AT ONE.
They returned to Pleasant Valley that day, and Basil was immediately
plunged in arrears of business. For the present Diana had to attend to
her mother, whose conversation was anything but agreeable after she
learned that her son-in-law had accepted the call to Mainbridge.
"Ministers are made of stuff very like common people," she declared.
"Every one goes where he can get the most."
"You know Mr. Masters has plenty already, mother; plenty of his own."
"Those that have most already are always the ones that want more. I've
seen that a thousand times. If a man's property lies in an onion, he'll
likely give you half of it if you want it; if he's got all Pleasant
Valley, the odds are he won't give you an onion."
Diana would have turned the conversation, but Mrs. Starling came back
to the subject.
"What do you suppose you are going to do with me?"
"Mother, that is for you to choose. You know, where ever we are,
there's a home for you if you will have it."
"It's a pleasure to your husband to have me, too, ain't it?"
"It is always a pleasure to him to do what is right."
"Complimentary! You have grown very fond of him, haven't you, all of a
sudden?"
But this subject Diana would not touch. Not to her mother Not to any
one, till the person most concerned knew the truth; and most certainly
after that not to any one else. Evan had been told; there had been a
reason; she was glad she had told him.
"What do you suppose I'd do in Mainbridge?" Mrs. Starling went on.
"There is plenty to do, mother. It is because there is so much to do,
that we are going."
"Dressing and giving parties. I always knew your husband held himself
above our folks. He'll be suited there."
This tried Diana, it was so very far from the truth. She fled the
field. It was often the safest way. But she was very sorry for her
mother. She went to Basil's study, where now no one was, and sat down
by the window that looked into the garden. There Rosy presently caught
sight of her; came to her, and climbed up into her lap; and for a good
while the two entertained one another; the child going on in wandering
sweet prattle, while the mother's thoughts, though she answered her,
kept a deeper current of their own all the while. She was pondering as
she sat there and smelled the roses in the garden and talked to the
small Rose in her lap,--she was pondering what she should do to let her
husband know what she now knew about herself. One would say, the
simplest way would be to tell him! But Diana, with all her simplicity
and sweetness, had a New England nature; and though she could speak
frankly enough when spoken to, on this or any other subject, she shrank
from volunteering revelations that were not expected of her;
revelations that were so intimate, and belonged to her very inner self;
and that concerned besides so vitally her relations with another
person, even though that person were her husband. At the mere thought
of doing it, the colour stirred uneasily in Diana's face. Why could not
Basil divine? Looking out into the garden, both mother and child, and
talking very busily one of them, thinking very busily the other,
neither of them heard Basil come in.
"Where's papa?" Rosy was at the moment asking, in a tone sufficiently
indicating that in her view of things he had been gone long enough.
"Not very far off"--was the answer, close behind them. Rosy started and
threw herself round towards her father, and Diana also started and
looked up; and in her face not less than in the little one there was a
flash and a flush of sudden pleasure. Basil stooped to put his lips to
Rosy's, and then, reading more than he knew in Diana's eyes, he carried
the kiss to her lips also. It was many a day since he had done the
like, and Diana's face flushed more and more. But Basil had taken up
Rosy into his arms, and was interchanging a whole harvest of caresses
with her. Diana turned her looks towards the garden, and felt ready to
burst into tears. Could it be that he was proud, and intended to
revenge upon her the long avoidance to which in days past she had
treated him? Not like what she knew of Mr. Masters, and Diana was aware
she was unreasonable; but it was sore and impatient at her heart, and
she wanted to be in Rosy's place. And Basil the while was thinking
whether by his unwonted caress he had grieved or distressed his wife.
He touched her shoulder gently, and said,
"Forgive me!"
"Forgive you what?" said Diana, looking round.
"My taking an indulgence that perhaps I should not have taken."
"You are very much mistaken, Basil," said Diana, rising; and her voice
trembled and her lips quivered. She thought he _was_ rather cruel now.
"But I have troubled you?" he said, looking earnestly at her.
Diana hesitated, and the quiver of her lips grew more uncontrollable.
"Not in the way you think," she answered.
"How then?" he asked gently. "But I _have_ troubled you. How, Di?"
The last two words were spoken with a very tender, gentle accentuation,
and they broke Diana down. She laid one hand on her husband's arm, and
the other, with her face in it, on his shoulder, and burst into tears.
I do not know what there is in the telegraphy of touch and look and
tone; but something in the grip of Diana's hand, and in her action
altogether, wrought a sudden change in Basil, and brought a great
revelation. He put his little girl down out of his arms and took his
wife in them. And for minutes there was no word spoken; and Rosy was
too much astonished at the strange motionless hush they maintained to
resent at first her own dispossession and the great slight which had
been done her.
There had come a honey-bee into the room by mistake, and not finding
there what he expected to find, he was flying about and about, trying
in vain to make his way to something more in his line than books; and
the soft buzz of the creature was the only sound to be heard, till Rosy
began to complain. She did not know what to make of the utter stillness
of the two figures beside her, who stood like statues; was furthermore
not a little jealous of seeing what she considered her own prerogative
usurped by another; and finally began an importunate petitioning to be
taken up again. But Rosy's voice, never neglected before, was not heard
to-day. Neither of them heard it. The consciousness that was nearest
was overpowering, and barred out every other.
"Diana"--said Basil at last in a whisper; and she looked up, all
flushed and trembling, and did not meet his eyes. Neither did she take
her hand from his shoulder; they had not changed their position.
"Diana,--what are you going to say to me?"
"Haven't I said it?" she answered with a moment's glance and smile; and
then between smiles and tears her head sank again.
"Why did you never tell me before?" he said with a breath that was
almost a sob, and at the same time had a somewhat imperative accent of
demand in it.
"I did not know myself."
"And now?"--
"Now?"--repeated Diana, half laughing.
"Yes, now; what have you got to tell me?"
"Do you want me to tell you what you know already?"
"You have told me nothing, and I do not feel that I know anything till
you have told me," he said in a lighter tone. "Hallo, Rosy!--what's the
matter?"
For Rosy, seeing herself entirely to all appearance supplanted, had now
broken out into open lamentations, too heartfelt to be longer
disregarded. Diana gently released herself, and stooped down and took
the child up, perhaps glad of a diversion; but Rosy instantly stretched
out her arms imploringly to go to her father.
"I was jealous of _her_, a little while ago," Diana remarked as the
exchange was made.
But at that word, Basil set the child, scarcely in his arms, out of
them again on the floor; and folding Diana in them anew, paid her some
of the long arrear of caresses so many a day withheld. Ay, it was the
first time he had known he might without distressing her; and no doubt
lips can do no more silently to reveal a passion of affection than
these did then. If Basil had had a revelation made to him, perhaps so
did Diana; but I hardly think Diana was surprised. She knew something
of the depths and the contained strength in her husband's character;
but it is safe to say, she would never be jealous of Rosy again! Not
anything like these demonstrations had ever fallen to Rosy's share.
Anything, meanwhile, prettier than Diana's face it would be difficult
to see. Flushing like a girl, her lips wreathing with smiles,
tear-drops hanging on the eyelashes still, but with flashes and
sparkles coming and going in the usually quiet grey eyes. Dispossessed
Rosy on the floor meanwhile looked on in astonishment so great that she
even forgot to protest. Basil looked down at her at last and laughed.
"Rosy has had a lesson," he said, picking her up. "She will know her
place henceforth. Come, Di, sit down and talk to me. How came this
about?"
"I don't know, Basil," said Diana meekly.
"Where did it begin?"
"I don't know that either. O, _begin?_ I think the beginning was very
long ago, when I learned to honour you so thoroughly."
"Honour is very cold work; don't talk to me about honour," said Basil.
"I have fed and supped on honour, and felt very empty!"
"Well, you have had it," said Diana contentedly.
"Go on. When did it change into something else?"
"It has not changed," said Diana mischievously.
"When did you begin to give me something better?"
"Do you know, Basil, I cannot tell? I was not conscious myself of what
was going on in me."
"When?"
"Perhaps--since soon after I came home from Clifton. It _had_ not begun
then; how soon it began after, I cannot tell. It was so gradual."
"When did you discover a change?"
"I _felt_ it--I hardly discovered it--a good while ago, I think. But I
did not in the least know what it was. I wished--Basil, it is very
odd!"--and the colour rose in Diana's cheeks,--"I _wished_ that I could
love you."
The minister smiled, and there was a suspicious drop in his eyes, which
I think to hide, he stooped and kissed Rosy.
"Go on. When did you come to a better understanding?"
"I don't think I recognised it until--I told mother, not a great while
ago, that I cared for nobody in the world but you; but that was
different; I meant something different; I do not think I recognised it
fully, until--you will think me very strange--until I saw--Evan
Knowlton."
"And then?" said Basil with a quick look at his wife. Diana's eyes were
dreamily going out of the window, and her lips wore the rare smile
which had vexed Evan, and which he himself had never seen on them
before that day.
"Then,--he ventured to remind me that--once--it was not true."
"What?" said Basil, laughing. "Your mother makes very confused
statements, Rosy?"
"He was mortified, I think, that I did not seem to feel more at seeing
him; and then he dared to remind me that I had married a man I did
not"--Diana left the word unspoken.
"And then?"
"Then I knew all of a sudden that he was mistaken; that if it had been
true once, it was true no longer. I told him so."
"Told him!" echoed her husband.
"I told him. He will make that mistake no more."
"Then, pray, why did you not tell the person most concerned?"
"I could not. I thought you must find it out of yourself."
"How did he take your communication?"
"Basil--human nature is a very strange thing! I think, do you know?--I
think he was sorry."
"Poor fellow!" said Basil.
"Can you understand it?"
"I am afraid I can."
"You may say 'poor fellow!'--but I was displeased with him. He had no
right to care; at least, to be anything but glad. It was wrong. He had
no _right_."
"No; but you have fought a fight, my child, which few fight and come
off with victory."
"It was not I, Basil," said Diana softly. "It was the power that bade
the sea be still. _I_ never could have conquered. Never."
"Let us thank Him!"
"And it was you that led me to trust in him, Basil. You told me, that
anything I trusted Christ to do for me, he would do it; and I saw how
you lived, and I believed first because you believed."
Basil was silent. His face was very grave and very sweet.
"I am rather disappointed in Evan," said Diana after a pause. "I shall
always feel an interest in him; but, do you know, Basil, he seems to me
_weak?_"
"I knew that a long while ago."
"I knew it two years ago--but I would not recognise it." Then leaving
her place she knelt down beside her husband and laid her head on his
breast. "O Basil,--if I can ever make up to you!"--
"Hush!" said he. "We will go and make things up to those millworkers in
Mainbridge."
There was a long pause, and then Diana spoke again; spoke slowly.
"Do you know, Basil, the millowners in Mainbridge seemed to me to want
something done for them, quite as much as the millworkers?"
"I make the charge of that over to you."
"Me!" said Diana.
"Why not?"
"What do you want me to do for them?"
"What do you think they need?"
"Basil, they do not seem to me to have the least idea--not an
_idea_--of what true religion is."
"They would be very much astonished to hear you say so."
"But is it not true?"
"You would find every wealthy community more or less like Mainbridge."
"Would I? That does not alter the case, Basil."
"No. Do you think things are different here in Pleasant Valley?"
Diana pondered. "I think they do not _seem_ the same," she said.
"People at least would not be shocked if you told them here what
Christian living is. And there are some who know it by experience."
"No doubt, so there are in the Mainbridge church, though it may be we
shall find them most among the poor people."
"But what is it you want me to do, Basil?"
"Show them what a life lived for Christ is. We will both show them; but
in my case people lay it off largely on the bond of my profession.
Then, when we have shown them for awhile what it is, we can speak of it
with some hope of being understood."
"Has anything special come to the Dominie?" Mrs. Starling asked that
evening, when after prayers the minister had gone to his study.
"Why, mother?"
"He seems to have a great deal of thanksgiving on his mind!"
"That's nothing very uncommon in him," said Diana, smiling.
"What's happened to _you?_" inquired her mother next, eyeing her
daughter with curious eyes.
"Why do you ask?"
"I don't do things commonly without a reason. When folks roll their
words out like butter, I like to know what's to pay."
"I cannot imagine what manner of speech that can be," said Diana,
amused.
"Well--it was your'n just now. And it was your husband's half an hour
ago."
"I suppose," said Diana, gravely now, "that when people feel happy, it
makes their speech flow smoothly."
"And you feel happy?" said Mrs. Starling with a look as sharp as an
arrow.
"Yes, mother. I do."
"What about?"
Diana hesitated, and then answered with a kind of sweet
solemnity,--"All earth, and all heaven."
Mrs. Starling was silenced for a minute.
"By 'all earth' I suppose you mean me to understand things in the
future?"
"And things in the past. Everything that ever happened to me, mother,
has turned out for good."
Mrs. Starling looked at her daughter, and saw that she meant it.
"The ways o' the world," she muttered scornfully, "are too queer for
anything!" But Diana let the imputation lie.
They went to Mainbridge. Not Mrs. Starling, but the others. And you may
think of them as happy, with both hands full of work. They live in a
house just a little bit out of the town, where there is plenty of
ground for gardens, and the air is not poisoned with smoke or vapour.
Roses and honeysuckles flourish as well here as in Pleasant Valley;
laburnums are here too, dropping fresh gold every year; and there are
banks of violets and beds of lilies, and in the spring-time crocuses
and primroses and hyacinths and snowdrops; and chrysanthemums and
asters, and all sorts of splendours and sweetnesses in the fall. For
even Diana's flowers are not for herself alone, nor even for her
children alone, whose special pleasure in connection with them is to
make nosegays for sick and poor people, and to cultivate garden plots
in order to have the more to give away. And not Diana's roses and
honeysuckles are sweeter than the fragrance of her life which goes
through all Mainbridge. Rich and poor look to that house as a point of
light and centre of strength; to the poor it is, besides, a treasury of
comfort. There is no telling the change that has been wrought already
in the place. It is as Basil meant it should be, and knew it would be.
It is as it always is; when the box is broken at Christ's feet, the
house is filled with the odour of the ointment.
THE END.
MURRAY AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.
Typographical errors silently corrected:
Chapter 1: =take off slice= replaced by =take off a slice=
Chapter 1: =those biscuits too brown= replaced by =them biscuits too
brown=
Chapter 1: =Why has anybody= replaced by =Why, has anybody=
Chapter 1: =a rouser?= replaced by =a rouser!=
Chapter 1: =it 'ill take us= replaced by =it'll take us=
Chapter 1 =hev= replaced by =hev'=
Chapter 1: =I spect they're dreadful= replaced by =I s'pect they're
dreadful=
Chapter 2: =little meetins= replaced by =little meetin's=
Chapter 2: =and she looked like= replaced by ="and she looked like=
Chapter 2: ="Don't the minister= replaced by =Don't the minister=
Chapter 3: =strip of gold= replaced by =stripe of gold=
Chapter 7: =no sitting still= replaced by =no sittin' still=
Chapter 7: =Farmer Selden= replaced by =farmer Selden=
Chapter 11: =You see there are seldom= replaced by =You see, there are
seldom=
Chapter 14: =your place, Mrs. Reverdy= replaced by =your place, Mis'
Reverdy=
Chapter 14: =of fierce= replaced by =o' fierce=
Chapter 14: =of the pulpit= replaced by =o' the pulpit=
Chapter 14: =hev= replaced by =hev'=
Chapter 15: =grass leading= replaced by =grass, leading=
Chapter 15: =woman by nature= replaced by =woman, by nature=
Chapter 17: =why like a ripe= replaced by =why, like a ripe=
Chapter 17: =Scripter does= replaced by =Scripter doos=
Chapter 17: =hev= replaced by =hev'=
Chapter 18: =oursn's= replaced by =our'n's=
Chapter 20: =folk's houses= replaced by =folks' houses=
Chapter 22: =a preacher?'"= replaced by =a preacher'?"=
Chapter 24: =hev= replaced by =hev'=
Chapter 25: =could get too much= replaced by =could git too much=
Chapter 25: =hev= replaced by =hev'=
Chapter 25: =at folk's secrets= replaced by =at folks' secrets=
Chapter 25: =Wall, I don't know= replaced by =Wall, I don' know=
Chapter 34: =Who does, then= replaced by =Who doos, then=