AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL
"This fond attachment to the well-known place
Whence first we started into life's long race
Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway,
We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day."
COWPER.
THE little boys were in bed. Audrey was alone in the drawing-room
reading. Mrs. Bonar was dining with the Tates.
It was about nine o'clock, and the long summer evening was only now
beginning to draw in. Audrey was just laying down her book, and
was leaning out of the window to inhale the scent of some climbing
heliotrope outside, when the maid appeared at the door.
"A gentleman to see you, ma'am."
Audrey rose, looking a little scared at seeing a tall, rather
feeble-looking man in a long overcoat standing on the threshold of the
door and staring at her in perfect silence.
"I don't think I know who it is," she said, holding out her hand.
"I suppose not. I should not have known you. Have you any recollection
of a brother?"
"Bernard! Surely it cannot be Bernard?"
"It is."
Audrey darted forward impulsively, and held out both her hands.
"How did you find me out? When did you come home? Why have you never
written to us? We thought you were dead."
"I have been down home. I hoped I might find my mother alive; it was
rather a shock to find both the parents gone. I got your address from
old Blunt. I'm afraid you have been left badly off."
"Very, but I am earning my own living, and very happy in the doing of
it. Tell me about yourself. Why did you never write us?"
"I determined I would not till I had made my fortune. Foolish, perhaps,
but you get out of the way of writing after a bit. I always meant to
come home a millionaire, but I am not one yet, and am driven back by
illness. I have had rheumatic fever and am crippled in my limbs. They
say a course of baths will put me right again, but I don't know."
"You are not married?"
"Good heavens, no! I've been working too hard for that."
"And you have been successful? Mother always said you would be. She
always believed in you."
Her brother smiled, and his smile quite transformed him.
"It was the thought of that and of her that kept me straight as a
youngster. No, I've kept clear of womankind, but I've a fancy to be
with them now. I've got a comfortable income. You will have to come and
keep house for me, Audrey."
Audrey drew a long breath. Could she? She wondered, and then was
dismayed at her hesitation.
"You're a stranger to me," she said at length, looking up into the big,
brown-bearded man's face, striving to reconcile him with the boy she
had quarrelled and played with in former years. "Suppose that we do not
pull together? I am my own mistress now, and accustomed to act freely
and independently."
"Are you?" he said, a little sceptically. "I was told you were a
governess in a boys' school. I thought the sooner you were out of such
bondage the better."
"Yes," said Audrey, half laughing; "I am a governess, but rather an
independent one, I consider. Oh, Bernard dear, forgive me for my
hesitation. You don't know how gladly I welcome you. But to have one's
whole life upset in a moment is rather a blow. Where are you staying?
Can I offer you some refreshment?"
"No, none. I'm at the hotel in the neighbouring town. I'm walking back.
It's good for me, though I feel a veritable cripple. Well, we'll talk
over things to-morrow. You must get a day off and come over to me. I
have a lot of questions to ask, but it's getting late. I only arrived
about two hours ago, had some food and walked straight over."
"I will come to you, then, to-morrow. There is much I want to say to
you. I'll walk a bit of the way with you now."
A few minutes afterwards, Audrey was walking along the lane that ran
outside the schoolhouse, her arm linked affectionately in his. But
her heart was in a tumult. She did not want to go and live with this
strange brother. She loved her work and was happy in it. Why should
she be dragged away to another life which might not be a pleasant one?
Wives were bound to live with their husbands, but sisters were not
bound to brothers. And if he had lived all these years without her, why
should he demand her now? But she did not let him see her thoughts. As
they walked on in the dusk, Mrs. Ross met and passed them, and one or
two of the masters. They all said good-night, and looked with curiosity
at the tall figure beside her.
At last, she turned.
"I must go back, Bernard. I will come and see you to-morrow. What a lot
I shall have to tell you!"
"And make arrangements to come to town with me as soon as you can. I'm
going to buy a small place somewhere in the country and settle down.
I've done my share of work, I consider, and am entitled to a bit of a
rest, and I shall never be an active man again, I fear."
Audrey returned to the house feeling as if she were in a dream.
"If Bernard had come home just after father's death, how thankful I
should have been! And, of course, his need of me is just the same,
though mine is not."
She was so full of perplexity and doubt about it all that she felt
disinclined to talk it over with Mrs. Bonar, and retired to bed before
she came in.
The next morning, she told her of her brother's arrival, and Mrs. Bonar
promised to take her place and let her have a free day.
So Audrey set off for the town, and spent a very pleasant day with her
brother, talking over old times and hearing his account of himself
abroad.
They settled that Bernard should go to town and see a specialist about
himself. Then, if he was advised to do so, he was either to go to
Harrogate or some of the baths abroad, and Audrey was to join him as
soon as she could.
"The summer holidays will be here in another six weeks. I will come
with you anywhere then. And that will be time enough to discuss our
future plans and whether I am to break with my work. Who knows? You may
pick up with a wife somewhere, and then you will not want me."
This was Audrey's final word. And she returned to her work feeling that
for the present no definite decision need be made.
The next morning, she was in the playing-field with her small boys,
when Dr. Vernon came striding across to her.
"I should like a few minutes' conversation with you, Miss Hume," he
said.
Audrey looked up. She saw he was ruffled and wondered at the cause.
"Come into the pavilion," he added peremptorily; "it is empty at
present."
Audrey followed him in silence.
Then he turned to her and spoke hotly.
"I must ask you again, Miss Hume, to be more discreet in your
behaviour. I cannot bear, and will not have, the paltry, ill-natured
gossip that travels round in our community. This is not the first time
I have had to speak to you. I wish every member of my working staff to
be above and beyond reproach. You have a certain position here, and a
certain dignity to maintain. And when I hear it said that you wander
about in the lane after ten o'clock with your arm linked in an unknown
man's, I can only rejoin that you must be exceedingly careless and
thoughtless about appearances, or else quite unfit to be one of the
heads of my houses."
Audrey's passionate temper rose at once. Dr. Vernon was quick-tempered,
and so was she.
"I consider," she said, "that you have grossly insulted me. I suppose
I have to thank Mrs. Ross for this outburst. If you choose to ask Mrs.
Bonar about it, she will tell you who the unknown man was. I shall not
do so. But this has quite decided me to tell you now that I shall not
be returning here after the summer holidays. It is indeed bondage, and
bondage which I shall be glad to break. If you cannot trust me, and are
ready to believe the worst at once of everything you hear about me,
then the sooner I leave you, the better. I will say no more."
She marched out of the pavilion with hot cheeks and angry eyes, feeling
she was leaving a crestfallen and discomfited man behind her. And yet,
when she got into the house, and was in the privacy of her bedroom, she
burst into a passion of tears.
"I hate him! I don't want to go! It's a shame! But I have burnt my
boats. And I shall never alter my mind."
It was not long before a written apology was brought her from the
doctor:
"MY DEAR MISS HUME,
"I ask your pardon, but why on earth didn't you tell me that it was
your brother? I had been vexed beyond measure by the way people were
talking of you, but I did not believe that you were in the wrong. I
hoped you would justify yourself at once. My hot temper prevented that,
I see. Please let us have a quiet talk together before you decide to
leave me. Can you come in this afternoon after four?—Yours sincerely,
"E. VERNON."
Then Audrey did what she regretted afterwards. She felt hurt and angry
still, and perhaps had a presentiment that a personal interview would
shake her present determination. So she wrote as follows:
"DEAR DR. VERNON,
"I accept your apology, but my decision still remains the same, and I
do not think we can better matters by discussion. The fact is that my
brother wishes me to make my home with him, and I have promised him
that I will do so. I join him directly school breaks up. I hope my
successor will be more discreet than I have been.—Yours sincerely,
"AUDREY HUME."
The next thing was that Miss Vernon came over to see her.
"Now, you wicked young woman, why have you been wrangling with the
doctor? Have you not got over your fit of temper yet? This is the first
time I have ever interfered in school matters, but your note was a
distinctly nasty one to him, and unworthy of you. If you accepted his
apology, why did you twit him with your 'indiscretion'? Was not that
what he apologised for?"
Audrey looked ashamed of herself.
"He spoke to me as no gentleman ought to speak. I can't forget it."
"Tuts! He has apologised. Both of you have fiery tempers, and yours is
the worst."
"I believe it is," said Audrey; "for it lasts longer. I am very sorry,
Miss Vernon. I hate to leave for many reasons, but my brother wants me,
and I must go to him."
"You will regret leaving us. Though I talk against our scholastic
atmosphere, it is a bright and breezy one, and you are too active by
nature to settle down contentedly with an invalid brother. Hasn't he a
wife? Is he too much of a crock to get one?"
"He hopes to be cured by treatment, but it will take time. I dare say I
shall wish myself back, but for all that I am going, and I don't think
the doctor will be sorry. He doesn't trust me."
Miss Vernon adjusted her glasses and looked keenly into Audrey's
flushed, quivering face.
"That's the sting, is it? 'Faithful are the wounds of a friend.' You
are very fond of my brother."
With which astounding statement, Miss Vernon marched out of the room,
and left Audrey feeling decidedly the worse for the encounter.
She did not meet the doctor for some time after that. And when she did,
he said a few coldly pleasant words and passed by.
She wrote very often to her brother, who was now going through a course
of electric massage in town, and as the days began to slip by, Audrey
felt more and more unhappy. She loved her small boys, she loved her
work.
And when the last day came, and she was packing up for good and all and
dismantling her pretty bedroom of its knick-knacks and pictures, she
was strongly inclined to sit down and cry.
In the afternoon, in fear and trembling she went over to wish Miss
Vernon good-bye. And then came her final interview with the doctor in
his study.
He was very grave and quiet, and Audrey diffident and nervous.
"I wish you well in your new life," he said, after they had discussed
various business matters; "and I hope you will not find you have made
a mistake. Not that I am the one to keep you from your brother, for I
don't know what I should do without my sister. But after many years
in the Colonies, a man does not easily settle down to a quiet English
life. May I thank you now for the good services you have rendered to
the college? I venture to hope that up to recent events you have been
very happy with us?"
"I have learnt as well as taught," said Audrey in a low voice, feeling
indignant with herself because tears would spring to her eyes. "Yes, I
have been very happy."
"And we are parting friends?"
Audrey looked up and met the doctor's wonderful smile.
"Oh, yes! I was hasty—I own it—and I ought not to have shown such
temper, but that did not affect my resolve."
"No; we must let you go your own way. But one day you will come back to
us."
He said it with steady assurance.
Audrey's eyes fell. "I don't think that is likely," she said.
Dr. Vernon smiled again, then he gripped her hand.
"God bless you, Miss Hume. Never get out of touch with One Who is
guiding you. 'Without Me ye can do nothing.' Good-bye."
Audrey murmured the conventional words.
But when she was driving to the station, her tears fell fast and
unrestrainedly.
She joined her brother in a quiet family hotel in London, and strove
that first evening to be her lighthearted self.
"I have had two experiences of London now," she said, after the first
day was over. "My first one was so dreadful that I never wanted to be
in London again. Now I really think I shall enjoy it. Oh, Bernard, what
a blessing money is! As I walk through the streets, and see so many
pale, anxious faces, all engaged in the struggle to live, I wish I was
a millionaire so that I could place them beyond all trouble and worry."
"They're a poor lot, as a rule—those millionaires," said Bernard
thoughtfully. "I've knocked up against a few. They're as hard as nails,
suspicious, and in many cases unprincipled. I've seen men work on till
they drop, when they have already enough to keep them in comfort, but
their ambitions were stronger than their bodies, and their aim was to
bank millions instead of thousands."
"Money brings care, I suppose."
"Rather! Women are really best off—if they only knew it—when they have
not the fingering of it."
"Like myself," laughed Audrey. "But I loved quarter-day at Horsborough
College."
They stayed in London for a couple of months. And then Bernard felt so
much better that he began to talk of buying his country house. After a
great deal of discussion over climate and soil, he fixed upon a sandy,
bracing part of Hampshire, and then house-hunting began. Audrey, with
her usual keenness, threw herself into the subject with whole-hearted
vigour and energy. She interviewed agents, builders, and architects.
Finally, Bernard decided upon an old-fashioned farmhouse residence with
modern improvements. Audrey had at first imagined they would live in a
humble cottage on a comparatively small income. But when he informed
her he meant to get a motor, and after a good deal of inspection chose
a most powerful and luxurious one, she remonstrated.
"Can you afford it, Bernard?"
He laughed.
"Yes, I mean to be comfortable. I always cut my coat according to my
cloth. You need not be afraid."
"I am delighted. You will be able to take me down to see my
friends—Pauline and Honor and others."
Audrey was only a young girl still. This phase of life gripped her and
held her. She had all her life had to go without pretty things, and
without the comforts of the wealthy. She began to ask herself soon
whether she would be growing lazy and self-indulgent, and she said
something of this sort to her brother one evening after dinner.
"You see, Bernard, I have been seeing life so differently lately. I
will be quite frank with you. I was in religious doubt and difficulty
for a long time, and now I have been brought through it. I want to be
a true follower of Christ, and I have a horror of sitting down and
enjoying life in a selfish fashion."
"You are like our mother."
Mrs. Hume was still enshrined in her son's heart as the ideal Christian
woman.
"Oh, I wish I was! But I must try to do some good wherever we go. I
won't use that expression, for I don't like it. I want to help others
to be truly happy."
"Well, I give you leave to do that," said Bernard, with a
laugh—"beginning with me. And if you have conscientious scruples about
anything, speak out, and I'll respect them. Perhaps, like mother, you
will be demanding a tenth of my income for missions and charity. Do you
remember how she would set aside her tenth of the housekeeping, as she
could not get my father to see with her?"
"How well you remember things!" exclaimed Audrey. "I think it would
be splendid if you did! There is such a lot of misery in the world to
relieve."
She was touched to find how her mother's saintly life had influenced
her brother and impressed him all through his wanderings. And she began
to find, after several talks, that Bernard was not only interested in
the religious questions of the day, but deep down in his heart had a
reverence and love for his mother's God.
The busy time of house-furnishing that followed filled her time and
thoughts. But on Sunday, Bernard kept to the old-fashioned way of
spending it at home quietly, going to church, and refusing even to use
his motor. Audrey was very thankful for this, and began to see that her
energy and strength and talents could all be employed for good in her
new life. She would be required to do nothing by her brother that would
be against her principles. But, in spite of her busy, pleasant life,
her thoughts and heart were still in Horsborough College. The very
sight of a schoolboy brought a lump to her throat.
"Happy I am, and happy I mean to be," she said to herself. "I can't
think why I hanker so to be back. I must try to forget it all, as a bit
of my life that is over and done with."
Yet that bit of her life remained with her and haunted her day and
night.