THEIR GOLDEN TIME
THOROLD did not leave till late the next afternoon. He took Gentian off
for a walk in the morning. And they found a lot to say to each other,
though perhaps he was the more silent of the two.
She was rather shy at times.
"You see," she explained to him, "I am not yet accustomed to my new
position. And if it seems to turn my head at first, you must make
allowances. It's rather a case of King Cophetua and the beggar-maid.
Yes, I'm next door to a beggar-maid, and to know that for the rest of
my life I shall have no money anxieties is entrancing. Do you think now
if the mine goes on well, that you and I could get a couple of good
horses and ride about together in Cornwall? You see, I'm at my old
trade, begging from the king already!"
Her laughter rang out so merrily that Thorold could not help joining
her.
"Yes, we will ride together," he said. "I would rather ride any day
than use a car."
"And you'll take that little grey stone house, and let me make it cosy
and pretty? What a lot of things there are to be done! Oh, I wonder if
I shall make you a good wife? You like the old-fashioned sort, don't
you? A wife who'll always stay at home, and take care of the house, and
welcome her husband back with smiles of peace and looks of love. I'm
afraid I shall find it very difficult, but I mean to do everything you
want. Oh, Cousin Thor, you don't know how I worship you!"
"We'll drop the 'cousin,' shall we?"
"Yes, of course. But I've a lot of secret pet names for you. Would you
like to hear them? Thorold is so grave and stiff. I called you the
Buffer first, because you always came between me and difficulties, and
then I thought of you as 'Mr. Ready to help,' and then the 'Limpet's
Rock'—I was the limpet, of course—and you were also 'the Universal
Improver.'"
"Oh, spare me," said Thorold with a little laugh; "I know I have been
very down on you for many things, but you have taken my scoldings like
an angel, and I don't feel like scolding any more."
Then in a graver tone, he began to talk to her about the life they
would have together, of the responsibilities that would come to them,
and of the opportunities they would have of helping those around them.
Gentian listened with eager delight.
"I shall, of course, do all I can. I do think seriously, you know, and
I'm full now of noble resolves and desires. You will have to lift me up
away from earth when you are soaring heavenwards yourself. And when I
drop down with a thud into the mire, you will have to pick me up again,
and start me afresh."
Their talk veered from grave to gay, but when they returned to the
house, Mrs. Wharnecliffe asked them if they had settled the day for
their marriage.
"You have nothing to wait for," she said; "I am sure you know each
other through and through. I mean to keep Gentian with me until her
trousseau will be ready, and you will have to get your house in order,
Thorold. Don't think I want to hurry you, but I'm going to take Phil to
the Riviera in November, and should love to see you settled comfortably
for the winter, before we go."
"I have touched upon that crucial point," said Thorold.
"Yes," said Gentian, a little shyly; "and I'm going to leave it to
him—I want just a little time to take it all in, and to think over it,
but when he wants me, I'll be ready."
"Then why not fix a day towards the end of October? That will leave a
good three months," suggested Mrs. Wharnecliffe.
And both Thorold and Gentian signified their assent.
The hours of that day passed too quickly for Gentian. She clung to
Thorold when his time of departure came.
"You are quite sure you haven't made a mistake?" she said, laying her
head on his shoulder with a little happy sigh; "you won't let Miss Muir
make you think I am too young and giddy to make you a good wife? I
shall do awful things sometimes, I always do, but I shan't do them on
purpose. And I have some pride, and I'll show Miss Muir that I can keep
house, and dispense hospitality, and be as good a hostess as she is
herself."
"I am not afraid that my future wife will lack either dignity or
grace," said Thorold. "My darling, I have made many mistakes in my
life, but I am quite certain that I am not making one now."
"And we'll write and write and write to each other, till we meet
again," said Gentian; "and if you're very long away, I shall get into
my car and come tearing down to see you—I can always do that."
She parted from him with smiles and misty eyes, and when he had gone,
came to Mrs. Wharnecliffe.
"Oh, I'm the happiest girl in the world! Did you know he liked me? Did
you know I liked him? I'm thanking God with all my heart for bringing
such joy into my life. I shall love Him so much more, and shall
serve Him so much better now. I always think that Cousin Thor is an
uncalendared saint; and living with him will, of course, make me a much
better character. We won't keep our engagement a secret. There's one
person I should like to tell soon, and that is Sir Gilbert. He is one
of my greatest friends next to you."
"We'll drive over and see him to-morrow," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "I
have had a pretty good idea, for some time past, that your feelings
towards Thorold were undergoing a change. You did not care for him at
first, did you?"
"Well, no," admitted Gentian; "for he was too masterful. Isn't it
funny? I don't mind that a bit now. I like it in him—I don't want my
own way, I want his."
"Ah," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe, "that is the right kind of love, that
gives more than it takes. I hope you'll always feel like that, my dear
child."
"I have really grown older," said Gentian thoughtfully, "in many ways.
Dear Waddy's illness taught me a good deal. I remember I felt when she
left me, that I would never smile again, my heart was quite cold and
dead. Cousin Thor did me good, when he came over to see me. And I see
now how right he was. Trouble does work for good if we take it in the
right way. I was very rebellious and impatient at first, and I have
been most awfully depressed lately—not seeing my future one little bit.
Somehow I never dreamt that Cousin Thor would or could care for me. I
felt very inclined to marry Jim, or anyone, and make the best of a bad
job. Fancy if I had! It doesn't bear thinking about."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe let her talk on. She was a very sympathetic listener,
and was too pleased with the match to be over-critical; otherwise she
might have checked the girl's egotistical talk.
In a few days the news became known.
Sir Gilbert received it with his serene smile.
"I think," he said, "I must congratulate you most. There are few men
nowadays so quietly helpful and so selfless as Thorold Holt."
"Yes," said Gentian; "everybody loves him. I suppose you think I am not
half good enough for him. He ought to have a sweet, dignified, queenly
woman, serene and calm, and instead, he has me."
"He has a little person who is learning fast to control her likes and
dislikes, to think nothing of herself, and everything of those she
loves."
"I am trying to arrive at that, but am not there yet," said Gentian
humbly.
Miss Horatia arrived over one afternoon to offer her congratulations.
"I felt you would not come and see us," she said in her blunt downright
fashion; "so I came to see you. We are not annoyed with you, though I
am sure you think we are. Anne and I know our nephew's way so well.
That was why we did not want you to meet him. He takes violent fancies
to girls, and then slips away from them, before he definitely commits
himself."
"He didn't treat me like that," said Gentian, with great dignity. "It
was I who ran away from him. But I was too hasty and impulsive, Miss
Horatia. I was beside myself with excitement in London, and when I was
told I could make quite a nice sum by accompanying people, I thought I
should like to take it up as a profession."
"And then what happened?" inquired Miss Horatia.
"Well," said Gentian hesitating, "Mr. Vernon would not leave me alone.
He wearied me. I had to do everything with him, and go everywhere with
him, and I got sick of it, and of the people I had to meet. I am not
made for towns. I always think some of us are made for the country and
some for towns, don't you think so? And then I simply fled, and I never
want to see London again. It all tired me to death, and made my nerves
all come to the top of my skin. Do you know the feeling?"
"I could have told you what it would be like, but you would not have
believed me."
"I am ashamed of myself. How is Miss Anne? Would she see me if I came
over and asked her forgiveness for leaving her so suddenly, after all
her kindness to me?"
"She'll like to see you any day. And so you're really engaged to
Thorold Holt? I thought you considered him an antiquated prig and
meddler."
"I thought he was everything that was horrid when I first knew him,"
said Gentian laughing; "but everybody who really gets to know him, and
watches his life, must adore him, Miss Horatia!"
Miss Horatia laughed.
"Then that is your role now! Well—you can pin your faith and love on
Thorold and never be disillusioned. I'll say that, and I've known him
for a good many years. You're a lucky young woman, and I congratulate
you with all my heart."
"Thank you. Every one tells me that. And they nearly say 'you're not
half enough good for him,' their eyes and corners of their mouths say
it, if their tongues don't! But it's quite true. I'm not good enough,
or clever enough, or steady enough. But somebody said once that people
who live together get like each other, so I'm hoping to get like him in
time."
"You would do well to be shaken into a bag together," said Miss
Horatia. "I dare say you'll tone down, and he'll brisk up. Now what I
want to ask you is this: Are you going to get a chance of continuing
your riding after you're married?"
"Oh, I hope so. Cousin Thor says he will have horses. How is my dear
Sophy?"
"She's eating her head off in the stable. Are you staying here? If so,
come over and exercise her. I think I may give my old hunter to you as
a wedding present."
"Oh, Miss Horatia! After the way I have behaved! Why, you're a perfect
angel!"
Impulsive Gentian seized hold of Miss Horatia's hands, and in her
pretty foreign fashion which had not altogether left her, lifted them
to her lips and kissed them.
Miss Horatia drew her hands away with a little laugh.
"You didn't offend me. Young people must go their own way nowadays.
I couldn't, when I was a girl—more's the pity. And you have gone up
several pegs in my estimation by your appreciation of Thorold."
"Appreciation!" gasped Gentian. "Why I would die for him! Nobody
realizes what I feel for him!"
The next day she went over to see Miss Anne, who received her kindly,
but a little stiffly.
But when Gentian told her contritely how sorry and ashamed she was for
having left them in such haste, she was graciously forgiven.
"My sister and I have talked it over. We knew you were under our
nephew's influence, for he wrote to us about you and told us plainly
that he would not let you come back to us. You made a great mistake
in going up to town in the first instance, but that you would do.
However, all's well that ends well, and I think that Mrs. Wharnecliffe
and anyone who cares about you, must feel very thankful for your
engagement."
"Yes," murmured Gentian; "I'm sure you think it is more than I deserve.
But it means a fresh start, and a new life, and a glorious future for
me. And I'm going to try and turn into a dowdy, virtuous, old-fashioned
wife, so that every one will say: 'How her marriage has improved her!
I never should have dreamt that that undisciplined, wilful, giddy girl
could have altered so!' I hope you'll say so, dear Miss Anne—oh, do
give me your blessing."
Miss Anne could no more resist Gentian when she adopted her winning,
persuasive tone than anyone else. She promised she would come to her
wedding if she were able, and would be glad to see her at any time.
And then for the next month Mrs. Wharnecliffe kept her very busy over
her trousseau. She wanted to take Gentian for a few weeks to town to
shop there, but the girl shrank from it, and said she would much rather
get her clothes made locally.
"You don't like a place that has made you unhappy. London was not a
friend to me. I think she is one of the cities in the world which is
pleasant for the workers and business people and the gay idlers, but
I'm a betwixt and a between, I'm not exactly a drone, and I'm not a
busy bee. I'm just a lover of sunshine and peace and quiet country.
Don't smile like that, Mrs. Wharnecliffe. I'm altering a lot as I grow
older. I shall love the quietness of that grey Cornish house, and you
can't say I don't love the country here. And I'm not going to be a
smart, fashionable woman. Thorold loves me in blue, he says he wants me
to dress in nothing else, so that's easy. And we're not going to have a
smart wedding."
"But I shall insist upon a white wedding dress," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe
firmly, "and you must have one or two nice evening frocks and some of
them not blue."
Gentian was smiling happily, with her thoughts far away. Thorold had
told her that the picture of her standing in the doorway of that dingy
lodging-house in London had never left his memory.
"You were dressed in a rich blue gown with turquoise beads, and somehow
you reminded me with your sad, sweet little face and big blue eyes of a
young madonna. You might have stepped out of some old Italian picture."
"And then you discovered I was only an imp," Gentian had said to him.
She was thinking of this now and of how Thorold had drawn her into his
arms and murmured:
"My little blue Gentian—I want you always dressed in blue."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe smiled as she noted her abstraction of mind. She
remembered her own courting days, and made due allowance for Gentian's
moods.
Time slipped along rapidly; and then they went for another day or two
down to Cornwall.
This time Frances Muir was away, and Gentian was relieved to hear it.
The house was in the decorators' hands, and work being pushed along as
rapidly as it could be in one of the leisurable counties of England.
Thorold and Gentian wandered over the house by themselves.
"How I longed to furnish it when I was here before. And now we are
doing it," laughed Gentian. "Now you must promise not to laugh at me if
I ask you for one thing. There is a little empty room at the end of the
passage. It looks out west. I want a bit of the house all to myself,
and I want this room. I shall watch the sunsets from it, and in the
winter I shall see the daylight die away later than in any other room."
"You shall have the room most certainly. It can be your boudoir."
"No, no, it is going to be my Sanctuary. When I was in Italy, I knew
somebody—she was only a girl—one of my own friends—but she had in her
beautiful home one little room where she used to go to tell her beads
and pray before a silver crucifix. I am not a Roman Catholic. I don't
want a crucifix or beads, but I shall have a prie-dieu chair just
before the window, and I shall have my Bible on a blue cushion upon
the wide window-ledge, and when I'm in one of my passions—or when I
feel worried or depressed—I shall run away there and be quiet, and then
shall come out with peace in my heart. Sir Gilbert and you have taught
me to take all my troubles to God. I do it as a habit now. But I love
to have a little quiet closet as the Bible says, and be shut in there
alone."
"My darling," said Thorold, bending over her and kissing rather a
wistful little face, "you shall indeed have your Sanctuary. I only wish
it were big enough for a small organ, for I think you would like one
there. But I must tell you, I am going to present the little church
here with one. I don't think you and I could stand that harmonium every
Sunday. I have talked with Dick about it, and he is very pleased. You
will be able to run into church whenever you like, and if you would
sometimes play for the Sunday services, I expect everyone would be
delighted."
Gentian's face became radiant.
"An organ! Oh, how lovely. It is the one thing I have felt unhappy
about, leaving dear St. Anselm's and my dear, dear organ! Why, Thorold,
there's everything we want now in this little village."
And Thorold made response in his dry and whimsical way:
"I am easily contented. Organs and rooms, and all such common things
only form a background to my centre. And my centre is to be kept well
and happy, so I am now going to lock this house up before she gets
overtired and take her off to the Rectory to lunch."
* * * * *
Many people gathered together to see Gentian married in St. Anselm's
Church. And yet it was a very quiet wedding. Neither of Thorold's young
brothers was present. Gentian was much relieved to hear of Godwin's
engagement to his Admiral's daughter, before her own engagement to his
brother was broken to him.
It was a bright, frosty October morning. Sir Gilbert gave the bride
away, and afterwards played the wedding march himself as she and her
bridegroom came down the aisle. Through the whole of the service
Gentian seemed very composed and quiet, but her head drooped and she
never raised her eyes.
Thorold had felt her hand tremble as he put the ring upon her finger.
She never once looked at him till they were in the car driving from the
church to Oakberry Hall, and then when Thorold put his arm round her,
she glanced up at him through a mist of tears.
"It's just joy," she whispered to him, "and relief that I did not take
Jim in a hurry and lose you! And it's a little bit frightening, isn't
it, getting married? We've neither of us done it before, and if you
ever were to be disgusted and ashamed of me, what should I do? Now,
don't stop me! I feel that everybody thinks me too young and foolish to
be your wife, but time will put that right, won't it?"
Thorold's protests made her smile.
"And now," she said, "just call me Mrs. Holt, so that I may hear how it
sounds."
Afterwards, at Mrs. Wharnecliffe's reception, her quiet grace and
dignity were noted by all.
The rector's wife was much impressed by it.
"She has improved," she said to her husband; "since Miss Ward's death
she has been much steadier. I could have wished that Mr. Holt had
done better, but of course, in the circumstances, one does not wonder
that he has married her. He considered that he had cut her out of her
relation's money."
But it was not pity that shone in Thorold's grey eyes. He had had a
grey life, and the golden sunshine that now flooded his heart almost
dazed him. Gentian had long ago stolen into his heart; he knew that she
would be enshrined there for the rest of his life. They went off to
Italy for a fortnight and then came straight home to Cornwall.
It had been an ideal honeymoon. Thorold looked years younger, and
Gentian had developed in many ways. She was changing from a pretty girl
into a beautiful woman. Sometimes her grave dignity with strangers made
her husband wonder. Her explanation was very simple:
"I am not going to be that contemptible thing, a child-wife! People
shan't curl their lips, and go away and pity you. When we're quite
alone, I'll have my fun, but not in public!"
They came to their grey manor house as dusk was falling, but there
were lights and fire to welcome them, and Frances Muir had found them
a delightful Cornish couple of the name of Tiddy. Mr. Tiddy opened
the door and made smart salute. He had been a sailor, and thought the
British Navy the most important creation on the face of the earth.
Mrs. Tiddy was clean and rosy and very small, but she moved about at
lightning pace and never wasted time in talk. Her spouse was the one
with the tongue, as she told Gentian when talking about him.
"I knew afore us were wedded what a clacker 'e be, an' sez I, two
tongues wull soon raise the wind, one agen t'uther, zo zilent be I from
this time forth, an' so I be. But I'll say this for Jerry, 'e du wark
so well as talk."
Most of Thorold's furniture had been brought to the house. The square
hall, with its thick rugs underfoot, and thick curtains to the doors
and windows, and blazing log fire, looked a very different place from
when Gentian had first seen it. Whilst Thorold was giving directions
about their luggage, she ran upstairs, peeped into her big, bright
bedroom, where flowered chintzes and another bright fire awaited her,
and then down the passage she went to her Sanctuary. There was no fire
here, but she turned on the electric light, which had been installed
all over the house, and looked around her, well pleased with the result
of her furnishing.
The walls were white, the woodwork dark oak. A rich blue carpet was
on the floor, and blue velvet curtains were drawn across the windows.
The prie-dieu chair, with its blue cushion, was before the window;
there were a writing-table, an easy chair and a small book-case filled
with devotional books. Two pictures only were hung upon the walls. One
depicted Christ walking with his two disciples to Emmaus, the other
Daniel kneeling before his open window.
Gentian drew aside the curtains. In the distance she saw a line of
silver sea. A young moon was already shining in the sky. She gazed for
a moment up into the infinite blue above her, then turned and, kneeling
upon her chair, bowed her head.
"O God," she murmured, "I thank Thee for my husband and home. Bless us
in it. Make me a good wife, and help me to be a better Christian, for
Jesus Christ's sake—Amen."
A moment later and she was hanging upon her husband's arm, listening
with laughing eyes to Tiddy's talk.
"Missus an' me will do 'ee praper, esfay us will. A've bin to sea wi'
the highest in the land, an' they be most alway single gents, and
vrom puttin' in they dashed little studs in dinner starched shirts to
cleanin' patent boots wi' a shine on they vit to see wan's face tu,
a've waited on 'em, an' got nought but praise. An' missus an' me can
well attend tu the wants of a couple like 'ee, for a du lay that man
an' maid, be they king or tinker folk, when they virst be wed, be so
ower taken up wi' each on 'em, that they be main easy to be pleased."
Thorold laughed and drew Gentian into the smoking-room.
"He won't find us such fools as he hopes. We dream our dreams, but I
for one can be very practical, and I think my wife can be so too."
"I want to be everything that I ought to be," said Gentian earnestly,
then she laughingly laid her head on her husband's shoulder.
"But there is one thing I can't and won't be, and that is a long-faced,
melancholy Christian. They ought to be exterminated, for they make
others hate religion."
"I hope I'm not one of that sort," said Thorold smiling.
"You? Never. You're grave sometimes, but the twinkle in your eyes
always saves you. Oh, Thorold, do you think we shall always be as happy
as we are now?"
And Thorold, looking at the radiant young face turned towards him,
had no misgivings that life should rob her of her joyousness. He only
softly repeated some lines which he had read:
"The heart that trusts for ever sings,
And feels as light as it had wings;
A well of peace within it springs,
Come good or ill,
Whate'er to-day, to-morrow brings.
It is His Will."
FINIS