A MAN'S DETERMINATION
SARA went to Colonel Fleming's "At Home." Mrs. Laird said she would
like her to do so.
It was a very warm afternoon when she started in the high dog-cart
with Graham. She wore a lavender muslin gown, and a shady straw hat.
He glanced at her, as she stood on the steps waiting for the trap to
come round. There was something peculiarly dainty and fresh in her
appearance in spite of the extreme simplicity of her dress. She caught
his gaze and laughed.
"I hope I am dressed suitably for the occasion."
"You will want a dust-coat or cloak," said Graham, gravely.
She held up one with a smile, and he took it out of her hands and
helped her into it.
Then as they drove off, he said—
"This is rather different weather to when you last drove with me."
"Yes," said Sara; "I shall not soon forget my arrival in these parts.
What a strange, eerie, and interesting time it was to me! Do you
remember the mistake I made about you? I took you for an exceedingly
taciturn groom!"
"I had driven so many ladies backwards and forwards," said Graham
apologetically, "that I felt very depressed that night."
"You did not think me suitable," said Sara, amusement in her tone.
"No, I did not, and I do not now."
"Oh, I am sorry. I hoped I was giving satisfaction."
"It is a false position for you to be in. And candidly, I wonder that
you stay."
"But I am very happy, so why should I not? And I am truly fond of your
mother."
"You are very good and patient with her."
Sara did not speak for a moment, then she said—
"Don't you think it one of the good things in this life to be able
to mitigate even in the least degree the sorrows and discomforts of
others? I do. And when your mother's eyes brighten, and a smile hovers
about her lips, I feel as happy as a sandboy! I want to get her out
more. Do you think we could persuade her to drive with you across the
hills? Couldn't you take her to see the old herb doctor?"
He shook his head.
"She won't see people just yet. I wish she would. Have you been much
with old people, Miss Darlington?"
"No, I don't think I have. But I do love them. A little old Miss
Grafton is one of my greatest friends in town. I love their placid
detachment of things and people, and yet their keen interest in all the
little details of life which escape the younger people who are more
self-engrossed."
They turned then to talk of the country round them. Sara found that
Graham was interested in all nature studies. He told her some of his
experiences in the hills in India, and gave her an account of his
game-hunting there. She felt quite sorry when the drive came to an end.
Colonel Fleming came out to meet them with a beaming face.
"Good creatures to be so punctual! I'm actually getting nervous. Miss
Darlington, come and look at my tea-tables. I hope my housekeeper has
provided enough. How do people know how much will be required? It's a
mystery to me."
Tea had been laid under a group of old elms on the lawn. Sara looked
at the bountiful spread, and assured him that he had enough cakes and
sandwiches for a hundred.
"You think so? I'm so glad. I made Mrs. Larkins double everything
half an hour ago. You see, I've never gone in for this style of thing
before. And I want to do it well."
The guests began to arrive, and soon there was a very fair sprinkling
of people scattered about upon the lawn. Colonel Fleming had made a
very pretty garden for himself, and the old farmhouse looked most
picturesque in its setting. Miss Ferris and her brother, Sir Malcolm,
were there, and Sara was introduced to the squire of the district for
the first time. He was a short, stout man with very little powers of
conversation, and Sara found him distinctly heavy.
Mrs. Jeffery and her little girl were some of the latest arrivals. The
child soon discovered Sara, and followed her about like a shadow.
Her mother paced a shady shrubbery path for a long time with Graham.
Sara came across them once talking earnestly. The young widow's face
was very sweet and appealing, she seemed to be pleading for something
which Graham, with set frowning face, was denying her. Sara was walking
with Miss Ferris when she met them. Mrs. Jeffery gave her a stiff
little smile of recognition; Graham never lifted his eyes from the
ground.
"My dear," said Miss Ferris, bluntly, "we have interrupted unadvisedly."
"Oh, they're cousins," said Sara, indifferently.
A little later, Colonel Fleming insisted upon taking her over
his house. Little True accompanied them. Sara admired the plain
dark-panelled hall, with its oak table and settle by the fire. It
was essentially a man's room. The dining-room led out of it, and
was furnished in the same severe style. Above the fireplace was the
portrait of a charming girl in riding dress.
"My mother, God bless her!" said Colonel Fleming. "And painted by a
first-rate artist too. I don't mind telling you, Miss Darlington, but
her eyes looking down upon me when I sit over my wine prevents my
making a—a beast of myself. Do you understand? A man dining alone, with
nobody to keep him company, soon makes a god of his cellar. And she and
I understand each other, and I know when I must draw in. Now then, come
into the drawing-room. It has been aired and trimmed up, but I never
use the room myself. I sit mostly in the hall."
The drawing-room was appalling in its stiff decorum: chairs against
the wall, shrouded to hide light, windows close shut, curtains and the
crimson damask suite from which holland covers had been removed made
Sara feel hot to look at them.
"I suppose this room appeals to ladies most," Colonel Fleming said,
with a wistful note in his voice, "but a man doesn't need a state room
like this, so I never use it."
"I don't think I should use it either," said Sara, thoughtfully;
adding, with a little laugh: "I mean if I were staying as a visitor in
your house."
"Oh, I would," exclaimed True, dancing up and down as she clung hold of
Sara's hand. "I would have canaries in all the windows, and dogs and
cats about the floor, and then when it got dark, I would light up all
the candles, and get somebody to play the piano, and I would dance to
the music. It would be lovely!"
"I can see you and the cats and dogs all dancing together," said Sara,
with a merry laugh.
The child did not laugh. But she looked up into Colonel Fleming's face
gravely.
"Why don't you get a lady to come and live in this room? If I was
bigger, I might come. But there are lots of ladies who would like a
nice room like this."
"Ah!" said Colonel Fleming, laughing. "But then they might interfere
with my rooms, and that would never do. Now we'll come back to the
garden and lock this room up. It is too hot and fusty to use to-day."
"Like Bluebeard's cupboard it is," cried True.
And then she ran off in search of her mother, whilst Sara was taken
over the rest of the house.
As they rejoined the company on the lawn, the Colonel said—
"So glad to get Graham out amongst us to-day. He has been slowly
fossilizing, but you're waking him up at last."
"Oh, I have very little to say or do with him," said Sara,
indifferently.
She glanced at Graham, as he stood by Mrs. Jeffery's side. She was
eating an ice which he had brought her, and he was smiling at True's
earnest talk.
The child was leaning against her mother.
Then Sara was introduced to a local doctor's wife, and afterwards the
vicar of the parish came up and claimed her attention.
She did not see Graham to speak to till the guests were departing. They
were the last to leave, for Colonel Fleming had begged them to help him
till the end.
When the dog-cart came round, the Colonel helped Sara into it and said—
"I am hoping my party has been a success, but I'll own up to being
confoundedly glad it's over!"
"You have given pleasure to all of us," said Sara.
"Get Mr. Laird to follow my example," said Colonel Fleming as they
drove off. "It's your turn to show hospitality next!"
Graham gave a short laugh.
"The skies will fall before we go in for entertaining," he said to Sara.
"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "Your mother may wake up one day, and
want to do it."
"She is certainly taking more interest in life. Now I want you to get
her to do something. Mrs. Jeffery is most anxious to let bygones be
bygones. She wants to come over to lunch one day, and see my mother.
In fact, I should like her and the child to come to us for a few days
before they leave this neighbourhood. I want my mother to be willing to
receive her."
"You take my breath away," said Sara. "It was only the other day you
told me if Mrs. Jeffery were to call, that your mother was not to see
her. And now I have heard the story, I think it would be the height of
folly for them to meet at present."
She felt Graham instantly stiffen, as he sat beside her.
"I am the best judge of that."
"No, excuse me, you are not. No man understands a woman. Your mother is
not strong enough either mentally or physically to be put under such an
intense strain. Think how it will reopen all the anguish and remorse!
Why, it is cruelty to think of it! I am fond of dear little True, but
to have a child in the house, in your mother's state, would be madness,
especially as she is the child of Mrs. Jeffery."
Sara spoke hotly. She felt up in arms against such a proposition.
But Graham resented her impulsive speech.
"Miss Darlington," he said in very determined tones, "you may be sure I
have my mother's welfare at heart as much as you. But she is softening,
and I am convinced that were she once to see my cousin, and hear her
speak of the past, she would see it with different eyes. Mrs. Jeffery's
life has been a very unhappy one, and my mother's attitude towards her
has intensified that unhappiness. My mother used to adore children, and
True, I firmly believe, would bring balm and peace to her heart and be
a veritable little peacemaker. We do not want to encourage my mother
in this morbid animosity towards one who has really been an innocent
victim of her dislike. I have promised to have my cousin and her child
the end of next week. And I never break a promise."
"Oh!" cried Sara. "You are going to undo all my work, and plunge your
mother into the depths again. I must protest! I will! Your cousin ought
to have known better than to make you give her such a promise. You
are vexed with me. You think I have no right to object. But I do. I
shouldn't be human if I did not. And if you still persist in bringing
her to the house, I warn you that I shall circumvent you if I can!"
Graham compressed his lips but said no more, and the rest of their
drive was taken in constrained silence: Sara in seething rebellion
against his decision, Graham in real annoyance at her attitude.
When Sara alighted from the trap, she stood with flushed cheeks and a
proud poise of the head.
"We are angry with each other now," she said, "but do not let your
mother see that we are. And do not, I implore you, touch upon this plan
before her to-night. Let her have some sleep. She needs so much, and
she will have none after she knows."
"You are exaggerating," said Graham, coldly, "but I have no intention
of saying anything to my mother about the matter to-night."
Sara heaved a sigh of relief and went upstairs.
Graham shut himself into the dining-room. As he paced up and down,
with a furrow of anxiety and impatience across his brow, he caught the
sounds of Sara's bright cheerful voice in the room above. Once he heard
his mother's feeble laugh. He knew that a minute account of the garden
party was being given, and a certain regret crept into his heart that
he was not there to join in the talk. Then, he gave himself a mental
shake.
"A very masterful young woman! She may manage my mother, but she will
not manage me."
He contrasted her with the sweet plaintive young widow who, with a hand
laid lightly on his arm, had said—
"Graham, if I could regain your mother's love and friendship, I should
be a happy woman. It is like a heavy burden weighing my spirit to the
ground. Let me only see her, and I know, I know I could make my peace
with her."
Sara only came downstairs in time for the evening meal, and she talked
as usual upon various subjects. The one topic that was in both their
minds was not touched upon again.
Graham sat with his mother afterwards, and her improved brightness and
animation only made him more determined than ever to keep his promise
to Mrs. Jeffery.
"It could not harm her, and Eva is sweetness and gentleness itself. She
will have the tact necessary when seeing her."
When the next morning came, Sara spoke to him at breakfast.
"Will you let me plead for a redecision on your part upon having your
cousin here?"
"No," he said; "I have weighed the matter well, and you are unduly
alarmed. I am convinced it may be the very best course to take with my
mother now. The final touch that will bring her peace and comfort of
mind. She is much better in health now—more reasonable in every way."
Sara was mute.
He looked across at her, and his tone softened a little.
"I will do this if you like. I will invite Mrs. Jeffery over for the
day, and leave it to my mother to decide as to whether she should come
for a few days as our guest."
"Well," said Sara, drawing a deep breath, "I have lain awake all night
trying to see a gleam of light in your suggestion, and my instinct and,
may I say, my common sense is dead against it. But I will not fight
you. I am here to help your mother, and I will do my best to see her
through it. When are you going to speak to her about the visit?"
He hesitated.
"I think you might do that."
"I am afraid I must refuse."
He looked at her with a cold smile.
"I expected a refusal, but I gave you your opportunity. I had better
speak to her at once before I go out."
Sara made no reply.
He left the room and went upstairs.
Sara stepped out into the garden. She found herself gripping the back
of a garden seat, and wondered at her own agitation.
"If only he had waited a little longer, till she was out in this
beautiful air and sunshine! Oh, I hope he will be gentle and patient
with her!"
She waited in suspense, then she heard the trap coming round, and
as she turned towards the house, Graham came out and stood upon the
doorstep.
"It is all right," he said quietly, meeting her anxious gaze. "Mrs.
Jeffery comes to lunch on Friday next."
She said nothing, but with swift step passed him, and made her way at
once to Mrs. Laird's room.
The old lady was sitting in her easy-chair by the window. Her breakfast
tray was on the table by her side.
Her hands were grasping the arms of her chair, but they were trembling,
and her sad, haunting eyes met Sara's with infinite pathos.
"Come to me. I want you badly."
Sara knelt down by her side, and spoke with her usual brightness.
"Isn't it a lovely morning? Shall we have the bath-chair round in an
hour's time, and enjoy the air?"
"Oh, my dear, my dear, don't you know? Hasn't Graham told you? That
woman is coming here—under our roof—to eat our bread—to force herself
upon me after all these years. How can I bear it? Will you help me? You
are my only help, my son is against his own mother!"
She leant back in her cushions with a little moaning sigh.
"Dear Mrs. Laird! I have been told about it, but you need not fret. She
is not worth it. Can you not show her that the past is past, and is not
to be reopened? As you are never down to lunch, you need not see her
for more than a moment or two. She seems—if I may say so—to crave for
your forgiveness and affection. And I will be with you when you see her
if you would like me to be. I will not leave you alone."
"Yes—yes, you must be with me. I distrust her, I cannot help myself.
And Graham seems distressed to think I can't forgive. He is so
honourable himself, so big-hearted, that he cannot understand a woman's
feelings. Oh, Sara, my dear, I was beginning to have such peace, such
comfort, and now the darkness is coming back."
"No, no, don't think such a thing for a moment. Ask yourself: Who has
given you this peace? Where does it come from?"
Mrs. Laird put her trembling hand on Sara's soft brown head. A little
smile came to her lips.
"You told me it says that no man can take it away from me, but Graham
has been perilously near doing it this morning."
"He cannot touch your soul. You have given that right away into God's
keeping."
"So I thought I had, and the past with it. But the past is to be
reopened. She will confront me with the consequence of my evil temper.
Is it blotted out?" Then she added under her breath—
"'There is plentiful redemption,
In the Blood that has been shed.'"
Sara smiled, but the quick tears of pity and sympathy were dimming her
eyes.
"Do you know," she said brightly, "I think you are bravely going to
crush the last of your shadows underfoot. You have always had a secret
dread of meeting Mrs. Jeffery again one day. Now, when you will have
seen her, this dread will leave you. A week hence, you will look back
and smile at your fears. And if you could make up your mind to forgive
her and tell her why you can do it now, it may do her all the good in
the world!"
"But she has a child!"
Sudden terror leapt into her eyes.
"I told Graham she should not torture me by bringing her child here! He
did not press the point. That would be too much for me to bear! You'll
prevent that, Sara! Oh, my head! My head!"
She sank back exhausted.
Sara soothed her. But that was a trying morning, and Mrs. Laird was too
upset to go out in her wheel chair.
Graham came home to lunch.
Sara met him with no reproaches. She simply said—
"Would it be possible for Mrs. Jeffery to come to lunch to-morrow? I
think it would be better for your mother if she did."
"Perhaps she would be able to do so. You mean the sooner she comes the
better?"
"Yes, the waiting and suspense is very wearing for your mother."
"I thought she was very calm and reasonable about it when I talked to
her."
"You must not let True come. I have promised that she shall not."
He looked at her. And the faintest smile came to his lips.
"I did not know you could speak so disagreeably," he said.
"I feel disagreeable," said Sara, meeting his gaze with calmness. "I am
really anxious. And I wonder why men's instincts are so faulty. But we
won't discuss the subject."
"No, we will not," Graham said. "Are you going out this afternoon?"
"I don't think I will leave your mother to-day."
"Then I will ride over myself to the farm. I thought that perhaps you
could have taken a message."
Sara mentally congratulated herself upon escaping such an errand.
She spent the afternoon with Mrs. Laird, but persuaded her to come down
and sit in the garden. The old lady was still much perturbed. Sara read
aloud to her, hoping to distract her thoughts from the unhappy past.
But Mrs. Laird did not 'listen, and at last put her hand on the book.
"Stop reading, and talk to me. I suppose Graham has gone over to see
Eva?"
"I think he is going to ask her to come to-morrow."
"Is it not an extraordinary thing that a woman of her type should make
every one believe in her? And, Sara, the conviction has come to me this
afternoon, that she will follow her former tactics, and turn my only
son against me."
"Oh no, no. You must not think such a thing. Your son is devoted to
you. Think of all his loving care—"
"And sacrifice! I know now that he has sacrificed himself for me all
these years. I used not to care, but I do care now. I was struggling
with my selfishness and resolving to fight with my fears, and come out
amongst people again for his sake, but now, oh, I can't think! You have
seen her, you say she is a sweet attractive woman. I know how weak, how
blinded men are! Do you think my cup of sorrow is not yet full? Shall I
be forced to welcome her as a daughter-in-law?"
"I think you are very wrong in entertaining such a thought. Now, shall
I sing to you? Shall I fetch my guitar?"
Mrs. Laird sighed heavily.
"I don't think that even your music could cheer me to-day."
But Sara made the attempt, and her sweet little songs brought some
relief to Mrs. Laird's brain.
The weary day was over at last. Sara laid her head upon her pillow with
a prayer that strength and grace would be given for the morrow.