A CONFESSION
AVICE and Kitty were soon comfortably settled in the farm, and Avice
was fast regaining her health and spirits. But, as Kitty said, there
was a change in her. She was gentler, more diffident of herself, and
wholly devoted to Hope. She threw herself into the village interests
with all her heart, and soon proved a welcome visitor to those she
went to see. Avice was at her very best with the poor. Her gentle
consideration, great tact, and ready sympathy, made her a general
favourite. She confided to Hope that she could never have believed that
she could feel so happy again as she did now.
"It is not that I don't miss dear father. I am always conscious of the
blank, but there are so many others even in this country village who
have worse troubles than I have, and I do enjoy my work amongst them.
Only, Hope, will you pray for me? I don't want to put my work first
before God. I hope I have learnt my lesson. But I feel it will always
be a snare to me."
Autumn went, and the cold North-country winter set in. Mrs. Dane came
to spend Christmas, and in the New Year, Hope went back with her for a
short stay in London. Mrs. Dane had taken a flat there for the winter,
and her youngest son was living with her.
In town, Hope saw many of her old friends again. She smiled as she
realised how many of them were anxious to renew their acquaintance with
her. Minnie Chesney—now Mrs. Aubyn—begged her to come and stay with her
in her town house in Park Lane.
"I always liked you, Hope, and I am very much alone. My husband owns
a racing-stable, and you know how that engrosses a man! Of course I
have plenty of visitors always coming and going, but they're not the
same as old friends. You can't think how delighted I was to hear of
your marriage! That was an awful poky little hole in which you buried
yourself away after your aunt's death. I was thankful when you were
out of it. How is that queer step-brother of yours—the one who tried
to farm? Oh, he is abroad again? What a relief for you! I always think
those kind of young men are so much better in the colonies. It makes it
so uncomfortable for their friends when they come home. And now tell
me about your Yorkshire home and your good husband. I hear Brunsworthy
Hall is a delightful old place. Some one was talking of it the other
day. Is Mr. Dane all right after his accident? I hope it didn't affect
his head in any way. We were so sorry for you, when we heard of it.
You really seemed one of those unfortunate people who have one trouble
after another all their life. I think you've done so wisely in leaving
Mr. Dane at home and coming up to town alone; men are such a nuisance
hanging round with nothing to do, and making rows if any other man
dares to have a word to say to you! And those kind of men who are keen
on their country places are much better left there, I say. They never
seem to want a change, as we poor wives do!"
Hope listened to her, and tried to respond in a friendly manner. She
asked after Hester.
"Oh, she is abroad with mother. They have gone to the Riviera. Poor old
Hester! She would rather be back amongst her bees and flowers any day.
But she's a real good sort—is determined to do her duty, and mother
bullies her accordingly. She'll never be a social success now; she has
had her day, and it's a shame to trot her out so."
Hope gave a sigh of relief when Minnie Aubyn took her departure.
The one visit she did enjoy was that of Lady May, who promised she
would shortly pay her a visit in Yorkshire.
"I have such a lot to tell you," she said to her. "It seems such ages
since we met, and I long for one of our old talks."
"And so do I, May. I have often thought of you."
"I am really happy at home; not doing anything great, you know, as I
used to wish I could, but just the little every-day things as they
come, and taking opportunities as they're given me. I have some nice
things to tell you, and several girls I met abroad are my greatest
friends now."
"I shall hear all about it when you come to stay with me," responded
Hope, "and I hope that day will be soon."
Jim Horrocks of course came to see Hope, and amused Mrs. Dane with his
frank speech and brotherly solicitude for her daughter-in-law.
"There isn't a bit of harm in me," he assured her. "I'm not one
of those who make hash of a married woman's life. I really take a
brotherly interest in Hope, and I'm as safe as—as you are! All I
want is that your son should duly appreciate her, for he's a lucky
man and ought to know it! And I'm not going to give up a life
friendship because she's married. He'll have to include me in his
shooting-parties, and he'll soon see whether he'll keep me on his guest
list. Hope will, I know. She never could forget me! And really, you
know, Mrs. Dane, if any soul on earth could make me into a religious
man, Hope could! I believe in her religion. I knew her before she got
it, and I've known her ever since, and she has had some stiff reverses,
but she's been as sure and steady as a rock all through, and as happy
as a sand-boy! That's the kind of religion a man admires, not a go to
church at six o'clock in the morning after a carousal all night, and a
long face one part of the season and a short face the other. For steady
consistence and real grit, give me Hope, and I wish I was like her!"
But much as Hope enjoyed seeing many of her friends, her heart was with
her home and husband, and she counted each day to her return. When she
eventually turned her face northwards, she resolved that the next visit
to town should be made with her husband, and not without him. And when
she reached their country station and found him awaiting her on the
platform, she sprang towards him with impulsive eagerness.
"Oh, Lancelot, how glad I am to be home again!"
"I have been like a lost dog without you," he rejoined; "I have worked
hard to make the time pass, and have got through a tremendous lot of
business. Now I mean to take a short holiday. We'll have a second sort
of honeymoon."
"Lovely! Now tell me all the news."
She was tucked up in warm rugs, driving in the high dog-cart, which she
and her husband loved.
[Illustration: "OH, LANCELOT, HOW GLAD I AM TO BE HOME AGAIN!"]
"News? We don't move as fast as London does in these parts, you know."
"Have you had any visitors?"
"Sir Thomas and Lady Melton have come home, and called the other
day. They knew my father well. You will like them, but they're quite
characters. They both hunt still, though they have turned seventy, and
they do everything together."
"As we shall, when we're their age, I hope," said Hope laughing—"not
the hunting, but being together, I mean."
"Kitty is in a state of excitement and longing to see you. I told
her that she must not bother you to-night, but that she might come
up the first thing to-morrow morning. She has heard from Brian, and
he wants her to go out next month. I believe she went off to buy her
wedding-dress to-day."
"Oh, Lancelot, you shall not laugh at her. Dear little Kitty! I can
fancy how happy she is!"
Hope enjoyed every bit of that drive home, and when she entered the
house, she went from room to room like a child, to see how nice
everything was looking.
After dinner, she went into the library, and there, over a wood-fire,
she and Lancelot talked together as if they had been separated a year,
instead of a month.
"It feels so airless in town," Hope said; "when I get home again, the
air is life-giving. Do we get the sea breezes here, Lancelot? It feels
like it to me. How far off are we from the sea?"
"Too far for that," he said, smiling, "though my forefathers are
supposed to have come across here from Denmark. They landed in their
vessel at Flamborough Head, and journeyed across the wolds till they
lighted on this spot. The house is not identically the same, for it was
burnt down in the sixteenth century; I suppose we were called Danes by
the English, and our name stuck to us."
"How interesting! Do tell me some more."
"I will look up our pedigree. It is in this room somewhere."
"I should like to know the origin of a good many surnames," said Hope
reflectively. "My own, for instance; do you think one of my forefathers
was a saint?"
"I expect so. What constitutes a saint?"
"Generally some special act of grace, or a lifetime of self-denial,
does it not? I am sure I have not inherited the saintliness, nor have
any of my family."
"I won't agree to that. Since I have known you, self-denial has been
your characteristic."
"Don't flatter me, Lancelot. I had such a terrible tumble last year. I
have never told you yet, but when I thought that you were dying, I lost
my faith and rebelled, and behaved in an altogether awful way for a
Christian! I look back to it now as a kind of nightmare. I simply raged
in my soul against God's will. I feel as if I can never atone for those
days of bitter black rebellion."
"My poor little wife!"
Lancelot laid his hand tenderly on hers, and added:
"I was only conscious when I came to life again, as it were, of your
face bending over me. And if ever peace and serenity was stamped on a
face, it was upon yours."
"Yes, it was all right then. I had seen my wickedness, and—and had
confessed it. You must remember, Lancelot, that I had had no real test
in my life before; I had had troubles and disagreeables, but nothing
touching my inmost soul. I was reading about Abraham's test to-day.
He never faltered even when the apple of his eye was the sacrifice
demanded. I was tested, and found wanting. It ought to make me walk
humbly for the rest of my days. I think I will make a full confession
to you whilst I am about it. It was only a few days before we were
married that I was reading that hymn over to myself:
"'Peace, perfect peace'
"And I thought then that I had been carried triumphantly through it,
from first verse to last, that I had found it quite true. Peace of
forgiven sin through the blood of Jesus. Peace in 'thronging duties
pressed,' 'with sorrows surging round,' 'with loved ones far away,'
'our future all unknown,' 'death shadowing us and ours.' Of course
I was thinking of my dear father's death then. And though I knew
the peace was none of my making, there was a kind of self-satisfied
self-righteous feeling in my heart.
"Then came the real test, and I believe it was sent to me to make
me realise that I was not the perfect being I imagined myself. Why,
Lancelot, you've no idea of the desperate wicked thoughts, that
assailed me when I thought God was taking you from me! I felt almost
inclined to sell my soul to have you restored to me."
Lancelot drew his wife to him.
"Sweetheart, forget that time. God forgets when He forgives."
"Oh," said Hope, with a little shudder, "how near we are to evil,
Lancelot! I could not have believed I would have so utterly lost faith
as I did. I shall never feel sure of myself again."
"I suppose we are meant to see that we must always watch and struggle
against temptation. How does the hymn end?"
Hope, with her head resting on her husband's shoulder, repeated softly:
"'It is enough: earth's struggles soon shall cease,
And Jesus call us to Heaven's perfect peace.'"
_Printed in Great Britain by_
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON