GRAHAM'S DEPARTURE
"DO you think you could take care of my mother whilst I go to town for
a few days?"
"Most certainly," replied Sara, promptly. "We are always happy
together."
Graham had never before left home for even a night. His request almost
amused Sara; and he was quick to catch the sparkle in her eyes.
"I suppose you think I don't do much in the way of looking after my
mother? But before you came, she refused to go to bed unless she was
assured that I was close to her."
"I quite believe it. Now she can spare you easily; and I hope you will
take more than a few days if you can. It will do you a lot of good.
Don't you think we all need change from our surroundings sometimes?"
"I am content. One learns to adapt one's self to one's circumstances."
Mrs. Laird offered no objections to her son's proposed visit to town.
And he left early one morning, saying he would be back in three days'
time.
Later that same day Sara went out for a ramble over the hills. The
bracken was already tinged with gold, the heather dying, and the young
gorse beginning to bloom. She took Snooks with her, and paid a visit to
the herb doctor's daughter.
She found the latter busy taking some honey from her beehives, and Sara
watched the operation with the greatest interest. Then they sat down on
a rough bench outside the little hut, and began to talk. Agnes had by
this time lost all her shyness and reserve; and she and Sara were the
best of friends.
As Sara looked over the exquisite range of hills and valleys with the
golden sunshine stealing across them, and the shadows of the clouds
above following in its track, she drew a long breath of delight.
"Oh, I wish I lived up here, Agnes; I don't think I should ever get
tired of looking out over these lovely hills. One feels such rest and
peace in one's soul in lovely scenery like this."
"I think different people feel different," said Agnes; "I never took
much notice when I was miserable. How is Mrs. Laird?"
"Very much brighter and happier in every way."
"I always look upon her and myself as a bit alike in our experience,"
said Agnes, slowly. "'Tis strange that you should be friends with both
of us, but I s'pose you go through life hunting out the gloomy."
"Indeed, I don't," said Sara, smiling. "It was quite by accident we
came across each other."
Agnes nodded.
"Yes, I was much put about when I saw you first. But I can't thank you
enough for putting me on to my Bible. I read it in the evenings, and
lately I've been reading a bit here and there to father. It's good to
think of another life to come, when this is such a poor failure."
"I won't allow that, Agnes. We have our rough bits of road and cloudy
days, but you have a good many years before you yet—at least I hope
you have—and there's no reason why you should not live those years in
sunshine."
"Oh, miss! How can I?"
Sara looked at her affectionately.
"Open your heart to the real Sun, Agnes. The Bible tells you of Him. If
He comes inside you, your life can become a glory!"
Agnes drew a long breath.
"Tell me how you feel," she said. "You look as if sunshine be bursting
out of you all over."
Sara could not help laughing, and her laugh was so infectious that
Agnes joined her.
"I'm not one for an example," she said, "but I must say I can't help
feeling happy. This summer weather is delicious, and my invalid is
getting cheerier every day, and there's so much to do that wants doing,
and our unseen Friend, Agnes, is so tender and loving, such a Guide and
Protector!"
"I wish I knew Him as you do."
Then Sara sat and talked to her of that Friend, and Agnes's heart
quickened and glowed as she listened.
When Sara at last left her, promising to come again soon, it was
already late in the afternoon. She was hastening downhill when a loud
whistle behind her made her turn round. It was Colonel Fleming.
He overtook her.
"Quite breathless with the chase!" he exclaimed. "How you do fly along!
May I come back with you for a cup of tea?"
"Yes, do. I believe Mrs. Laird will see you. We are going to have it in
the garden."
"And so the stay-at-home has gone to have his fling! Saw him and Mrs.
Jeffery this morning at the station. They went off together."
Sara did not show her surprise.
"He will only be away for a few days. It will be very good for him to
have the change."
"Won't it just! I say, Miss Darlington, do you think you could persuade
him to come up to Scotland with me in a month's time? I'm going to
shoot with an old pal of ours. I go every year; and last year we did
our utmost to get Graham up there. But his mother is so much better
now, he might be persuaded. Is it rough on you if he goes? Would you be
lonely?"
"I don't really know the meaning of that word," said Sara, smiling at
his sudden concern for her. "I have been the one woman in the house
ever since I left school, first with my father, then with my brother;
and you know the ways of men!—Always out, and liking their womenkind
always in!"
"Yes—yes—I believe we do. I hate now coming into an empty house with
nobody to greet me—well—you'll try and do what you can to make Graham
go with me. Wish you'd seen him some years ago—he has fossilized
here—no spring or energy in him, and he used to be a first-class shot
too; Ferris won't preserve—and there's not much shooting about here. My
own is very poor. Lyle—the chap who's asked me to his shooting-box—has
got splendid covers and sport. He and Graham did some game-hunting
together in India and I joined them for a time. It would be like old
times to have Graham with us again."
"We will try to make him go," said Sara.
Colonel Fleming talked hard till they reached the house.
They found Mrs. Laird pacing up and down the garden paths enjoying
Sara's bright flower border. Just for an instant, from long habit, she
began to retire to the house, when she saw that Sara was not alone, but
the Colonel stepped blithely forward—
"May I have a cup of tea, Mrs. Laird? So glad to hear you're better.
If I'm going to drive you indoors, I'll go—I forced myself upon Miss
Darlington. Graham and I often have tea and a smoke at this time
together."
"I shall be very glad if you will stay," said Mrs. Laird, seating
herself in an easy-chair under an acacia tree; "my son is away."
"Yes, so I heard—glad he was able to have a change. Ferris is a beggar
for keeping his agents hard at it. You don't know him, do you, Mrs.
Laird? No loss, I can tell you. He and I had words the other day over
boundary marks. And I said to him,—
"'Look here, sir, you've your own property, and so have I. It don't
matter whether we possess one acre or a million, but the rights of
owners have to be respected, and I jolly well respect mine, I can tell
you!'
"The little bounder began to jaw, but I jawed too, and when once my
tongue is loose, I can tell you nobody can get an innings!"
Colonel Fleming was now leaning back in a garden chair perfectly
at ease, and Sara saw to her delight that Mrs. Laird was quietly
interested in his talk. She poured out tea and took a part in the
conversation.
And when the Colonel eventually departed, Mrs. Laird said thoughtfully—
"I can understand Graham's affection for that man. He is his only
friend in these parts, but he's such cheery company."
"I have never seen him anything but cheerful," said Sara. "He gets
pleasure out of everything."
"Like yourself. It was a fortunate day when you came to me, Sara. You
have made life very different to me, and to Graham too. He sees the
difference in the house. I wonder what business has taken him to town?"
Sara was wondering that too. She did not tell Mrs. Laird that Mrs.
Jeffery had gone up to town with him. She hardly knew herself if it
was prearranged or mere coincidence. She hoped the latter, and then
resolutely turned her mind from dwelling upon the subject.
"It has nothing to do with me. They are cousins, and he has a right to
help her if she needs a man's help."
But a letter from Graham to his mother, bearing the Brighton postmark,
made her very thoughtful. It arrived two days later, and Sara took it
to Mrs. Laird upon her breakfast tray. Mrs. Laird smiled as she took it
into her hand.
"You wouldn't believe how few letters I have received from Graham. For
fourteen years he has never been away from me."
Then she put on her spectacles and began to read it. Her smile soon
faded. She looked up at Sara, with fear in her eyes.
"Eva has got hold of him. He is with her at Brighton—says she has got
into some legal worry over a furnished house she has taken there, and
has gone down to straighten matters out. Oh, my dear, I fear, I fear
she means to marry him!"
"Oh no, why should she?" said Sara, trying to speak carelessly. "She
has the whole world to choose from. I think myself, if she marries
again, it will be to somebody who can give her more than your son can.
Forgive my plain speaking."
"Yes—yes, I know, and Eva always thought a good deal of wealth and
position. He says he may be away a little longer than he intended."
"It will do him good," Sara said. "We shall get on very well by
ourselves."
But both she and Mrs. Laird missed Graham a good deal. The absence of a
man in the house made itself felt, and the evenings, which were already
drawing in, seemed very long.
A fortnight elapsed before he returned, and then one day he wired, and
arrived a few hours after his wire.
Sara had planned a surprise for him. The little drawing-room was in
use; a small bright fire burned in the grate; and Mrs. Laird was down,
and sitting in the easy-chair, her work-table at her side. The room was
bright with flowers.
Graham could at first hardly believe his eyes. His mother stood up and
greeted him.
"Yes, I am in possession here. Has not Sara made the room pretty? And I
have been dining downstairs for some days now. I have become tired of
my bedroom."
"It's like old times, mother."
He said little, but his face glowed. He had returned much brighter in
spirits, and had a good deal to tell them of several old friends he had
come across in town.
"And Eva?" asked Mrs. Laird, quietly. "How is she?"
"Not very well. She has been having a lot of worries. I settled the
matter of the house, but she is looking for a good boarding-school for
her child, and it seems to involve a good bit of fatigue and anxiety."
"True is rather small for a boarding-school," said Sara.
"I don't know. I think I advised it. Hotel and boarding-house life
isn't good for a small child. And Eva doesn't care for housekeeping.
This furnished house gave her such a lot of trouble that she declares
she will never try another."
The subject was dropped. When dinner was over, they all returned to the
drawing-room. Graham could not get over the strangeness of having his
mother downstairs again. But before many days had passed, it seemed
perfectly natural. Mrs. Laird still breakfasted in her room, but
appeared to lunch, and was downstairs for the rest of the day.
And when Colonel Fleming came over, he joined the family circle as
a matter of course. Mrs. Laird was always quiet, but took part in
conversation now, and was increasingly interested in matters concerning
the outside world, from which she had retired for so many years.
And then Colonel Fleming broached the subject of the Scotch shooting
visit. A letter came from Sir Douglas Lyle urging Graham to accompany
him, and after much persuasion from every one, Graham at last gave way,
and said he would go.
The night before he went, he talked to Sara about it.
"Of course it is you who have brought this about," he said, looking at
her with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "You are longing to boss
the whole show here, and get rid of me. I am convinced that my mother
would never have agreed to it had you not worked upon her feelings in
private. Have you any wicked plans or devices up your sleeve?"
Sara stood against the fire in the drawing-room as he spoke. One of her
slender feet was on the fender. She was dressed in a plain powder-blue
velveteen gown, a little open at the neck. Very graceful and queenly
she looked, and when she raised her eyes to his they looked rather
wistful than gay, though she spoke as lightly as he.
"If I had, I would not produce them for your benefit. You must thank
the Colonel and your mutual friend Sir Douglas Lyle for the invitation,
not me! I have nothing to do with it. But we are all agreed that a
change of air and scene will be good for you."
"Indeed? Am I such a surly brute that you look forward to my absence
with pleasure?"
"No," said Sara, calmly, "you are not surly now. You were when I first
came. But no man or woman thrives when they are left too long in the
same rut. And this is a very small corner for a man to live his life
in, year in and year out. You must remember circumstances are changing.
You have steeled and trained yourself to a life of restraint and
repression until you were almost becoming mechanical in your ways. Now
we all want to shake you out of that life. The cause and reason of it
is being removed."
"What a very poor creature I am in your sight." There was bitterness in
his tone.
"Oh, Mr. Laird, what have I said to make you think that? If you only
knew—why, you are simply a marvel to me! Don't let us misunderstand
each other to-night. But, believe me, your mother herself wants you to
go. It will bring balm to her spirit when she realizes that she is no
longer a tie to you here. And I think you will bring her the greatest
pleasure when you return with all your news. She will be so freshened
up to hear it, so interested in all that you can tell her."
"I suppose it is egotism on my part, but I should like to feel that I
shall be missed."
"Oh, we can assure you of that," said Sara, with one of her soft
laughs. "But you will not see us with long faces till you are out of
the house. Would it comfort you to know that we shall feel deadly flat
and depressed when you are really gone?"
Then Graham smiled in his turn.
"I hope you will take care of yourselves," he said; "and remember if
anything occurs to make you need a man, send for Fleming or wire for
me."
Sara nodded, and said no more.
Mrs. Laird had a few last words with her son, and there were tears in
her eyes as she wished him good-bye. But when he had driven away, she
put her hand on Sara's arm.
"I never thought that I could live in this house without him. But you
are such a tower of strength to me! And I realize now that he ought to
see more of his old friends. I have asked him to call upon a cousin
of ours who lives near the Border. She is the only relative of mine
now living. Rather an eccentric woman she used to be, but perhaps you
would not call her so. I remember I thought her very good and very
narrow, but full of good works. She simply lives for the welfare of her
tenants. There is coal on her property, and she treats the colliers in
the most marvellous way. She told me she felt responsible for every
soul amongst them. Can you imagine the sort of woman she is?"
"A very delightful sort, I should think," said Sara.
She and Mrs. Laird had a quiet but happy time together. It was a fine
autumn and they spent much of their time out of doors. Sara was very
busy tidying up the garden. She raked and swept the paths, and with
the help of Samuel made big bonfires of weeds and hedge prunings. Mrs.
Laird looked on with great interest, and suggested that they should
look over a bulb catalogue together, and send for a nice supply to
plant at once.
One day Sara was surprised by a letter from Colonel Fleming. He wrote,
he said, to ask her if she would mind asking the herb doctor to go and
see one of his dogs.
"My housekeeper," he wrote, "has told me Trust is ailing and won't eat
her food. When you are rambling over the hills, I know you will not
mind asking him to go over and have a look at her. We're having good
sport here. Graham doesn't know himself amongst so many of his old
pals. And who do you think arrived yesterday? Mrs. Jeffery! There is
quite a big house-party. Mrs. J—, I heard, asked herself. She knows
Lady Lyle, but they are not very intimate. Why is Mrs. J— making such a
dead set at Graham? She's not half good enough for him. And I shall do
my best to frustrate her efforts. This might be a cackle from some old
maid, might it not? Well—so long! My kind regards to Mrs. Laird. You
should both be up here. I'll bring Graham back heart whole if I can. I
don't cotton to Mrs. J—. Never did!
"Yours,
"JACK FLEMING."
Sara did not read this letter to Mrs. Laird, but it depressed her. She
felt annoyed with Colonel Fleming for gossiping, and yet she knew he
must have had good grounds for writing so. She went off to the herb
doctor that same afternoon, but there was a weight on her spirits which
would not lift.
"Why should it matter to me?" she asked herself impatiently. "If a
man likes a woman well enough to propose to her, nobody can stop him.
Graham won't be her 'victim.' He will do it of set deliberate purpose.
It is Mrs. Laird who will be the chief sufferer! Oh, what fools some
men are! How entirely they judge by the surface! What can he have in
common with Eva Jeffery? And how can a woman of her butterfly tastes
expect a grave-thinking man like Graham Laird to content her for life?
It will be disaster—I know it will!"
Not even the fresh mountain air could exhilarate her. She went and
returned in the same low spirits, and it was well for her that she
could not brood over her bit of news when in Mrs. Laird's company.
She forced herself to be cheerful then, and, as is often the way, she
succeeded in bringing back a certain amount of brightness into her own
soul, as she was making the effort to brighten another.