with grief, and in despair Agatha sent over for Miss Villars.
'She is so fond of you, that you may be able to comfort her as we cannot,' said Agatha, when Miss Villars promptly arrived on the scene. Miss Villars shook her head sadly.
'No human comfort is of much use in a case like this,' she said; but she went upstairs, and remained two hours with Clare, and when she left Clare begged her to come to her again.
'You do me good. You make me think there is a God, after all. I have been doubting everything. I feel it is a judgment on all my discontent and bad temper. I often used to tire of him, and wish he were different; and now I feel it would be heaven itself to see him standing before me as he used to do!'
To her sisters Clare preserved a stolid, impassive demeanour. She would not leave the house for three weeks after the tidings had come, and then unfortunately meeting Miss Miller, she was subjected to questionable sympathy.
'Very glad to see you out, my dear. Why haven't you been to church lately? It's a very bad sign to keep away from the means of grace when in trouble. Have you heard the particulars of Captain Knox's death? I hope you are quite certain about it, you seem to have gone into mourning very quickly. In cases like this there are often mistakes made. Was the body identified? Well—well, I am very sorry for you; but you would have felt it more if you had been his wife!'
Clare turned and fled from her, and stayed away from church for a month longer, then only going at Agatha's most earnest request.
When Gwen's letter was received, and Clare heard the contents, she said listlessly,—
'Walter can have my money if he likes; it will make no difference to me. You can write to Mr. Watkins, and get him to see to it, Agatha.'
'And mine, too,' put in Elfie brightly. 'Gwen has a good head for business, and if she is going to venture hers, I am sure we can ours.'
But cautious Agatha shook her head, and spread the papers out before her with a grave and anxious face. Then she disappeared for a short time. She knelt at her bedside and asked for guidance about such an important step. And when she rose from her knees she thought sadly that Gwen had planned and purposed without prayer, and wondered if she were too intent upon her own schemes to be wise in her judgment and decisions.
'I am going up to town to talk it over with Mr. Watkins,' she announced, a short time afterwards. 'I do not wish to be ill-natured, and selfish, and prevent Walter from getting on, but I have a horror of these gold-mining companies; and if it should come to a crash, we should literally have nothing left. Of course, you must do as you please, only don't act hastily. Let me hear what Mr. Watkins says.'
So to town she went, and came back very tired, but quite decided in her own mind. Mr. Watkins had not scoffed at the company. He had heard a good deal about it, and had clients who were taking shares in it. He thought it might prove a very good speculation, and there were sound business men backing it up. 'But,' said Agatha, 'he said most emphatically that it was a speculation, and that no one could be positively certain of its success; and, after a great deal of consideration, I have made up my mind to have nothing to do with it.'
'Did Mr. Watkins advise your not having anything to do with it?' asked Elfie.
'No; he was quite neutral. He would not commit himself either way.'
The result was that Clare and Elfie transferred their capital to Mr. Montmorency's company, trusting entirely to the assurances of the prospectuses that their dividends would be paid within the first twelvemonth.
And Agatha had the unpleasant task of writing her refusal to Walter, who had written by the same mail as Gwen, painting his future in glowing colours, and loud in praise of Mr. Montmorency.
'Clare,' said Elfie one afternoon, coming into the study, where Clare was reading in a dreary manner, 'come and see Deb and Patty with me, will you? Agatha wants some honey, and we haven't seen anything of them for ages!'
Clare put down her poetry-book with a sigh, but said she would go, and they were soon sauntering over the meadows to Beehive Cottage, as it was called by the villagers.
They found both sisters at home, and Deb was busy remaking two merino skirts for herself and Patty.
''Tis not very often I do dressmakin' at home, but we're gettin' rather shabby, and so I'm turnin' our Sunday bests. Sit down, young ladies, and Patty will get you a glass o' milk.'
'And how is your sister gettin' on over the sea?' asked Patty, when she had brought the milk and taken a seat opposite her visitors. 'Deb and me often wonders of her, and how she be likin' it.'
'Oh, she is all right—very busy, making us send our money out to invest in a gold-mine.'
'To buy a gold-mine!' ejaculated Deb.
'No; to put our money in it.'
'Ay; why the need for buryin' it down so deep? The earth is everywhere; it be a safe bank, 'tis true, but safer close to one, than in furrin parts, it seems to me.'
Patty spoke emphatically in her breathless manner; and Elfie laughed outright.
'No, she doesn't want us to bury it. We have taken shares in a company that is working the gold-mine.'
Deb and Patty shook their heads doubtfully over this statement.
'The company pickin' up gold is generally a low, bad set,' said Deb. 'I heard tell at Squire Johnson's of a young gentleman who was nigh murdered by a rascally set of men, and all because of gold in his pocket. Gold ofttimes brings a curse, my dears; 'tis best to spend as you goes. And if so be as you put a little by for your burial, well, the earth won't tell tales, and a flower will mark the spot. Did I ever tell you o' my great-gran'mother's money pot?'
'No,' said Clare, with interest, for any old tale delighted her; 'tell it to us now.'
'Great-gran'mother were livin' alone, and gran'mother, she were married four mile off, and used to come in on market days, and see the old lady. Great-gran'mother, she were rather snappy and short, and one day she says to gran'mother, "Sally, my girl, when you come to want, pull up a yaller marigold by the roots"; and gran'mother, she laughs, and says she, "What old wife talk be that, mother? Do marigolds bring luck?" Great-gran'mother, she died soon after, and gran'mother were sore disappointed not to find a few shillin's tied up in a stockin'. The cottage were sold, but gran'father bought it hisself, and moved into it with his family; and years passed, and then gran'father, he died of a fever, and gran'mother brought up eleven boys and girls wi' credit. But times got bad, and she were left wi' a cripple daughter, and the t'others scattered away from her, and work failed her, and they were close on comin' to the House. Gran'mother, she had selled most on her furniture, and there were at last but a crust o' bread in the place, and she were makin' tea-kettle broth—for she were Devonshire, and they folk is great at that—when all on a sudden, as she were a-sayin', "Now, Alice, this be our last meal in this dear place," the words of great-gran'mother come surgin' and rushin' through her brain. "Sally, my girl, when you come to want, pull up a yaller marigold by the roots!" and with a hop and a skip, though she were turned seventy-five, she goes straight down the garden, and tugs at a fine yaller marigold. It took a power o' strength to pull it up; and there to the bottom o' the roots was a pot. She pulled of it up, and it were full o' silver and gold, and kept her and her daughter in ease for ever after.'
'Till they went to the grave,' put in Patty solemnly.
'And do you bury your savings?' asked Elfie, laughing.
Deb looked at Patty, and Patty looked at Deb with grave consideration. Then Deb spoke:
'There is things we can't just confide to every one, young ladies. Will you be havin' a taste of Patty's hot cake before you leave? It's just time for it to be comin' out of the oven!'
Patty bustled forward to procure it. Nothing pleased the old women more than to show hospitality to any visitors who came to see them.
While the cake was being got ready, Clare went out to look at the beehives with Deb.
They chatted over them for a few minutes, and then Deb put her hand gently on Clare's arm.
'We've heard o' your sad loss, my dear, and our old hearts have ached for you. 'Tis a heavy cross to have the hope of bein' a happy wife snatched away, and a lone and loveless spinster's lot instead stretchin' out in front o' you. 'Tis a long and weary road for young feet to travel!'
Poor Clare burst into tears. She could not bear, as yet, to be reminded of her trouble.
'Don't talk of it, Deb,' she said between her sobs; 'it only makes it worse.'
'Ay, ay,' said the old woman, wiping a sympathetic tear away from her own eye with the corner of her apron; 'ye'll be feelin' it sore for a time. But the good Lord will comfort you, if no one else will.'
'It is so dreadful to have to live, whether you like it or not,' said Clare, in that little burst of confidence she sometimes showed to strangers, though never to her sisters.
'But seems as if it would not be easier to die if one left the work that has been set us to others to finish,' said Deb gravely.
'I have no work at all,' Clare responded quickly, almost passionately. 'I could have been a good wife—I hope I could—but there's nothing left me now; no one wants me, and there's nothing to do, and I'm sick of everybody and everything!'
'I'm no preacher,' said Deb meditatively, 'and I don't live a saintly life, so it's no good my settin' myself above my fellows, but Patty and me has our Bibles out once every weekday, and most of all Sundays we're readin' it, so I'll make so bold as to pass you a verse that I did a powerful lot of thinkin' over last Sunday. 'Tis this, and maybe, with your quick, eddicated brain, you'll take it in quicker nor I did—"Strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering, with joyfulness." Maybe that's your work just at present, my dear. Shall we go in now?'
Clare's eyes shone through her tears. Slowly and dimly she was seeing light through her darkness. Miss Villars had done much to help her. But nothing seemed to have shown her the grandeur of suffering as this one verse, uttered in slow, halting accents by an uncultured woman. She never forgot it. The verse—God's message to her—was then and there engraved upon her heart; and though she had not yet found her 'rightful resting-place,' though she was still alternately halting and groping her way towards the Light, yet the possibilities of a noble life, a life in the midst of crushing sorrow, such as represented by Deb's text, had a wonderful attraction for her. She was very silent all the way home that afternoon, and shut herself into the study for some hours' more reading; but this time her poems were laid aside, and the Bible had taken their place. It was only a day or two after that she had a great joy.
She received a little parcel from Mrs. Knox, containing a small Testament, a gift of her own to her lover, and inside a letter addressed to her in his handwriting. It had been written just before that fatal day when he had sallied forth so unthinkingly to his death.