LORD RICHARD CRAMER
"Souls see each other at a glance, as two drops of rain might
look into each other, if they had life."
"The cause of love can never be assigned,
It is not in the face, but in the mind."
It was the Sabbath, and all its surroundings were steeped in that
wonderful Sabbath stillness that not even great cities are without. The
servants had put on with their kirk gowns the quiet movements they kept
for this day, and, as they noiselessly prepared the breakfast, they
talked softly to each other in monosyllables. Marion was used to this
formality, and indeed was herself involuntarily affected by it. She
stood hesitating on the doorsteps about a walk in the garden. Her feet
longed for the soft lawns and the flowery paths, but she had not escaped
the Sabbath thraldom of her house and native city.
"It might be wrong," she mused, "perhaps I ought to go to God's house
and honor Him before all else. I must ask Aunt Jessy."
In a few minutes she heard her aunt coming downstairs. Evidently Mrs.
Caird had forgotten that it was the Sabbath; she took the steps quickly,
with some noise, too, and her face was happy; indeed, she looked ready
to laugh.
"This is a heavenly place!" she said cheerfully, "and here comes Kitty
with breakfast. There's no wonder you stand at the open door, Marion.
Look at that little summerhouse. It is covered with jasmine stars. If
you saw an angel resting in it, you would not be astonished."
"I was longing to walk in the garden."
"And why not?"
"It is the Sabbath."
"All days are Sabbath to the grateful heart."
"Yes, but this is the Kirk Day, and I was wondering how we were to get
there. Aileen says it is near two miles away. I can walk two miles, but
you----"
"I can walk as well as you can, but I'm not going to try it. I'm not
going to the Kirk at all to-day--walking or riding."
"Not going to Kirk, Aunt!"
"No. I have made up my mind to have one long, sweet, quiet day, and to
keep it with none present but God. As soon as I opened my eyes this
morning I heard larks singing up to the very gate of heaven. I saw one
rise from the brae just outside. I'll warrant you his nest was there.
Marion, he was worshiping before any of our Glasgow burghers were out of
their beds. I sent a prayer up with his song. God bless the bird!"
"What will Father say?"
"Just what he wants to say. I'll not hinder him. When you have eaten
your breakfast go into the garden and say a prayer among the flowers.
You'll be in one of God's own kirks. Open all your heart to Him."
"And you?"
"I'll be mostly in my room. It is long, long years since I had a Sunday
that rested me. I have made up my soul and my heart to have one this
day."
"And Aileen and Kitty?"
"They can walk to the Kirk. It will do them good. A mile or two is
nothing."
"I heard Aileen say there was a Victoria and a light wagon in the
carriage house, and she supposed the wagon would be for the servants."
"It may be so and it may not. I heard nothing about vehicles, and I am
not going to discuss them in any kind or manner. The girls can walk to
Kirk if they want to go; if not, they can bide in their place here. And
I'll tell them that plainly, as soon as I have finished my breakfast."
It is likely Mrs. Caird kept her word; for Sunday's dinner, always
prepared on Saturday, was laid on the table immediately after breakfast
and then the girls disappeared, and were not seen until it was time to
prepare supper. They looked dissatisfied and disappointed, and Aileen
admitted they were so.
"Cramer Kirk is a poor little place," she said, "and the Minister no
better than the Kirk. Master always makes a great gulf between the good
and the wicked, and his sermons hae some pith in them--the good get
encouragement, and the wicked are plainly told what kind o' a future
they are earning for themselves. But, with this man, it was just 'Love
God! Love God!' as if there was any use in loving God if you didna serve
Him. It was a poor sermon, Ma'am. Master would not like such doctrine,
and I came hungry away from it. So did Kitty. Kitty was saying you were
not in the Kirk. Were you sick, Ma'am?"
"Oh, no, Aileen! I was just loving God at home."
Aileen was amazed at the avowal. She looked at her mistress with
wondering eyes, and, though she did not venture to blame, there was
distinct disapproval in her attitude.
Mrs. Caird had spent the day in her room and in the summerhouse in the
garden, and this day the wonderful garden paid for its making; for in
the evening, as she was walking there with Marion she pointed to an
inscription above the entrance to the jasmine-shaded bower, and said,
"Read it to me, Marion." And Marion read slowly, as if she was tasting
the sweet flavor of the words:
"_Christ hath took in this piece of ground,
And made a garden there, for those
Who want herbs for their wounds._"
The two women looked at each other. Their eyes were shining, but they
did not speak. There was no need. That day Jessy Caird had found herbs
in the sweet shadowy place for all her unsatisfied longings, her fears
and anxieties, and received full payment for her long, unselfish love
and service.
The next afternoon the Minister joined his daughter and sister-in-law.
He was very cheerful and happy as he sat drinking a cup of tea. His
daughter was at his side, and Mrs. Caird's presence added that sense of
oversight and of "all things in order" which was so essential to his
satisfaction. However, Mrs. Caird had a way of asking questions which he
would rather not answer, and he felt this touch of earth when she said:
"How is Donald? And how is he faring altogether, Ian?"
The question was unanswered for a moment or two, then he said with
distinct anger, "I did not see Donald. The Minister's pew was empty
yesterday."
"Did you ask Maggie where he was?"
"Why should I do that? Donald ought to have told me where he was going
on the Sabbath. It will be a black day when I have to go to servants for
information about my son."
"Poor Donald! he cannot do right whatever he does. I dare say he only
went with Matthew Ballantyne to his father's place near Rothesay. You
will be getting a letter from him in the morning."
"I would rather have seen him where he ought to have been."
"In the _Church of the Disciples_?"
"Even so."
"You are all wrong. The boys would be on the water or climbing the
mountains. They were in God's holiest temple. I hope you don't even the
_Church of the Disciples_ with it!"
"This, or that, Jessy, Donald ought to have been in the Kirk."
"Maybe he was at Matthew's Kirk. Dr. Ward is preaching there now, and
both Matthew and Donald think a deal of him."
"I dare say. Donald's father is always last. He would rather hear any
one preach than his father."
"There's a reason for that. He does not see the others in their daily
life. They don't thwart his wishes and scorn his hopes and set him to
work that he hates. He sees them only in the pulpit, where they have
pulpit grace and pulpit manners."
"I have always treated Donald with loving kindness."
"To be sure, when Donald walked the narrow chalk line you made for him.
You had your own will. You wanted to be a minister and no one hindered
you."
"How do you know, Jessy, that I wanted to be a minister?"
"Because you could not be happy unless you had power, and spiritual
power was all you could lay your hands on. Donald was willing to go
either to the sea or the army. What for wouldn't you give him his
desire?"
"I have told you his life is all the Macraes have to build upon."
"You yourself were in the same position before Donald was born."
"Yes, and so I chose the salvation of the ministry."
"You had the 'call' thereto. You liked the salvation of the ministry.
Donald could not take it, so you tied him to a counting desk. It was
like harnessing a stag to a plough. But you'll take your own way, no
matter where it leads you. So I'll say no more."
"Thank you, Jessy. If you would consider the subject closed, I----"
"I will do no such thing. I shall speak for Donald whenever I can, in
season or out of season. There is a letter for you from Lady Cramer. It
came this morning."
Dr. Macrae took it with a touch of respect, and read it twice over
before he spoke of its contents, though Mrs. Caird and Marion had their
part in its message. Finally, he laid it down and, handing his cup to be
refilled, he said:
"Jessy, at six o'clock this evening, Lady Cramer will send a carriage
for me. She wishes me to stay until Wednesday afternoon, then she
intends coming to pay her call of welcome to you and Marion, and I will
return with her."
"So she is wanting you for the most part of two days. What for? She has
her lawyers, and councillors, and her stepson."
"The business she wants me to talk over with her is beyond lawyers and
councillors. It is of a literary and religious nature."
"Oh! You may keep it to yourself, Ian."
"I do not suppose you would understand it. The late Lord left some
papers on scientific and theological subjects. Lady Cramer wishes me to
prepare them for publication."
"Lord Angus Cramer was not a very competent man, if all is true I have
heard about him. I think Marion and myself could understand anything he
could write."
"Jessy, we all know that the mental qualities of men differ from those
of women. The inequalities of sex----"
"Have nothing whatever to do with mental qualities. Inequalities of sex,
indeed! They do not exist! They are a fiction that no sane man can argue
about."
"Jessy, I say----"
"Look at your own fireside, Minister. Donald is well fitted to go to the
army, take orders, and carry them out. Marion would be giving the
orders. Donald has an average quantity of brains. Marion can double
yours, and, if given fitting education and opportunity, would preach and
write you out of all remembrance. And where would you be, I wonder,
without Jessy Caird to guide and look after all your outgoings and
incomings? Who criticizes your sermons and tells you where they are
right, and where wrong, and who gives you 'the look' when you have said
enough, and are going to pass your climax?"
"My dear sister, you are my right hand in everything. I do nothing
without your advice. I admit that I should be a lost man physically
without you."
"Mentally, likewise. Give me all the credit I ought to have."
"Yes, my sermons owe a great deal to you. And you have kept me socially
right, also. I would have had many enemies, wanting your counseling."
"That's enough. I have been your faithful friend; and a faithful friend
likes, now and then, to have the fact acknowledged. You had better go to
your room now and put on the handsomest suit in your keeping. You'll
find linen there white as snow, and pack a fresh wearing of it for
to-morrow. By the grace of God you are a handsome man and you ought to
show forth God's physical gifts, as well as His spiritual ones."
Doubtless the compliment was balm to the little pricks and pinches of
her previous remarks; for Dr. Macrae went with cheerful, rapid steps to
his toilet, and Mrs. Caird looked after him smiling and rubbing her lips
complacently, as if she was complimenting them on their courage and
moderation.
Tall, stately, aristocratic in appearance, Dr. Macrae stepped into the
Cramer carriage with an air and manner that elicited the utmost respect,
almost the servility, of the coachman and footman. Marion looked at her
aunt with a face glowing with pride, and Mrs. Caird answered the look.
"You are right, Marion. In some ways there is none like him. If he
would be patient and considerate with your brother, I would stand by Ian
Macrae if the whole world was against him."
"Suppose I should displease him--suppose he told me I must marry Allan
Reid, and I would not--would you stand by me as you stand by Donald,
Aunt Jessy?"
"Through thick and thin to the very end of the controversy, no matter
what it was."
"I saw Father stop and look at the book I laid down."
"What book was it?"
"'David Copperfield,' and Father told me not to read Dickens. He said he
was common, and would take me only into vulgar and improper company. He
told me to read Scott, if I wanted fiction."
"Scott will take you into worse company. Romance does not make robbers
and villains good company. Dickens's common people are real and human,
and have generally some domestic virtues. Yes, indeed, some of his
common people are most uncommonly good and lovable. For myself, I cannot
be bothered with Scott's long pedigrees and descriptions. If there's a
crack in a castle wall, he has to describe how far it runs east or west.
It is the old, bad world Scott writes about, full of war and bloodshed,
cruel customs and hatreds. And his characters are not the men and women
we know, but if you go to England you will see the characters of
Dickens in the omnibuses and on the streets."
"I would like us to have everything in beautiful order on Wednesday,
Aunt."
"Everything is in beautiful order now and will be at any hour Lady
Cramer chooses to call, as long as I am head of this house."
Still, on Wednesday afternoon Marion looked at the chairs and tables and
all the pretty paraphernalia of the parlor critically. There was nothing
in it she could wish different. The furniture was of rosewood
upholstered in pale blue damask. The walls were covered with a delicate
paper, and hung on them were pastels of lovely faces and green
landscapes. The latticed windows were open, and a little wind gently
moved the white lace curtains. The vases were full of flowers, and a
small crystal one held the first rose of the season. There was nothing
she could do but open the piano, and place a piece of music on its rack,
that would give a sense of life and song to the room.
This done she looked around and, being satisfied, took a book and sat
down. The book was "David Copperfield," and she had just arrived at that
pleasant period when _David_ finds out that _Dora_ puts her hair in curl
papers, and even watches her do it, when Mrs. Caird entered the room.
"Marion," she said, "I see the Cramer carriage coming, stand up and let
me look at you."
Then Marion rose and she seemed to shine where she stood. From her
throat to her sandals she was clothed in white organdie. A white satin
belt was round her waist, and a necklace of polished white coral round
her neck. There were white coral combs in her abundant black hair, and
beautiful white laces at her elbows.
"You are a bonnie lassie," said her aunt proudly, "and see you hold up
your own side. You are Ian Macrae's daughter and as good as any lady in
the land. And beware of flattering my Lady in any form or shape. It is
the worst of bad manners, as well as clean against your interests, to
flatter a benefactor. Let them say nice words to you."
Then the carriage was at the door, and Mrs. Caird was there also, and
Marion could hear the usual formalities, and the rustle of clothing and
all the pleasant stir of arriving guests. She sat still until Lady
Cramer entered, then rose to greet her. For a moment there was a slight
hesitation, the next moment Lady Cramer cried, "You are Marion! I know
you, child! I thought you were an angel!"
"Not yet, Lady Cramer."
The right key had been set. Lady Cramer fell at once into a charming,
simple conversation and Dr. Macrae, who feared his daughter would be
shy and uninteresting, was amazed at the cleverness of her conversation
and the self-possession of her manner.
When tea was served, Marion waited upon Lady Cramer. She had given her
father one look of invitation to take her place, but the Minister knew
better than to answer it. The Apostles had refused to serve tables, he
respected his office equally. Spiritually, he sat in the place of honor,
how could he serve anyone with tea and muffins? There was a maid in cap
and apron to perform that duty. The Macraes were a proud family, but it
was not temporal pride that actuated the Minister. In all cases and at
all hours he followed St. Paul's example and "magnified his office." He
had always retired from anything like service, either at home or abroad,
and it would be idle and false not to admit that he was admired and
respected for it. It was honor enough that he condescended to be
present, for in those days the Calvinistic ministry were a grave and
rather haughty religious oligarchy. But they were not to blame; for the
honor of God and their own satisfaction the people made them oligarchs.
After tea Lady Cramer asked Marion to sing for her. "There is a song,"
she said, "that I hear everywhere I go, and never too often. I dare say
you can sing it, Marion. May I call you Marion?"
"I should like you to do so, Lady Cramer. And what is the name of the
song?"
"I cannot tell you; it is about rowing in a boat; it is the music that
charms. My dear, it beats like a human heart."
"I know it," answered Marion and, with a pleased acquiescence, she
played a few chords embodying a wonderful melody, and anon her voice
went with it, as if it was its very own:
"Row, young comrades, row, young oarsmen,
Into the crypt of the night we float;
Fair, faint moonbeams wash and wander,
Wash and wander about the boat.
Not a fetter is here to bind us,
Love and memory lose their spell,
Friends of the home we have left behind us,
Prisoners of content! Farewell!"
At the last four lines the charm was doubled by someone--not in the
room--singing them with her. It was a man's voice, a fine baritone, and
was used with taste and skill. Every line raised Marion's enthusiasm, no
one had ever heard her sing with such power and sweetness before, and
during the little outburst of delight that thanked her Lord Richard
Cramer entered the room.
"The praise is partly mine," he cried in a joyous voice, "and I know the
musician will give me it." As he spoke he took the Minister's hand, and
Dr. Macrae rose at the young man's request, and introduced his daughter
to him. They looked, and they loved. The feeling was instantaneous and
indisputable. Richard was on the point of calling her "Marion" a dozen
times that happy hour; and "Richard" came as naturally and sweetly to
Marion's lips. They sang the song over again, and before Lady Cramer
left she had noticed the impression made upon her son, and resolved to
have the young people under her supervision.
"I must have Marion for a week," she said to Mrs. Caird, and Lord
Richard added that he had promised to teach Miss Macrae to ride, and
that the lessons would require "a week at the very least." And Mrs.
Caird was pleased to give such a ready consent to the proposal that Dr.
Macrae could find no possible reason for refusing it.
Then the party broke up in a happy little tumult that defied the cold
proprieties of the best society; for Lord Cramer had set the chatter and
laughter going, and to Mrs. Caird the relaxation was like a glass of
cold water to a thirsty woman.
"I am worldly enough to like the Cramers' way," she answered, when the
Minister regretted the innocent merriment. "There was not a wrong word;
no, nor a wrong thought, Ian; and I was fairly wearying for the sound of
happy singing, and the voices of young folks chattering and laughing.
This afternoon has been a great pleasure to me. And I'm hoping there
will be plenty more like it. A man from the Hall has just brought a box.
It appears to be a heavy one."
"It is full of books and papers."
"What kind of books, Ian?"
"Books that many are reading with an amazing interest, Jessy; and which
I have long thought of examining. Huxley and Darwin's works, poor Hugh
Miller's 'Investigations,' Bishop Colenso's 'Misconceptions,'
Schopenhauer and others----"
"Ian, do not open one of them. There is your Bible. Don't you read a
word against it. In a spiritual sense, it is the sun that warms, and the
bread that feeds you."
"The intellectual feeling of the critical school of Bible readers ought
to be familiar to me, or how can I preach against it, Jessy?"
"You have all the sins mentioned in the Commandments to preach against.
The critical school can bear or mend its own sins."
"Let me explain, Jessy. The late Lord Cramer during his long illness
read all these questioning, doubting books, and he wrote many
refutations of their errors, or at least he believed them to be
refutations. I have promised Lady Cramer to examine the papers, and
prepare them for publication."
"Ian, do not do it. I entreat you to decline the whole business."
"You are unreasonable, Jessy."
"These men of the Critical School are intellectual giants. Are you
strong enough to wrestle with them and not be overcome?"
"Not unless I comprehend them. Therefore, I must read what they say."
"What matters comprehension if you have Faith?"
"I have Faith, and I can trust my Faith. I know what I preach. My creed
is reasonable and I believe it. I am no flounderer in unknown seas."
Nor was he. Ian Macrae was surely at this period of his life an upright
soul. All his beliefs were fixed, and he was sure that he understood God
perfectly. So he looked kindly into the pleasant, anxious face before
him, and continued:
"I have not a doubt. I never had a doubt. I wish I was sure of
everything concerning my life as I am of my creed. In my Bible, the
blessed book from which I studied at St. Andrews, I have written these
lines of an old poet, called Crawshaw:
"'Think not the Faith by which the just shall live
Is a dead creed, a map correct of heaven,
Far less a feeling fond and fugitive--
It is an affirmation, and an act,
That bids eternal truth be present fact.'"
"We do not know ourselves, Ian; however, we do know that the Christ who
carries our sins can carry our doubts. And no one is sure of what will
happen in their life. What is troubling you in particular?"
"Donald--and Marion."
"Marion! The dear child! She has never given you a heartache in all her
life."
"She gave me one this afternoon."
"Because she was happy. Ian, you are most unreasonable."
"I am afraid of Lord Cramer. He would have made love to her this
afternoon----"
"I will suppose you are right and then ask, what wrong there would have
been in it?"
"More than I can explain. For seven years he was in a fast cavalry
regiment, and he kept its pace even to the embarrassing of the Cramer
estate. He had reached the limit of his father's indulgence three years
ago. His stepmother has been loaning him money ever since, and he is in
honor bound to repay her as soon as possible. That duty comes before his
marriage, unless he marries a rich woman. My daughter would be a most
unwelcome daughter to Lady Cramer, and I will not have Marion put in
such a position. Dislike spreads quickly, and from the mother to the son
might well be an easy road. There is something else also----"
"Pray let me hear the whole list of the young man's sins."
"He is deeply influenced by the 'isms' of the day, and, though brought
up strictly in the true church, Lady Cramer fears he never goes there;
for she cannot get him to spend a Sabbath at home."
"All this, Ian, is hearsay and speculation. We have no right to judge
him out of the mouth of others. Speak to him yourself."
"I cannot speak yet. But at once I wish you to speak to Marion. Tell her
to hold her heart in her own keeping. The late Lord Cramer was my
friend. He told me whom he wished his son to marry, and it would be a
kind of treachery to the dead if I sanctioned the putting of my own
daughter in her place. I would not only be humiliated in my own sight,
but in the sight of the church, and of all who know me."
"No girl can hold her heart in her own keeping if the right man asks for
it. There was my little sister----"
"We will not bring her name into the subject, Jessy. It is painful to
me. I saw plainly this afternoon that Marion was pleased with Lord
Cramer's attention."
"Any girl would have been so. He is a handsome, good-natured man, full
of innocent mirth, and Marion loves, as I do, the happy side of
life--and is hungry--as I am--for its uplifting."
"Marion has never seen the unhappy side of life. Her lines have fallen
to her in pleasant places. A short time ago Allan Reid told me he loved
her and asked my permission to win her love, if he could. I gave him it.
She could not have a more suitable husband."
"Girls like handsome, well-made men, Ian, men like yourself. Allan Reid
is not handsome; indeed, he is very unhandsome. Marion spoke to me of
his long neck and weak eyes, and----"
"Girls are perfectly silly on that subject. A good man, and a rich man,
is as much as a girl ought to expect."
"Men are perfectly silly on the same subject. A good woman with a heart
full of love is as much, and more than, any man ought to expect. But,
before he thinks of these things, he is particularly anxious that she
should be beautiful, and graceful, and money in her purse makes her
still more desirable."
"A man naturally wants a handsome mother for his children."
"Girls are just as foolish. They want a handsome father for their
children. I think, Ian, you might as well give up all hopes of Marion's
marrying Allan Reid. She believes him to be as mean-hearted as he is
physically unhandsome. She will never accept him."
"I shall insist on this marriage. Say all you can in young Reid's
favor."
"Preach for your own saint, Ian. I have nothing to say in Allan Reid's
favor."
"Then say nothing in favor of Lord Cramer."
"What I have seen of Lord Cramer I like. Do you want me to speak ill of
him?"
"I have told you what he has been."
"His father's death has put him in a responsible position. That of
itself often sobers and changes young men. Ian Macrae, leave your
daughter's affairs alone. She will manage them better than you can. And
what are you going to do about Donald?"
"Donald is doing well enough."
"He is not. I am afraid every mail that comes will tell us that he has
taken the Queen's shilling, or gone before the mast."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Ask Donald what he wants, and give him his desire--whatever it is."
"There is not a good father in Scotland that would do the like of that,
Jessy."
"Then be a bad father and do it. I am sure you may risk the
consequences."
"These children are a great anxiety to me. Something is wrong if they
will not listen to their father. I am very much worried, Jessy. I will
go and unpack those books and then read awhile."
"Listen to me, Ian. You say that now you have perfect Faith. When you
have gone through those books, your Faith will be in rags and tatters."
"I do not fear. There is no danger but in our own cowardice. We are
ourselves the rocks of our own doubt. The danger lies in fearing danger.
I made a promise to the dead. I cannot break it, Jessy. Such a promise
is a finality."
"You made that promise by the special instigation of the devil, Ian."
"Jessy, you never read these books. The men who wrote them were morally
good men, seekers after truth and righteousness. I believe so much of
them."
"You are partly right. I have never read the books, but I have read
long, elaborate, wearisome reviews of them. That was enough, and more
than enough, for me."
"Why did you read such reviews?"
"Because I wanted to know whether Donald and Marion should be warned
against them. I think they ought to be warned."
"You can leave that duty to me. If I think it necessary, they will
receive the proper instruction."
"I wonder the government allows such books to be published. They will
ruin the coming generations. The Romans had not much of a religion, but
when they began to doubt it they went madly into vice and atheism and
national ruin. If men have such wicked thoughts as are in the books you
are going to read, they ought to keep them in their own hearts. If they
could not do that, I would put them in prison, and take pen and ink from
them."
"Do be more charitable, Jessy. The Bible teaches----"
"It teaches us to let such destructive books alone. God himself
specially warned the Israelites not even 'to make inquiry' about the
religion of the Canaanites; they did it, of course, and you know the
result as well as I do. And men these days are so set up with their long
dominion and the varieties of strange knowledge they have accepted that
they do not require any Eve to pull this apple of disobedience and doubt
of God. They manage it themselves."
"Jessy Caird, you have no right to impute evil to either men or books
that are only known to you through some critic's opinion." Then he rose
and, standing with uplifted eyes, said with singular emotion:
"'O God, that men would see a little clearer!
Or judge less harshly where they cannot see.
O God, that men would draw a little nearer
To one another! They'd be nearer Thee!'"
With these words he left Jessy and went to the room where the fateful
books were waiting for him.
And Jessy could say no more. But she threw her knitting out of her hands
and let them drop hopelessly into her lap.
"When men stop reasoning, they quote poetry," she mused angrily. "I
never heard Ian quote a whole verse before, unless he was in the pulpit;
well, I have warned him, and now I can only hope he will feel that sense
of utter desolation in his soul that I always felt after a few sentences
of Schopenhauer or Darwin. There! I hear him opening the box. Now begin
the to-and-fro paths of Doubt and Persuasion, days full of anxious
brooding, nights full of shadowy chasms, that nothing but Faith can
bridge. But Ian has Faith--at least in his creed--and there are
spiritual influences that no one can predict or resist, for the way of
the Spirit is the way of the wind." Motionless she sat for a few
minutes, and then rose hastily, saying softly as she did so, "Wherever
is Marion? I wonder she was not seeking me ere this."
She found Marion in her own room. She was kneeling at the open window
with her elbows on the broad stone sill, and her cheeks were almost
touching the sweet little mignonettes. A tender smile brooded over her
face, a tender light was in her eyes, she was lost in a new, ineffable
sense of something full of delight--some pleasure strangely personal
that was hers and hers alone.
"I am lonely without you, Marion. Why did you run away from me?"
"I thought Father was with you and, perhaps, saying something I would
not like--about our visitors."
"What could he say that was not pleasant? I am sure they were everything
that any reasonable person could expect."
"You know what Father told you about Lord Cramer. I have now seen him. I
would not believe any wrong of him. I shall not listen to any wrong of
him without protesting it; so I thought it best not to go into
temptation."
"You did right."
"He is a beautiful young man--and how exquisite are his manners! How did
he learn them?"
"He has always lived among people of the highest distinction, and they
practice them naturally--or ought to do so."
"To you, to his stepmother, to Father, and to me he was equally polite.
He did not treat me indifferently because I have only the shy,
half-formed manners of a school-girl. He paid you as much respect as he
paid Lady Cramer, though you are old and beneath her in social rank, nor
was he in the least subservient to Father because he is a famous
minister. He was equally attentive and courteous to all."
"I will take leave to differ with you, Marion Macrae. I am not old. I am
in the midway of my life, young in soul, mind and body, and I am nothing
beneath Lady Cramer in rank. Keep that in your mind. And you are not a
shy, untrained school-girl; you are a young, lovely woman, with the
naturally fine manners that come from a good heart and proper education.
As for subservience to your father, I saw nothing of it from Lord
Cramer, but Lady Cramer deferred to him in everything, and I wonder she
has not turned his head round, and his heart inside out with her
humility, and homage, and her downcast eyes."
"She is very pretty, Aunt."
"She is fairly beautiful. She has the witching ways of those
golden-haired women, and all their flattering submissions. She can drop
her blue eyes, and then lift them with a flash that would trouble any
man's heart that had love or life left in it. And see how wisely and
warily she dresses herself--the long, black, satin gown, with its white
crape collar and cuffs, and the black and white satin ribbons so fresh
and uncreased!"
"And the wave and curl of her lovely hair, under the small white lace
bonnet! I thought, Aunt, she----"
"She ought not to have worn a white bonnet. It is too soon after her
husband's death to wear a bit of white lace and a few white flowers on
her head. She should have worn her widow's bonnet for two years, and it
is wanting half a year at least of that term. But, this or that, she is
a butterfly of beauty and vanity, and I would not be astonished if she
fell in love with your father. To most women he would be an
extraordinarily attractive man."
"O Aunt Jessy, what an idea! That would be the most unlikely of things."
"For that very reason it is likely."
"Father never notices women except in a religious way--when they are in
trouble, or want his advice about their souls."
"You can no more judge your father by his outside than you can judge a
cocoanut. He has a volcanic soul--ordinarily the fire is low and quiet,
but if it should become active it would be a dangerous thing to meddle
with."
"Father may have an austere face, but he has a tender mouth; and, O
Aunt, I have seen love leap into his shadowy eyes when I have met him at
the door, or drawn my chair close to his side in the evening."
"Your father is a good man. He has a genius for divine things--but women
are not reckoned in that class."
"And I think Lord Cramer is a good man, though his genius may be for
military things. He had the light of battle on his face this afternoon
when he told us of that fight with the Afghans; and how sad was his
expression when he described the burying of his company's colonel after
it--the open grave in a cleft of hills dark with pines, the solemn dead
march, the noble words spoken as they left their leader forever, and
turned back to camp to the tender, homely strains of _Annie Laurie_. Oh,
I could see and hear all. I have felt ever since as if I had been
present."
"He appears to be a fine young fellow, though we must remember that men
judge men better than women can; and it may be possible your father's
opinion of Lord Richard Cramer has at least some truth in it."
"I do not believe it has. I think, also, that Lord Cramer is the
handsomest man I ever saw. Just compare him with Allan Reid."
"Why are you speaking of Allan Reid?"
"Because Father thinks I will marry the creature."
"Will you do as your father wishes?"
"Once, I might have done so--perhaps. Not now. My eyes have been opened.
I have seen a man like Lord Richard Cramer, and I will marry no man of a
meaner kind. How tall and straight and slender is his figure! How bold
and manly his face! His gray eyes are full of quick, undaunted spirit,
he is all nerve and fire, and I believe he could love as well as I am
sure he can fight."
"You need not take love into the question. Richard Cramer will be
compelled to marry a rich woman. Your father says he is bound both by
honor and necessity to do so."
Marion buried her face in the mignonette, and did not answer; and Mrs.
Caird, after a few moments' silence, said:
"Be glad that your heart is your own, and do not give it away until it
is asked for."
"As if I would be so foolish, Aunt! I stand by Lord Cramer because
people tell lies about him. I always stand by anyone wronged. I would
even stand by Allan Reid, if I knew he was slandered without just
cause."
"That is very good of you. If Allan heard tell of your opinion, he would
get someone to lie him into your favor."
"He could not, because I would believe anything bad of Allan."
Then Mrs. Caird laughed, and Marion wondered why. She had forgotten the
exception just made in his favor. Her thoughts were not with Allan
Reid.