MAY CLOUDESLEY SPEAKS HER MIND.
SEVERAL engagements prevented Mrs. Cloudesley going to Lady Mabel's
Rest as soon as she had intended, but at last she succeeded in keeping
an hour or two clear for her visit, so she sent a message to Mr.
Trulock very early, to say that she would be with him at one o'clock,
if convenient to him. She was such a punctual little body, that she ran
past Mrs. Short's windows just as that lady's gorgeous clock struck
one, and for a wonder she got by unperceived, for it was Mrs. Short's
dinner hour, and she had no eyes for the passers-by. Mr. Trulock took
her at once into the kitchen, where he had a good fire burning, and for
the first time May saw what a snug room that kitchen could be.
"Well, Mr. Trulock, did you think I had forgotten you? You don't know
how busy we have been."
"I had no fear that you would forget me," Trulock answered, quietly.
"Mr. Cloudesley would have come with me—for he is so much interested in
what you told me; but he fancied that as you had spoken to me before,
you might like to talk to me this time also."
"Well, I think Mr. Cloudesley is right," said Trulock with a smile. "I
don't know that I could talk to any one else as I did that day to you.
I wondered at myself when you were gone, for I had not meant to trouble
you with so long a story."
"But you did not trouble me, except that I was sorry for you. Well, it
seems that my husband saw a letter, written by a Mr. Arnott, and signed
by all your other creditors, which was sent to Mr. Barton when you were
named for this place; in which they say that your conduct had been so
honourable as to command their admiration; that they had had dealings
with you for many years, and felt that in spite of your failure they
had lost nothing by the connection."
"I saw the letter," said Trulock, shortly.
"And they said that they were all most anxious to secure your election;
that they could quite afford to lose the very trifling sums you had not
paid, and that they had written to you to that effect."
"So they did. But, young lady, I could not rest in my grave knowing
that I owed any one a penny."
"Your creditors were all rich men, I think?"
"All of them. Except in the way of business I never owed a penny, and I
dealt only with the best houses."
"Suppose you had not been elected to the Rest, I think they meant to
have made a subscription for you, Mr. Trulock."
"Madam!" said the old man almost fiercely, "I would have gone to the
poorhouse before I accepted their charity!"
"Ah, Mr. Trulock! That is what Gilbert bid me say to you!"
"What?" cried Ralph, with a start. "That I ought to have done that—gone
to the poorhouse?"
"No, no,—but that you must look well to it that in this matter you are
not governed by pride rather than by any better feeling."
"I have always been a proud man," Ralph answered, drawing himself up.
"Mrs. Cloudesley, in living on the barest necessaries of life—and that
I do, for bread and water are my usual food, and I roam the country to
keep myself warm, to save firing,—I am doing the only thing that can
reconcile me to life. People talk of me now as a beaten man, glad to
hide my head in an almshouse, because ill-health, sorrow, and age made
it impossible for me to begin life again. But before I die, I will
prove to these proud, successful men, that I was not so utterly beaten;
that, in spite of age, and failing health, and sorrow to boot, I fought
the battle and kept my honourable name. When I have paid the money, I
may be able to feel grateful to Arnott and the rest for what they said
and did—as it is, I can only just keep from hating them."
May looked at him with a deep sorrow in her sweet eyes.
"Oh, Mr. Trulock," she said, "do forgive me if I speak my mind—and
Gilbert's, for he thinks as I do about it. Is that a Christian spirit?
Your creditors wished to forgive you this debt, they felt kindly
towards you, and were glad that you should not be left in poverty.
You are in an asylum planned to make those who have been unfortunate
forget their difficulties and pass a peaceful life, with every comfort,
even to the power of doing something for others. But you refuse to
accept anything, either from your old friends or from poor dead Lady
Mabel; you shut-up your heart, and will admit no happiness, no kind
feeling,—but just fight on, doggedly, to do what no one wants you to
do—to pay back money which no one needs (for the sums are too small to
make any difference to prosperous men), and all because you are too
proud to accept a kindness from any one, living or dead."
"The money may make no difference to them," said Ralph; "but it makes
all the difference in the world to me."
"But only because you are proud. Why should you not allow men who think
well of you to show you a kindness? Why not submit to the failure of
your business, and try to find peace here, where there are so many who
would be friendly if you would allow them? And Lady Mabel didn't mean
her bequest to be used except for the benefit of those to whom she left
it."
"I asked Mr. Barton if there was any rule obliging me to spend the
money, and he said certainly I might do as I liked," Ralph replied.
"Madam, I warned you that I could not promise to be guided by you. You
were kind to me, and I thought I should like you to know the plain
truth from my own lips; and then you listened so kindly that I was led
on to say more than I intended. But I could not change my nature at
this time of day, madam. A proud man and a hard man I have always been;
giving nothing for nothing, accepting no favours. I've lived so, and I
could live no other way. What good would the money do me? I don't want
to sink into a mere eating machine, like Mrs. Short. I don't care to
seek the company of my neighbours. All I ask is, to be left in peace to
go my own way."
"Yet it does not make you happy."
"Happy! How could I be happy? I have lost all I ever loved,—I loved but
two, and they are gone. I don't look for happiness, madam,—not in this
world."
"Nor in the next," said May Cloudesley, in her soft, sorrowful voice;
"for you are not going the way that leads to it."
"Mrs. Cloudesley!" cried Ralph, half startled, half angry. "I am a
Christian, madam, I believe. I have never doubted the religion I
learned from my mother, the religion that my Annie loved so well."
"You have never doubted it," said May; "but you have never lived it.
'Love is the fulfilling of the law,'—'If any man have not the Spirit of
Christ, he is none of His.' I have only your own word to go upon, but
you say yourself that you have been a proud man and a hard man, keeping
far from you all the charities of life. Oh, don't fancy for a moment
that your belief is Faith. Faith means Obedience,—Obedience is Love in
action. I am not able to make my meaning plain, but my husband will if
you will talk to him. Dear Mr. Trulock, do think over what you have
told me, and then compare your own life with that of our one perfect
Example, who lived on charity, and spent His life in doing good,
without return. I have angered you, but indeed I did not mean to do so."
And poor May, overcome both by a feeling of pity and by a sense of
inability to make her meaning clear, burst into tears.
Trulock looked very much disturbed. He rose quickly and brought some
water, and watched anxiously until she was quite composed. Then he said:
"I should prefer not to speak to Mr. Cloudesley, madam; but I will
think of what you have said. I am not vexed that you should speak
plainly; I like plain speaking. I don't see that you are right, though;
and if I did, I doubt that I could change now."
"Shall I tell you how to begin?" said May.
He shook his head; but she went on: "Help some one, be kind to some one
who needs kindness; use some of your money to relieve those who need
relief; say kind words to some one in sorrow. That's the soil in which
you must grow your Christmas roses," she concluded with a smile.
Trulock looked argumentative.
"Madam," said he; "you will say I am no judge, but I have heard so many
sermons against that kind of thing. It seems to me that you imply that
I can be saved by works."
"There is no question here of being saved," said May, quickly. "You
must be saved by the Lord Jesus Christ, or not at all. But you say you
have faith, and I say with St. James—'Show me thy faith by thy works';
for I think that a faith which leaves us just what nature made us, must
be a dead faith, don't you? We all have our besetting sin to conquer,
and it seems to me that pride is yours; but if you had love in your
heart it would turn out pride. And I think that though we cannot make
ourselves feel love all at once, yet we can do kind things, and then
our hearts will grow soft and warm. And I am sure that if you were
doing kind things for others, you would not dislike so much to accept
kindness from others; at least, I think so. But I am very young and
ignorant, and, I'm afraid, very presumptuous too, to talk to you like
this. You'll forgive me, though, won't you, Mr. Trulock?"
She looked up so sweetly, that he found himself assuring her that he
had nothing to forgive, which a moment before had not been his opinion
at all.
May went home and told her husband all that had passed.
"Well," said he, "you told him some plain truths, May; but you were
quite right. Now we must let him alone a bit. I fancy he will not stand
too much good advice; we'll wait and see how things go."
In May's opinion, things did not go well. Mr. Trulock changed none of
his habits, and was always out when she called. Mrs. Short assured
her that he was living like a slave or a wild Indian, just bread and
water on week days, and a morsel of meat on Sundays only, and a cup of
tea once in a way—not regular at all. Miss Jones said she had invited
him to dine with her, and that he had refused, not very courteously.
And May had no choice but to follow her husband's advice and "let him
alone," for the simple but sufficient reason that she could by no means
get at him.