HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS.
It seemed to Denys as if she had never felt so absolutely happy, so
blissfully content, as she did when with Charlie's arm tucked into
hers, they left the station together and made their way down the steep
hill to the church.
All the worries of the day and the worries of the yesterdays had
slipped from her, and not even the thought of Gertrude, awaiting them
in the church porch, had power to disturb her.
Charlie and she were together, and before them stretched the days, the
hours, the minutes, the seconds of a whole week! A whole, long, lovely
week, of which only five minutes had already gone! Charlie's voice,
his dear, familiar voice, though it only spoke of the trivialities of
his journey, seemed like music to her. She did not know how her heart
had hungered for him, till she felt how satisfied she was now in his
presence.
They reached the church before she thought it possible; Gertrude was
not in the porch, and Denys paused a moment in the doorway and glanced
about for her. Yes! there she was, some distance down the aisle,
comfortably ensconced between Mrs. Henchman's medical man, Dr. Wyatt,
and his sister, and as Denys descried her, she turned her pretty face
to answer some remark of the doctor's and caught sight of Denys and
Charlie, and her smile and shake of the head were easily translated.
"She is not going to sit with us," said Charlie, "so _that's_ all
right."
It was nearly eight o'clock, and Denys, full of her happy thoughts,
let her eyes wander round the church, noting its pillars, its high
arched roof, its electric lights, and the ever-increasing crowd which
moved softly up the aisle till every seat that she could see was
occupied.
And then came the choir. She watched their faces eagerly. Would she
recognise Billy Burr? And which was Dickie Lowe? Ah! those two must be
the golden-haired twins about whom Mr. Owen had told her and Charlie
three years ago, now no longer the foremost in the little procession,
but as unknowable apart as ever, as they preceded the tenors. And
there, behind all, was Mr. Owen's familiar face! Denys knelt with all
the congregation, waiting and longing to hear his deep, strong voice
in the collects which began the service. But it was a curate who read
the prayers, and the words passed unheeded over Denys's head, for her
heart was back in Saltmarsh among the days when she had first known
Mr. Owen and Charlie.
So the music began and a voice rose plaintively--
"And they came to a place called Gethsemane."
The words came into the midst of Denys's wandering thoughts with a
startling suddenness. She saw again the darkness gathering under the
trees, the black shadows of the bushes and the Easter moon above!
"Could ye not watch with Me one brief hour?"
How the voice rang down the church!
What had she come there for?
To think of Charlie--of her happiness? She could have stayed at home
to do that.
Was it for the music she had come? No, for mere music she would not
have come out on this first evening of Charlie's return.
For what had she come then?
"Could ye not watch with Me one brief hour?"
The tender words stole down into the depths of her heart and stirred
it to a tenderness that she had never felt for her Saviour before. She
seemed, as the organ sounded out the Processional to Calvary, to
be one of the crowd gathering round the lonely figure in the Via
Dolorosa, and to be passing out through the gates of the city with the
triumphant song--
Fling wide the Gates!
Fling wide the Gates!
For the Saviour waits
To tread in His royal way!
He has come from above
In His power and love,
To die on this Passion Day.
The triumph of it, and the humiliation of it engrossed her.
How sweet is the grace of His sacred face,
And lovely beyond compare!
So with her eyes on His face, her feet following His pathway of
sorrow, forgetful of all else, she went on with Him to the end.
It was over!
The congregation passed out again under the starlit, moonlit sky, and
left the church with the words--
All for Jesus, all for Jesus!
still echoing softly amid the arches of the roof.
* * * * *
It was a very bright and lively party that sat round Mrs. Henchman's
supper-table that night. Mrs. Henchman, with Charlie beside
her, seemed brightest of all, and yet Denys fancied--was it only
fancy?--that when her hostess spoke to her or glanced at her, there
was a coldness in her voice and glance that she had not seen before.
Audrey divided her attentions between her brother and Cecil Greyburne,
with whose appearance at the concert she had been much gratified; but
as the meal progressed, Denys began to notice that Audrey did not
by any chance speak to her, and kept her eyes studiously in another
direction.
A shadow fell over Denys's happiness, but she drove it away with her
usual good-tempered large-mindedness. This was the first time that
Mrs. Henchman and Audrey had had to realise that Charlie was no longer
exclusively their own, and of course they felt that she was the cause!
They would be all right to-morrow.
But when Mary came in to clear the supper, Denys began to think
that there might be something more than that the matter, for Mary's
indignant and lowering look at her suddenly reminded her of that
unfortunate moment in the kitchen before she started out to meet
Charlie. She grew hot all over. Surely Mary could not have taken
serious offence at what she had said!
She had no opportunity to do more than think of the possibility,
before she found herself politely but unceremoniously hustled off to
bed, and as she and Gertrude left the drawing-room, an unconscious
backward glance showed her Mrs. Henchman cosily pulling forward a
couple of armchairs to the fireside.
Well! it was natural, of course.
Up in her room she began laying away her hat and jacket and putting
out the dress she would need in the morning, when, after a hasty
knock, Audrey entered, and carefully closed the door behind her.
"Look here, Denys," she said, a little breathlessly, "I have come
up to say that I do think it is too bad of you to go upsetting our
servant. When I came home I found mother in an awful state--perfectly
awful--and all through your interfering with Mary, and telling her to
take care of mother! Of course, Mary did not like it, and poor mother
had to bear it all alone. It _is_ a shame."
So Mary had not taken care of Mrs. Henchman, but had gone up and
complained of Denys. That much was clear!
It did not help Denys that she could see Gertrude, as she brushed out
her long, dark hair, shaking with suppressed laughter, but before she
could think of anything to say to defend herself, Audrey had begun
again.
"I never thought we should have an interfering daughter-in-law," she
said. "You are not Mrs. Henchman _yet_ to give orders to our servant!
Mother is awfully annoyed, and as to Charlie----!"
Denys drew herself up a little.
"I think, Audrey," she said coldly, "that quite enough has been said
about this. I had not the faintest thought of being interfering. I
only spoke to Mary as I should have thought any visitor in my home
might speak to our maid, if mother were alone and ill. And I think
that it would have been more suitable if your mother or Charlie had
spoken to me themselves about it. I will tell them to-morrow how very,
very sorry I am your mother has been upset."
"Oh, I hope you will do nothing of the kind," cried Audrey. "Do
let her forget it, if possible, poor thing! And as for Charlie, _of
course_, mother does not annoy him with worries the first five minutes
he is in the house, and why should he be made angry? as he would be if
he knew. Pray let the whole matter drop."
Denys was silent, and Audrey went away, shutting the door noisily.
"Well!" said Gertrude, when her footsteps had died away, "now I may
laugh in peace! I don't congratulate you on the tempers of your
future relations, Denys." But Denys was too utterly overset to attempt
defence or condemnation. Great tears welled up into her eyes and
rolled down her cheeks as fast as she wiped them away. She was glad
that Gertrude took her side, but she felt that Gertrude's own vagaries
had helped not a little, in the avalanche of blame which had fallen
upon her head.
She could not go to sleep. She lay in the darkness, her pillow wet
with those great tears which she could not seem to stop, her mind
going backwards and forwards over it all unceasingly, in a maze of
useless regrets and annoyance, until suddenly a melody she had heard
that evening seemed to float into her mind.
Oh, come unto Me!
Oh, come unto Me! Oh, come unto Me!
Ah, there was rest there!
To the rhythm of the soft, soothing melody she fell asleep.