THE MONITOR SPEAKS IN VAIN.
"When two voices parley with a human citadel, that which speaks on the
side of self-interest will be victorious; but woe to that city which
opens its gates to an enemy of the realm, for the days of its peace are
numbered."—ARMY CHAPLAIN.
WILHELMINA went home flattering herself that she had said quite
sufficient to convince Cicely of the necessity of being more
"circumspect," as she termed it. As regarded the latter's arguments,
she smiled to herself as she thought them over, and extracted her
fair share of fun out of them for Neville's edification at their next
"tête-à-tête."
"Quoting the Bible to me!" she laughed. "The idea! She looked very much
like quoting the Bible when Tom Rawlinson asked her to sing last night.
She has no intention of turning her voice to perpetual psalms, I know.
Ah! Well; she must make her own choice, and satisfy her lively little
conscience in her own fashion."
Which was precisely what Cicely was endeavouring to do. In her own
heart, she felt that to do as Mina wished was mean and unworthy; but
the leaven of ambition had already begun to work with such power in her
heart, that she was by no means decided as to what course she herself
should pursue with regard to her old playmate.
Before a week had passed, she was put to the test. As the burn began to
heal, Mina proposed to take her for a walk. At first Cicely would not
hear of appearing in the public streets with her arm in a sling. But
Mina ridiculed her so unmercifully, and Mrs. Anderson declared it was
such an absurd affectation of sensitiveness to condemn herself to the
house for such a trifle, that she at length yielded. And it was agreed
that immediately after lunch next day, they should meet and have a good
two hours together out of doors.
Accordingly, shortly before two o'clock, Cicely, having been assisted
to dress by her mother, sallied forth to the rendezvous, the injured
arm comfortably adjusted, and carefully wrapped up to protect it from
the chill of the autumn wind.
Now Cicely's home was not far from Joseph's, and it so happened that,
the interval between one and two being his dinner hour, he was just
returning to work when she started, and they met.
Cicely's face became uncomfortably hot as she descried him afar off,
for she could not but remember the unworthy motives which had actuated
certain of her thoughts with regard to him, and her resolve to pass him
by was shaken. Meanwhile Joseph had recognised her, and his honest face
flushed with pleasure at the idea of exchanging greetings. A moment
more, and the look of his beaming countenance would have ended the
struggle in his favour; but at that very instant, Cicely became aware
that Mina was in sight, and her right of judgment deserted her.
Joseph was on the opposite side of the way. Nothing would be more
easy than to pass him by as if in a hurry. But as he drew nearer, he
perceived the sling.
In an instant, Cicely calculated the result. He would be sure to cross
over and inquire how she had hurt herself, and whilst they stood
talking, Mina would come up. The situation would not only be awkward,
but the whole blame of it would be thrown upon her.
Without further reflection, Cicely steeled her heart to what appeared
the only course by which she could avert the calamity. Fixing her eyes
upon her friend as the latter tripped along the pavement towards her,
she feigned not to have perceived Joseph until, just as they were
opposite each other, she glanced across—quite as if by chance—and gave
him a passing nod of recognition. Before she could recover from the
flutter into which this little stratagem had thrown her, Joseph was
already many paces behind, and she was face to face with Mina.
"I was terribly afraid of your sling," the latter said, as they went
on together. "I made certain he would come right across to know what
was the matter; and of all things in the world, it would have been most
inopportune; but you managed splendidly. I saw you fix your eyes on me.
The look of determination you assumed amused me intensely."
Cicely was almost startled. How observant Mina was! How she seemed to
read her through and through, to the very motives which prompted her
actions—motives of which she herself had scarcely been aware in the
hurry of the moment. She was far from comfortable during the first half
mile of their walk, though she tried to conceal it from Mina. It did
not escape the latter, however, but she only exerted herself all the
more to let Cicely see how thoroughly she approved of her behaviour.
By degrees, the impression wore off, and Cicely quieted her conscience
with the conviction that she was on the right side with Mina.
In the meantime, Joseph had pursued his way somewhat disappointed at
Cicely's conduct, and not a little puzzled. He felt convinced that she
had seen him coming, but what reason she could possibly have had for
looking past him in so determined a manner, he could not understand. It
occupied his thoughts all the way to work, but no longer; for Joseph
was not one to work with his hands alone. "With both hands earnestly"
meant that his whole mind must be in what he was about, and if he
whistled, it was only because that required no thought.
A few days later, however, something further occurred to deepen the
mystery.
It was Sunday, and being an unusually mild day for the late time of
year, Joseph had walked down to the Sunday-school to meet Ruth, in
order to take her for a stroll outside the town. The way by which they
had chosen to return lay across some fields by a regular gravelled
path, interrupted wherever the hedges intersected it by little
"patience" gates. Passing through one of these, they encountered
Walter and Cicely together with a girl whose name Joseph knew—Annie
Cleveland—but with whom he had no acquaintance.
Cicely's arm was no longer in a sling; but it was still bound up with a
kerchief in place of a glove, and Joseph naturally conceived the idea
of stopping to ask her what was the matter with it.
Walter, on the other hand, whose conduct towards Joseph had been
very cool of late, determined upon preventing any such possibility;
for Annie Cleveland was one of the new set—a great friend of Alice
Grandpont's. So, holding the gate open for Annie, and quickly slipping
through after her with the merest nod to Joseph, he left Cicely to
follow. But the latter could not have been more completely caught in a
trap. Before she could pass through, Joseph accosted her.
There was nothing for it but to remain behind and answer his inquiries,
which Cicely did as concisely as she could. Then glancing uneasily
after Walter and Annie, who were already some distance ahead, without
so much as a word to Ruth, she muttered an excuse and hurried on.
Joseph was hurt, not so much at her haste,—that perhaps was
unavoidable, as Walter was disinclined for the interruption; but
because there was something so altered in her manner, something so
constrained and cold. He thought so much about it that Ruth found him
duller company than usual, and began to try her powers of conversation
in such a pointed manner that Joseph took the hint, and—good brother
that he was—threw off his annoyance and laid himself out to please her.
But as soon as he was alone, he began to think about it again; and try
as he would, he could imagine no reason for the change.
The very next afternoon, the problem was solved. Joseph had occasion
to leave the workshop to go with a message to the other side of the
town. On the way, he followed his cousin Mina and her new friend the
whole length of a street, and thus had an opportunity of observing the
affected style of their conversation and manners. He understood now the
change in his cousin; but this was not all. Just as he overtook them,
Cicely and Annie Cleveland turned the corner. The meeting was evidently
by appointment, for they stopped to greet Alice and Mina, and the
four girls, after spending several moments in vivacious consultation,
continued their way together; but not before Cicely had seen Joseph. He
was sure of that. Their eyes had met as she turned the corner, but she
had quickly averted hers, feigning not to perceive him, and so he had
passed on. But it was all as clear as daylight to him now.
"Neville and Mina are extending their acquaintances among the 'nobs,'"
he said graphically to himself; "and Walter and Cicely are hanging on.
Well! I don't want to be a disgrace to them, if they're ashamed of me;
that's certain."
Nevertheless, Joseph was stung to the quick; for a person must be very
truly great to be above minding the contempt of others. For several
days, the workshop appeared an intolerably dull, uninteresting sort of
place, and he whistled very little. Ruth's unguarded moves at draughts,
too, failed to excite the usual amount of amusement. After that, Joseph
recovered his spirits, though he did not forget.
During this time Mina's friendship with Alice Grandpont and Annie
Cleveland had been growing rapidly, flourishing, like most weeds, on
shallow soil; but, like them, in constant danger of being scorched and
withered by adversity or caprice. The days were spent for the most part
in frivolous conversation, reading together the novels of the day,
looking over fashion-books, planning in secret how they might outdo
each other in little matters of dress, and wasting hours of gossip over
useless fancy-work. The evenings were idled away at one or other of the
three houses, and Mina, for one, felt terribly miserable if anything
occurred to make her stay at home so much as once in the week. Even
Sunday was no exception to the rule; and service came to be regarded as
an hour and a half which must be "got through" before they would be at
liberty to enjoy each other's society.
It was not to be wondered at that Mina's character was rapidly
deteriorating under such influence, and it was well for both her and
Neville that Mr. and Mrs. Adams returned at the end of the month.
For although the hearts of both parents were set upon the worldly
advancement of their children, their riper experience deterred them
from going such lengths in the pursuit.
Mina was no longer at liberty to invite her new friends when and how
she pleased, and her mother expected that a reasonable proportion of
her evenings should be passed at home. But the restraint only rendered
her peevish and unamiable. Having once tried her own wings, and tasted
the delights of liberty, she could not bring herself to acknowledge any
authority but her own, and her mother's was a very unwelcome fetter.
Thus she went on, wasting her youth in utter forgetfulness that "it
is not always May;" consuming her oil without a thought of the coming
eventide; building upon the shifting sands of time, when the only home
of her immortal soul must be a house "not made with hands, eternal in
the heavens."