"TOO GOOD TO LAST"
"AND now can we talk?"
"As much as ever you like."
Sara was taking the young guest for her first walk across the hills.
Ina was not as a rule a good walker, but the keen bracing air
invigorated her, and though Sara had to adapt her pace to hers, she was
enjoying her fresh experience of striding through the dead heather and
bracken. It was a still October morning. Curlews swooped and circled
round overhead, there was a fresh moist smell of earth, occasionally
they disturbed the sheep who were cropping the short turf, and Snooks
who was with them darted in and out of the furze bushes in the vain
hopes of putting up a rabbit to chase.
Ina lifted her head, and drew in long breaths of the sweet pure air.
"Oh, how I hate chimneys and smoke!" she said suddenly. "How good it is
not to see a sign of either up here!"
"Tell me about your life," said Sara; and Ina began at once.
"I love Aunt Anna—she lets me call her 'Aunt,' though I'm no real
niece—but I have got weary of all her work. Is that wicked of me? I
can't tell you how unselfish she is, but I wonder if ever God will be
able to make her rest in heaven. She will never rest here. And she has
had trouble upon trouble. I often wonder why people are allowed to
deceive her so! I have reasoned it out to myself sometimes, and I feel
as if every professing Christian must be a hypocrite!
"And then I realize that in Aunt Anna's single-heartedness, she
lays traps for impostors. If she engages a servant, she must have a
Christian one, she says, and as she gives good wages, they pretend to
be what they are not, for the sake of the place. She is always getting
hold of reclaimed drunkards and putting them into places of trust and
responsibility, and then they break out, and there is disaster at once.
"And then Mr. Wylde, her late secretary, he is an arch hypocrite, and
has been behaving in a perfectly shameless way, actually enticing
members of her young men's club to come to his house and play cards and
drink. I can't tell you what we have gone through. She hasn't had one
honest strong man amongst all her dependents. And then Mr. Laird came.
Isn't he wonderful? So quiet and capable and strong, with such keen
quick sight of right judgment. In one day he discovered what Mr. Wylde
was like, and he was sent away in twenty-four hours!"
Ina paused for breath. Her eyes were glowing. She was quite
enthusiastic.
Sara listened and sympathized; the girl talked on and told of the busy
life she had had since she had left school.
"Have you had no young companions of your own age?"
"I have never been young," said Ina, with a little wistful smile, "not
since I left school. Aunt Anna has some nieces, but they are smart
up-to-date girls who despise her, because she is old-fashioned and
good, and they look upon me as a poor dependent. You see I am always
so busy that I haven't a chance to know young people. I have friends
amongst the colliers, and I see servant girls and shop girls who come
down to our Home of Rest, but I can't exactly make friends of them. I
don't think I care about people much. I never meet anybody who takes
any interest in me. But there is no reason why they should."
"Isn't there?" said Sara with a smile as she put her hand on her
shoulder. "Why, I was interested in you from the first moment I saw
you!"
A swift bright colour came into Ina's cheeks.
"Oh," she said, "you are so kind. I can't tell you what I feel like.
You are all such fascinating people to be with! Mrs. Laird with her
sad eyes and sweet smile, and clinging affection for Mr. Laird and
for yourself, and he—well, I've told you what I think of him, he's
like a chivalrous knight, thinks no trouble too much for a weak
defenceless woman. And you're a princess—I love to watch you moving
about. I watch for your smile and that lovely little laugh of yours:
you're the happiest person I've ever seen! Do you believe in people
distributing their auras around them? You make everybody in the room
with you comfortable and glad. Mr. Laird inspires one with safety and
confidence; you with joy and hope. And when I'm in the room with both
of you, I feel as if I were in heaven!"
"My dear Ina, what a romantic little person you are!" Sara was much
touched.
This quiet girl had keen observation as well as imagination. She had
not yet lost her youthful enthusiasms, though she was strangely worn
and old in other ways.
And then suddenly, as they breasted the summit of the hill on which
they were, they came across Colonel Fleming riding on his stout old
cob. He dismounted at once and came forward in his usual impulsive
genial way.
"Upon my word, I'm in luck! Was thinking of you, Miss Darlington, and
wondering whether Graham were back!"
Sara introduced him to Ina.
He shook hands with her.
"Don't know who you are from Adam, but you look a good sort. A friend
of Graham's, eh? He seems to have a good many friends when he gets
away. Oh! Do you come from Dalby? Where he has been putting his
finger into a very muddled pie, eh? And what do you think of our
neighbourhood?"
"I think it is all perfectly lovely!"
"That's right. Then you'll be happy here. But you look like a wraith!
And I suppose Miss Darlington has trotted you up here to whip some
colour into your cheeks. I'm coming over this afternoon—want to look up
Graham on business! Do you know what I call Miss Darlington behind her
back? Balm. Just Balm. You'll soon find out what a good name it is for
her."
If Ina was astonished at Colonel Fleming's rapid flow of talk, she
did not show it. But she smiled up at him, the first real smile of
appreciation and pleasure since her arrival.
And then Sara and Colonel Fleming had a little talk together about
local matters, and presently Ina was addressed again.
"Do you like horses? Ever ridden?" Ina was quietly stroking the nose of
the Colonel's old cob.
"Yes, I used to ride when I was a little girl. We had an old pony."
Sadness came into her eyes at the recollection of her childhood.
Colonel Fleming looked at her, then at Sara.
"Look here, will you come out riding with me? I have a quiet old
rocking-horse, who will carry you anywhere. If you've come down here to
get strong, there's nothing like riding over our hills, now is there,
Miss Darlington?"
"I think it would be delightful for her. Wouldn't you like to ride,
Ina?"
Ina's face flushed and paled by turns.
"I think I would," she said.
"That's good. Now we'll settle it right off. To-morrow afternoon sharp
at half-past two, I shall be at Felstone Corner with a mount for you."
"But," gasped Ina, "I have no habit—nothing to ride in. And Mrs. Laird
might not like me to do it."
"Habits be bothered! I've seen women on horseback in shorter skirts
than you're wearing at present, and nobody will see you on these hills.
Make yourself a guy, nobody will care. And as for Mrs. Laird, she'll
let you do any mortal thing you have a mind to, dance on your head if
you care to try!"
Ina laughed, and Sara joined her.
And then the girl promised to be ready; and the Colonel mounted his
horse and rode away.
"I think I'm in a fairy tale," said Ina with sparkling eyes. "I seem to
be in another life altogether."
She was a different girl when she returned to the house, bright and
animated and interested in everything about her.
In the afternoon, Sara made her rest.
They had a pleasant evening together in the drawing-room. Sara brought
out her guitar and sang to them, and Ina played on the piano. She was
a good musician though she acknowledged that she had never time to
practise.
And then Graham began to talk to her about his cousin's work. In the
course of conversation, Ina mentioned their new vicar, who had lately
married and settled in a house close to them.
"Surely," said Sara, "you see something of him and his wife, don't you?"
"Not much," said Ina. "Aunt Anna doesn't care for his wife. She isn't
a bit like a clergyman's wife. Won't do anything in the parish, and
dresses very smartly and plays golf and bridge. She says she's not
going to be her husband's curate. They don't seem very suited to each
other, they don't care for the same things."
"And that means tragedy," said Sara, with deep feeling in her tone.
Graham looked at her.
"Why?" he asked. "A woman's tastes are different to a man's as a
general rule. But they get on together none the worse for that."
"Ah, but," said Ina, hesitatingly, "Mrs. Arran despises good people and
parish work, and she laughs at it all, and wants her husband to be a
military chaplain in India, because then she says they would have no
parish."
"I wonder why she married him," Sara said thoughtfully. "Marriage is so
irrevocable, two people pulling different ways tied together for life!
Oh, it's dreadful to think of! And it's so often done. One with his
hopes in heaven, the other with her hopes on the earth. How can they
live happily together?"
Graham stirred in his chair.
"I don't agree," he said, and his tone was rather abrupt and impatient.
"If one of them has an ounce of real religion worth having, he'll
impart it to the other."
"I've never known that happen," said Sara, sadly, "and I've known
several ill-matched couples. It's generally just the other way. I
don't know why. But the power of evil seems greater than the good. I
know such a nice girl who married an atheist. She thought she would
influence him, and he assured her that she would, but she did not, and
instead, lost her own faith. She's a miserable woman now."
"Then do you mean to say that no man ought to marry a woman unless he
and she think exactly alike from a religious point of view?"
Graham's keen eyes were bent on Sara as he spoke. His tone was very
impressive.
"How can two walk together, unless they are agreed?" quoted Sara,
softly.
"You good people are very pharisaical!"
And taking his pipe out of his pocket, Graham got up and left the room.
They heard him go into his smoking-room, and bang the door rather
violently.
And Sara knew that she had vexed him.
She did not see him again that night.
And at breakfast the next morning, he was noticeably stiff in manner
towards her. But no one could resist Sara's sweet gaiety for long, and
he was no exception to the rule.
The next day Ina went off for her ride with Colonel Fleming. She was a
little nervous at the thought of it, but Sara encouraged and cheered
her. She lent her a loose covert coat of hers, and some leggings, and
watched her ride off with mixed feelings of envy and delight. She could
not forget the days when she rode out, and Colonel Fleming had never
offered her a mount, much as she would have liked it.
Ina came back from her ride in glowing spirits.
"I do like Colonel Fleming. What fun he is! He is just like a
schoolboy. He wants me to go again to-morrow. May I?"
She appealed to Mrs. Laird, who at once agreed that she could.
"My dear Sara," she said when the girl had left the room; "it is a
great relief to me to see how easily she is amused and entertained,
and she is very willing and helpful. She tidied out a drawer for me
beautifully this morning. She asked me to give her something to do."
And before many days had passed, Ina had made herself quite at home.
She adored Sara, and loved nothing better than to work with her in the
garden, or sit sewing with her indoors. She was always ready to wait
upon Mrs. Laird, and showed her many little polite attentions. Graham
had the effect of awing her; she was rather silent when he was in the
room, but she confided in Sara that she thought he was like one of the
strong silent heroes in story books, who worked miracles of strength
and valour, when appearing to be absolutely immovable and passive.
One day Colonel Fleming did not come for the ride, but sent a message
that he would like to see Graham. And in the evening, after Ina had
gone to bed, Graham told them the reason of his summons.
"Poor Fleming has just heard of his wife's death. It has rather upset
him."
"But he has been divorced from her for years, has he not?" asked Sara.
"Yes, her death has reopened all the past. He can't regret her, and yet
actually asked me if he ought not to get a black tie."
"Poor man!" said Mrs. Laird, pityingly. "He can't forget that he was
once happy with her. Shall I write him a note of sympathy?"
"For goodness' sake, no, mother! He will want no allusions to it.
Perhaps I ought not to have spoken. You must pretend you do not know."
For a few days Colonel Fleming remained in seclusion, then he appeared
again, and happened to meet Sara in the garden.
She saw a change upon his cheerful-looking face. There was a softness
and serenity in his eyes that had not been there before. He gripped her
hand silently.
"I have been down in the valley," he said to her, "but I am up and out
of it now, ready to have a smack and a thrust at Apollyon again, when
he comes my way! How's Miss Godwin? What a good horsewoman she is! And
what a life she is leading with that little tyrannical saint of hers!
Can't you get her out of it? She wants a rescuer. Don't your ears burn
sometimes? You should hear the histories we tell each other of what you
do and say!"
"I'm sorry you can't find a more interesting topic of conversation,"
Sara said, looking at him with her bright smile. "She's a dear little
thing, isn't she? So grateful to every one for giving her pleasure.
I shall be quite sorry when she goes back, but her visit cannot be
prolonged much longer. She is impatient to be back—says she is wanted."
"Rubbish! Keep her till she gets a little more flesh upon her bones.
She hasn't had a chance as yet."
Ina happening to come up at this moment, he turned to her.
"Talk of an angel! Well, did you hear what we were saying? That until
you were more respectably clothed with plump fat we shouldn't let you
stir from Felstone Corner! Have you been wondering at my absence? Joey
is eating his head off in the stable. I've been busy, and distracted
and rather down in the dumps, but I'm as cheery as a cricket now, and
am coming round to-morrow sharp at two, for the days are getting short.
Will you be ready?"
"Oh yes," was the joyful response. "Thank you so much. I have missed
my rides, but I wonder you can find time to take me out at all, with
all your farm to see to. And do you know that I feel I could ride over
these lovely hills quite alone now? So if you would trust me with Joey
one day, then you need not be dragged away from your work!"
"Couldn't trust you!" said the Colonel, emphatically. "Why, Joey might
take it into his head to take you near the cliffs: and landslips are
too frequent there for safety. Nobody drags, me, I assure you! I come
off as blithe as a bird!"
The rides continued, and then one afternoon when Ina was out, a
telegram came for Graham.
"Miss Harrison very ill—wants you."
Happily he was in when it arrived. He made all arrangements for leaving
that night.
Mrs. Laird was very distressed about it.
"Poor Cousin Anna! I am sorry for her, but you cannot be continually at
her beck and call. She is always having attacks like this. That child
has told me so."
"This is from her doctor," said Graham, gravely, and he went on
preparing for his journey.
When Ina came home from her ride, she was told. In an instant, she
decided that she must go too.
"I must! I must! I'm always with her when she is ill. I know how to
nurse her. She will miss me. Oh, how I wish I had not left her! I shall
never forgive myself if anything happens to her."
"Graham is going to-night!" said Mrs. Laird, gently. "By the night
train. Men can travel so much easier than women. It would be too great
a rush for you!"
"A rush! I could pack up in a quarter of an hour. If Aunt Anna is ill,
I would cross the ocean to get to her if necessary. Oh, Mr. Laird, you
won't refuse to take me?"
"Of course I will not," was the quiet reply. "Pack up your boxes
and have a good meal before you start. I must ride over and see Sir
Malcolm. But I don't think there will be anything to detain me."
Mrs. Laird, seeing the girl's distress, made no further objections.
Sara helped her to pack, and Ina flung her arms round her neck in
parting.
"Oh, you've been so good to me! I've never been so happy in my life. I
knew it was too good to last."
"But you're glad to be going to Miss Harrison?"
"Oh yes, yes. I feel selfish in enjoying myself here whilst she has
been struggling to keep well. She always goes on till she drops. Her
doctor says she never husbands her strength. Oh, Miss Darlington, will
you pray hard that she may get better? My heart will break if she is
taken from me! I am always so afraid of it! And oh! I do thank you for
all your kindness and goodness to me. I have never been so happy in my
life before."
She drove away by the side of Graham, looking back at the ugly little
farmhouse with smiles and tears.
And Sara went indoors wondering what life held for the quiet unselfish
girl who had left them as suddenly as she had come.
Mrs. Laird called to her. She was sitting knitting by the fire in the
drawing-room.
Sara went across to her; and Mrs. Laird laid her hand caressingly upon
her arm.
"You and I are left together, Sara. We shall be very happy, shall we
not? I am learning to give my son up to other women who need him. I
have kept him to myself for so long that I dare not try to do it any
longer."
Sara kissed her affectionately.
"He will be a great comfort to his cousin," she said. "Let us hope she
will get better, and then he will soon return to you."
Mrs. Laird shook her head doubtfully.
"I have a presentiment that she is not going to live, but if anybody is
ready to leave this world, I should think she must be. Her whole life
has been given to good works, and to real self-denial."
Mrs. Laird proved right in her surmise. Two days afterwards, she
received a wire saying that her cousin had quietly and peacefully
passed away.