VISITORS
IT was not till the autumn came that Kitty and Avice came together to
pay Hope a visit.
She met them at the station herself, and was struck by the change in
both of them. Kitty had lost her childish look; she was slighter in
figure and taller, was as impetuous and eager as ever, but not so
thoughtless in her speech, and seemed to have learnt self-control.
Avice, from being a fresh complacent-looking girl, had become a
nervous fretful invalid, full of her own aches and pains and sensitive
feelings. Hope was quite shocked to see her.
She talked cheerfully to them both, took them to their comfortable
bedrooms, and then as usual poured out her disappointment into her
husband's ears.
"I must tell you a private little idea of my own," she said to him.
"You know how difficult I find it to visit as much as I should like
amongst our villagers here. I thought that perhaps when Kitty goes
out to Canada, Avice could come here and be a kind of district nurse
and visitor. If she liked to be independent, she could lodge in the
village. It is what she loved doing—visiting the poor, and having
classes and meetings for them. Our Rector would be only too delighted.
But now I have seen Avice, my castle has tumbled to the ground. She
seems quite crushed by her father's death, as if she has no spirit
left, and such a discontented whining voice! I am quite astonished at
the change in her."
"Don't be hard on the girl. It's just the sudden cessation, I expect,
of all interest in others that has brought about a reaction."
"Yes, perhaps you are right. She has lost more by her father's death
than Kitty has."
At dinner that night Kitty chattered away in her old style; but though
Lancelot did his very best to entertain and interest Avice, he could
hardly win a word from her. He had to attend a village meeting that
evening, so Hope was left with the two girls. Conversation became very
heavy in the drawing-room. Avice seemed to be a dead weight upon the
atmosphere. At last she said she would like to go to bed, and it was
with a sense of relief that Hope accompanied her upstairs. When she was
in her bedroom with her, she stooped down and kissed her.
"Good-night, Avice," she said tenderly. "I can't tell you how I feel
for you. I have gone through the same trouble myself so recently, that
I know a little of the blank that there must be in your life."
"Thank you," was the uncivil reply. "Everybody tells me the same, but I
don't know that it alters my feelings much to be told that my loss is
one common to all."
For one moment Hope felt quite vexed, then she replied:
"No, it does not alter the fact of your grief, of course. You must tell
me, when you are more at home with me, what your plans are for the
future. I hope you will sleep well. Good-night."
She would have been astonished could she have seen Avice, when the door
was closed, fling herself upon her bed in a tempest of sobs.
"I wish I had never come. I never cared for her. She was always so
uninteresting, and now she seems to glory in her position here, and
gloats over my misfortunes. I know she never liked me. I hate her pity
and patronage. Oh, I wish I were dead! I have nothing to live for.
Everything has been taken from me. No one understands me, and no one
cares what becomes of me!"
Poor Avice was going through a very bitter experience. From being the
centre of a circle of admiring and devoted people, she was suddenly
displaced from her pedestal, and became a mere unit, and a very
insignificant one, in Kayminster.
[Illustration: "YOU MUST TELL ME WHAT YOUR PLANS ARE FOR THE FUTURE."]
She had never cared for making friends with her equals. She had always
posed as a saintly benefactor to her inferiors, and their homage was
her chief delight in life. Now that was swept away from her, she felt
like a rudderless boat; she had no goal in life, no purpose, no hope.
Her work had come first and not her God. Hope would have pitied her
much more if she had known the real misery of soul that was hers.
When she reached the drawing-room again, she found that Kitty had drawn
up two low chairs to the wood-fire, and was anxiously waiting for her
appearance.
"Why, Kitty, aren't you thinking of going to bed, too?"
"Indeed I'm not! I'm simply thirsting to have you to myself! Now come
and sit here, and let me pour out, or I shall explode! I'm so thankful
your thoughtful husband has taken himself of to-night. It is too good
an opportunity to lose. Oh, Hope, what a darling you are! First let me
give you a hug, if I dare. You're so regal in your satin gown. I've
never seen you in evening-dress before. You look so queenly! Doesn't
Mr. Dane sometimes long to give you a good squeeze when you look so
lovely? I do!"
Hope laughed merrily as she submitted herself to one of Kitty's "hugs."
Then the girl seated herself beside her, and began her confidence in
eager excitement.
"I've heard from Brian that he is building a house in his spare time.
He has a grant of land of his own, and he is going to work at this
house all the winter. Then in the spring—next spring—I'm to go out to
him, and I've been sending him plans for all the rooms. We shall have
to work awfully hard, he says, but I shall love it. I wriggle with
delight when I think of it! Now that's my tit-bit of news, the bit
that keeps my spirits up. And I'm collecting—oh, you'll laugh, but
I know what it takes to stock a kitchen—I'm collecting with any odd
pence that I can save, such a medley of articles, which I keep in what
I call my kist. A tin toasting-fork, a cake-tin, a pepper-box, a tin
spoon, an egg-whisk—all a penny each. Then I have bits of flannel and
odd dusters—you've no idea what a lot you can get with a few coppers.
Avice looks on and laughs at me—metaphorically, I mean—I wish she did
in truth, for she's so depressingly dismal that I don't know what to do
with her.
"Oh, Hope, you have no idea what our life is like in lodgings! Avice
hardly ever speaks to me. She sits and mopes. I made her come to
the cathedral services once or twice, but she says it makes her too
miserable to go there. I wonder if it would have been better to have
stayed on in our village in lodgings; but the fact was, that we heard
almost directly who was going to have the living. The Vicar of Nutton,
about ten miles off, was offered it, and his wife is one of the most
energetic and managing of women! Avice never liked her, when she used
to meet her at the clerical meeting, because she always tried to give
her good advice, and we both felt we had better be gone before she
arrived. And if you don't breathe a word, I believe a certain curate
has made Avice very unhappy. He was always consulting with her and kind
of carrying on—you know the style, paying her great attention, &c.—and
now since father's death, he hasn't come near us, or sent her one line.
I believe she was really fond of him, but he can't afford to marry.
Anyhow, he's behaved like a brute, and I hate him!"
Kitty paused for breath.
"I wish," said Hope wistfully, "that I could get at your sister's
heart. I feel so dreadfully sorry for her."
"She hasn't a little idea about money," went on Kitty. "She thinks we
ought to be just as comfortable in lodgings as we were at home, and is
quite cross with me because I won't let her buy chickens for dinner at
three shillings each! I asked her if she would like to be a kind of
deaconess, or join a sisterhood. I thought that would just suit her,
but do you know, she hates women of her own class, and said she would
be miserable with a lot of old maids! She made me laugh, I couldn't
help it; and then, of course, she gets cross. She thinks I'm as hard
as stone, because I get up a laugh now and then; but I'm sure it would
be a black world if everybody who lost a relative never laughed again!
Besides, I tell her that laughing keeps you in health, some doctor told
me that once; and if you're poor, the great thing is to keep well, for
doctors and drugs are so expensive!"
So Kitty talked away, sometimes showing real earnestness of feeling,
sometimes as nonsensical as a child. When she went to bed at last, she
gave Hope another squeeze.
"There's no one like you in all the world, I know there isn't! And if I
had only been a man, I would have walked in and snapped you up in front
of Mr. Dane's nose. Is he really as good as he ought to be to you? I
shall watch him very closely, and if he isn't, I shall let him know it!"
Before many days were over, Kitty was like one of the house. She knew
every human being and every animal for a couple of miles round, and
was on friendly terms with them all. Her fresh young voice, and cheery
whistle and laugh, was heard the first thing in the morning and the
last at night. She was delighted when Lancelot gave her a quiet cob to
ride, and in spite of very little previous experience, tenaciously kept
her seat in various experiments, which filled Hope with fears for her
safety.
When she remonstrated with her for attempting to leap a gate, Kitty
retorted:
"My dear Hope, a colonist's wife must know how to jump anything! I'm
training myself for the future, and I want to swim a river with him,
if your husband will let me. You see, I want to be an all round sort
of wife to Brian. I know you won't be shocked, but I'm going to take a
lesson to-morrow in felling trees. Your woodman is going to show me.
They're cutting down trees in your big wood. Dan Murphy is an Irishman,
and his wife's name is Kitty, so he's the greatest friends with me. He
says Yorkshire breeds the stoniest lot of men and women in the world,
but they're real good sort if they take a fancy to you! His wife is
a Yorkshire girl, so of course he knows. He has got a small axe that
he says will just suit me, but I mean to have a try with a big one.
I've plenty of muscle—always had! I want to be able to take a hand
in anything with Brian. We're not going to be a pair in tandem, but
abreast in everything!"
Whilst Kitty was thoroughly enjoying herself, Hope tried hard to win
Avice's confidence. She drove her out. She sat under the trees upon the
lawn, and read and worked with her. She took her to visit some of the
cottagers in the village, and did all she could to awaken her interest
in things around her. But it was all in vain. Avice responded civilly
but listlessly to all that was said, and relapsed into gloomy thought
when left alone. She announced one morning that their visit must come
to an end; and though Hope would have liked to keep them longer for
Kitty's sake, she did not like to press them to stay, when she saw that
Avice was not happy with her.
Lancelot suggested that Avice should go, but that Kitty should stay on.
He genuinely liked the latter, and told his wife that they had better
offer her a home till she was married. But Kitty herself would not hear
of this.
"I am bound to stay with Avice. She can't get on alone. I don't know
how it is, but she seems to have lost her backbone."
The last evening of their stay, Hope went to Avice's room after she
had retired for the night. She sat down and talked about Kitty and the
future, and was glad to find that Avice was more responsive than usual.
She was just on the point of leaving her, when the girl turned abruptly
to her.
"You have been very kind to us," she said, with a little choke in her
voice. "I should like to thank you. I feel this is a judgment upon me
for never trying to do anything for you, when you lived near us. I have
been brought myself to poverty and—and I know how bitter it is, perhaps
even more than you did! You must have always realised that it would be
only for a time until you married, and of course that is what comforts
Kitty. For me—"
She stopped, then astounded Hope by bursting into tears.
In a moment, warm-hearted Hope had thrown her arms round her, and was
almost crying in sympathy.
"Oh," sobbed Avice, "everything has gone from me. Home, father, and
work; every one I know and care for, all swept away! What is the good
of living! I wish I were dead!"
Hope did not reprove her for this outburst; she was delighted that the
icy reserve had melted at last.
"You feel exactly as I did when I thought my husband was dead. Oh,
Avice, I was so wretched and so wickedly rebellious; I do know, indeed,
how you feel. But I don't believe God will leave you like this. He will
send you comfort. It is just a very dark rough bit of road, and it is
going to lead you out into brighter sunshine than you had before! God
is testing you as He tested me. I failed miserably, but you must not.
Look up, and take courage, and believe that God is leading you on to
better things. I know He is."
Hope's voice rang with such confident assurance that Avice's sobs
ceased.
"Ah," she said, hiding her face in her hands, "I don't love or believe
in God, as I should. That is the trouble. I have been a hypocrite all
my life, and have only just found it out. I always taught others beyond
my own experience, and preached lessons of resignation and submission
to them when I had never learnt them myself. I feel God has cast me off
in disgust, and will have nothing more to do with me."
Kitty impatiently waited for Hope to come and wish her good-night. But
she waited a good hour before Hope appeared.
When she stooped over her in bed, her eyes were full of tears.
"Why, Hope, what's the matter? You're looking so happy, and yet you're
crying! What has happened? Tell me!"
"I can't tell you all, Kitty. It would not be right. I have been having
a long talk with Avice. Poor girl, she has opened her heart to me at
last. And, Kitty, I'm not going to let you go to-morrow. We'll wire
to your landlady. I've been making plans in my head. If you live in
lodgings, why should you not both live near me? I know a delightful
farm close by, where the good woman would make you both thoroughly
comfortable, and do you much cheaper than any landlady in Kayminster.
Then Avice could help me in the village. I want to start a mothers'
meeting, and a band of hope, and coal and clothing-clubs. She could
teach me all this, and I should profit by her experience, and we should
be all working together."
"Oh," said Kitty, sitting up and thumping her pillow in excitement,
"how delicious it sounds! But first, Avice will never agree; and then I
must be earning my own living."
"Go to sleep. I mean to carry my plan out. It's all nonsense about your
earning your own living. You and Avice can live in this way for next to
nothing."
She would not discuss the matter further with Kitty then, and she never
told her what had passed between herself and Avice; but the next day
the telegram was sent, and Avice herself, with a smile upon her lips,
went to the farm which Hope had mentioned, and made arrangements for
herself and Kitty to board there.
"Hope, you're a marvel!" Kitty exclaimed. "You have bewitched Avice.
She is not herself at all. I'm quite frightened at the sudden change in
her. I hope she isn't going to die!"
"You see," she further explained to Lancelot, when he and she happened
to be alone in the library that afternoon, "I ought not to be so
astonished, for Hope is what I call a very contagious person; but Avice
always seemed proof against her, and now she has simply been knocked
down flat by Hope's wiles, straightened out, and built up again on
totally different lines. Fancy Avice saying to me, as she did this
morning,—
"'Oh, Kitty, I've been all wrong all my life; I wonder if I can begin
over again!'
"And this from the pink of perfection, the 'angel' of the village!
You know, Mr. Dane, when first I saw Hope, I knew she was born to
fascinate. There was something in her eyes when she looked at you, and
I suppose some people are just like the sun—they can't help warming you
through, whether you like it or not. Brian told me Hope's face, when
he came into his tea tired out, was better than a tonic, and if Avice
hadn't purposely kept out of her way at King's Dell, she would have
been different long ago!"
"You credit Hope with a great deal," said Lancelot, with mirthful eyes.
"Go on; tell me more of her wiles."
"Of course, you are as pleased as punch with my discernment," said
Kitty audaciously. "Hope is bound to do people good all along the line,
because she is so happy. Why, that old Squire Spencer, as they call
him, is waking up to take interest in his property at last! Of course,
people say it is his sister's doing, but he would never have had her to
live with him if it hadn't been for Hope. He told me so when I went to
wish him goodbye. He said,—
"'That Hope St. Clair is making a great mistake by marrying that Indian
fellow. She had missed an opportunity of being a wealthy woman.'
"'Ah,' I said, 'she doesn't believe in money much.'
"'I know she does not,' and he spoke quite sadly. 'Well, we shall see
one day if she is right or not. Anyhow, I believe in her enough to
follow some of her advice, else I would never have got rid of those
Hadleys and invited my sister down.'"
Kitty paused, for Hope had entered the room.
"We're talking about you. I'm just telling Mr. Dane how you take people
in hand. The Manners consider all their happiness due to you!"
"Oh, Kitty, don't be so foolish," Hope shut her up promptly.
But Kitty said in a loud aside to Lancelot:
"You wait till she leaves us together again, and I'll tell you a few
things about her. Things that Brian had told me, and he ought to know
the truth about her if any one does."