AUTUMN AND SPRING
MRS. TRACY was elated when she learned of the invitation to the
garden-party at Ainsdale Priory. Not that she was ambitious of entering
such distinguished society herself, but she rejoiced for Juliet's sake.
Well as she understood her daughter, she perhaps hardly realised what
an ordeal the proposed visit presented to Juliet, nor how she dreaded
the rush of painful memories which the meeting with Miss Mainprice must
inevitably bring.
But though with the sight of Miss Mainprice's face and the sound of her
voice there was a vivid renewal for Juliet of the sense of loneliness,
despair, and shame which had been hers as she wandered desolate through
the crowded streets of Paris, or lay sick in mind and body in her close
room beneath the hot roof of the Hotel Rome, Miss Mainprice's greeting
was so unfeignedly friendly, her manner so full of sympathy, that the
painful feeling could be but momentary.
Lady Ernestine's simple, unaffected kindliness soon made both Juliet
and Mrs. Tracy feel completely at ease with her. Mrs. Staines and Mrs.
Owen, with their respective husbands, were amongst the guests, and
these ladies were much impressed when they saw how Juliet was welcomed
by Lady Ernestine and the lady of whom their hostess spoke as "my
friend Miss Mainprice," and to hear whose account of her work in Paris
she had gathered them together that afternoon.
It was a perfect day for an outdoor gathering. The grounds of the
Priory were very beautiful. Grand old trees afforded ample shade, green
glades stretched between, where glimpses of shy deer could occasionally
be caught, and from every point of view the antique dwelling, once the
home of a religious brotherhood, presented a fine picture.
Juliet enjoyed the hours spent there more than she could have believed
possible, as she anticipated them with nervous dread. Accompanied by
Mr. Mainprice, who was well acquainted with every feature of the place,
she thoroughly explored the grounds. The quiet talk she had with him as
they walked about was not to Juliet the least valued incident of the
afternoon, nor would he perhaps willingly have missed it.
Later, as the company sat on the lawn in the shade of a line of
beeches, Miss Mainprice told them in simple, pointed words the history
of the home in Paris and the work of which it was the centre. Her words
touched Juliet deeply, moving her to a new discontent with her life,
and a deeper longing for a wider life of action, which should afford a
more complete escape from self.
Juliet had little imagined that it would be her lot to contribute to
the entertainment of the company. It was a wonder and amazement to
her afterwards to think of it; but when Lady Ernestine in her gentle,
persuasive manner begged her to sing to them, she found it impossible
to refuse. The piano stood just within the open French window of
the drawing-room. The company were grouped partly within the room
and partly on the steps and lawn outside. Miss Mainprice played the
accompaniment as Juliet in her clear, sweet voice sang Miss Proctor's
beautiful song known as "Cleansing Fires."
A great stillness succeeded her singing. It had so taken her audience
by surprise that they were not ready to applaud when she ended. But
the applause which followed in a few seconds was very hearty. For
Mrs. Tracy this was the crowning pleasure of the afternoon. Her heart
swelled with pride, as she heard from all around her enthusiastic
admiration of her daughter's "lovely voice" and "exquisite singing."
But Juliet slipped quickly out of sight. She did not want to hear what
people were saying about her singing. Their compliments would have for
her a bitter flavour. She was glad it was time to go home.
Mr. Mainprice and his sister were persuaded by Lady Ernestine to
prolong their visit, and Mrs. Tracy and Juliet saw a good deal of them
during the time that they were staying at the Priory. They went from
there to take a brief holiday in Wales; but Mr. Mainprice came again
to pass a few days at the Priory ere returning to his northern parish.
Lady Ernestine thought she knew the attraction which made him so
readily accept her invitation to come again.
On a lovely September evening, Juliet was walking alone along the
shore. She and her mother had returned on the previous day from a brief
visit to Leeds, and Mrs. Tracy had not yet recovered from the fatigue
of the journey, though it was not long.
Juliet was glad to be at home; but it was not with unalloyed
satisfaction that she looked forward to passing the winter at St.
Anne's. There was no hint of winter in the air yet. It had been a
perfect day, and the evening was as perfect. Juliet was disposed to
linger on the quiet sands. More than once she stood still to listen to
the soft swell of the waves as they broke on the shore, and to gaze at
the shimmering golden track with which the sinking sun was marking the
sea.
She had stood thus for some minutes lost in thought as she gazed, when,
turning with her eyes dazzled by the yellow light, she dimly perceived
a dark figure coming towards her. It came nearer, and she heard a voice
she had little expected to hear again so soon; for she did not know
that Mr. Mainprice had returned to the neighbourhood. She was startled,
and the colour flew into her face. He saw that she was greatly moved,
but the signs of agitation were such as he rejoiced to see.
"I have just been talking with your mother," he said, as they shook
hands. "She told me I should probably find you on the sands."
"Oh, then you came to find me?" said Juliet naïvely. "I never thought
of seeing you, for I did not know you were here."
"I came to take the Sunday services at Ainsdale," he replied; "it was
arranged when I was there before. I am going away to-morrow. I wanted
so much to see you before I went."
"It seemed very strange that you should appear," said Juliet, "for just
before I turned and saw you, I had been thinking of that evening when
we met at Lynton. Do you remember?"
"When we met upon the cliffs—that grand path along the cliffs? Surely I
remember it. The scenery there is very different from this."
"Very; and yet the quiet sea, the sunset hues, the sinking sun brought
it all back to me. You did your best to warn me that night, Mr.
Mainprice, but it was of no use. I had to learn my own folly by bitter
experience. Is it always so? Can no one get wisdom but at such a price?
I suppose not, when they are as wilful as I was."
"We most of us, I think, need to suffer ere we become conscious of
sin," said Mr. Mainprice; "and we often learn to count as our greatest
blessings the pains which first roused us to a sense of danger, and
showed us the perilous path we were treading."
"Do you mean that I should be thankful that I have so marred my life?"
Juliet asked bitterly.
"Your life is not marred," he said quickly. "I will not allow you to
say it. You may surely be thankful for the pain that has tended to
correct and purify your character. Juliet,—let me call you so,—it
seems to me that your thoughts on this subject are growing morbid. You
believe that God has forgiven you the errors of the past. Can you not
forgive yourself?"
"I might," said Juliet, in a low voice, "it might be possible to
forgive, if I could ever forget."
He came nearer to her, and looked down earnestly into her face.
"Juliet," he said, "let me help you to forget. Put the past quite away
from you, and begin a new life with me."
"With you?" she repeated, startled, and not comprehending.
"With me—as my wife. Can you love me and trust me enough for that?"
She did not answer for a moment. She stood looking at him with
bewilderment in her eyes. "You ask me to marry you?"
"Yes, darling, because I love you. I cannot tell you how I love you."
"Well," she said slowly, as if thinking aloud, "I always thought you
were good and kind, but I never knew till now how good and unselfish
you are."
"Neither good nor unselfish, darling. You do not understand, if you
think that. Tell me—shall it be as I wish?"
Again she was silent. She was gazing across the sea with a strange
expression on her face, as of pride and exultation. But when he again
begged for a reply, she shook her head.
"No, no," she said; "you have made me glad and proud, but I will not be
your wife."
"You do not like me well enough?" His tone was suggestive of
fore-tasted disappointment.
"Because I like you too well," she said. "You shall not have a wife,
Mr. Mainprice, of whom people can tell such a story as they were
whispering of me the other day at the bazaar. Oh, I know the kind of
things they said, although I did not hear them."
"What does it matter what such people say?" he asked hotly; "it would
soon die away; it would all be forgotten when you became my wife."
"Do you think so?" she asked, with a sad smile. "Now I am certain that
such an event would give the story new life and a quite remarkable
growth. No, no; do not urge me. You are very kind—I thank you from the
bottom of my heart—but I will not be your wife. It would not be right.
I cannot think of it."
"But you do not understand me. You wholly mistake my motive," he said.
"How can I persuade you to look at the question from my point of view?"
"I do look at it from your point of view," she replied. She turned as
she spoke to walk homeward.
And as he glanced at her, the poise of her head, the set of her small
firm lips, the air of resolution with which she stepped out, all told
of a will not lightly to be moved. He was in despair as he walked in
silence by her side.
He did not speak again till they halted at the gate of the cottage.
Then he held out his hand.
"Will you not come in?" she asked.
"No, thank you," he replied. "I have said all I have to say to
Mrs. Tracy." Then after a pause he added, "You have misunderstood
me this evening. You have imputed to me motives of kindness, of
disinterestedness, to which I can lay no claim. I want you to be my
wife because I love you, because I believe that our lives might blend
into a harmonious, blessed whole. Now I will not add another word,
except to ask you quietly and thoughtfully to reconsider your decision.
I have perhaps spoken too hastily. I will wait. I cannot take this as
your final answer."
"You had better," she said.
"I will come again," he went on, as if he did not hear her words, "I
will come again in the spring."
"You had better not," she said.
"I must judge of that for myself," he said hurriedly. "It is enough
that you do not forbid me to come."
And he turned and walked quickly away, as if in dread of hearing more
words from her.
Juliet lingered long amid the flowers and shrubs in the garden ere she
entered the house. The lamp was lighted in the drawing-room, and Mrs.
Tracy sat there with a book before her, which, however, she was not
reading. She looked up with some eagerness as Juliet entered.
"So you have come, dear! Are you alone?"
"Certainly I am alone," said Juliet, with a faint smile.
"Then you did not meet Mr. Mainprice?"
"Yes, I saw him, but he would not come in. He was going to walk to
Ainsdale, I believe."
Juliet's cool, indifferent air was well sustained, but it failed of its
effect.
"Have you nothing to tell me, Juliet?" her mother asked.
"What do you expect me to tell you, mother? If Mr. Mainprice confided
his intention to you, you know all there is to tell; for, of course,
you could have no doubt as to my reply."
"Oh, my dear, I had hoped—"
"What did you hope, you foolish little mother?" Juliet asked, vainly
striving to steady her voice. "It was noble—it was generous of him;
but how can my life ever be what it might have been if—" She paused,
conscious of a choking sensation in her throat.
"My dear, you are too hard upon yourself."
"I am not at all too hard. Think what Salome would say if she heard
that I was going to marry a clergyman!"
"Your sister would be glad, Juliet."
Juliet shook her head.
"No, she would be shocked. She would say she was sorry for Arthur
Mainprice. And so she might be. But I will not spoil his life."
"There are more ways than one of spoiling it, dear."
Juliet was silent.
"He is not one to love lightly," said Mrs. Tracy. "You must have made
him very unhappy."
"He is coming again in the spring," said Juliet, the words breaking
from her involuntarily. The next moment she added quickly, "Don't let
us speak any more about it. I wish it had not happened; but since it
has, the only thing now is to forget it as soon as possible." She
quitted the room as she spoke.
So the subject was dropped. Mrs. Tracy did not name Mr. Mainprice
again, nor did Juliet ever allude to him; yet her mother doubted if she
had succeeded in dismissing him from her mind. Juliet did not appear
unhappy, but she was certainly unusually quiet and thoughtful. There
was at times a wistful, far-away look on her face, of which her mother
thought she knew the significance.
But for the most part Juliet was too busy to indulge in profitless
dreaming or bitter retrospect. She was becoming a second Salome in her
devotion to the poor. She was ready to undertake any work which Mrs.
Staines, who since the garden-party at the Priory had treated Juliet
with the utmost consideration, desired to give her. Willing workers
have always full hands. Juliet was no exception to the rule, for the
winter was severe, even in sheltered St. Anne's, and there was much
suffering amongst the poor.
Whether the wintry weeks passed swiftly for her because she was so
busy, Mrs. Tracy could not tell. She herself found them drag heavily.
But she saw that Juliet was on the watch for signs of spring's
awakening in their little garden.
One day she brought her mother two or three snowdrops, which had
ventured to push their dainty heads above the heavy clods.
"What lovely harbingers of the spring!" said Mrs. Tracy, as she took
them.
"If you could feel how keen the wind is as it blows up the road, you
would not think spring was near," said Juliet. "There will be snow
again soon."
"Ah, but spring is on the way," said her mother, and she saw a sudden
glow on Juliet's face.
Three weeks later, at the end of February, came a burst of real spring
weather. The air was mild, the sunshine brilliant; everywhere there was
the mysterious breathing forth of new life and hope which makes that
season like none other.
One morning, as she dressed, Juliet spied some primroses in the garden,
and ran out to pick them ere she took her breakfast.
Her mother was reading a letter, but looked up from it as Juliet laid
the primroses beside her on the table, saying—
"See, mother, the first primroses! Spring is really coming."
"Spring is come when the primroses appear," said Mrs. Tracy. "I call
it spring now, and so does someone else. See, I have a note from Mr.
Mainprice. He is at Preston, and will be here this afternoon."
Juliet started; she grew red, and then pale. She moved to the French
window, and opening it, stood in the opening, with her back towards her
mother, as if she felt a sudden need for air. Then she said tremulously—
"It is not well that he should come."
"He will come," said her mother, "and you will have to give him your
answer again. Oh, Juliet! When the hand of God brings you this great
happiness, will you refuse it? Will you let pride and self-will mar
your life again?"
"Again! Oh, mother!" Juliet strove to speak steadily. "If—if I thought
this was God's way for me—"
Her voice broke. She stepped hastily out through the open window, and
turned the corner of the house.
Tears were in Mrs. Tracy's eyes.
"She loves him," she said to herself. "I knew it. Surely now all will
come right."
And the mother's heart was no longer afraid. She believed that as
spring was renewing the face of the dark earth, changing bareness to
beauty, gloom to gladness, bitter blast to gentle breeze, so the life
of Juliet, chilled and darkened by the errors of her youth, was to
break forth into a spring of love and hope, which no shadows from the
past should have power to dim.
THE END.
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