When Sunday came, Helen said to her cousin, rather wistfully: "Will you
go to church with us to-day, Marion?"
"Not to-day, I believe, if you will excuse me," answered Marion. "If I
go anywhere--which is doubtful--I suppose it ought to be to the church
I was brought up in."
"I thought you always said at the convent how much you preferred
Catholic services," said Helen, in a disappointed tone.
"Well, at the convent, you see, one had not much choice," replied the
other, laughing; "and, then, the services were charming there--so
poetical and beautiful. That chapel was a picture in itself. But, from
the outward appearance of your church here, I should not judge that it
possessed much inward beauty."
"No," said Helen, reluctantly, "it has not much beauty; but, then, the
Mass is everywhere the same, you know."
"For those who believe in it, very likely," was the careless rejoinder.
"But I am an outsider. I believe only in what I see; and when I see
beautiful ceremonies, I enjoy them for their beauty."
"It is just as well, in that case, that you should not go with us,
my dear," said Mrs. Dalton, from the head of the table--for this
conversation took place at breakfast. "Ours is a very plain little
chapel, the congregation being small and poor. If you are in search
of beautiful ceremonies, the Episcopal church will be more likely to
gratify you. They have a new Ritualistic clergyman there, who has
introduced many new customs, I hear."
"I see no particular reason why I should go anywhere," observed Marion,
truthfully. "It is a very pleasant day for staying at home."
But she was not destined to stay at home on this particular Sunday,
which was the beginning of a change in her life. After breakfast, while
they were enjoying the freshness of the summer morning on the veranda,
and before any chime of bells yet filled the air, Miss Morley made
her appearance, fully dressed for church parade; and, after a general
greeting, said to Marion:--
"I have come to inquire if you would like to go to church with me this
morning, Miss Lynde. I have heard Helen say that you are not a Roman
Catholic."
"I am not anything at all," answered Marion; "and I confess that I do
not, as a rule, see the need of church-going; but, since it is such a
pleasant day, and you are so kind as to come, Miss Morley,--may I ask
what church you attend?"
"Oh, Netta is an Episcopalian!" interposed Helen. "She will take you to
a handsome church, filled with well-dressed people, where you will have
pretty ceremonies and nice music to amuse you."
"Satire is not in your style, Helen," said Marion, putting out her
hand to give a soft pinch to the round arm near her. "But, since you
give such an attractive description, I believe I will go with Miss
Morley."
"Then we have not much time to spare," said that young lady, with a
glance at her dress, as a concert of bells suddenly burst out.
"Oh, I will be ready in a few minutes!" exclaimed Marion, smiling.
Her simple toilet was soon made, yet its very simplicity enhanced the
striking character of her beauty; and when she followed Miss Morley up
the softly-carpeted aisle of the Episcopal church, every eye turned on
her, and everyone wondered who she could be. To herself, the atmosphere
which surrounded her was very agreeable, speaking as it did of wealth
and refined tastes. Beautiful architectural forms, polished woods,
stained glass, a pretty procession; sweet, clear voices singing to the
rich roll of a fine organ; and a congregation which gave the impression
of belonging altogether to the favored classes of society,--these
things she liked, independently of any religious association or meaning.
Indeed, as a religious ceremony, the service seemed to Marion very
much of a failure, so recently had she witnessed the divine Reality of
worship. She missed the thrill of awe which had come even to her when
the Sacred Host was lifted up to heaven in the Mass; and her keen,
unprejudiced mind realized how entirely what she now saw was only the
mutilated remnant of an older and grander ritual. "It is a pity that
the Catholic religion is so exacting, and that so many common people
belong to it," she thought; "for it is the only one with any reality
about it, or any claim to one's respect."
Nobody would have suspected these reflections, however, from her
outward deportment. She went through the service decorously, and
listened with exemplary attention to the sermon, which was by no means
contemptible as a literary effort. Her beautiful face--conspicuously
placed in one of the front pews--somewhat distracted the attention of
the young clergyman, and he found himself now and again looking from
his MS. to meet the large, dark eyes fixed so steadily on him. But
Marion herself was distracted by no one, although she was aware of the
appearance and manner of everybody in her immediate neighborhood.
Among the rest, she observed a lady who sat near, and more than once
glanced inquiringly toward her; a lady of specially distinguished and
fashionable appearance. "She does not belong to Scarborough," thought
Marion, noticing (without appearing to do so) some of the details
of her costume. And her conclusion she soon found was correct. When
the services were over, and the congregation, passing out of church,
interchanged salutations as they went, Miss Morley acknowledged a
greeting from this lady; and Marion, as they walked on, said: "Who is
that handsome and elegant woman?"
"Mrs. Singleton," was the reply. "She is very handsome and very
elegant, is she not? But she does not live in Scarborough; she is here
only for the summer."
"I felt sure of that," thought Marion--though she had too much tact to
say so. "Who is she?--where does she come from?" she asked.
"She is one of _the_ Singletons," answered Netta--"at least her husband
is,--and you know who they are. They appear to have ample means, and
live in a great many places. She has just returned from Europe."
"And why has she come to Scarborough?" inquired Marion, in a tone not
altogether flattering to that place.
"Well, chiefly, I believe, because the climate here agrees wonderfully
with an old gentleman who is her husband's uncle, to whom they seem to
devote themselves."
"Is he wealthy?" asked Marion, with unconscious cynicism.
"Oh, very!" replied Netta, with simplicity; "immensely rich, I believe,
and has no children; so he lives with the Singletons, or _they_ live
with him."
"The last most likely," said Marion, whose knowledge of life was
largely drawn from its seamy side.
The conversation ended here, and she thought no more of it. But on the
evening of the next day Miss Morley came into the drawing room where
the family group were assembled after tea, and, turning to Marion,
said:--
"Do you remember our speaking of Mrs. Singleton as we came from church
yesterday, Miss Lynde? She seems to have been as much impressed by
you as you were by her. I met her on the street this morning, and she
stopped me to ask who you were. I suppose I must not venture to repeat
all that she said of your appearance, but I may tell you that she has
some connections named Lynde, and that she is very curious to know if
you belong to them."
"I am sorry that I can not satisfy her," said Marion, who showed no
signs of being as flattered as she really was. "Family genealogies have
never interested me. If my uncle were here now, he could tell her all
that she wished to know."
"So that elegant Mrs. Singleton is in Scarborough again this summer!"
cried Helen, with interest. "Is the same old gentleman with her, and do
they still keep up an establishment with so much style?"
"Oh, yes!" her cousin answered. "They have taken the Norton House for
the summer, and have brought a beautiful carriage and horses, and
servants, with them. Not many people have seen the old gentleman yet. I
hear that he is feebler than he was last year."
"Then no doubt Mrs. Singleton still laments touchingly how sad it is
for old people--for their own sakes entirely!--when they live too
long," said Paul Rathborne, who was present as usual.
"At least she does not devote much of her time and attention to him,"
responded Mrs. Dalton, "unless report greatly belies her."
"Why should she?" said Rathborne. "He has an expensive, highly-trained
nurse for his special service, besides a staff of servants. What could
she do for him, except worry him? Oh, no: it is not on account of any
demand upon her time or attention that she thinks he lives too long,
but because he keeps his fortune in his own hands, and will until death
relaxes his hold of it."
"How awful," exclaimed Helen, with a shudder, "to want anybody to
die! I cannot believe that Mrs. Singleton does. She seems so kind and
pleasant."
"And you think everyone must be kind and pleasant who seems so?" said
Rathborne, with a covert sneer. "My dear Helen, it will not do to judge
the world by yourself."
"Why not?" asked Helen, innocently. "Why should I not believe that
others are honest and sincere as well as myself?"
"Well, really there does not seem any reason on the surface, except
that experience proves it otherwise," he answered, with a laugh.
"I hope it may be long before experience proves it to me," said Helen.
"I can not bear to think badly of people. It seems to me that it would
break my heart to be forced to think badly of any one for whom I cared."
If one heart present felt a twinge of compunction at those words, there
was no sign of it; but Mrs. Dalton looked at her daughter with a sudden
glance of something like apprehension.
"You should not talk in such a way, Helen," she said. "A broken heart
is not a thing of which to speak lightly."
"I did not intend to speak lightly," answered Helen. "I meant what I
said very seriously. I do not think I could bear it."
"That is foolish," continued her mother. "We must bear whatever God
sends."
"I do not think Helen will ever have to bear a broken heart, or
anything like it," observed Marion. "I am very certain that she is made
for happy fortune."
"No one in the world, who lives for any length of time, can know
unbrokenly happy fortune," said Mrs. Dalton, gravely. "But I do not
think it well to discuss such personal subjects."
"Then we will discuss the rich old man who has a highly-trained nurse
and a staff of servants," said Marion, laughingly. "Tell me"--turning
to Rathborne--"what is his name?"
"Singleton," replied that gentleman. "Have you never heard of him? He
is a very rich man; and Tom Singleton--the husband of the lady you have
seen--hopes to inherit his wealth."
"He is his nearest relative?"
"Oh, I presume there are other nieces and nephews, but he is a favorite
of the old man."
"Have I not heard something of a disowned son?" asked Mrs. Dalton.
"A disowned son!" repeated Marion. "I did not know that people out of
novels--and even in novels it has gone out of fashion--ever disowned
their sons now."
"As I have heard the story," said Rathborne, "it is more a case of the
son disowning the father. He refused to comply with his father's wishes
in any respect, and finally broke away and left home, going off to
South America, I believe. He has not been heard of for a considerable
number of years, and Tom Singleton says there is every reason to
believe him dead. Of course the wish is father to the thought with
_him_, but others have told me the same thing."
"Perhaps his father drove him away by harshness, and remorse is what is
the matter with him," said Netta Morley, solemnly.
Rathborne laughed. "From my knowledge of old Mr. Singleton," he
replied, "I should not judge that remorse preyed upon him to any great
extent. The son, I have been told, was a wild, rebellious youth, whom
it was impossible to control--one of those unfortunate human beings who
seem born to go wrong, and whom no influence can restrain."
"Where was the poor boy's mother?" asked Mrs. Dalton.
"She died when he was very young. But, with all due deference to the
popular idea of a mother's influence, I think we see many cases in
which it fails altogether."
"Yes," said Mrs. Dalton. "But even if her influence fails, her patience
is more long-suffering than that of any one else, and her love is more
enduring. Perhaps this boy might not have been lost if his mother had
lived."
"If we begin with 'perhaps' we may imagine anything we please,"
remarked Rathborne, in atone which Marion had learned to understand as
expressing contempt for the opinion advanced.
"Without indulging in any imagination at all, so much as is known of
the Singletons is very interesting indeed," she said, in her clear,
fluent voice. "If I see any of them, I shall look at them with much
more attention from having heard this romantic story of a lost son and
a great fortune."
"I think you are very likely to see Mrs. Singleton," observed Netta.
"She spoke as if she desired to make your acquaintance."
"That is a great compliment--from her," said Helen. "What an impression
you must have made, Marion!"