Esther seemed to have quite naturally accepted Woodview as a final stage.
Any further change in her life she did not seem to regard as possible or
desirable. One of these days her boy would get settled; he would come down
now and again to see her. She did not want any more than that. No, she did
not find the place lonely. A young girl might, but she was no longer a
young girl; she had her work to do, and when it was done she was glad to
sit down to rest.
And, dressed in long cloaks, the women went for walks together; sometimes
they went up the hill, sometimes into Southwick to make some little
purchases. On Sundays they walked to Beeding to attend meeting. And they
came home along the winter roads, the peace and happiness of prayer upon
their faces, holding their skirts out of the mud, unashamed of their
common boots. They made no acquaintances, seeming to find in each other
all necessary companionship. Their heads bent a little forward, they
trudged home, talking of what they were in the habit of talking, that
another tree had been blown down, that Jack was now earning good
money--ten shillings a week. Esther hoped it would last. Or else Esther
told her mistress that she had heard that one of Mr. Arthur's horses had
won a race. He lived in the North of England, where he had a small
training stable, and his mother never heard of him except through the
sporting papers. "He hasn't been here for four years," Mrs. Barfield said;
"he hates the place; he wouldn't care if I were to burn it down
to-morrow.... However, I do the best I can, hoping that one day he'll
marry and come and live here."
Mr. Arthur--that was how Mrs. Barfield and Esther spoke of him--did not
draw any income from the estate. The rents only sufficed to pay the
charges and the widow's jointure. All the land was let; the house he had
tried to let, but it had been found impossible to find a tenant, unless
Mr. Arthur would expend some considerable sum in putting the house and
grounds into a state of proper repair. This he did not care to do; he said
that he found race-horses a more profitable speculation. Besides, even the
park had been let on lease; nothing remained to him but the house and lawn
and garden; he could no longer gallop a horse on the hill without
somebody's leave, so he didn't care what became of the place. His mother
might go on living there, keeping things together as she called it; he did
not mind what she did as long as she didn't bother him. So did he express
himself regarding Woodview on the rare occasion of his visits, and when he
troubled to answer his mother's letters. Mrs. Barfield, whose thoughts
were limited to the estate, was pained by his indifference; she gradually
ceased to consult him, and when Beeding was too far for her to walk she
had the furniture removed from the drawing-room and a long deal table
placed there instead. She had not asked herself if Arthur would object to
her inviting a few brethren of the neighbourhood to her house for meeting,
or publishing the meetings by notices posted on the lodge gate.
One day Mrs. Barfield and Esther were walking in the avenue, when, to
their surprise, they saw Mr. Arthur open the white gate and come through.
The mother hastened forward to meet her son, but paused, dismayed by the
anger that looked out of his eyes. He did not like the notices, and she
was sorry that he was annoyed. She didn't think that he would mind them,
and she hastened by his side, pleading her excuses. But to her great
sorrow Arthur did not seem to be able to overcome his annoyance. He
refused to listen, and continued his reproaches, saying the things that he
knew would most pain her.
He did not care whether the trees stood or fell, whether the cement
remained upon the walls or dropped from them; he didn't draw a penny of
income from the place, and did not care a damn what became of it. He
allowed her to live there, she got her jointure out of the property, and
he didn't want to interfere with her, but what he could not stand was the
snuffy little folk from the town coming round his house. The Barfields at
least were county, and he wished Woodview to remain county as long as the
walls held together. He wasn't a bit ashamed of all this ruin. You could
receive the Prince of Wales in a ruin, but he wouldn't care to ask him
into a dissenting chapel. Mrs. Barfield answered that she didn't see how
the mere assembling of a few friends in prayer could disgrace a house. She
did not know that he objected to her asking them. She would not ask them
any more. The only thing was that there was no place nearer than Beeding
where they could meet, and she could no longer walk so far. She would have
to give up meeting.
"It seems to me a strange taste to want to kneel down with a lot of little
shop-keepers.... Is this where you kneel?" he said, pointing to the long
deal table. "The place is a regular little Bethel."
"Our Lord said that when a number should gather together for prayer that
He would be among them. Those are true words, and as we get old we feel
more and more the want of this communion of spirit. It is only then that
we feel that we're really with God.... The folk that you despise are equal
in His sight. And living here alone, what should I be without prayer? and
Esther, after her life of trouble and strife, what would she be without
prayer?... It is our consolation."
"I think one should choose one's company for prayer as for everything
else. Besides, what do you get out of it? Miracles don't happen nowadays."
"You're very young, Arthur, and you cannot feel the want of prayer as we
do--two old women living in this lonely house. As age and solitude
overtake us, the realities of life float away and we become more and more
sensible to the mystery which surrounds us. And our Lord Jesus Christ gave
us love and prayer so that we might see a little further."
An expression of great beauty came upon her face, that unconscious
resignation which, like the twilight, hallows and transforms. In such
moments the humblest hearts are at one with nature, and speaks out of the
eternal wisdom of things. So even this common racing man was touched, and
he said--
"I'm sorry if I said anything to hurt your religious feelings."
Mrs. Barfield did not answer.
"Do you not accept my apologies, mother?"
"My dear boy, what do I care for your apologies; what are they to me? All
I think of now is your conversion to Christ. Nothing else matters. I shall
always pray for that."
"You may have whom you like up here; I don't mind if it makes you happy.
I'm ashamed of myself. Don't let's say any more about it. I'm only down
for the day. I'm going home to-morrow."
"Home, Arthur! this is your home. I can't bear to hear you speak of any
other place as your home."
"Well, mother, then I shall say that I'm going back to business
to-morrow."
Mrs. Barfield sighed.