“And happier than the merriest games
Is the joy of our new and nobler aims.”
F. R. HAVERGAL.
MISS MOHUN and Miss Merrifield encountered Miss Prescott and Agatha among
a perfect herd of cycles, making Bessie laugh over the recollections of
the horror caused at Stokesley by the arrival of Arthurine Arthuret on a
tricycle twelve years previously.
The place was the Town Hall, the High School having proved too small for
the number of the intended audience, and Lord Rotherwood having been
captured, in spite of the _Kittiwake_ being pronounced ready to sail, and
all the younger passengers being actually on board, entertaining a party
from Clipstone. There he sat enthroned on the platform, with portraits
of himself, his Elizabethan ancestor, and the Prince of Wales overhead,
and, in _propria persona_ on either side, the Mayor of Rockstone, Captain
Henderson, and a sprinkling of the committee, Jane, of course, being one;
while in the space beneath was a sea of hats, more or less beflowered and
befeathered.
Lord Rotherwood began by complaining of an act of piracy! After being
exposed to a tempest and forced to put in for supplies, here he was
captured, and called upon to distribute prizes! He perceived that it was
a new act of aggression on the part of the ladies, proving to what
lengths they were coming. Tyrants they had always been, but to find them
wreckers to boot was a novelty. However, prizes were the natural
sequence of a maritime exploit, and he was happy to distribute them to
the maidens about to start on the voyage of life, hoping that these
dainty logbooks would prove a stimulus and a compass to steer by even
into unexplored seas, such as he believed the better-informed ladies were
about to describe to them.
Rockstone was used to its Marquis’s speeches, and always enjoyed them;
and he handed the prize-books to the recipients with a shake of the hand,
and a word or two of congratulation appropriate to each, especially when
he knew their names; and then he declared that they were about to hear
what education was good for, much better than from himself, from such
noted examples as Miss Arthuret and Miss Merrifield, better known to them
as Mesa. Wherewith he waved forward Miss Arthuret, a slight,
youthful-looking lady, fashionably attired, and made his escape with
rapid foot and hasty nods, almost furtively, while the audience were
clapping her.
She spoke with voice and utterance notably superior to his well-known
halting periods, scarcely saved by long training and use from being a
stutter. The female population eagerly listened, while she painted in
vivid colours the aim of education, in raising the status of women, and
extending their spheres not only of influence in the occult manner which
had hitherto been their way of working through others, but in an open
manner, which compelled attention; and she dwelt on certain brilliant
achievements of women, and of others which stood before them, and towards
which their education, passing out of the old grooves, was preparing them
to take their place among men, and temper their harshness and
indifference to suffering with the laws of mercy and humanity, speaking
with an authority and equality such as should ensure attention, no longer
in home and nursery whispering alone, but with open face asserting and
claiming justice for the weakest.
It was a powerful and effective speech; and Agatha’s eye lighted with
enthusiasm, as did those of several others of the elder scholars and
younger teachers, as these high aims were unfolded to them.
Then followed Elizabeth Merrifield, not contradictory, but recognising
what wide fields had been opened to womanhood, dwelling on such being the
work of Christianity, which had always tended to repress the power of
brute animal strength and jealousy, and to give preponderance to the
force of character and the just influence of sweet homely affection.
Exceptional flashes, even in heathen lands, and still more under the
Divine guidance of the Israelites, showed what women were capable of; and
ever since a woman had been the chosen instrument of the mystery of the
Incarnation, the Church, the chosen emblem of the union of humanity with
her Lord, had gradually purified and exalted the sex by training them
through the duties of mercy, of wifehood and motherhood, to be capable of
undertaking and fulfilling higher and more extensive tasks, always by the
appointment and with the help of Him who had increased their outside
powers, for the sake of the weaker ones of His flock. What might, by His
will, in the government and politics of the country, be put into their
hands, no one could tell; but it was right to be prepared for it, by
extending their intellectual ability and knowledge of the past, as well
as of the laws of physical nature—all, in short, that modern education
aimed at opening young minds to pursue with growing faculties. This was
what made her rejoice in the studies here followed with good success, as
the prizes testified so pleasantly; and she trusted that the cultivation,
which here went on so prosperously, was leading—if she might use old
well-accustomed words—to the advancement of God’s glory, the good of His
Church, aye! and to the safety, honour, and welfare of our Sovereign and
her dominions.
The words brought tears of feeling into the eyes of some; but Jane Mohun
could not help observing, “Ah! I was afraid you were going to hold up to
us the example of the ants and bees, where the old maids do all the
working and fighting and governing! Don’t make Gillian regret that she
is falling away from the spinsterhood.”
“Come, Aunt Jane, Bessie never did make it the praise of spinsters. I am
sure married women can do as much as spinsters, and have more weight,”
said Gillian, facing round gallantly, and winning the approval of her
aunt and of Bessie. There was no doubt but that since her engagement she
had been much quieter and less opinionative.
With what different sensations the same occasion may be attended! To
Bessie Merrifield, the primary object was, as ever, woman’s work,
especially her own, for the Church; and the actual business absorbed her.
In spite of her evenings’ talk to her Aunt Lilias, and the sad and
painful recollections it had aroused, still her only look at Magdalen
Prescott’s face was one half of curiosity half of sorrow, as of the
object of the brief calf-love of one of many brothers, and who had been
now lost sight of, with the passing wonder whether, if the affection had
survived and been encouraged, it might have led him to better things.
While Magdalen felt the poignant renewal of the one romance of a
lifetime, as she caught tones, watched little gestures and recognised
those indescribable hereditary similarities which more and more bore in
upon her the fraternal connection of the bright earnest woman with the
lively pleasant young man who had brought the attraction of a higher tone
of manners and cultivation into the country town. No more had been heard
of him since his promise to write, a promise that had been only once
remembered, so that she had tried to take refuge in the supposition,
unlikely as it was, that her stepmother had confiscated his letters. All
was a blank since that last stolen kiss; and the wonder whether she could
by any means discover anything further from Lady Merrifield or Gillian,
so occupied her that she hardly heard the tenor of the two speeches, and
did not observe Agatha’s glowing cheeks and burning eyes, which might
have told her that this was one of the moments which direct the current
of life.
When Hubert Delrio came up in the evening he was curious to hear about
the meeting. His young landlady, who had been a High School girl for a
short time, thought Miss Arthuret’s speech the most beautiful discourse
that ever was spoken; while other reports said that Lady Flight and Miss
Mohun were very much shocked, and thought it unwholesome, not to say
dangerous; and he wanted to know the meaning of it. Magdalen was quite
dismayed to find how entirely her attention had been absent, and how
little account she could give of what had passed by her like the wind;
but she need not have been at a loss, for Agatha, with sparkling eyes and
clasped hands, burst out into a very able and spirited abstract of the
speech, and the future it portrayed, showing perhaps more enthusiasm than
the practised public speaker thought it prudent to manifest.
“I see,” said Hubert with something of a smile, “you ladies are charmed
with the great future opened to you.”
“I’m sure,” said Vera, perhaps a little nettled by attention paid so long
to Agatha, “I can’t see the sense of it all; I think a woman is made just
to love her husband, and be his pet, without all that fuss about
societies, and speeches and learning and fuss!” And she gave a little
caress to Hubert’s hand, which was returned, as he said, “She may well be
loved, but, without publicly coming forward, she may become the more
valuable to her home.”
“Of course she may, at home or abroad. She ought—” began Agatha, but
Vera snapped her off. “Well, it only comes to being one of a lot of
horrid old maids; and you don’t want me to be one of them, do you,
darling? Come and look at my doves!”
“What do you think of it all, sister?” asked Paulina.
“So far as I grasp the subject,” said Magdalen, to whom, of course, this
was not new, “I think that if a larger scope is to be given to women, it
is for the sake and under the direction of the Church that it can be
rightly and safely used.”
She knew she was speaking by rote, and was not surprised that Agatha
said, “That is just what one has heard so often, and what Miss Merrifield
harped upon! I want to breathe in a fresh atmosphere beyond the old
traditions, and know which are Divine and which are only the
superstructure of those who have always had the dominion and justified it
in their own way!”
“Who gave them that dominion?” said Magdalen.
“Brute strength,” began Agatha.
“Nag, Nag!” cried Paula. “Surely you believe—”
“I did not say—I did not mean—I only meant to think it out, and
understand what is Divine and what is in the eternal fitness of things.”
Here came an interruption, leaving Magdalen conscious of the want of
preparation for guiding the thought of these young things, and of
self-reproach too, for having let herself be so absorbed in the thought
of “her broken reed of earth beneath,” as not to have dwelt on what might
be the deep impressions of the young sisters under her charge.
A few days later, as Agatha sat reading in the garden, two figures
appeared on the drive, wheeling up their bicycles. One was Gillian, the
other had a general air of the family, but much darker, and not one of
the old acquaintances. Advancing to meet them, she said, “I am the only
one at home. My sisters are all at lessons or in the village.”
“I’ll leave a message,” said Gillian. “My mother wants you all to come
up to picnic tea to see the foxgloves in the dell, on Monday, and to
bring Mr. Delrio—”
“Oh! thank you.”
“I forgot, you had not seen my cousin Dolores Mohun before. Mysie calls
her a cousin-twin, if you know what that is.”
Agatha thought the newcomer’s great pensive dark eyes and overhanging
brow under very black hair made her look older than Mysie, or indeed than
Gillian herself; and when the message had been disposed of, the latter
continued, “Dolores wanted to know about Miss Arthuret’s lecture, being
rather in that line herself. She could not get home in time for it, and
I was seeing the _Kittiwake_ party on board, and only crept in at the
other end of the hall in time for Bessie’s faint echoes.”
“I was in the very antipodes,” said Dolores, “in a haunt of ancient
peace, whence they would not let me come away soon enough.”
“And, Agatha, Aunt Jane says she saw you devouring Miss Arthuret with
your eyes,” said Gillian.
“It gave one a sense of new life,” said Agatha; and she related again
Miss Arthuret’s speech, broken only by appreciative questions and
comments from Dolores’ auditor, to whom, in the true fashion of nineteen,
Agatha straightway lost her heart. Dolores, who had seen much more of
the outer world than her cousins, and had had besides a deeply felt
inward experience which might well render her far more responsive, and
able to comprehend the questions working in the girl’s mind, and which
found expression in, “I went to St. Robert’s only wanting to get my
education carried on so that I might be a better governess; but I see now
there are much farther on, much greater things to aim at, than I ever
thought of.”
“Alps on Alps arise!” said Dolores. “Yes—till they lose themselves—and
where?”
“Miss Merrifield would say in Heaven, by way of the Church.”
“The all things in earth or under the earth rising up in circles of
praise to the Cherubim and the Great White Throne,” said Dolores, her
dark eyes raised in a moment’s contemplation.
“Ah! One knows. But is that thought the one to be brought home to every
one, as if they could bear it always? Are not we to do
something—something—for the helping people here in this life, not always
going on to the other life—”
“Temporal or spiritual?” said Dolores; “or spiritual through temporal?”
“And our part in helping,” said Agatha.
“There is an immense deal to be thought out,” said Dolores. “I feel only
at the beginning of the questions, and there is study and experience to
go to them.”
“You mean what one gets at Oxford?”
“Partly. Thorough—at least, as thorough as one can—of the physical and
material nature of things, then of the precedent which then results, also
of reasoning.”
“Metaphysical, do you mean, or logical?”
“That comes in; but I was thinking of mathematical in the indirect
training of the mind. It all works into needful equipment, and so does
actual life.”
“It takes one’s breath away.”
“Well, we have begun our training,” said Dolores, with a sweet sad smile.
“At least, I hope so.”
“At St. Robert’s, you mean?”
“You have, I think. But I believe my aunt will be expecting us.”
“Oh! And then they talk about modesty and womanliness and retiring!
What do you think about all that?”
“That we never shall do any good without it.”
They were interrupted by the hasty rushing up of Paula, who had committed
her bicycle to Vera, and came dashing up the steep slope, crying, “O Nag,
Nag, they are going away!”
The announcement was interrupted as she perceived the presence of the
visitor, and they rose to meet her, but saw that there were tears in her
eyes, and she had rushed up so fast that she was panting and could hardly
speak, though she gave her hand, as Agatha, after naming the two cousins,
asked, “Who are going?”
“The Sisters—Sister Mena—” with another overflow of tears which made
Dolores and Gillian think they had better retreat and leave her to her
sister’s consolation; so they took leave hastily, Agatha however, coming
as far as their machines, and confiding to them, “Poor Polly, it is a
great blow to her, but I believe it is very good for her.”
“There’s stuff in that girl,” said Dolores, as soon as they were out of
reach. “She has the faculty of hearkening as well as of hearing.”
“You would say so if you saw her at a lecture; and she is also gaining
power of expressing and reproducing,” said Gillian.
“She will be a power by and by, unless some blight comes across her.”
“Will me, will me, it seems as if we _had_ to do it. Even Mamma, whose
ideal was chivalry, Church and home, has to be drawn out to take a
certain public part; Aunt Jane, who only wished to live to potter about
among neighbours, poor and rich, must needs come out of her traditional
conventions, and relate her experiences, and you—”
“Oh, I am only trying to do the work Gerald aimed at!”
“Any way we have our work before us, whether we call it for the Church or
mankind.”
“Charity or Altruism,” said Dolores.
“May not altruism lead to charity?” said Gillian.
“Sometimes, but sometimes disappointment leads only to intolerance of
those whose methods differ. Altruism will not stand without a
foundation,” said Dolores.
“Mysie has been impressing on me, with what she heard from Phyllis
Devereux, of the work Sister Angela has been doing at Albertstown—the
most utter self-abnegation, through bitter disappointment in her most
promising pupils—only the charity that is rooted could endure. It is
just the old difference Tennyson points out between Wisdom and
Knowledge.”
“And with wisdom come those feminine attributes that Agatha began asking
about.”
“Yes, softening, gentleness, tact. If people have not grown up to them,
they must be taught as parts of wisdom.”
Gillian sighed. “I wonder what Ernley Armitage will say when he comes
home?”
“He won’t want you to throw up everything.”
“I don’t think he will! But if he did—No, I think he will be a staff to
guide a silly, priggish heart to the deeper wisdom.”