'MY DARLING,—
'Just a line to-night, for I may not have much time to write again before the mail. We are off into the bush tomorrow on one of our business expeditions. How I have longed lately for our work to be done, and the steamer to be bringing me back to you! I have been having grave talks lately with one of our fellows who is a religious chap. It has brought vividly before me your sweet gravity in the quaint old study that last night we spent together just before I left, when you told me that you thought we both might have more comfort if we had more religion. Do you remember? What will you say when I tell you that I have found out that you are right? I cannot express myself, darling, as I should wish, but I can tell you that your little Testament is my best friend. I have discovered that religion is something more than a head belief. And here, in the stillness of my tent, I confess——'
This was all. He had evidently broken off hurriedly, and the letter had found its way to Clare to give her its unfinished message of hope. She bowed her head over it in the silence of her room, and then down on her knees she dropped in a burst of thankfulness for the mercy and tenderness shown her in letting her receive such a message. All rebellion and mistrust faded away, and in true humility and penitence Clare was enabled to take the final step towards the realization of that peace she had longed for all her life—that peace that only comes to a soul that has truly sought and found its Saviour.
''Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest barkBay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home;'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will markOur coming, and look brighter when we come.'—Byron.
'Agatha! Clare! I have had an adventure! Where are you? Oh, here you are; now listen!'
Elfie ran breathlessly into the house one afternoon in great excitement. She had been for a walk, and had come in late for tea. Agatha was writing letters at her davenport in the drawing-room, and Clare was still toying with her cup of tea. A book was in her lap, but her thoughts were far away. Her face still wore its sad and somewhat wistful look; yet there was gradually dawning upon it the sense of repose and rest. Her sisters noted the old fretfulness and restlessness had gone out of her tones, and whilst Elfie wondered, Agatha rejoiced that trouble had not hardened or embittered her.
Elfie threw herself into a seat, looking the picture of health and fresh young beauty.
'I have been to the pine woods,' she began eagerly, 'and I was rejoicing in my solitude, and walking along through the very darkest part, when I heard voices coming towards me. I wondered if it would turn out to be Major Lester and any of his friends, for I knew he had a private gate into the wood from his grounds. So, not wanting to meet any one, I turned down a side path, and then if you please came plump against the very man I wanted to avoid—Major Lester himself. He quite started when he saw me, but took off his hat and tried to be civil. You know I have been introduced to him at the Millers'. I apologised if I were trespassing, and then he said with a little bow, "I do not wish to keep my neighbours at a distance, Miss Dane; you are welcome to use any foot-path through my woods. I have no secrets on my property, I am thankful to say!" I thought that rather nasty of him, for I knew he meant our cupboard, but I murmured something polite, and was just going to turn back, when the voices I had heard came nearer, and suddenly two strange young men came down the path in front of us. You should have seen Major Lester's face; he stared as if he couldn't believe his eyes, and his hand resting on his stick trembled as if he had the palsy. Then he made a step forward,—
"Roger, my boy, is it you, or do my eyes play me false?"
'Before I could get away, one young man said in a most emphatic voice, and rather sternly too, I thought, "I have brought him back to you, uncle, and he will tell you for himself whether my poor father or I had any hand in his disappearance!" Then I made my escape; I heard them all talking at once. Isn't it exciting? The lost ones have come back. I think they had walked from Brambleton station—taken the short cut through the woods. They looked as if they had roughed it. So weather-beaten and worn!'
'This is an excitement,' Agatha said, turning round from her writing; 'what is Alick Lester like, Elfie?'
'Oh, I didn't notice, I hadn't time. They were both tall, broad-shouldered men in rough shooting clothes, I think. Do you think they will be paying us a visit, Agatha?'
'I suppose Mr. Alick Lester will,' and Agatha's face assumed rather an anxious expression, as she remembered her charge.
'Where is he going to live, I wonder?' said Clare; 'it may seem to him that we are usurpers. Do you think he knows about his father's legacy to you, Agatha?'
Agatha shook her head doubtfully.
'I don't know. I suppose his lawyer will have told him, if he has been to see him. I expect he will stay up at the Hall. Major Lester would be hard-hearted indeed if he did not make him welcome after finding his long-lost son!'
The next morning the whole village was in excitement with the news. Miss Miller tore here and there, pulling at her bonnet strings, and quite incoherent in her speech.
'The vicar is asking Alick to put up with us,' she said, meeting Agatha out. 'It is very trying for him, poor fellow, to find both his father and home taken from him, and it's not to be expected that he would stay long at the Hall, and if his father hadn't died, you wouldn't be where you are, and I suppose we did misunderstand him; but if he had come to church regularly he would have found us his friends, and what he will do now I can't think! I can't stop a minute; I must see Major Lester before our quarterly meeting about church expenses, which takes place this afternoon at two o'clock; and I have just remembered that the bed-hangings of the spare room bed are at the laundry, and if Alick is to sleep there to night I must superintend the cleaning of the room myself!'
Agatha smiled as she returned home, and wondered if there was anything in the vicarage or parish that Miss Miller did not superintend.
Early in the afternoon Clare, who was doing a little gardening, was startled by the sudden appearance of Agatha in the greatest distress of mind, and quite shaken out of her usual composure.
'Oh, Clare, whatever shall I do? I have lost a most important little packet, and I am dreadfully afraid it has been stolen from me.'
'What packet?'
'A small packet Mr. Lester gave to me. I did not say anything about it, because he did not wish me to. I put it in my dressing-case, which always stands on my dressing-table, and I placed it in the secret drawer. The drawer is empty, and the paper gone. I was to give it to his son when he returned, and I promised to keep it safely. I cannot imagine what can have become of it! What shall I do? I wonder how any one could have found it. It is a perfect mystery to me!'
'You must have forgotten where you put it,' said Clare; 'let me come and look. It is quite impossible for any one to have stolen it.'
But Clare's search was quite as unsuccessful as Agatha's, and the latter became almost tearful in her agitation and distress.
'Mr. Alick Lester will be sure to call, and it was his father's wish he should open the cupboard. How can he do it, when I have lost the directions?'
'Is that all the packet contained?' asked Clare, looking relieved. 'I had no idea you possessed the key to it! How quiet you have kept it! And now I will surprise you by telling you that I have found out myself the way to open that cupboard, so am quite independent of any written instructions!'
Agatha certainly was surprised, and though thankful when Clare related her experience to her, did not feel more at ease.
'I have been careless of my charge,' she said. 'What will Mr. Alick think of me? And it is alarming to think that some one has got possession of the secret. They may have opened the cupboard already, for all I know, or may be going to do it this very night. I wonder if our maids are to be trusted! Perhaps Jane has been tampering with my case.'
'I am sure she wouldn't. You don't walk in your sleep, do you?'
Agatha gave a little laugh.
'No, you know I do not. I remember looking at it only a week ago, and putting it carefully back again.'
'Was any one in the room when you did it?'
'No—at least Jane came in, I remember, for she startled me, but she would never know what it was.'
There was silence; then Agatha said more slowly, 'It does look rather suspicious, now I have remembered about Jane, because she has been such friends lately with Major Lester's valet. You know she always walks home from church with him. Elfie was laughing about it, and saying she had soon picked up a follower.'
'I don't see the connection between those two threads,' said Clare, 'unless you think Major Lester is a thief himself!'
'I don't know what I think,' said Agatha hopelessly, sitting down on a chair, and looking the picture of woe; 'I only know I have lost what I promised to keep safely, and I know that Major Lester's great desire has been to get at that cupboard. We won't say anything about it to the maids, Clare, but I will write a little note to Mr. Alick, asking him to come and see me the first thing to-morrow morning. I will tell him exactly what has happened, and then with your help he can open the cupboard, and we shall no longer have the responsibility of it.'
With this wise decision Agatha brightened up, and Clare, who loved nothing better than a mystery, grew quite animated in discussing the matter, and offering her advice. Elfie was taken into counsel, and the three resolved to say nothing till they laid the facts before Alick Lester.
One of the maids was despatched with a note to the Hall, and Agatha received a polite reply from the young man, saying that he hoped to call on her about eleven o'clock the next morning.
But Agatha could get no sleep that night; she was anxious and ill at ease, and after tossing about in bed, long after the rest of the household were deep in sleep, she rose to pace her room, as she sometimes did when wakeful.
Her lips were moving in prayer, and she was endeavouring, as was her custom, to commit her trouble to One above, when she was distinctly conscious of stealthy footsteps treading the gravel path below her window. It was a bright moonlight night, and she had no light burning. For one moment she hesitated; then quietly she walked to the window, which was partly open, and cautiously moving the blind looked out.
The shadow of a man turning the corner of the house towards the study window met her gaze, and Agatha realized that the time had come for immediate action. She was naturally a brave woman; yet for an instant, when she remembered they were but a houseful of women, her courage faltered. Only for an instant. Her motto, 'Trust in the Lord,' flashed like a light across her path, and throwing on her dressing gown, she left her room with quiet, steady steps. She roused Clare, who slept in the next room, and who, full of nerves and fancies as she was, delighted in any nocturnal adventure.
'We really ought to have revolvers,' she said, as she rapidly prepared to follow Agatha downstairs. 'What have you got in your hand? A poker?'
'Don't make a noise; I think we shall frighten any one away without rousing the whole house.'
Clare valiantly seized both poker and tongs in her room, and crept downstairs. Agatha led the way, a candle in hand. They reached the study, and Agatha threw open the door. To her horror the French window was wide open, and a man was on his knees by the cupboard, a lantern on the ground. He started to his feet; then, bewildered and utterly unprepared for their sudden intrusion, dashed out on the verandah and disappeared, but not before both Agatha and Clare had plainly recognised him. He was Major Lester's valet!
AND SAW A MAN ON HIS KNEES BY THE CUPBOARDAND SAW A MAN ON HIS KNEES BY THE CUPBOARD
AND SAW A MAN ON HIS KNEES BY THE CUPBOARDAND SAW A MAN ON HIS KNEES BY THE CUPBOARD
Agatha hastily closed the window and shutters, then looked at Clare, who was now white and trembling.
'This looks bad, Clare,' she said gravely. 'This window and shutters must have been purposely left unfastened. He could never have unfastened them from outside.'
But now the danger was over Clare's courage had vanished. She grasped hold of Agatha's arm.
'Come upstairs, quick! He may come back and murder us! I won't stay downstairs another minute.'
'There is nothing to fear now. He has gone. I don't think he would dare face us after being recognised. Wait a minute. Look! He has left an envelope lying by his lantern, and I believe—yes, it is mine. And in Mr. Lester's handwriting. Jane must be at the bottom of this!'
'Come upstairs. I won't stay down here a minute longer!'
And Clare fled trembling to her room. Agatha did not go up till she had made sure the windows and shutters were securely fastened, and had also been the round of the house. Then she went to Clare, who was in such a panic of fright that she persuaded her to come and share her bed; and after she had grown calmer and finally dropped asleep, Agatha lay quiet and sleepless, revolving the events of the night, and praying for wisdom in dealing with the suspected Jane.
The next morning, immediately after breakfast, she called her into her room, and the very sight of her white trembling face proved her guilt. By dint of cross questioning, and much entreaty, Agatha was at last possessed of all information.
Watson, Major Lester's valet, was a devoted admirer of Jane. Together they often talked over their respective master and mistress, and Watson had told her of Major Lester's unsatisfactory interview with Agatha.
'It's some family papers that is locked up in that there cupboard he is wild to get at, and he says he has a right to 'em; and so he has, for he told a gentleman who was visitin' him that they would do him a mischief if they got into wrong hands. And it seems that Mr. Tom told Miss Dane all about 'em, and gave her the secret of opening that cupboard.'
From this statement Watson went on to work upon Jane's love of discovering a mystery and her insatiable curiosity; and at last led her to thoroughly search Agatha's room for any papers bearing on the subject. Quite by accident she came upon the secret drawer in the dressing-case. The fastening had become insecure, and, trembling at her audacity, Jane carried the packet to her lover, begging him to return it to her when he had possessed himself of its secret. The next move was to get her to leave the study windows unfastened, and here Jane's fortitude gave way.
'I know it was wicked, ma'am, but Watson, he told me it couldn't do you a injury; he wasn't a housebreaker, he wouldn't lay his finger on any property of yours! he only wanted to get his master what rightfully belonged to him. Major Lester, he would handsomely reward him for it, and so I did as he told me, but I never slept a wink all last night, and when I heard you go downstairs, I could have screamed out "Murder!" I was that scared.'
Then Jane begged and prayed with heartfelt sobs for forgiveness, and Agatha, feeling a pity for her, told her she would not dismiss her without a character, as at first she had determined to do, but would let her stay on for the month, at the end of which time she must go, as she could never keep a maid who had proved so utterly untrustworthy.
Coming downstairs from this interview with a worn face and anxious heart, Agatha was met by Elfie.
'Mr. Lester has come, Agatha. I met him in the garden, and he is in the drawing-room waiting for you.'
He was a man of honour, of noble and generous nature.'—Longfellow.
Mr. Alick Lester proved to be a pleasant, frank young fellow, with the sunniest eyes and smile that Agatha had ever seen. She took to him at once, and found herself telling him without any hesitation the history of the lost packet. He listened attentively, but was indignant when Agatha hinted that Watson might have acted under the major's instructions.
'No, Miss Dane, my uncle is a gentleman. He would never stoop so low as that. I know he tried to blacken my dear father's character, but he idolized his son, and hardly realized the mischief he was doing. Watson is a thorough scoundrel! I have always known it, and my uncle has already dismissed him for tampering with some of his letters. He was telling us about it last night, and Watson leaves him at the end of this week. Depend upon it, the chap was trying to get the papers in his own hands for ends of his own, and I think you were awfully plucky to catch him at it as you did. But now we must get hold of him at once, and get the packet from him.'
'I expect he will have left the neighbourhood,' said Agatha. 'If you wish to open the cupboard, my sister will tell you the secret. She has accidentally discovered it. Shall we go to the study now?'
The young man agreed at once to this proposal, and when Clare came forward, he looked at her with secret laughter in his eyes.
'They say a woman never rests content under a mystery,' he said; 'and you have proved my good angel, so I can only avow my gratitude. But do you know that from a boy I have viewed that cupboard as impenetrable as the sphinx itself? And yet my energy or ambition to solve its secret was never sufficient to allow me to succeed. My father always told me that age had some advantages, and that when the time came for me to know all that he did, I should do so.'
Clare flushed and felt very uncomfortable; then she met the young man's gaze calmly.
'I know I have shown the weakness of our sex, but it is not often one is brought into contact with such a mystery; and having had your father's Arabic motto translated to me, I could not resist the temptation of trying to prove its truth. I need not say I have not opened the cupboard. That temptation I was enabled to resist.'
'And the motto?' inquired the young man, passing his hand almost tenderly over his father's handiwork, and a shade coming over his brow as he spoke.
Clare's face was sad too, as she remembered from whom the translation had come, but she repeated quietly,—
'"A closed bud containethPossibilities infinite and unknown."'
Then, stooping down, she turned the carved bud, until a sharp click was heard, and the door moved forwards; and then linking her arm in that of Agatha the sisters left the room, and Alick Lester was alone with the secret solved at last.
Two or three hours passed, and still he was shut in the study. When he at last appeared in the drawing-room, he seemed to have left his youth and brightness behind him there. He asked with knitted brow and anxious face if he might speak to Agatha alone, and then drawing a dusty leather portfolio from under his arm he held it out to her, saying, 'I received a letter written by my father shortly before his death, and which he had left in the charge of our lawyer. He told me to give this to you. I fancy it may not prove so valuable to you as my dear father hoped. It is merely a collection of notes of his, and a few valuable papers about some Assyrian and Egyptian antiquities. He always hoped to write a book upon the subject, but put off doing so until he could obtain more information on certain points, or links, that were missing.'
Agatha took her legacy very calmly.
'I daresay my sister Gwen, who is now abroad, will be interested in it. She is very fond of antiquities of all sorts.'
Then looking at the young fellow's dazed, troubled face, she said sympathetically, 'I am afraid you have spent a sad morning in looking over your father's belongings.'
He laughed a little shortly.
'I have had a shock, and feel bewildered. I have not the faintest idea how to act, and it is at present all dark to me. Miss Dane, you are a good woman, my father says. Will you pray that I may have right guidance about a very difficult matter? And may I come and see you again? I shall be staying at the Crown Hotel in Brambleton for the present. The Millers wanted me to go to them, but I cannot. If I stayed in this village at all, it would have to be at the Hall, and they—I do not want that.'
'I hope you do not look upon us as usurpers,' said Agatha. 'I cannot tell you how guilty I feel sometimes about accepting this house from your father, especially since your return. It seems as if you ought to be here.'
Then Alick Lester looked up with his sunny smile.
'Miss Dane, I assure you I would never live here! My future is to be spent either out in the colonies or—or in a different house to this. And I cannot tell you what a cheery, home-like aspect you have given to this old house. I am sure you are a boon to the neighbourhood, and I should like, if you don't think it forward of me upon so short an acquaintance, to look upon you all as friends.'
He grasped her hand warmly and departed; and from that time forward he was on a friendly and familiar footing with the inmates of his old home.
Watson was found to have already left the neighbourhood, as Agatha surmised, and no one was able to trace his movements. Not wishing to create disturbance in the village, Agatha did not mention his nocturnal visit to any one, and Alick was the only one who knew of it besides themselves. Elfie and Clare were both rather disappointed that the mystery of the cupboard seemed to be such a common-place affair, but they noticed that it had brought a great deal of anxious thought to Alick Lester. His face was almost careworn at times, and he seemed now to spend most of his time in London, occasionally coming to have a further rummage in the cupboard.
'It is crammed full of old letters and papers,' he said once to Agatha; 'and if you will let me look through them on the spot, it will be such a help to me.'
One day he brought in Roger Lester, and introduced him; and after that the two young fellows often dropped in to afternoon tea, assuring Agatha that they never felt so much at home anywhere else. They both had a fund of high spirits, and though Alick at times looked absorbed and pre-occupied in anxious thought, he knew how to throw it aside and be as light-hearted as his cousin.
They were sitting one afternoon on the verandah outside the drawing-room, when Roger turned to Agatha and remarked,—
'You would not imagine it, Miss Dane, but we two have grown up with such perfectcameraderiethat until quite lately, I believe, we have never concealed a single thing from each other. And now if you hear of us drifting apart, and our liking turning to hate, you will know the cause—it is the renowned old carved cupboard.'
Alick had been talking and laughing with Elfie, but he stopped instantly as if he had been shot when he heard this speech, and there was an awkward silence for a minute.
Roger added with a laugh, 'It is some skeleton he has unearthed; but why he should refuse to let me share in the secret I can't imagine!'
'I don't think we need make it a matter of public talk,' said Alick hotly.
His cousin looked at him in astonishment, then changed the subject with a shrug of his shoulders and a laugh.
When they were gone Clare said thoughtfully, 'There is a mystery after all, and not a very pleasant one, apparently. I feel sorry for Mr. Alick.'
'Which do you like the best of the cousins?' asked Elfie carelessly.
Clare's face looked sad as she replied, 'Oh, I don't know. I don't think any young man is worth a thought. They amuse one by their fun, but I would just as soon not have them come here so often. Miss Miller will be attacking us soon on the subject. She was beginning this morning, when I met her out, but I always flee from her when she is in her aggressive moods.'
'What did she say?'
Clare looked at her younger sister with a little smile.
'Perhaps I had better not tell you. She saw you cut a rose off the other afternoon and offer it to Mr. Alick, and she considers that the depth of iniquity. "Such a piece of audacious flirting I have rarely seen carried on within a few yards from an open road in full view of any passer-by!" And then she turned the tables on me, and I came off, because she was making me boil with indignation. I think she delights in making her fellow-creatures as uncomfortable as possible.'
'It is only her way,' put in Agatha; 'she does not realize what a sting her words have. She told me last Sunday, when I unfortunately gave an order to some of my Sunday class in front of her, that however much I might try to slight her and usurp her place in the vicarage and parish I would not be successful, for the vicar was proof against all young ladies' blandishments!'
'She ought to be horsewhipped!' cried Elfie hotly, and then she began to laugh.
'There is one that is a match for her in the parish, and that is Deb Howitt. She was covering a chair at the vicarage, and Miss Miller was abusing some of the congregation—I forget who it was now. It was about the behaviour of some girls—I think she is always specially hard on them—and Deb looked at her very quietly. "Ay, ma'am, we mustn't grudge them their sweethearts! 'Tis better for most to have the cares of a family to soften them, for 'tis the spinsters that have the name for getting hard and bitter. Sharp tongues are not so frequent amongst mothers, and the world would be better without bitterness, I reckon!" Miss Miller shut up at once.'
'Deb asked me yesterday when Gwen was coming back. What do you think, Agatha?' said Clare.
'I don't know at all. You know what her last letter said. That Walter had sold his farm and gone off with Mr. Montmorency, and she was staying with Mrs. Montmorency in Loreto. She did not seem in a hurry to leave, and as long as she is happy we must be content that she should be out there.'
And the autumn came and went, and winter set in without any word or sign from Gwen of home-coming.
Alick and Roger spent the autumn in Scotland, but Christmas found them both at the Hall. Major Lester seemed to have overcome his dislike to his nephew, and the Hall was quite a cheerful centre in the village. Visitors came and went, and Agatha and her sisters were asked up there more frequently than they cared to go.
Agatha still possessed Alick's confidence. He would come to her for advice, as most people did, but yet would never touch upon his serious difficulty; and she sometimes wondered if the cupboard's secret was no longer a trouble to him.
'Do you think I am leading a lazy life?' he asked her one day, when he met her walking out and insisted upon accompanying her home.
'I think you are. It is always a pity when young men have enough income to live independently without any responsibility attaching to their wealth.'
'I am not wealthy,' he responded quickly. 'I have just enough to live upon. What do you think of Roger? He is as idle as I at present.'
'I think not. He helps his father with the property, which is a large one, and if anything happened to Major Lester he would have his hands full.'
Alick laughed a little hardly.
'Lucky fellow! So if I were in his shoes you would not find fault with me!'
'I think,' said Agatha gently, 'that each one of us ought to realize that we are not placed in this world to live for ourselves. There is so much to do for others who need our help. You are young now, and have life stretching out in front of you. Do not waste it, do not have to acknowledge when your life is over that no one will have been the better for your existence.'
'Would you have one sink one's own individuality in the lives of others, like some of our great philanthropists?'
'No, our first duty is to ourselves. I think too many in the present day rush into work of all sorts, trying to please and satisfy others at the expense of their own peace and satisfaction, and that is wrong.'
'I don't understand you.'
'I mean this. We have two lives: the outer one which every one sees, and the inner one which only God and ourselves know about. Our inner life is the more important one of the two, is it not? For it is the spiritual part of us that is immortal. First let us satisfy and ensure the safety of our own souls, before we seek to satisfy the hungry and thirsty ones around us. And then if our inner life is adjusted rightly—is in touch (shall I say?) with its Maker—the helping others becomes a pleasure as well as a necessity.'
Alick did not reply, and Agatha delicately turned the subject; but her words made him ponder much afterwards, and had far more effect upon him than ever she imagined.
'A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which is but saying, in other words, that he is wiser to-day than he was yesterday.'—Pope.
It was towards the end of February that old Nannie sat by her fire in the peaceful almshouse in which she had taken shelter. Rain was falling fast, and when she heard a knock at her door, she hardly turned in her chair, for she thought it could be only one of her neighbours come for a chat.
When the new-comer came silently forward and stood in front of her, Nannie looked up with a gasp and a cry.
'Miss Gwen! My dear Miss Gwen, is it you? Where do you come from? And oh, how ill you look!'
Gwen bent over the old woman and kissed her; then she took a seat by her and gave a hard little laugh.
'Oh no, I am not ill. I wish I could be—at least, I am almost coward enough to wish it. I only landed early this morning in the London Docks. I have come from California, Nannie. Aren't you glad to see me?'
Gwen was clad in a plain dark blue serge and sailor hat, but somehow had not her habitual neat appearance. Her face was wan and white, she seemed to have aged ten years, and her once sparkling eyes were now dim and worn-looking.
'Just off a voyage,' murmured Nannie, putting on her spectacles and peering anxiously into her face. 'Ay, my dear, surely them foreign parts don't bring such change and misery to all the folks who venture out?'
Gwen laughed again.
'Every one, I hope, has not had my experience,' she said. 'If I may quote from your favourite book, Nannie, I can say truly, "I went out full, and have been brought home again empty!"'
'"The Lord hath brought me home again empty,"' corrected Nannie.
Then Gwen leant forward, and taking Nannie's two hands in hers, she said in a hard, strained voice:
'Nannie, I have come to you because I am desperate, and I thought perhaps you would give me courage to face them at home. I have never had such a hard task set me in my life; but I deserve it, and I am not going to flinch from my duty. I have ruined four people's lives, my own included!'
She strangled a dry sob in her throat, then went on,—grasping the withered hands in hers, as a drowning man might a rope,—'Nannie, do you remember my verse you gave me this time last year?'
'Ay, Miss Gwen, my dear, surely, and many's the prayer I've offered up at the throne of grace for you! "Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass!" Maybe you've come to the end of your own ways by this time—will that be it?'
'Judgment has come on me. I was so sure, so certain of my plans. I frustrated every difficulty, I forced some against their will to assist me in carrying them out; and yet all this last year your verse has haunted me. I was determined to be independent of God. I was so self-assured, and my pride and spirit carried me through all, that I laughed at the idea of failure; and then when the blow fell, it crushed every atom of self-confidence and spirit out of me! I am a poor, miserable, broken-down creature, Nannie; what can you say to help me?'
Nannie gently withdrew her hands, and leaning forward, placed them on Gwen's shoulders. Then in a tender, solemn tone she said, '"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven!"'
There was dead silence for a few moments, and then Gwen bowed her head in her old nurse's lap, and tears came thick and fast.
Nannie let her cry on, but her lips moved in prayer. 'Dear Lord, Thou hast smitten to heal; Thou hast broken to mend; let her meet with Thee now, and get Thy blessing!'
'I have never shed a tear until now,' uttered Gwen at last, looking up at Nannie with almost a pathetic look in her tear-dimmed eyes. 'I felt my trouble was too great for tears. I was turning to stone until I saw you. Oh, Nannie, if you knew all, you would be sorry for me!'
Will you be telling it to me, Miss Gwen?'
'Yes, indeed I will.'
Gwen gave a rough sketch of her life for the first month with her brother. She told of the bitter blow it was to find him about to be married; and then told Nannie of Mr. Montmorency's arrival, and the pressure put upon her brother to sell his farm, and join him in his quest for gold.
'I gave him no rest, Nannie, until he promised to do as I wanted. I even went to the girl he was going to marry, and coaxed and entreated her to add her persuasions to mine. She was bitterly disappointed, poor little thing, at their marriage being postponed, but she was thoroughly unselfish, and only thought of Walter's good. Mr. Montmorency worked hard too. He wanted more capital, and said Walter must do his share in getting it, if he was to be a partner, so I worked with all my might and main to get it for him. I persuaded Meta Seton to invest a legacy of hers in the scheme; I wrote home and implored all the others to invest in it too. I put all the money I had myself in it, and then when all was done, and I had broken up Walter's home, I sat down in complacency and waited for the success that was sure to follow. I can't tell you when the first doubts of the whole thing crept into my mind. I only know the last four months have been ones of torturing suspense and uncertainty. I wonder I have not come home grey-headed. The crash came six weeks or so ago. Mr. Montmorency, after ruining himself, my brother, and hundreds of others, decamped, and has not been heard of since. It was simply a mad speculation set on foot by a clever man with little capital of his own. Walter is ruined; he has crept back to his own part of the country, and has to begin life all over again; his hopes of a married life and a happy home have been dashed to the ground. Meta's father is so enraged at his daughter's legacy being lost, that he has forbidden Walter the house, and his bride as well as his farm has been taken from him. I wonder he did not curse me, as he came to see me off in the steamer; but his face—the hopelessness and despair written there—was quite enough for me. And now I am going back to break to Clare and Elfie that they as well as myself are absolute beggars. Agatha was the only wise one amongst us. She refused to trust Mr. Montmorency with one farthing of her money.'
'Ay, my dear, it's terrible—terrible for you; but loss of money is not ruin. You have health and strength and youth to sustain you, and though the cloud has been dark, it will have a silver lining!'
'How can I tell them!' cried Gwen; and her face grew set and hard, as she stood up, and dashed the tear-drops from her eyelashes. 'They have no idea I am returning home, or what has happened. I have been to our lawyer before I came to you, and though he has heard bad reports of Mr. Montmorency, he has never said a word to them. Do you realize I have beggared our whole family, Nannie? Poor Clare has had trouble enough of her own, without this in addition; and Elfie, who has never had a care or thought, how will she take it? I wish—I wish I were dead!'
'Hush, hush, my dear!' said Nannie, almost sternly. 'That would be a coward's wish, and you are not that! If you learn the lesson the Lord would have you learn, you may yet live to find that this big trouble has been the biggest blessing in your life.'
'Do you think if I had been like Agatha, who prays even if she goes shopping that she may spend the money properly, and if I had committed my plans to God, this would have happened, Nannie?'
'No, I don't think it would,' was Nannie's grave reply.
Then there was silence, which Nannie broke by begging Gwen to have some refreshment.
'No, thank you, Nannie, I must be going. I wish I had done with life, and was in an almshouse with you. It would be so easy to be all that one ought to be. Good-bye, you old dear. Pray for me, for I have a dreadful time before me, and I don't see how on earth we are to live. I shall have to earn money somehow at once. Perhaps I shall go into service—that is the fashion now. Ladies are becoming servants to the class who used to be in service. Give me your blessing and let me go!'
Gwen was talking fast and lightly to hide her emotion, but old Nannie took hold of her hands and looked up at her very solemnly.
'My dear Miss Gwen, you have heard God's voice speaking to you many times since you were a little girl. You are hearing it again now. Are you going to close your ear to it? If your pride and self-confidence is crumbled to dust, 'tis the opportunity to confess it to Him who hates a proud look, and says the humble shall be exalted. Take your bitterness of soul to the Saviour, and He will heal and comfort you. Promise me you will listen to His voice!'
'You're a saint, Nannie; I promise you I will pray, if I have never done so before. Good-bye.'
She went out into the pouring rain, found her way back to the station, and an hour after was at Waterloo Station starting for Brambleton. She was just getting into the carriage when some one accosted her. It was Clement Arkwright, who had travelled out to California with her. He looked unfeignedly pleased to see her.
'Just come home again, Miss Dane? How did you like California?'
Gwen hardly knew how to answer him. A rush of memories came over her. The time on board ship when she had so systematically avoided him, and cultivated with assiduity the one who had ruined her, stood up before her with awful distinctness. But she pulled herself together, and tried to speak unconcernedly.
'I am glad to be back again.'
'How is your brother? I hope the report I heard was not true, that he had joined Alf Montmorency in his search for gold?'
Gwen was in the carriage now, and the train was just starting. She spoke on the impulse of the moment, and Clement Arkwright never forgot the look of despairing hopelessness on her face as she held out her hand to him.
'Good-bye—we are off. You told me once that I would bring disaster upon myself by my obstinate wilfulness. I have done so. You warned me on the steamer against Mr. Montmorency. But I would not listen, and he has ruined the whole lot of us.'
The train steamed out of the station, and Clement Arkwright turned away with a grave, thoughtful face.
'Poor Gwen! Yet it will be the making of her, if she can once be got to confess that her judgment is not infallible. I should like to get hold of that scoundrel!'
It was about five o'clock when Gwen reached Brambleton. She left her luggage at the station, and tramped through the driving rain and wind with fierce indifference, arriving at Jasmine Cottage with drenched garments, and weary, footsore feet.
The lamps were lighted in the drawing-room, and the shutters were not closed. Gwen stepped quietly up to the window and looked in. It was a cosy, cheerful scene. Agatha was sitting with a smile on her face by a bright fire, knitting in hand. Clare was reading aloud on the opposite side of the fireplace, and Elfie in her favourite position on the low fender-stool, tempting a grey Persian kitten to perform acrobatical antics with Agatha's ball of wool.
'How changed will be the scene a few minutes later!' thought Gwen bitterly, and she knocked sharply at the door. It was opened by a maid who had superseded Jane, and who looked suspiciously at the drenched figure.
'You have mistaken this for the vicarage,' she said superciliously. 'If you want shelter or food, you will get it there!'
Gwen swung her aside with a quick impatient laugh, and opened the drawing-room door. In another moment, with cries of astonishment and delight, her sisters were caressing and welcoming her; but she pushed them away from her.
'Let me tell you how I come back first,' she said sharply. 'You will not give me such a hearty welcome when you know. I have ruined Walter; the gold company has been a big swindle, and every penny of our money has all gone. Now what do you say to me?'
'Never mind the money now,' said Agatha, who was never discomposed. 'Come upstairs to bed at once, you are wet through. How could you walk through such a storm! Not another word till you have had something to eat. Come along—you are dead beat.'
She led her away, motioning to Clare and Elfie not to follow, and they stood looking at each other with dazed, bewildered eyes.
'Does she mean it? Is it really true?' exclaimed Elfie, 'Oh, how ill she looks!'
'What a dreadful thing for Walter!' was Clare's response; and then the full force of Gwen's words dawned upon them.
'Whatever shall we do? Agatha's hundred pounds will not keep four of us!'
When Agatha returned to the room, nearly an hour later, she found an anxious consultation going on by the fire. Her face was just as placid as usual, though a shade graver.
'I have left her to sleep,' she said; 'it is the best thing for her. She seems quite worn out, and I think it is best for none of us to go near her till the morning.'
'Is it really true what she says?'
'I am afraid so. I would not let her give me details. She is so filled with remorse at having persuaded you to invest your money so, that I saw she was working herself into a perfect fever over it, and I stopped her at once. I am thankful she is home again. I have been very uneasy about her lately.'
'I never thought you were uneasy about anything,' said Clare, trying to smile.
'We are planning what we can do to earn our livelihood, Agatha,' said Elfie. 'Have you any idea to give us?'
'We will not go into that to-night,' was Agatha's quiet response. 'This house is our own, and so is the furniture. We have sufficient for the present. When Gwen has got over the fatigue of her journey, we will have a talk together about ways and means.'
Just before going to her own room for the night, Agatha stepped quietly into Gwen's room.
She found her lying wide awake staring at the flickering fire with a hard set face, and determined lips. Agatha came up and put her hand on her forehead.
'You are feverish,' she said. 'Are you comfortable? Do you not feel sleepy?'
'Would you?' was the quick retort.
'I am sure I should, after the journey you have had. Oh, Gwen dear, don't look so! There are worse losses than money. Don't reproach yourself too much.' And Agatha was so touched by the hopeless misery in her sister's face that tears filled her eyes.
Gwen looked at her, and her face began to soften.
'You're a good old thing, Agatha. I wish I were more like you. You will need all your faith and prayer now, and so will the others. Good-night.'
She turned her face away, and with a kiss and an unspoken prayer, Agatha left her.