OF THE CHANGE IN THOMAS
To find ways of making David propose to Elspeth, of making Elspeth
willing to exchange her brother for David--they were heavy tasks, but
Tommy yoked himself to them gallantly and tugged like an Arab steed in
the plough. It should be almost as pleasant to us as to him to think
that love was what made him do it, for he was sure he loved Grizel at
last, and that the one longing of his heart was to marry her; the one
marvel to him was that he had ever longed ardently for anything else.
Well, as you know, she longed for it also, but she was firm in her
resolve that until Elspeth was engaged Tommy should be a single man.
She even made him promise not to kiss her again so long as their love
had to be kept secret. "It will be so sweet to wait," she said
bravely. As we shall see presently, his efforts to put Elspeth into
the hands of David were apparently of no avail, but though this would
have embittered many men, it drew only to the surface some of Tommy's
noblest attributes; as he suffered in silence he became gentler, more
considerate, and acquired a new command over himself. To conquer self
for her sake (this is in the "Letters to a Young Man") is the highest
tribute a man can pay to a woman; it is the only real greatness, and
Tommy had done it now. I could give you a score of proofs. Let us take
his treatment of Aaron Latta.
One day about this time Tommy found himself alone in the house with
Aaron, and had he been the old Tommy he would have waited but a moment
to let Aaron decide which of them should go elsewhere. It was thus
that these two, ever so uncomfortable in each other's presence,
contrived to keep the peace. Now note the change.
"Aaron," said Tommy, in the hush that had fallen on that house since
quiet Elspeth left it, "I have never thanked you in words for all that
you have done for me and Elspeth."
"Dinna do it now, then," replied the warper, fidgeting.
"I must," Tommy said cheerily, "I must"; and he did, while Aaron
scowled.
"It was never done for you," Aaron informed him, "nor for the father
you are the marrows o'."
"It was done for my mother," said Tommy, reverently.
"I'm none so sure o't," Aaron rapped out. "I think I brocht you twa
here as bairns, that the reminder of my shame should ever stand before
me."
But Tommy shook his head, and sat down sympathetically beside the
warper. "You loved her, Aaron," he said simply. "It was an undying
love that made you adopt her orphan children." A charming thought came
to him. "When you brought us here," he said, with some elation,
"Elspeth used to cry at nights because our mother's spirit did not
come to us to comfort us, and I invented boyish explanations to
appease her. But I have learned since why we did not see that spirit;
for though it hovered round this house, its first thought was not for
us, but for him who succoured us."
He could have made it much better had he been able to revise it, but
surely it was touching, and Aaron need not have said "Damn," which was
what he did say.
One knows how most men would have received so harsh an answer to such
gentle words, and we can conceive how a very holy man, say a monk,
would have bowed to it. Even as the monk did Tommy submit, or say
rather with the meekness of a nun.
"I wish I could help you in any way, Aaron," he said, with a sigh.
"You can," replied Aaron, promptly, "by taking yourself off to London,
and leaving Elspeth here wi' me. I never made pretence that I wanted
you, except because she wouldna come without you. Laddie and man, as
weel you ken, you were aye a scunner to me."
"And yet," said Tommy, looking at him admiringly, "you fed and housed
and educated us. Ah, Aaron, do you not see that your dislike gives me
the more reason only to esteem you?" Carried away by desire to help
the old man, he put his hand kindly on his shoulder. "You have never
respected yourself," he said, "since the night you and my mother
parted at the Cuttle Well, and my heart bleeds to think of it. Many a
year ago, by your kindness to two forlorn children, you expiated that
sin, and it is blotted out from your account. Forget it, Aaron, as
every other person has forgotten it, and let the spirit of Jean Myles
see you tranquil once again."
He patted Aaron affectionately; he seemed to be the older of the two.
"Tak' your hand off my shuther," Aaron cried fiercely.
Tommy removed his hand, but he continued to look yearningly at the
warper. Another beautiful thought came to him.
"What are you looking so holy about?" asked Aaron, with misgivings.
"Aaron," cried Tommy, suddenly inspired, "you are not always the
gloomy man you pass for being. You have glorious moments still. You
wake in the morning, and for a second of time you are in the heyday of
your youth, and you and Jean Myles are to walk out to-night. As you
sit by this fire you think you hear her hand on the latch of the door;
as you pass down the street you seem to see her coming towards you. It
is for a moment only, and then you are a gray-haired man again, and
she has been in her grave for many a year; but you have that moment."
Aaron rose, amazed and wrathful. "The de'il tak' you," he cried, "how
did you find out that?"
Perhaps Tommy's nose turned up rapturously in reply, for the best of
us cannot command ourselves altogether at great moments, but when he
spoke he was modest again.
"It was sympathy that told me," he explained; "and, Aaron, if you will
only believe me, it tells me also that a little of the man you were
still clings to you. Come out of the moroseness in which you have
enveloped yourself so long. Think what a joy it would be to Elspeth."
"It's little she would care."
"If you want to hurt her, tell her so."
"I'm no denying but what she's fell fond o' me."
"Then for her sake," Tommy pleaded.
But the warper turned on him with baleful eyes. "She likes me," he
said in a grating voice, "and yet I'm as nothing to her; we are all as
nothing to her beside you. If there hadna been you I should hae become
the father to her I craved to be; but you had mesmerized her; she had
eyes for none but you. I sent you to the herding, meaning to break
your power over her, and all she could think o' was my cruelty in
sindering you. Syne you ran aff wi' her to London, stealing her frae
me. I was without her while she was growing frae lassie to woman, the
years when maybe she could hae made o' me what she willed. Magerful
Tam took the mother frae me, and he lived again in you to tak' the
dochter."
"You really think me masterful--me!" Tommy said, smiling.
"I suppose you never were!" Aaron replied ironically.
"Yes," Tommy admitted frankly, "I was masterful as a boy, ah, and even
quite lately. How we change!" he said musingly.
"How we dinna change!" retorted Aaron, bitterly. He had learned the
truer philosophy.
"Man," he continued, looking Tommy over, "there's times when I see
mair o' your mother than your father in you. She was a wonder at
making believe. The letters about her grandeur that she wrote to
Thrums when she was starving! Even you couldna hae wrote them better.
But she never managed to cheat hersel'. That's whaur you sail away
frae her."
"I used to make believe, Aaron, as you say," Tommy replied sadly. "If
you knew how I feel the folly of it now, perhaps even you would wish
that I felt it less.
"But we must each of us dree his own weird," he proceeded, with
wonderful sweetness, when Aaron did not answer. "And so far, at least,
as Elspeth is concerned, surely I have done my duty. I had the
bringing up of her from the days when she was learning to speak."
"She got into the way o' letting you do everything for her," the
warper responded sourly. "You thought for her, you acted for her, frae
the first; you toomed her, and then filled her up wi' yoursel'."
"She always needed some one to lean on."
"Ay, because you had maimed her. She grew up in the notion that you
were all the earth and the wonder o' the world."
"Could I help that?"
"Help it! Did you try? It was the one thing you were sure o' yoursel';
it was the one thing you thought worth anybody's learning. You stood
before her crowing the whole day. I said the now I wished you would go
and leave her wi' me: but I wouldna dare to keep her; she's helpless
without you; if you took your arm awa frae her now, she would tumble
to the ground."
"I fear it is true, Aaron," Tommy said, with bent head. "Whether she
is so by nature, or whether I have made her so, I cannot tell, but I
fear that what you say is true."
"It's true," said Aaron, "and yours is the wite. There's no life for
her now except what you mak'; she canna see beyond you. Go on thinking
yoursel' a wonder if you like, but mind this: if you were to cast her
off frae you now, she would die like an amputated hand."
To Tommy it was like listening to his doom. Ah, Aaron, even you could
not withhold your pity, did you know how this man is being punished
now for having made Elspeth so dependent on him! Some such thought
passed through Tommy's head, but he was too brave to appeal for pity.
"If that is so," he said firmly, "I take the responsibility for it.
But I began this talk, Aaron, not to intrude my troubles on you, but
hoping to lighten yours. If I could see you smile, Aaron----"
"Drop it!" cried the warper; and then, going closer to him: "You would
hae seen me smile, ay, and heard me laugh, gin you had been here when
Mrs. McLean came yont to read your book to me. She fair insistit on
reading the terrible noble bits to me, and she grat they were so
sublime; but the sublimer they were, the mair I laughed, for I ken
you, Tommy, my man, I ken you."
He spoke with much vehemence, and, after all, our hero was not
perfect. He withdrew stiffly to the other room. I think it was the use
of the word Tommy that enraged him.
But in a very few minutes he scorned himself, and was possessed by a
pensive wonder that one so tragically fated as he could resent an old
man's gibe. Aaron misunderstood him. Was that any reason why he should
not feel sorry for Aaron? He crossed the hallan to the kitchen door,
and stopped there, overcome with pity. The warper was still crouching
by the fire, but his head rested on his chest; he was a weary,
desolate figure, and at the other side of the hearth stood an empty
chair. The picture was the epitome of his life, or so it seemed to the
sympathetic soul at the door, who saw him passing from youth to old
age, staring at the chair that must always be empty. At the same
moment Tommy saw his own future, and in it, too, an empty chair. Yet,
hard as was his own case, at least he knew that he was loved; if her
chair must be empty, the fault was as little hers as his, while
Aaron----
A noble compassion drew him forward, and he put his hand determinedly
on the dear old man's shoulder.
"Aaron," he said, in a tremble of pity, "I know what is the real
sorrow of your life, and I rejoice because I can put an end to it. You
think that Jean Myles never cared for you; but you are strangely
wrong. I was with my mother to the last, Aaron, and I can tell you,
she asked me with her dying breath to say to you that she loved you
all the time."
Aaron tried to rise, but was pushed back into his chair. "Love cannot
die," cried Tommy, triumphantly, like the fairy in the pantomime;
"love is always young----"
He stopped in mid-career at sight of Aaron's disappointing face. "Are
you done?" the warper inquired. "When you and me are alane in this
house there's no room for the both o' us, and as I'll never hae it
said that I made Jean Myles's bairn munt, I'll go out mysel'."
And out he went, and sat on the dyke till Elspeth came home. It did
not turn Tommy sulky. He nodded kindly to Aaron from the window in
token of forgiveness, and next day he spent a valuable hour in making
a cushion for the old man's chair. "He must be left with the
impression that you made it," Tommy explained to Elspeth, "for he
would not take it from me."
"Oh, Tommy, how good you are!"
"I am far from it, Elspeth."
"There is a serenity about you nowadays," she said, "that I don't seem
to have noticed before," and indeed this was true; it was the serenity
that comes to those who, having a mortal wound, can no more be
troubled by the pinpricks.
"There has been nothing to cause it, has there?" Elspeth asked
timidly.
"Only the feeling that I have much to be grateful for," he replied. "I
have you, Elspeth."
"And I have you," she said, "and I want no more. I could never care
for anyone as I care for you, Tommy."
She was speaking unselfishly; she meant to imply delicately that the
doctor's defection need not make Tommy think her unhappy. "Are you
glad?" she asked.
He said Yes bravely. Elspeth, he was determined, should never have the
distress of knowing that for her sake he was giving up the one great
joy which life contains. He was a grander character than most. Men
have often in the world's history made a splendid sacrifice for women,
but if you turn up the annals you will find that the woman nearly
always knew of it.
He told Grizel what Aaron had said and what Elspeth had said. He could
keep nothing from her now; he was done with the world of make-believe
for ever. And it seemed wicked of him to hope, he declared, or to let
her hope. "I ought to give you up, Grizel," he said, with a groan.
"I won't let you," she replied adorably.
"Gemmell has not come near us for a week. I ask him in, but he avoids
the house."
"I don't understand it," Grizel had to admit; "but I think he is fond
of her, I do indeed."
"Even if that were so, I fear she would not accept him. I know Elspeth
so well that I feel I am deceiving you if I say there is any hope."
"Nevertheless you must say it," she answered brightly; "you must say
it and leave me to think it. And I do think it. I believe that
Elspeth, despite her timidity and her dependence on you, is like other
girls at heart, and not more difficult to win.
"And even if it all comes to nothing," she told him, a little faintly,
"I shall not be unhappy. You don't really know me if you think I
should love to be married so--so much as all that."
"It is you, Grizel," he replied, "who don't see that it is myself I am
pitying. It is I who want to be married as much as all that."
Her eyes shone with a soft light, for of course it was what she wanted
him to say. These two seemed to have changed places. That people could
love each other, and there the end, had been his fond philosophy and
her torment. Now, it was she who argued for it and Tommy who shook his
head.
"They can be very, very happy."
"No," he said.
"But one of them is."
"Not the other," he insisted; and of course it was again what she
wanted him to say.
And he was not always despairing. He tried hard to find a way of
bringing David to Elspeth's feet, and once, at least, the apparently
reluctant suitor almost succumbed. Tommy had met him near Aaron's
house, and invited him to come in and hear Elspeth singing. "I did not
know she sang," David said, hesitating.
"She is so shy about it," Tommy replied lightly, "that we can hear her
by stealth only. Aaron and I listen at the door. Come and listen at
the door."
And David had yielded and listened at the door, and afterwards gone in
and remained like one who could not tear himself away. What was more,
he and Elspeth had touched upon the subject of love in their
conversation, Tommy sitting at the window so engrossed in a letter to
Pym that he seemed to hear nothing, though he could repeat everything
afterwards to Grizel.
Elspeth had said, in her shrinking way, that if she were a man she
could love only a woman who was strong and courageous and
helpful--such a woman as Grizel, she had said.
"And yet," David replied, "women have been loved who had none of those
qualities."
"In spite of the want of them?" Elspeth asked.
"Perhaps because of it," said he.
"They are noble qualities," Elspeth maintained a little sadly, and he
assented. "And one of them, at least, is essential," she said. "A
woman has no right to be loved who is not helpful."
"She is helpful to the man who loves her," David replied.
"He would have to do for her," Elspeth said, "the very things she
should be doing for him."
"He may want very much to do them," said David.
"Then it is her weakness that appeals to him. Is not that loving her
for the wrong thing?"
"It may be the right thing," David insisted, "for him."
"And at that point," Tommy said, boyishly, to Grizel, "I ceased to
hear them, I was so elated; I felt that everything was coming right. I
could not give another thought to their future, I was so busy mapping
out my own. I heard a hammering. Do you know what it was? It was our
house going up--your house and mine; our home, Grizel! It was not
here, nor in London. It was near the Thames. I wanted it to be upon
the bank, but you said No, you were afraid of floods. I wanted to
superintend the building, but you conducted me contemptuously to my
desk. You intimated that I did not know how to build--that no one knew
except yourself. You instructed the architect, and bullied the
workmen, and cried for more store-closets. Grizel, I saw the house go
up; I saw you the adoration and terror of your servants; I heard you
singing from room to room."
He was touched by this; all beautiful thoughts touched him.
But as a rule, though Tommy tried to be brave for her sake, it was
usually she who was the comforter now, and he the comforted, and this
was the arrangement that suited Grizel best. Her one thought need no
longer be that she loved him too much, but how much he loved her. It
was not her self-respect that must be humoured back, but his. If hers
lagged, what did it matter? What are her own troubles to a woman when
there is something to do for the man she loves?
"You are too anxious about the future," she said to him, if he had
grown gloomy again. "Can we not be happy in the present, and leave the
future to take care of itself?" How strange to know that it was Grizel
who said this to Tommy, and not Tommy who said it to Grizel!
She delighted in playing the mother to him. "Now you must go back to
your desk," she would say masterfully. "You have three hours' work to
do to-night yet."
"It can wait. Let me stay a little longer with you, Grizel," he
answered humbly. Ha! it was Tommy who was humble now. Not so long ago
he would not have allowed his work to wait for anyone, and Grizel knew
it, and exulted.
"To work, sir," she ordered. "And you must put on your old coat before
you sit down to write, and pull up your cuffs so that they don't
scrape on the desk. Also, you must not think too much about me."
She tried to look businesslike, but she could scarce resist rocking
her arms with delight when she heard herself saying such things to
him. It was as if she had the old doctor once more in her hands.
"What more, Grizel? I like you to order me about."
"Only this. Good afternoon."
"But I am to walk home with you," he entreated.
"No," she said decisively; but she smiled: once upon a time it had
been she who asked for this.
"If you are good," she said, "you shall perhaps see me to-morrow."
"Perhaps only?" He was scared; but she smiled happily again: it had
once been she who had to beg that there should be no perhaps.
"If you are good," she replied,--"and you are not good when you have
such a long face. Smile, you silly boy; smile when I order you. If you
don't I shall not so much as look out at my window to-morrow."
He was the man who had caused her so much agony, and she was looking
at him with the eternally forgiving smile of the mother. "Ah, Grizel,"
Tommy cried passionately, "how brave and unselfish and noble you are,
and what a glorious wife God intended you to be!"
She broke from him with a little cry, but when she turned round again
it was to nod and smile to him.