_TOGETHER AGAIN._
MRS. ESCOTT CUMMING was much the same that Pearl Fordyce had
been—sweetly pretty and winning, but indolent, easy, unpunctual,
seemingly content to live an aimless life, pleased to be petted and
made much of, and by no means anxious to take up work or responsibility.
Beryl had a sense of disappointment, having somehow expected a change.
She could see that Millicent was not satisfied, and she noted that
Escott indulged in an expostulatory "My dear!" not seldom, in place of
counting his little Pearl a human angel. He loved her intensely, but
he had a high ideal of what the womanly life should be, formed on the
model of his mother's life, and Pearl's did not by any means correspond
with his ideal. Her little vanities, her petty tempers, her wilful
moods, did not cause him to love her less, but they did cause him to
love her differently. The quality of his affection changed, not the
quantity. He was watchfully tender and thoughtful as ever, but in his
heart, Escott crept quietly back to the boyish feeling which he had had
of old, and which Ivor had never lost, that "there was nobody in the
world like mother."
Yet he did not regret his choice. Millicent might and did regret it
secretly for him, but he did not for himself. He knew he would not have
been happy without Pearl. She disappointed him often, yet she was so
winning and fair as to be a great delight in his life. How long that
delight would last, with nothing more stable to sustain it, was another
question. Not four months had as yet elapsed since the wedding-day.
Foreign travel, and the happiness of winning Pearl, had done much for
Escott's health. He was a delicate man still, liable to attacks of
illness, and compelled to be careful in his habits of life, after a
fashion which rather teased his little wife, for Pearl liked men to be
dashing. But he was an invalid no longer. His invalidish ways had been
totally dropped in the south of France, and love of study was resuming
its old sway over him.
The confidential talks with her sister, to which Beryl had looked
forward, did not come about quickly. Pearl was pleased to be with Beryl
again, but she seemed rather to shrink from "tête-à-tête" interviews.
Diana's conduct was evidently a distress to her, yet she said little
in reference to it. Her talk was chiefly about her new dresses and
trinkets.
This did not last. Three weeks passed, during which Pearl settled into
her new home, and Beryl remained at Miss Carmichael's. No news had been
received from Mrs. Fenwick, beyond one brief note to Millicent, in
which she carelessly or wilfully omitted to give her address. Marion
Crosbie, on hearing what had passed, travelled post-haste to Hurst,
only to find herself powerless to take any further steps. She, like
Beryl, was rendered homeless by Diana's action. She took up her abode
under Mr. Crosbie's roof, and there waited, with the best patience she
could muster. Millicent was mistress of the house still, and Pearl
lived in it as a petted child. Beryl sometimes wondered how Pearl liked
the position.
Pearl's reserve broke down suddenly one day. Beryl had found her for
once alone, and Pearl took Beryl to her own room, walking listlessly,
as if she had not much spirit or interest in life. She wanted to show
her sister a new brooch, she said, which Escott had given her—"such a
dear little brooch, just suited to her complexion."
Beryl took the brooch into her hand, looked at it absently, then lifted
her eyes to Pearl's pretty face, and said quietly, without having had
the least previous intention of so doing:—
"Pearl, are you happy?"
Pearl gave a startled glance, and the pink tinting of her cheeks grew
crimson. She hesitated a moment, and then, in a quick low voice said,
"No."
Beryl's arm stole round her waist affectionately. "Why not, Pearlie?"
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose—I suppose it isn't in me," said Pearl,
with slight sobs catching her breath. "I haven't been happy a long
long while. I've always been wanting—something—and it never comes—and
it never will now. O Beryl, I wish I were you. Yes, I do," repeated
Pearl, as Beryl drew her in front of the looking-glass, where two faces
were reflected side by side: one a lovely little picture as to outline
and soft hues; the other solidly sensible and plain. "Yes, I do. Being
pretty doesn't make one happy,—and you are happy and I am not."
"But, Pearl, darling, what is it that you want and can never have?"
asked Beryl, as the sweet face dropped tearfully on her shoulder; and
her heart beat fast with the joy of having her own Pearl clinging to
her once more.
"I don't know,—oh, I don't know," said Pearl sorrowfully. "Everybody
is so kind,—but it doesn't seem enough, somehow. I sometimes think I
shouldn't be much missed if I were to die. You would be sorry, I know;
but Escott has mother, and she does so much for him. Of course she
would let me do things, if I asked her; but they seem to come naturally
to her, and I haven't got into the way of being useful. I never was
useful, like you. Aunt Marian thinks I waste my time, and Escott wants
me to be different—I can see he does. He said once lately that he used
to think I cared more about—about religion. I don't seem to have cared
much about that or anything, for a long while—ever since Ivor died."
Pearl sobbed again. "I told Escott, when he wanted me to marry him,
that he and Ivor had always been such good dear brothers to me, and
that I had liked Ivor best,—and he said he knew it, and he only wanted
me to love him for Ivor's sake. It was only a silly girlish feeling,
Beryl, and poor Ivor didn't know it; but somehow nobody ever satisfied
me like him. But of course that is all over now, and Escott is the
best and dearest of husbands. Only I am not fit to be his wife. He and
mother are so very very good, and I am not good at all. I do feel as if
I wanted—something!" concluded Pearl.
"I think you do," said Beryl. "I think you have a longing in your heart
for JESUS, Pearlie." She spoke the holy word in a low and reverent
tone. "Nobody else can make one satisfied."
"I suppose it is that, perhaps," said Pearl more quietly. "That was
what made poor Ivor happy at the last."
"I never heard much about Ivor's death. Was he happy?"
"O yes. Mother can't speak about him often, even now. He didn't say
much, for he couldn't. But he did not seem the least afraid, and he was
so quiet and patient. And just at last, when they thought him almost
gone, he opened his eyes and whispered—'The blood of Jesus cleanseth!'
Mother and Escott are always so glad of that."
Pearl was crying, and Beryl caressed her anew.
"I think it is ever since then that I have not been happy," said Pearl.
"Partly, Ivor being gone—and partly thinking about its being so sudden.
I should have been so frightened, if it had been me."
"Only you know there is the Blood that cleanses," said Beryl softly.
Pearl looked perplexed and pitiful. "Yes, of course I know the text,"
she said. "But it doesn't seem to comfort me like other people. I
suppose I don't believe properly. It all seems like a great blank."
Beryl was not quick at speech, and she had to consider.
"One may know the text, and yet not know the 'thing,'" she said at
length. "It wouldn't be enough to have learnt the text, Pearlie, and
yet not to have had the real Blood-washing. Don't you think it is that
you want?"
"I don't know; it all seems a blank," repeated Pearl.
"I suppose, when the blind man was standing and begging, it all seemed
a blank to him," said Beryl. "And yet Christ was there—quite close to
him; and when he heard Christ's voice, and when he did as he was told,
he was cured."
Pearl's eyes grew wistful. "I should like Him to be near to me," she
said.
"Then I am sure He is," said Beryl. "Near—and just waiting till you
speak to Him."
"I can't—'speak,'" said Pearl almost tremblingly. "What do you mean,
Beryl? I do say my prayers, of course—every morning and evening."
"Yes, but just saying prayers isn't enough," said Beryl. "It must be
real asking, Pearlie—telling Him what you want."
Pearl made no answer, but moved away, and began putting her new brooch
into its little box. Then she said, "Shall we go downstairs now?"
"If you like," Beryl answered.
Pearl lingered still. "I can't think what makes you so different," she
said.
Beryl could not suppress a smile of pleasure, but she only said, "Can't
you?"
"No; you used to be so 'gruff,'" said Pearl. "I was half frightened of
you, I think. I like you to talk to me now. You don't mean to leave
Hurst, do you?"
"I can't tell yet," said Beryl quietly. "I must find something to do. I
asked Miss Carmichael to look-out for me, and she promised to consider
what would be best. I am very very happy with her, but of course I must
earn my own living."
"I think it is quite 'horrid' of Aunt Di to turn you off like this,"
said Pearl indignantly.
"I think Aunt Di is very unhappy, Pearl. You see, she is so used to
having her own way that she can't stand contradiction. I pity her, and
so must you. She hasn't many real friends, and I am sure she must feel
lonely. She has disliked so much being alone, the last few months, and
now she has nobody except Pearson."
"I am very glad you did not go with her," responded Pearl. "I want you
to talk to me again, as you have done to-day. And, Beryl, I do really
mean to try."
With which shy and vague utterance, Pearl turned quickly to go
downstairs.
But Beryl did talk to her again, after the same simple and earnest
fashion, not once or twice only, and not without avail. After years of
heart-separation from her sister, she had now the great joy of being
allowed to help in the guidance of Pearl's faltering steps towards and
along the pathway of life.
Nobody else knew much about the matter. Only after awhile, both
Millicent and Escott saw something of a change in Pearl, saw her to be
fighting against inertia, listlessness, and temper, and found her no
longer coldly irresponsive on matters which touched them most deeply.
Pearl was able at length to say one day to her husband, "Escott, I
think I am learning to live to God now, and I want to have more to do
for Him. Beryl has been helping me, and I should like you to help me
too."
But other events happened meantime.