The Unexpected Happens
Catherine's choice had been finally made, approved by Brian and
declared. They decided that there was no need to tell Uncle Jack of the
offer Uncle Ross had made them, not unless he were to question them in
such a manner that truth would be sacrificed by silence. And this did
not happen. The colonel was anxious to be assured that his brother would
not quarrel with them on account of Catherine's promise to regard Redan
Cottage as home, and when he was gratified by receiving this assurance
he believed that all was well.
'Uncle Ross has forgiven me. I shall go to see him sometimes, just as I
have been doing,' she said.
Those were delightful days during which Brian remained in Beverbridge.
Not only did Mrs. Arderne kindly invite him a great deal to her house,
but she allowed her companion so much liberty that the young people were
almost constantly in one another's company.
'I'm afraid I haven't been of much service to you lately!' the girl
exclaimed penitently, when Brian had returned to town.
'Nonsense, my dear!' was the little lady's prompt answer. 'You simply
obeyed my wishes, which happened to coincide with your own. I derived a
great deal of entertainment as well as pleasure from observing you and
your lover. Good gracious, what a weary-looking, thin fellow he is! But
his holiday did him good, and his face was rapidly gaining a peaceful
expression, which I hope it won't lose directly he sets to work again.'
'Oh no, that expression has come to stay!' Catherine replied, with a
happy smile.
'What do you mean, you perplexing young woman? How can you possibly
tell? Your Brian will begin to overwork himself again just as soon as he
gets an opportunity. And unless he does, thanks to your united folly,
you will never be able to get married.'
'Brian's peace doesn't come from any cause that can be taken away from
him, dear Mrs. Arderne. Not even great fatigue, nor a breakdown in
health could rob him of it.'
'Religion again, Catherine!'
'Yes; trust in God. Oh, I wish you would rejoice with me over Brian's
new knowledge! I wish you would understand what true happiness is, you
dearest of employers!'
Mrs. Arderne kissed the speaker, but shook her head.
'I've not a religious mind, Catherine. It refuses to concern itself
chiefly with spiritual matters. The unseen thing called faith was always
a mystery to me. Of course, God must exist, since we do, and the earth
must have been made by Him; but if He wants us to love Him, He should
manifest Himself to us.'
'So He does, in wonderful ways to those who seek Him. You would not have
Him speak intimately to persons who will not listen for His voice? In
countless mysteries He is always proving His power, in the things He has
created; but human beings turn away their eyes from the evidences of His
power and their own helplessness. Directly a soul begins to grope after
the light, light comes in plenty. It is those souls which do not wish
for faith which remain desolate for want of it!'
'No wonder, say I, that some do not wish for it, since its possession
seems to entail upon them such extremes of self-sacrifice.'
Catherine pondered this remark, Mrs. Arderne watching her face
meanwhile, and admiring the grace of her bended neck and the sweetness
of her smile.
'Do you know, dear friend, I think all the better parts of ourselves are
in great sympathy with self-sacrifice' (this was the outcome of her
reflections), 'since love is the greatest joy we know, and love means
preferring another's happiness to our own. If a man loves a comrade, he
will go into dangers for his sake; if a woman loves her husband, even if
he be unkind to her, she will spend her life in trying to make his
happiness, and in shielding him from blame; and what will not some
mothers give up for the sake of their children? This seems to me to be
the truth of the matter--that self-sacrifice becomes happiness when it
is founded upon sufficient love. No doubt happiness follows any
renunciation for the sake of duty; but the other is the more human point
of view.'
'And what lesson do you deduce from that truth, Catherine?' Mrs. Arderne
was interested in the study of her companion's opinions.
'That love of God makes sweet and easy every sacrifice made for Him.
Christ, the great Model of self-renunciation, appeals for sympathy to
the better self within each one of us--which was created in us--the
breath of God in man. And it is only those who let God live within the
soul, who do not hinder His work, who desire His guidance and control,
who feel strong enough to be happy in a life which is all uncertainty.
The luckiest man in all the world may be destined for overwhelming
misery and pain to-morrow; it is only the man whose happiness consists
in obedience to God's will, and in hope for an eternity cf perfect joy,
whose peace neither fear nor suffering _can_ overwhelm!'
'It is a pity that we do not have female clergy, my dear. If we did, you
might become a popular preacher.'
'Oh, you are laughing at me! Am I too fond of talking about my opinions?
I was only trying my best to answer the questions you asked me.'
'Yes, I know. I like to listen to you, though I wish you were less
convincing. My own life always looks a poor, dreary, selfish one, filled
with perils I've no courage to face, and my longing to be braver always
frets me, after I have heard some of your sermonettes, child. If great
misery or suffering were to overwhelm me to-morrow, I don't know what I
should do!'
'You would lay your burden upon the Saviour, would you not, you
darling?'
'How could I, after ignoring His existence so long as my life was
placid. Certainly He must be generous, or He would send trials at once
to test me, and to prove His power.'
'If He did, it would only be in His mercy, in order to expose you to the
influence without which you will not seek the only lasting happiness.'
Mrs. Arderne sighed.
'I _will_ turn over a new leaf; you shall help me, dear. I have been
very much worried of late, because my husband wants me to rejoin him
soon in India, and I don't want to go out there. My babes must stay in
England. I will not have their health injured, perhaps permanently, by
my selfish longing to keep them with me; and how can I bear to part from
the darlings?'
There was a tremor in the mother's voice.
Catherine clasped the little woman in her arms, and laid her cheek
against her face.
'Oh, you might have told me sooner of your anxiety! Would it not have
been easier to bear, if you had told some one, even me, who would have
sympathised?'
'I knew you would say I must go. It _is_ my duty, I admit. Henry has let
me have a long holiday trip--first to Australia, now to England. I have
seen all my friends and relatives, and recovered my own health. With the
exception that it is terribly hard to leave my children, there is not
the slightest excuse for me to stay here.'
'Is the climate _really_ so bad?'
'For children, yes. They shall not grow up sickly because their mother
thought more of her own happiness than of their welfare.'
'And you expressed a wonder, only a few minutes ago, that any one could
desire faith which might entail self-sacrifice! Oh, you dear, brave
little mother, even while you are lonely for want of your babies, will
you not be proud and glad because you have loved them better than
yourself? That is the way in which gladness comes from loving God. And
it is He alone who can comfort you, to whom you can pray for Ted and
Toddie; to whose loving care you can confide them, knowing that He can
guard them better even than your love could do, were you always close
beside them!'
Mrs. Arderne laid her hand on her companion's shoulder, and indulged in
a hearty cry.
'Oh, Cath!' she said at last, 'I _must_ learn to love God now, for I
shall be so lonely in India, and I must feel that I can do something for
the babies when I am far away from them. He won't be angry and refuse to
listen to me, will He, because so long as I was quite happy I did not
serve Him?'
'The labourer who came at the eleventh hour into the vineyard received
the same pay as those who had borne the heat and labour of the whole
day. For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world; but
that the world through Him might be saved.'
After another silence Mrs. Arderne said:
'When I go, you will take charge of Ted and Toddie? Promise me that,
Catherine. Whether you live in Redan Cottage, or in your husband's
home, you can give a shelter to my babes. There need be no difficulty
about money, for I can make a liberal allowance for their comfort, and
to do _something_ towards recompensing your care of them. This idea only
occurred to me the other day, after I received Henry's letter asking me
to come back soon to him, and then I felt I could have hugged you for
refusing to be adopted by your Uncle Ross!'
'He did not want to adopt me, dear. I should have had a home of my own.
Still, perhaps he would not have liked me to bring Ted and Toddie on
constant visits to Carm Hall; and if I have charge of them, I will never
be parted from them.'
'If? Tell me you _will_, Catherine. I can only be happy about them if I
leave them in your care.'
'I promise I will have them, if Uncle Jack does not refuse, and he is
not likely to do that.'
'You do not speak of Brian's opinion.'
'There is no need. Brian will be glad for me to do anything in the world
that I can do to ease your anxiety. Besides, are you not making me a
most helpful offer? You are going to keep on your companion, letting her
live at home. She would be altogether delighted, were it not that she
will be parted from you!'
'You must write to me, Cath, very, _very_ often; and you won't let the
babes forget me, will you? Oh, but I know you will not! Your salary must
be doubled, so that you are no expense to Uncle Jack, and we will decide
on a sum to pay for the board of Ted and Toddie. Dear child, it is a
comfort to me to feel that you will benefit by my misfortune. You'll be
able to save money, to help your lover, and in a few years Henry will
bring me back to England.'
After a little more discussion of this plan, Mrs. Arderne sent Catherine
to take the news to Redan Cottage.