And so it was. Evelyn lay back in the corner of the railway carriage
thinking about the poor people, and about the nuns, about herself,
about the new life which she was entering upon, and which was dearer
to her than anything else. She grew a little frightened at the
hardness of her heart. "It certainly does harden one's heart," she
said; "my heart is as hard as a diamond. But is my heart as hard as
a diamond?" The thought awoke a little alarm, and she sat looking
into the receding landscape. "Even so I cannot help it." And she
wondered how it was that only one thing in the world seemed to
matter--to extricate the nuns from their difficulties, that was all.
Her poor people, of course she liked them; her voice, she liked it
too, without, however, being able to feel certain that it interested
her as much as it used to, or that she was not prepared to sacrifice
it if her purpose demanded the sacrifice. But there was no question
of such sacrifice: it was given to her as the means whereby she
might effect her purpose. If the Glasgow concert were as successful
as the Edinburgh, she would be able to bring back some hundreds of
pounds to the nuns, perhaps a thousand. And what a pleasure that
would be to her!
But the Glasgow concert was not nearly so successful: her manager
attributed the failure to a great strike which had just ended; there
was talk of another strike; moreover her week in Glasgow was a wet
one, and her manager said that people did not care to leave their
houses when it was raining.
"Or is it," she asked, "because the taste has moved from dramatic
singing to _il bel canto?_ In a few years nobody will want to hear
me, so I must make hay while the sun shines."
Her next concert succeeded hardly better than the Glasgow concert;
Hull, Leeds, Birmingham were tried, but only with moderate success,
and Evelyn returned to London with very little money for the
convent, and still less for her poor people.
"It is a disappointment to me, dear Mother?"
"My dear child, you've brought us a great deal of money, much more
than we expected."
"But, Mother, I thought I should be able to bring you three thousand
pounds, and pay off a great part of your mortgage."
"God, my child, seems to have thought differently."
The door opened.
"Now who is this? Ah! Sister Mary John."
"May I come in, dear Mother?"
"Certainly."
"You see, I was so anxious to see Miss Innes, to hear about the
concert tour--"
"Which wasn't a success at all, Sister Mary John. Oh, not at all a
success."
"Not a success?"
"Well, from an artistic point of view it was; I brought you some of
the notices," and Evelyn took out of her pocket some hundreds of
cuttings from newspapers. It had not occurred to her before, but now
the thought passed through her mind, formulating itself in this way:
"After all, the mummeress isn't dead in me yet; bringing my notices
to nuns! Dear me! how like me!" And she sat watching the nuns, a
little amused, when the Prioress asked Sister Mary John to read some
passages to her.
"Now I can't sit here and hear you read out my praises. You can read
them when I am gone. A little more money and a little less praise
would have suited me better, Sister Mary John."
"Would you care to come into the garden?" the nun asked. "I was just
going out to feed the birds. Poor things! they come in from the
common; our garden is full of them. But what about singing at
Benediction to-day? Would you like to try some music over with me
and forget the birds?"
"There will be plenty of time to try over music."
The door opened again. It was the porteress come to say that
Monsignor had just arrived and would like to speak with the
Prioress.
"But ask him to come in.... Here is a friend of yours, Monsignor. She
has just returned from--"
"From a disastrous concert tour, having only made four hundred pounds
with six concerts. My career as a prima donna is at an end. The
public is tired of me."
"The artistic public isn't tired of you," said Sister Mary John.
"Read, Monsignor; she has brought us all her notices."
"Oh, do take them away, Sister Mary John; you make me ashamed before
Monsignor. Such vanity! What will he think of my bringing my notices
to read to you? But you mustn't think I am so vain as that,
Monsignor; it was really because I thought the nuns would be
interested to hear of the music--and to excuse myself. But you know,
Mother, once I take a project in hand I don't give it up easily. I
have made up my mind to redeem this convent from debt, and it shall
be done. My concert tour was a failure, but I have another idea in
my head; and I came here to tell it to you. I don't know what
Monsignor will think of it. I have been offered a good deal of money
to go to America to sing my own parts, for Wagner is not yet dead in
America."
"But, Miss Innes, I thought you intended to leave the stage?"
"I have left the stage, but I intend to go back to it. That is a
point on which I will have to talk to Monsignor." Evelyn waited for
the prelate to speak.
"Such determination is very unusual, and if the cause be a good one I
congratulate you, Mother Prioress, on your champion who, to defend
you, will start for the New World."
"Well, Monsignor, unless you repudiate the motives of those who went
to Palestine to fight for the Holy Sepulchre, why should you
repudiate mine?"
"But I haven't said a word; indeed--"
"But you will talk to me about it, won't you? For I must have your
opinion before I go, Monsignor."
"Well, now I think I shall disappear," said Sister Mary John. "I'm
going to feed the birds."
"But you asked me to go with you."
"That was before Monsignor came. But perhaps he would like to come
with us. The garden is beautiful and white, and all the birds are
waiting for me, poor darlings!"
The nuns, Evelyn and Monsignor went down the steps.
"There is a great deal of snow in the sky yet," said Sister Mary
John, pointing to the yellow horizon. "To-night or to-morrow it will
fall, and the birds will die, if we don't feed them."
A flock of speckled starlings flew into a tree, not recognising
Evelyn and Monsignor, but the blackbirds and thrushes were tamer and
ran in front, watching the visitors with round, thoughtful eyes, the
beautiful shape of the blackbird showing against the white
background, and everybody admiring his golden bill and legs. The
sparrows flew about Sister Mary John in a little cloud, until they
were driven away by three great gulls come up from the Thames, driven
inland by hard weather. A battle began, the gulls pecking at each
other, wasting time in fighting instead of sharing the bread, only
stopping now and then to chase away the arrogant sparrows. The
robin, the wisest bird, came to Sister Mary John's hand for his
food, preferring the buttered bread to the dry. There were rooks in
the grey sky, and very soon two hovered over the garden, eventually
descending into the garden with wings slanted, and then the seagulls
had to leave off fighting or go without food altogether. A great
strange bird rose out of the bushes, and flew away in slow, heavy
flight. Monsignor thought it was a woodcock; and there were birds
whose names no one knew, migrating birds come from thousands of
miles, from regions where the snow lies for months upon the ground;
and Evelyn and the prelate and the nuns watched them all until the
frosty air reminded the prelate that loitering was dangerous. Sister
Mary John walked on ahead, feeding the birds, forgetful of Monsignor
and Evelyn; a nun saying her rosary stopped to speak to the
Prioress; Evelyn and Monsignor went on alone, and when they came
towards St. Peter's Walk no one was there, and the moment had come,
Evelyn felt, to speak of her project to return to the stage in order
to redeem the convent from debt.
"You didn't answer me, Monsignor, when I said that I would have to
consult you regarding my return to the stage."
"Well, my dear child, the question whether you should go back to the
stage couldn't be discussed in the presence of the nuns. Your
motives I appreciate; I need hardly say that. But for your own
personal safety I am concerned. I won't attempt to hide my anxiety
from you."
"But it is possible to remain on the stage and lead a virtuous life."
"You have told me yourself that such a thing isn't possible; from
your own mouth I have it."
Evelyn did not answer, but stood looking at the prelate, biting her
lips, annoyed, finding herself in a dilemma.
"The motive is everything, Monsignor. I was speaking then of the
stage as a vanity, as a glorification of self."
"The motive is different, but the temptations remain the same."
"I'm afraid I can't agree with you. The temptation is in oneself, not
in the stage, and when oneself has changed... and then many things
have happened."
"You are reconciled to the Church, it is true, and have received the
Sacraments--"
"More than that, Monsignor, more than that." But it was a long time
before he could persuade her to tell him. "You don't believe in
miracles?"
"My dear child, my dear child!"
After that it was impossible to keep herself from speaking, and she
told how, at Thornton Grange, in the middle of the night, she had
heard the nuns singing the _Veni Creator_.
"The nuns told me, Monsignor, their prayers would save me, and they
were right."
"But you aren't sure whether you were dreaming or waking."
"But my experience was shared by Sir Owen Asher, who told me next
morning that he had thought of coming to my room and was
restrained."
"Did he say that he, too, heard voices?"
She had to admit that Owen had not said that he had heard voices,
only that a restraint had been put upon him.
"The restraint need not have been a miraculous one."
"You think he didn't want to come to see me? I beg your pardon,
Monsignor."
"There is nothing to beg my pardon for. I am your confessor, your
spiritual adviser, and you must tell everything to me; and it is my
duty to tell you that you place too much reliance upon miracles.
This is not the first time you have spoken to me about miraculous
interposition."
"But if God is in heaven and His Church upon earth, why shouldn't
there be miracles? Moreover, nearly all the saints are credited with
having performed miracles. Their lives are little more than records
of miracles they have performed."
"I cannot agree with you in that. Their lives are records of their
love of God, and the prayers they have offered up that God's wrath
may be averted from a sinful world, and the prayers they have
offered up for their souls."
"What would the Bible be without its miracles? Miracles are recorded
in the Old and in the New Testaments. Surely miracles cannot have
ceased with the nineteenth century? Miracles must be inherent in
religion. To talk of miracles going out of fashion--"
"But, Miss Innes, I never spoke of miracles going out of fashion. You
misunderstand me entirely. If God wills it, a miracle may happen
to-morrow, in this garden, at any moment. Nobody questions the power
of God to perform a miracle, only we mustn't be too credulous,
accepting every strange event as a miracle; and you, who seemed so
difficult to convince on some points, are ready enough to believe--"
"You mean, Monsignor, because I experienced much difficulty in
believing that the sins I committed with Owen Asher were equal to
those I committed with Ulick Dean."
"Yes, that was in my mind; and I doubt very much that you are not of
the same opinion still."
"Monsignor, I have accepted your opinion that the sin was the same in
either case, and you have told me yourself that to acquiesce is
sufficient. You don't mind my arguing with you a little, because in
doing so I become clear to myself?"
"On the contrary, I like you to argue with me; only in that way can
you confide all your difficulties to me. I regret that,
notwithstanding my opinion, you still believe you are not putting
yourself in the way of temptation by returning to the stage."
"I know myself. If I didn't feel sure of myself, Monsignor, I
wouldn't go to America. Obedience is so pleasant, and your ruling is
so sweet--"
"Nevertheless, you must go your own way; you must relieve this
convent from debt. That is what is in your mind."
"I am sorry, Monsignor, for I should have liked to have had your
approval."
"It was not, then, to profit by my advice that you consulted me?"
Evelyn did not answer, and the singer and the prelate walked on in
silence, seeing Sister Mary John among her blackbirds and thrushes,
sparrows and starlings, accepting her crumbs without fear, no
stranger being by. The starlings, however, again flew into a tree
when they saw Evelyn and Monsignor, and some of the other birds
followed them.
"The robin follows her like a dog; and what a saucy little bird he
is! Look at him, Monsignor! isn't he pretty, with his red breast and
black, beady eyes?"
"Last winter, Monsignor, he spent on the kitchen clock. He knows our
kitchen well enough, and will go back there if a thaw does not begin
very quickly. But look," continued Sister Mary John, "I have two
bullfinches following me. Aren't they provoking birds? They don't
build in our garden, where their nests would be safe, stupid birds!
but away in the common. I'd like to have a young bird and teach him
to whistle."
Evelyn and Monsignor stayed a moment watching the birds, thinking of
other things, and then turned into St. Peter's Walk to continue
their talk.
"The afternoon is turning cold, and we can't stop out talking in this
garden any longer; but before we go in I beg of you--"
"To agree that you should return to the stage?"
"For a few months, Monsignor. I don't want to go to America feeling
that you think I have acted wrongly by going. The nuns will pray for
me, and I believe in their prayers; and I believe in yours,
Monsignor, and in your advice. Do say something kind."
"You are determined upon this American tour?"
"I cannot do otherwise. There is nothing else in my head."
"And you must do something? Well, Miss Innes, let us consider it from
a practical point of view. The nuns want money, it is true; but they
want it at once. Five thousand pounds at the end of next year will
be very little use to them."
"No, Monsignor, the Prioress tells me--"
"You are free to dispose of your money in your own way--in the way
that gives you most pleasure."
"Oh, don't say that, Monsignor. I have had enough pleasure in my
life." And they turned out of St. Peter's Walk, feeling it was
really too cold to remain any longer in the garden.
"Well, Miss Innes, you are doing this entirely against my advice."
"I'm sorry, but I cannot help myself; I want to help the nuns.
Everybody wants to do something; and to see one's life slipping
away--"
"But you've done a great deal."
"It doesn't seem to me I have done anything. Now that I have become a
Catholic, I want to do something from the Catholic point of view, or
from the religious point of view, if you like. Will you recommend to
me some man of business who will carry out the sale of my house for
me, and settle everything?"
"So that you may hand over to the nuns the money that the sale of
your pictures and furniture procures at Christie's?"
"Yes; leaving me just sufficient to go to America. I know I must
appear to you very wilful, but there are certain things one can only
settle for oneself."
"I can give you the address of my solicitor, a very capable and
trustworthy man, who will carry out your instructions."
"Thank you, Monsignor; and be sure nothing will happen to me in
America. In six months I shall be back."
Evelyn went away to Mr. Enterwick, the solicitor Monsignor
recommended, and the following month she sailed for America.