Thus matters continued for two years. Elsie was now a grown young
woman, and her school was regularly established. Her's was a happy and
contented time--
"Never feeling of unrest
Broke the pleasant dream she dreamed.
Only made to be her nest
All that lovely valley seemed,
No desire of soaring higher
Stirred or flattered in her breast."
Even had she desired to move, the presence of Mrs. McAravey would have
rendered it impossible. Though much softened and improved, the old
woman had scarcely become an agreeable companion. The hard,
Covenanting leaven had moulded her from childhood, and though of late
years she had been touched by a gentler spirit, it was impossible that
habits of a lifetime should be entirely eradicated. She suffered much
pain, borne for the most part uncomplainingly, and was now nearly
helpless. Elsie was not the sort of person to think herself a martyr.
Indeed, it never occurred to her that, in thus watching and consoling
the declining years of this poor, decrepid old body, she was even
performing a noble, and at times fatiguing and painful, duty. She took
it all as a matter of course. It came to her in the order of
Providence, and formed an element and feature in the state of life to
which it had pleased God to call her, and in which she had resolved by
the Divine blessing to do her duty.
Thus matters might long have held their quiet course had it not been
for Jim. As it has been said, he was very different in disposition
from Elsie. Restless, eager, and full of curiosity, he could not
understand her placid yet cheerful nature. He knew not the secret of
her inner life, and of the way in which that life animated and directed
the outer. The young man saw less and less of Tor Glen, having now
obtained a good situation in a flax store at Ballymena.
Some little time previous Elsie and Jim had both been confirmed; and
since that event the Rev. Cooper Smith and George Hendrick had had
several consultations with regard to them. They were very unwilling to
disturb the minds of the young people, nor had they anything definite
to impart; yet it did not seem right to keep them in ignorance of what
was known or suspected as to their parentage. Jim, moreover, had
displayed a good deal of curiosity on the subject, and had questioned
Hendrick as to the meaning of the reports that had come to his ever
open ears about old McAravey's knowledge of the drowned woman.
At length it was resolved that Elsie and Jim should be invited to the
rectory on a Saturday afternoon, and the whole matter fully explained.
All being assembled on the day named, the rector briefly repeated what
McAravey had said on his death-bed, as it had been told to him by
Hendrick. It appeared that before the old man's death the locket had
been brought out from its place of concealment, and, in presence of the
priest, handed over to Hendrick, who had next day brought it to the
rector. Upon investigation the locket had been found to contain the
portrait of a man, and also a small folded piece of paper. The face
was intelligent and powerful, but by no means pleasing. The eyes were
eager and piercing, the lines about the mouth firm and deep-cut; the
features in general somewhat coarse, and plainly those of a man in the
lower walks of life, and one accustomed to hard toil both of mind and
body. The paper had proved to be the pawn ticket of a watch pledged in
Belfast for the sum of one pound, the name upon it being Henderson.
Mr. Smith had redeemed the watch, which now lay before him with the
locket on the table.
"You see, Elsie," he said, turning to the girl, whose eyes were full of
tears, "we have but slight evidence to show either that this is your
father's portrait, or that the poor creature who came to so untimely an
end was your mother. It is curious that the name on the ticket is
Henderson, while McAravey said the person who brought you and Jim to
him was called Davison or Davis, or something like that. Of course it
is quite possible the poor creature did not like to give her right name
at a pawn office. What do you think?"
"I have always felt as if she was my mother," said Elsie; "and I should
be glad if it turned out so. It seems very probable."
"I'm sure this rough-looking fellow is no father of mine," cried Jim,
who had been sadly disappointed at the unromantic character of the
revelation; "but I'll find out the secret of this matter yet.
Meantime, I suppose, sir, the watch is mine. Elsie may take the
locket."
"Don't you think you are somewhat precipitate, Jim?" said the rector,
smiling. "This is just one of the points Mr. Hendrick and I have been
considering. Of course it is just possible that some day the poor
drowned woman may be identified, and turn out to have no connection
with you at all. But I am inclined to think she was your mother, and
that that accounts for her coming to Tor Bay. We have thought it only
right, therefore, that you and Elsie should have the locket and watch,
for the present at least. As for the division, you must arrange that
between you."
"I think I ought to have the watch, as I said, sir, and Elsie the
locket."
"Well, perhaps that is the most suitable division," said the rector,
coldly; "but I don't think you are quite consistent in claiming the
watch so eagerly, and at the same time scorning the miniature, since,
in all probability, if the watch belonged to your mother, the likeness
is that of your father."
"As such I at least shall be glad to keep it," said Elsie.
Jim was somewhat crestfallen at the rector's rebuke, but merely added,
with some pomposity--
"Now that I have been informed of the circumstances, I shall probably,
by the aid of this watch, be able to unravel the mystery of my
parentage."
He meant it merely as a piece of brag to cover his retreat, and as such
the rector and Hendrick took it, receiving his words with a quiet smile.
"I consider that Mr. Smith has acted very wrongly in keeping these
things from us so long," commenced the young man, as he and Elsie
walked home together after ac early dinner at the rectory.
"O Jim! how can you say so? Mr. Smith could have had no motive but
consideration for our feelings."
"I say nothing against his motives, only that I think he acted wrongly.
Valuable time has been lost; but clergymen are never good men of
business, and Scripture-readers are like them, I suppose."
"Jim, I don't like to hear you speak like that; it's ungrateful. And
what you mean by valuable time I can't conceive."
"I dare say you don't understand the value of time, leading the sort of
life you do in a place where nobody ever knows the hour," said the
youth, superciliously, as he glanced at his newly-acquired treasure;
"but of course I mean time has been lost in investigating our family
history."
"I'm quite content to be as I am," said Elsie. "If the history was
known, it would probably be neither important nor interesting. I don't
see how the watch will help you, Jim; and you know you won't have the
likeness."
And she looked into the lad's face with her merry brown eyes. But Jim
was on his high horse, and merely replied--
"I cannot say what I shall do all at once, but the matter shall be
looked into at an early date."
Elsie smiled, as the rector and Scripture-reader had done--not visibly,
indeed, as they had, yet Jim somehow felt he was being laughed at,
which made him angry.
"He is a smart lad that, but I don't like him," said the rector, as he
and Hendrick watched Elsie and Jim going down the avenue. "He wants to
be a fine gentleman, and is ashamed of his father's portrait--an
ill-looking fellow enough, it must be admitted."
"Aye, I didn't like that," said Hendrick; "but he is a steady boy, and
may do well when the conceit has been taken out of him a wee bit."
"If only a 'wee bit' is taken, there will be what the people call a
good little wee lock left. But I sincerely hope, for his own sake,
that his pride will be taken out of him. He is insufferable."