looked up with a rather sickly smile. "You see, this practice of
throwing the responsibility of first choice upon the senior is, no
doubt, ordained for some wise purpose."
"In the sixth chapter of the First Book of Chronicles," said Mr
Winterton, with a steely twinkle in his eye, "we read how certain cities
were apportioned to the priests and Levites by lot. Now, it struck me
that in a case of this kind, where the guidance of--"
"Brother Winterton," said Mr Bloxam, severely, "when a practice such as
this has, so to speak, been `made an ordinance in Israel,' no minister
should dare to think himself justified in departing from it. I shall
certainly follow the course laid down by wiser men than myself. In
making the choice I shall be guided by the light which I have prayed may
be vouchsafed to me, and if by means of that light I see unmistakable
signs of a--that is, if I, as it were, see the finger of Providence
pointing out any particular lady as the one most suitable as a partner,
I shall not allow such a trivial consideration as mere youth on her part
to deter me from following the path of duty."
At this Mr Wardley set down on the ground his plate with the
hardly-tasted chop and gazed into indefinite distance with an extremely
doleful expression. Mr Winterton went on eating his supper with a
countenance of inscrutable gravity.
Soon after supper the two elder men laid themselves down to sleep--Mr
Bloxam to dream of the black eyes, the rosy lips, and the girlish graces
which, he fondly hoped, were going to turn the near-approaching winter
of his years into a halcyon spring. Mr Winterton was neither delighted
nor disturbed by dreams. He had a good conscience, an excellent
digestion, and Nature had not blessed or cursed him with an imagination.
Mr Wardley climbed the steep side of the hill at the base of which the
wagons were outspanned, for a short distance, and then sat down on a
stone and gazed at the thrilling sky, from which the veil of haze was
now withdrawn. His heart was heavy with foreboding, and the same eyes,
lips, and youthful, feminine graces which gilded the visions of Mr
Bloxam brought him the pains of Tantalus. He sat thus until the
mocking, sentimental promise of the unarisen moon filled all the west,
and then he fled back to the wagons to try and escape from the burthen
of his thoughts.
At next morning's dawn the sleepers were aroused, and the oxen stepped
forward with the unladen wagons lightly as though treading the flowery
path of Love.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Two_.
Five days previous to the opening of this story the Reverend Josiah
Wiseman, with Louisa, his wife, stepped down from the parsonage on "The
Hill," to the jetty at Port Elizabeth, immediately after the good ship
_Silver Linings_ of Leith, cast anchor in the roadstead, and engaged the
services of a boatman to convey them to the vessel. The day was fine
and the sea was smooth, or else Mrs Wiseman would never have trusted
herself even on this, the fringe of the great waters. She was one of
those motherly parties who never become old in heart or feeling, and
consequently never cease to take an interest in the love-affairs of
their acquaintances. Neither the forty-eight years of her life nor her
massive bulk had tamed her sprightliness or dimmed her merry eye. She
had looked more or less the same for the past twenty years; even her
increase of size had been so gradual that, however striking her portly
presence may have been to strangers, her husband and her intimate
acquaintances did not notice it as being anything remarkable. She had
come gently down the hill of Time like a snowball rolling down a gradual
slope and continually gathering accretions without altering much in
general appearance. Her only child, a girl, had died in its infancy
many years previously, and the unexpended motherhood of her nature
seemed to expand and envelop every girl in love, or about to marry, in
its sympathetic folds. She had come out in her youth under
circumstances similar to those of the three ladies sent out as brides
for the ministers whose acquaintance we have made, and who were
passengers by the _Silver Lining_. These damsels were to be her guests
until their marriage, and she was now on her way to welcome them.
As the boat drew near the vessel's side, the bright, pretty face of a
young girl, who was gazing intently at the shore, might have been seen
above the rail. She had very large, dark eyes, brown wavy hair, rosy
cheeks, and a mouth like a rosebud in a hurry to blossom. Add to the
foregoing a stature rather below the middle height, a neatly turned
figure and remarkably pretty feet and hands, and you have a fairly
recognisable portrait of Miss Stella Mason, the delineation of whose
charms had already impressed the middle-aged but inflammable heart of
the Reverend Peter Bloxam and filled the sentimental bosom of the
Reverend Mark Wardley with hopeless woe.
Sitting together under an awning aft of the companion hatch were two
austere-looking damsels of uncertain age, who, in spite of considerable
diversity of appearance, might have been taken for sisters, so much did
they resemble each other in dress, deportment and expression. Each had
a book of a highly moral tone lying open upon her discreet lap, and was
reading therein in ostentatious disregard of what minds less absorbed by
the higher spheres of morality would have considered the interesting
prospect afforded by this, the first glimpse of the land which was to be
their future home. They had, as a matter of fact, already taken a good
look at the shore from their cabin windows; but now the abiding abstract
principles that governed their circumspect lives again claimed their
attention to the exclusion of unimportant detail.
They both wore dresses of brown linsey, buttoned very high at the
throat, and black straw hats innocent of all but the very simplest of
trimming. Their white, rather bony hands were skirted by immaculate
cuffs. The elder of the two, Miss Lavinia Simpson, had light-brown
hair, brushed smoothly back from a high forehead, and her longish upper
lip protruded over a somewhat receding chin. Her face was pale and
narrow, and she wore spectacles over eyes of an indeterminate hue. Her
companion, Miss Matilda Whitmore, had hair of a darker shade of brown,
and wide, light-blue eyes. Her face was broad and her cheekbones rather
high. The thin lips of her pursed mouth strongly suggested a potatoes,
prunes, and prism training. These ladies seemed to exhale an atmosphere
of uncompromising and aggressive virtue.
Mr Wiseman ascended the companion ladder and introduced himself. Mrs
Wiseman's courage failed her at the prospect of an ascent, so she
remained in the boat, where the three strangers were duly presented to
her, after being handed over by the captain's wife. The boat then
returned to the shore, and the party climbed the hill to the hospitable
threshold of the Parsonage.
It soon became apparent that Miss Mason had been, so to say, sent to
Coventry by the other two, for they kept a marked physical and moral
distance from her. Mrs Wiseman from the first felt drawn towards the
young girl, and the friendly expression of this impulse was at once
resented by the others, who stiffened up and formed themselves into a
defensive alliance, which suggested possibilities of becoming offensive
as well.
The fair Stella, however, did not appear to be chilled in the slightest
degree by the cold shoulders turned towards her by her companions on the
road to Hymen's shrine, for she chatted in the friendliest manner with
Mr and Mrs Wiseman, made herself quite at home at the Parsonage, and
appeared to turn up her pretty little nose at the proper airs of the
others. These, as a matter of fact, had been highly scandalised at what
they considered a flirtation between her and the second mate of the
_Silver Linings_ and even gone the length of remonstrating with her on
the subject of her frivolity. The second mate was a muscular young
Scotsman named Donald Ramsay; with him Stella had struck up a perfectly
innocent friendship, but the severe virtue of Lavinia and Matilda had
received such shocks from what they imagined to be the real state of
affairs, that it became like erected porcupine quills whenever she
approached. Mrs Wiseman soon saw what the true drift of things was, so
she lodged the two elder ladies in one room and put Stella by herself in
another.
The post for Grahamstown was timed to leave next morning, so Mr Wiseman
retired to his study and wrote to the three expectant ones, informing
them of the arrival of the _Silver Lining_ with her precious freight,
after a prosperous voyage.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
After the ladies had retired to their respective chambers kind Mrs
Wiseman wrapped herself in a loose dressing-gown of heroic proportions,
and wandered forth in search of gossip. She first tapped lightly at the
door of the room occupied by Lavinia and Matilda. She heard a whispered
colloquy going on inside, but there was no response to her knock. Then
she turned the handle, with the idea of opening the door and thus saving
her guests the trouble of getting up, in case they were already in bed.
She found, however, that the key had been turned in the lock, so she
stole thankfully away to Stella's room. A faint "Come in," uttered in a
voice that strongly suggested tears, reached her through the panel, and
she entered, to find the girl, whose previous manner had been as that of
one without a single care, flung on the bed, with her face buried in the
pillow, and sobbing as though her heart were breaking. The motherly
sympathy of the women went out to the desolate girl, and she folded her
to a breast where loving kindness and bulk were in proportions of like
vastness.
The girl told all her troubles and fears. Her story was a sad one. An
orphan, and educated at the expense of the Mission Society, she had
chosen the alternative of coming to South Africa and marrying a man she
had never seen or heard of in preference to undertaking teaching work,
which she not alone hated, but was quite unfit for. She had suddenly
made up her mind to this course, to supply the place of one of the
Lavinia-Matilda sisterhood, who was to have come, but who was prevented
from doing so by illness. Alone with her thoughts, amid the silence of
the sea, Stella had come bitterly to regret the step she had
unthinkingly taken. Lavinia and Matilda had disliked her from the
first, and excluded her from their improving companionship. When she
made friends with the young Scotsman, who made her his confidante in
respect of an ardent mutual attachment between himself and a girl he had
left behind him, they had made cruel remarks on the subject, which had
the effect of making her practically drop their acquaintance. Kind Mrs
Wiseman did her best to comfort this belated little sunbird, who had
absorbed some of the sombreness of the plumage of the too highly
domesticated fowls whose cage she had shared during the past three
months, and then retired to her room, where she woke her husband up for
the purpose of making him listen to Stella's history.
Next morning she heard Lavinia--in a voice evidently meant to be
overheard--congratulating Matilda upon the fact that they had locked
their door before retiring to rest, and thus prevented the entrance of
an intruder. "One can never feel quite safe, you know, in savage
countries."
As the week which had to elapse between the arrival of the nymphs and
that of the swains drew to a close, Mrs Wiseman found herself more and
more drawn towards Stella, but unable to approach nearer to anything
like friendliness with the other two. Her relations with Stella no
doubt formed a bar to anything of the kind. Consequently, these
patterns of propriety of the very properest type continued to cultivate
each other's society to a point of exclusiveness that verged upon
rudeness.
As her regard for Stella grew, Mrs Wiseman began to think more and more
of the girl's future. She was well acquainted with the three ministers,
and having had experience of the working of the system under which these
marriages were arranged, she had no difficulty in forecasting Stella's
connubial destiny. She was absolutely certain that the Reverend Peter
Bloxam would see the finger of Providence clearly indicating Stella as
his fore-ordained bride, and she sighed at the incongruous prospect. As
to young Wardley, well, he and Stella would have suited each other
excellently well; but she knew by experience that one might as well
expect children to pass by a rosy-cheeked apple for the sake of a turnip
as to think that the two seniors would prefer the unimpeachable but
mature qualities of either Lavinia or Matilda to the beauty and
sweetness of Stella. Mrs Wiseman herself had come out from England as a
pretty, fresh young girl, and had been promptly and unhesitatingly
recognised as his Providence-selected bride by a man who was almost old
enough to be her father. On the same occasion a certain young minister
(the youngest of the batch) and she had looked at each other with eyes
full of mournful sympathy that was closely akin to love--she from the
side of her old, grizzled bridegroom, and he from that of his antique
bride, who had fallen to him as the youngest of the party by a process
of elimination of the others by his seniors, under Providential
direction. In her case, however, things had, in a measure come right;
her husband and the other clergyman's wife had, after four years, died
within a few months of each other, and when, about a year subsequently,
the widow and the widower met, they found that the mournful element in
their looks had given place to one of hopeful anticipation, which was
duly realised a few months afterwards in a happy marriage. The odds
were, of course, very much against such a fortunate combination
happening in the case of Stella and young Wardley. She sighed more and
more as the time for the arrival of the three suitors drew nigh, and the
gloom of her thoughts seemed to communicate itself to all the others, so
much so that the Parsonage took on the air of a house from which
funerals rather than weddings were expected.
It was the evening before the expected arrival of the bridegrooms. The
brides had retired to their rooms, and Mrs Wiseman went upstairs to have
her usual chat with Stella. They had hitherto by tacit consent avoided
discussion of the approaching events except in the most general terms.
"My dear," said Mrs Wiseman, after a pause in the conversation, "suppose
you and I have a chat about those who are expected to arrive to-morrow;
I know them all, so can tell you what each one is like. Do you realise
that in two days you will be engaged, and that in three you will be
married?"
"Yes," replied Stella; "I am not likely to forget it. I shall be glad
to hear what my future husband is like."
"Well, if I must tell the truth, I think it is a great shame the way
they manage these things--I mean their giving the oldest man first
choice."
"Are a--any of them _very_ old?"
"Well, there is Mr Bloxam; he is the eldest. To speak quite candidly,
he must be at least forty-six. My dear, it's a shame of me to talk like
this, for you cannot help yourself, and I _know_ you'll have to marry
him, and I think it's a great shame. If it had been young Wardley,
now--"
"A--is Mr Wardley young?"
"Yes. My dear, you and Wardley would suit each other just beautifully.
He is not so very young either; he must be nearly thirty, but I have
known him ever since he first came out--quite a boy. He has a temper,
but his wife could manage him perfectly if she weren't a fool or old
enough to be his mother."
"I wonder," said Stella, after a reflective pause, "why Mr Wardley--you
say he is good-looking?"
"He's _handsome_, my dear."
"I wonder why he didn't try and like some girl out here, instead of
letting them pick one out for him at home; especially as he has last
choice, or rather has to take the one neither of the others want."
"All pique, my dear. Young Wardley _did_ like a girl, a nasty little
cat, who flirted with him and threw him over, and has been sorry enough
for it ever since. Just after they quarrelled he met old Bloxam and
Winterton, who could not get out wives until a third minister wanted
one. They persuaded him to put his name to a paper asking to have one
sent out to him as well, and he foolishly did so without considering. I
_know_ he has regretted it ever since. I told him he was a fool just
after he had done it."
"Does he a--care for the other girl still?"
"Not he; he never really cared for her a bit. Dear me! when I think of
his being tied to one of those stiff, proper old tabbies I feel quite
wretched. I know who it will be; just see if it isn't Lavinia, with the
lip and the spectacles. Winterton is by no means a fool, and you may be
sure he will leave _her_ alone. I don't say there's much choice between
them, because, my dear, leaving you to one side, this is just the
commonest lot they have ever sent out; but I'm sure no man would marry
that old thing unless he had to. Now, Matilda--what's her name?
Whitmore, eh?--she'd not be so bad if you could fatten her up and shake
her a bit, and get her right away from that Lavinia, whom I simply can't
bear."
"How will they--when will they tell us--I mean, how will it all be
arranged?"
"Oh, quite simply; there won't be much beating about the bush, I can
assure you. You and Lavinia and Matilda will all sit in the
drawing-room, and the three will be brought in and introduced to you.
Then you will be left to look at each other like a lot of stuffed
parrots; none of you--not even old Bloxam--will be able to talk a bit.
Then to-morrow night an extra long prayer will be given that Providence
may guide you all to choose wisely. Stuff and nonsense! as I've often
told Joe. As if Providence would always give the youngest and prettiest
wives to the old men and the old and ugly ones to young fellows like
Wardley!"
"What is Mr Bloxam like? I suppose I ought to know, as it appears I am
going to marry him," said Stella, losing the drift of her previous
question.
"Fat, fussy, and over forty-five, my dear; that is what I should call
him. He doesn't pray for quite as long as Winterton, but he eats a lot,
and I'm sure he'd be fussy in the house. But I don't want you to hate
me by-and-by in case you should happen to get fond of him, which isn't
likely; so I shan't tell you another word. You'll see him quite soon
enough, in all conscience."
Mrs Wiseman bade the girl an affectionate "Good-night," and then retired
to her room. She found, however, that she could not sleep; she was
weighted by the burthen of painful anticipation. She had long been fond
of Mr Wardley in a motherly way, and during the past week she had
learned to love Stella. She seemed to live once more through her bitter
experience of long ago, and a like blight had now to fall upon these two
in the morning of their life. She felt certain that the hearts of
Stella and Wardley would rush to each other, impelled by strong forces
of both attraction and repulsion, and be damaged in the collision.
When she retired for the night her husband was fast asleep, and as he
was a very heavy sleeper she had no fear of disturbing him. The sight
of him serenely slumbering irritated her so that she longed to shake
him. She blew out the candle, but visions of the sanguine face and the
stout figure of Mr Bloxam--the former wearing an expression of smug
satisfaction and proprietorship; and the frightened, half-desperate, and
wholly disgusted look of Stella, as she submitted to the caresses of her
elderly lover, haunted her with a persistence that became agonising; so
she lit the candle once more. Then another aspect of the case flashed
balefully across her mind, and she sat up in bed, clasping her hands
convulsively to her face. What had she not been doing, wicked woman
that she was? Had she not taken the very course calculated to make the
burthen of the poor girl unbearable? Had she not set the girl's
wandering thoughts flowing in the very direction which should have been
avoided--namely, those of dislike to Mr Bloxam and love for Mr Wardley;
and would not the torrents of emotion to which she would be the prey
during the next two days cut channels so deep that the stream of her
life would never again flow out of them? What could she now do to
repair the mischief wrought by her thoughtlessness? She sat for a long
time with her hands pressed to her face and the hot tears streaming
through her trembling fingers. What could she do--what--what? She got
up from her bed and began pacing the room with quick, nervous steps.
Her tears had now ceased, and her brow was contracted in a deep travail
of thought. All at once she turned sharply round, hurried to the side
of the bed, and began violently shaking her sleeping husband.
"Wake up! Wake up, Joe," she said in a loud voice.
Mr Wiseman was not easy to waken, but the energy of his wife's attack
brought him to a sitting posture on the side of the bed in a very few
seconds.
"Goodness gracious, my dear! what has happened? Is the house on fire?"
He was now wide awake and really startled.
"The house isn't on fire, Joe; don't be a fool, but wake up. I want to
talk to you about something very important."
"Yes, my dear; I'm wide awake, but a--won't the subject keep until
to-morrow?"
"No, it won't keep two minutes. Now, mind, I'm in earnest, so don't
aggravate me."
"Very well, my dear, what do you want to talk to me about?" said he,
trying to suppress a yawn.
"I just want to talk to you about Providence."
Mr Wiseman turned his eyes sharply to his wife's face. "I think, my
dear, that if you were to lie down, perhaps, you might feel better.
Shall I get you a few drops of sal volatile?"
"Look here, Joe. If you want to make me just mad you will go on like
that. I'm not sick, and I'm not dreaming, and you'll hear what I have
to say if I have to make you sit here all night. I want you to tell me,
on your word as a man and a minister, whether you think that Providence
made old Mr Lobbins choose me as his wife and selected Miss Perkins for
you to marry?"
"Well, my dear, it's rather an important--"
"Now, Joe, I'll have a direct answer, or else you don't get to sleep
again to-night. Did Providence specially ordain it?"
"Well, my dear, Providence at least permitted it, that is quite
certain."
"Permitted fiddlesticks! Doesn't Providence in the same way permit of
getting drunk, and stealing, and--and--doing all sorts of wicked
things?"
"Quite true, my dear; it is all very mysterious. We can never hope to
understand why evil is permitted, but we must not forget that, together
with permitting evil, Providence provides the remedy. Even I, in my
humble sphere of ministration, must look upon myself as an instrument
provided by Providence to correct the evil I see around me. That is the
great mercy, that next to the evil lies the means by which it may be
counteracted."
"Joe, you are a dear old man, and you have made it _quite_ clear to me
about Providence. Now, look here, I want you to make me one promise,
and when you have done so you may go to sleep as soon as ever you like."
"Well, my dear, you know that as an honest man I cannot make a promise
blindly; it might bind me to something which my conscience--"
"It is not to do anything, but just to do nothing at all, that I want
you to promise," interrupted his wife. "For the next two days I want
you simply to take no notice of anything out of the common that happens,
and in any case not to interfere without coming to see me first."
"Well, my dear, I think I can safely promise that. But look here, can
you not tell me what this means?"
"It means just this--and you can go and call it out in the streets
to-morrow if you like--that I am not going to let old Bloxam snap up
Stella Mason, nor am I going to see young Wardley hooked by Lavinia.
Now, it's no use looking at me like that or saying another word, for
I've _quite_ made up my mind about it. I cannot tell you how I am going
to manage, and if I could I would not, because you would `look' it out
even if you did not tell it. All you have to do is to keep quite quiet,
take no notice of anything that happens, and come to me if you feel
uneasy. Now you may kiss me, and then go to sleep."
After a few seconds she said in a softer voice. "Joe."
"Yes, my dear."