"Ah!" she said, with another sob, "Angus would not have said that three
months ago. I was sure it must have been going on for some time. He
has been in bad company, I feel certain. And Angus always was one to
take the colour of his company, just as a glass takes the colour of
anything you pour in. What can I do? Oh, what can I do? If he will
not listen to Duncan--"
"Ambrose Catterall says that young men must always sow their wild oats,"
I said, when she stopped thus.
"That is one of the Devil's maxims," exclaimed Flora, earnestly. "God
calls it sowing to the flesh: and He says the harvest of it is
corruption. Some flowers seed themselves: thistles do. Did you ever
know roses grow from thistle seed? No: `whatsoever a man soweth, that
shall he reap.' Ah me, for Angus's harvest!"
"Well, I don't see what you can do," said I.
"There is the sting," she replied. "It would be silly to weep if I did.
No, in such cases, I think there is only one thing a woman can do--and
that is to cry mightily unto God to loose the bonds of the oppressor,
and let the oppressed go free. I don't know--I may be mistaken--but I
hardly think it is of much use for women to talk to such a man. It is
not talking that he needs. He knows his own folly, very often, at least
as well as you can tell him, and would be glad enough to be loosed from
his bonds, if only somebody would come and tear them asunder. He
cannot: and you cannot. Only God can. Some evil spirits can be cast
out by nothing but prayer. Cary--" Flora broke off suddenly, and looked
up earnestly in my face. "Don't mention this, will you, dear? I should
not have said a word to you nor any one if you had not surprised me."
I promised her I would not, unless somebody first spoke to me. She
would not come to Sophy's room.
"Tell the girls," she said, "that I want to write home; for I shall do
it presently, when I feel a little calmer."
Something struck me as I was turning away. "Flora," I said, "why do you
not tell my Aunt Kezia all about it? I am sure she would help you, if
any one could."
"Yes, dear, I think she would," said Flora, gently; "but you see no one
could. And remember, Cary!" she called me back as I was leaving the
chamber, and came to me, and took both my hands; and her great sorrowful
eyes, which looked just like brown velvet, gazed into mine like the eyes
of a dog which is afraid of a scolding: "remember, Cary, that Angus is
not wicked. He is only weak. But how weak he is!"
She broke down with another sob.
"But men should be stronger than women," said I, "not weaker."
"They are, in body and mind," replied Flora: "but sex, I suppose, does
not extend to soul. There, some men are far weaker than some women.
Look at Peter. I dare say the maid who kept the door would have been
less frightened of the two, if he had taunted her with being one of
`this man's disciples.'"
"Well, I should feel ashamed!" I said.
"I am not sure if women do not feel moral weakness a greater shame than
men do," replied Flora. "Men seem to think so much more of want of
physical bravery. Many a soldier will not stand an ill-natured laugh,
who would want to fight you in a minute if you hinted that he was afraid
of being hurt. Things seem to look so different to men from what they
do to women; and, I think, to the angels, and to God."
I did not like to leave her alone in her trouble: but she said she
wanted nothing, and was going to write to her father; so I went back to
Sophy's room, and gave Flora's message to the girls.
"Dear! I am sure we don't want her," said Hatty: and Charlotte added,
"She is more of a spoil-sport than anything else."
So we played at "Hunt the slipper," and "Questions and commands," and
"The parson has lost his cloak," and "Blind man's buff": and then when
we got tired we sat down--on the beds or anywhere--Hatty took off the
mirror and perched herself on the dressing-table, and Charlotte wanted
to climb up and sit on the mantel-shelf, but Sophy would not let her--
and then we had a round of "How do you like it?" and then we went to
bed.
In the middle of the night I awoke with a start, and heard a great
noise, and Sam's voice, and old Will's, and a lot of queer talking, as
if something were being carried up-stairs that was hard to pull along;
and there were a good many words that I am sure my Aunt Kezia would not
let me write, and--well, if He do look at what I am writing, I should
not like God to see them neither. I felt sure that the gentlemen were
being carried up to bed--such of them as could not walk--and such as
could were being helped along. I rather wonder that gentlemen like to
drink so much, and get themselves into such a queer condition. I do not
think they would like it if the ladies began to do such things. I could
not help wondering if Angus were among them. Flora, who had lain awake
for a long while, and had only dropped asleep, as she told me
afterwards, about half an hour before, for she heard the clock strike
one, slept on at first, and I hoped she would not awake. But as the
last lot were being dragged past our door, Flora woke up with a start,
and cried,--
"What is that? O Cary, what can be the matter?"