A STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM
"The soul, emancipated, unoppressed,
Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best,
Learns much."
COWPER.
MRS. CARTER seemed to adapt herself with the greatest ease to the quiet
routine of her young cousins' home. She was always bright and pleasant,
always ready for a chat with any one, from Rachael to little Johnnie
and any of the villagers who came in her way. Abigail alone stoutly
resisted her charms; and Abigail she had resolved to conquer by charms,
or sheer strength of will.
She came down one morning braced for the conflict, looking, in her
fresh tailor-made shirt and skirt, a dainty little person. Captain
Carter had declined to come to her help, and she was longing to be back
in town with him again.
It was a lovely spring morning. As she looked across at her little
black-robed cousins, she said, "I long to put you two girls into fresh
spring frocks. Don't look so shocked. I don't mean you should leave off
your mourning, but you might have lost two parents from the depth of
your crape!"
"Grandmother acted as a parent," said Heather, quietly.
"Yes, dear, I know, but such deep mourning is out of date. It is only
a matter of custom. It does those who are gone no mortal good, and
is only a burden to the wearers. Now I want to talk to you both very
seriously. I must be going home in a few days. Would you like to come
with me, and see some of the sights of London? Of course we shall
be very quiet. Your recent loss would be quite sufficient excuse to
prevent your going out much. But we could do a good deal in a quiet
way, and I am sure the change of air and scene would do you both a
great deal of good."
"We should like to," said Heather, thoughtfully, "but Abigail is so
dreadfully set against it that she would never agree to it!"
"You told me a little time ago, you would give her notice to leave if
she interfered with us," said Bluebell, mischievously.
"I know I did, but that was when the possibility of doing it seemed
vague and uncertain."
"Well," said Mrs. Carter, a little impatiently; "I cannot force you to
come against your wills, but, if you would like to come, I will manage
Abigail."
"I don't know who would take up the—the things we do," said Heather.
"The villagers will miss us going in and out, and we help a good deal
in the house."
"My dear child, I am only asking for a short visit. Abigail could be
quite well left in charge until you returned. I am not asking you to
give up your home altogether."
"Of course we must come," said Bluebell, impetuously. "It will be our
first chance of seeing more of life, which Heather is always longing
for. Abigail is the stumbling-block. If you will manage her, we will
come—gratefully and gladly, won't we, Heather?"
And Heather assented a little doubtfully, but in accents of relief at
her sister's taking the decision into her own hands.
Mrs. Carter waited till the afternoon to broach the subject to Abigail.
She sent the girls out for a walk, and when they were well out of the
way, she asked Abigail to come and have a little chat with her.
She was sitting in the drawing-room, and Abigail entered with
compressed lips and lowering brows. She had a presentiment of what was
coming, and if Mrs. Carter had braced herself for the interview, so had
she.
"Won't you sit down, Abigail? We shall not be interrupted, for I don't
suppose you have one visitor in a twelvemonth here, do you?"
"I suppose we might have a good many, if we opened the doors to all who
asked themselves without invitation," was the grim reply.
"It is only a cousin's privilege to do that," responded Mrs. Carter,
gaily. "Now, we won't fence round the bush, but I will come at once to
the point. I have asked your young ladies to come and pay me a visit,
and they are coming to London with me the beginning of next week."
"That they are not," was the stern reply, "and you'll excuse me for
contradicting you, mem. I've nursed those children since their birth,
and being their rightful guardian now, I shall have my say in the
matter."
"Now, look here, Abigail, listen to me. I admire your faithfulness
and mistaken ideas of duty, but if you are as sensible a woman as I
take you to be, you must know in your heart that the present state of
things here cannot last. Miss Heather and Miss Bluebell are young, but
they are of age. Their grandmother left them her money without any
restrictions; and they have a perfect right to make their plans as they
think best. Do you imagine that they could be kept in this isolated
fashion for much longer? Did their grandmother wish to make nuns of
them? If so, she might as well have sent them off to a convent at once.
What do you think will happen to them when you and Rachael are taken
from them? You are neither of you very young persons, and in all human
probability, they will outlive you many years. Then two young girls
would be left friendless and unprotected, too innocent of the world and
its ways, to be able to defend themselves from any dangers that might
beset them."
"Nothing will make me consent to them going away with you, if you
please, mem. No amount of smooth-spoken words will make me do it.
Perhaps I may have my say. My late mistress has trained the young
ladies in the way that they should go, and I have helped her to do it.
They are trained for heaven, and not for the pomps and vanities of this
wicked world. They are leading happy, useful lives here, and until you
came to instil sinful desires into their innocent minds, had no wish
to do otherwise. My late mistress did not wish them to be acquainted
with you at all. We have often talked it over together. Your husband is
a soldier—that alone prejudiced her against you. You live a butterfly
existence; your dress is such that no decent woman would wear. The
young ladies have never been accustomed to see bare necks and arms of
an evening, and such an amount of jewellery and flash! You wish to make
them like yourself, to rob them of their piety, their innocence, and
their maidenly modesty. You would take them to dances, to theatres,
to all sorts of worldly pleasures, you would deck them in flowers and
coloured silks and satins, you would have them spend their substance in
riotous living. I know the ways of London, and I tell you, mem, I would
rather see them in their graves than taken away to be under your roof
and influence."
Abigail paused for breath.
Mrs. Carter looked as placid and smiling as ever. "I think you
misunderstand me, Abigail. I am not going to take them away from you
altogether. They have a sweet old home here, and have no intention of
leaving it. But they tell me they have never slept a night away for
the last three years. It is extremely bad for them. Change of air is
necessary to us all, especially after the sad time they have lately
gone through. I think you are letting your prejudice run away with your
sound common sense. You are afraid I am going to steal your chicks from
you, and so in the soreness of your heart, you give me the credit of
all that is bad, and paint me as black as you can. I can promise you
that their religion shall not suffer whilst with me. I go to church
twice every Sunday, and once in the week all through Lent. I have only
asked them for a month, and have told them that their deep mourning
alone prevents them from taking part in any of the gaieties. London is
very quiet now, and will be until after Easter. You will have them back
with you then, more than ever in love with their sweet country home,
after all the dust and glare of London streets."
"They shall never go with you," repeated Abigail, with determined lips.
"Never shall they leave me, while I have health and strength to prevent
it. You talk of your religion, mem, but it must be the religion of
the Pharisees of old, a whitened sepulchre outside, and inside dead
bones! Haven't I seen you stifling a yawn when we are in the midst of
our morning devotions? Have you any real love for the Word of Life,
and for the God who gave it to us? Ay, you may go to church, and think
that church-going covers a multitude of sins. You may bend your head
in worship, when your heart is full of disobedience and rebellion
against your Maker. Do you live for His glory alone, mem? Do you know
what it is to deny yourself, take up your cross daily, and follow the
Master who was despised and rejected of men? If the summons came to
you to-day—'This night thy soul shall be required of thee'—would you
be ready to meet the Judge of all the earth? Folks talk about their
religion! Religion, as you understand it, won't redeem your soul from
destruction, won't blot out the sins and follies of a lifetime. It
lulls your immortal soul to sleep, and gives you a false peace that
will prove your ruin!"
"Come, come, Abigail, I did not call you in here to preach to me. It
is beside the question altogether. If you will not see things in a
reasonable light, I will reason with you no longer. The young ladies
are coming home with me next week. There is nothing more to be said."
"And how will you send them back to me?" said Abigail, in the
bitterness of her soul. "Having given them a taste of sinful pleasures,
and drawn them into your net, do you think they'll come back as fresh
and innocent as when they went?"
"They may come back engaged to be married," said Mrs. Carter,
exasperatingly calm in tone. "I am going to try and get them good
husbands. That is the best thing that could happen to them."
Abigail turned her back upon the speaker, and walked straight out of
the room. With clenched hands she went upstairs to her bedroom, and
there locking the door, she went down on her knees by her bedside in
agony of supplication.
"Oh, God Almighty," she gasped, "I am weak and helpless by the side of
this sinful woman. Thou knowest how I have prayed for these children.
I have hoped they were in Thy fold. All things are possible to Thee!
Frustrate the design of the evil one. Give them the desire to stay at
home, and the strength to resist her persuasions. It is the thin edge
of the wedge, Lord. Oh, help me in this hour of need. Do Thou send
deliverance. All things are possible to Thee."
Her honest, rugged face was quivering with emotion. She rose from her
knees more hopeful. Surely her influence was not at an end with the
girls! She would appeal to them, and as soon as they came back from
their walk, she would speak to them alone.
Mrs. Carter did not feel very comfortable after Abigail's departure;
she got up and paced the room, her pretty brows contracted with
thought. Was it true that her religion was merely an empty form?
Abigail's words stung deeply, and she began to feel a little hesitation
in taking away the girls. Then she laughed aloud:
"She is an ignorant, narrow-minded woman, and though I respect her
motives, it is ridiculous and absurd to suppose that my influence will
do the girls any harm."
She met the twins at the hall door, when they returned.
"Abigail and I have fought it out," she said laughingly. "She is sure
to speak to you, but say as little as possible, and it will be all
right."
The girls looked at each other, then ran up to their room to take their
hats off.
"I hope Abigail won't make a great fuss," said Heather; "but I feel, I
don't care if she does."
"No, we shall soon get away from her. She has really no power to
prevent our going."
A knock at the door made them look at each other in dismay.
"Here she is, now for it!" said Bluebell, adding in a louder voice.
"Come in."
Abigail appeared with a white and rigid face. Heather turned to her
looking-glass, and began to hum a tune as she arranged the front of her
hair. Her heart was beating violently, but she controlled her voice as
she said carelessly, "Do you want anything, Abigail?"
For a moment Abigail did not speak. Then she turned to the door and
locked it behind her, standing like a sentinel in front of it.
"It is well to prevent interruption," she said dryly; "for I have a few
words to say to you both, and I wish to have time to say them."
"Now, Abigail, don't be cross," said Bluebell, plunging into the matter
at once. "We know what you're going to say, but our minds are quite
made up, and nothing you can say will alter our arrangements."
"And may I ask, Miss Bluebell, if the wishes of one who has nursed you
from babyhood, and has your best welfare at heart, are to count for
nothing? Is an irreligious and flighty stranger by her flatteries and
temptations to beguile you from your home and your God? Are you and
Miss Heather so weak and foolish as to believe all her deceiving words,
and go astray like silly sheep from the true fold I was trusting you
were in?"
Then Heather faced round with flushed cheeks and earnest eyes.
"One would think we were going to do a dreadfully wicked thing, from
the way you talk, Abigail. We are going to London on a visit; our
mother did the same thing when she was young, and so did grandmother,
she told us so. You have no right to say we shall be acting wrongly."
"'Tis the company you're going with, and the company you'll meet
with, you silly child, that is the sin. How can you serve God in such
a worldly house as you'll be going to? It's enough to raise your
grandmother's ghost, after all she has done and said to make you grow
up into good and virtuous young women! How can you go down on your
knees and ask God's blessing on such an enterprise? You're just a
couple of silly moths fluttering round the light, and it will be your
destruction in the end."
Abigail's vehement earnestness had the effect she desired on her
charges. They looked at each other with troubled eyes. She continued in
tones of entreaty—
"Now, be good children, and be advised by me. I would cut off my right
hand to prevent you going! I know the wickedness of the world, and you
do not. If you are tired of this place, you can go for a change to the
seaside with me. The summer will be coming on. I will do all in my
power to give you change and brightness. If you go with Mrs. Carter,
your happiness and peace in religion will depart from you. 'No man can
serve two masters. You cannot serve God and mammon!'"
"But we mean to serve God in London," said Heather, in hesitating
tones. "There must be some good people there. We shall not do anything
that grandmother would not have liked us to do."
Then Abigail took a false step. Seeing the girls were already wavering,
she thought she would clench their decision.
"I forbid you to go!" she cried. "You were left in my charge, and I
shall prevent it. Mrs. Carter shall go back alone, and I'll lock you in
your rooms rather than you should go with her. You know how determined
I can be, and if fair words shall not move you, force will. You can
plan and plot as you like, but never as long as I'm alive shall I let
you go with her."
If only Abigail had known how fatal these words were to her cause, she
would have bitten her tongue out rather than have uttered them.
Heather's eyes flashed fire at once.
"I think you forget, Abigail, your position. Bluebell and I have a
perfect right to make what plans we choose without consulting you in
the least. And—and we mean to in future. We have arranged to go to
London with Cousin Ida, and go we shall, and if you make any more fuss
about it, I shall give you notice to leave us!"
Abigail was perfectly speechless. Never had she dreamt of such utter
indifference to her authority. She could hardly believe it was Heather
speaking. This was turning the tables upon her with a vengeance!
"You poor misguided young creatures!" she exclaimed, and the real love
for them at the bottom of her heart seemed to come uppermost at once.
With a little choke in her throat, she unlocked the door, and went out
without another word.
And Heather, white and trembling at the thought of her audacity, sank
down on a chair and burst into a flood of tears.
Bluebell put her arms around her, and cried too. "We have done it, we
have done it!" she said. "And now we must go straight on, and never
look back!"
"I wish," sobbed inconstant Heather, "that Cousin Ida had never found
us out. I am sure we shall come to a bad end! We are going against
grandmother and Abigail, and God won't give us His blessing!"
And so it was with tears and misgivings that the twins gained their
independence.