THE HOUSE.
Dolly did not tell all her experiences of that afternoon. She told only
so much as might serve to quiet and amuse her mother; for Mrs. Copley
took all occasions of trouble that came in her way, and invented a few
more. Mrs. Jersey had sent along in the dog-cart a basket of
strawberries for the sick lady; so Dolly hoped her mother's impressions
of this day at least would be favourable.
"Did you ever see such magnificent berries, mother? black and red?"
"Why haven't we berries in our garden?" Mrs. Copley returned.
"Mother, you know the garden has not been kept up; nobody has been
living here lately."
"Then why did not your father get some other house, where the garden
_had_ been kept up, and we could have our own fruit and vegetables? I
think, to be in the country and not have one's own garden and fresh
things, is forlorn."
"There is one thing, mother; there are plenty of markets in this
country."
"And plenty of high prices for everything in them. Yes, if you have no
end to your purse, you can buy things, certainly. But to look at what
is around us here, one would think your father didn't mean us to have
much of anything!"
"Mother, he means you to have all you want. We thought you just wanted
country air."
"And nothing to eat?"
"We are not starving _yet_," said Dolly, smiling, and arranging the
strawberries.
"These are a gift. A gift I shouldn't think your father would like to
take, or have us take, which comes to the same thing. We used to have
enough for ourselves and our neighbours too, once, when we were at
home, in America. We are nobody here."
"We are just ourselves, mother; what we always were. It does not make
much difference what people think of us."
"Not much difference," cried Mrs. Copley, "about what people think of
you! And then, what is to become of you, I should like to know? Nobody
seeing you, and no chance for anything! I wonder if your father means
you never to be married?"
"You do not want me married, mother; and not to an Englishman, anyhow."
"Why not? And how are you going to marry anybody else, out here? Can
you tell me? But, O Dolly! I am tormented to death!"
"Don't, dear mother. That is what makes you ill. What is the matter?
What troubles you?"
Mrs. Copley did not answer at once.
"You are as sweet as a honeysuckle," she said. "And to think that
nobody should see you!"
Dolly's dimples came out here strong.
"Are you tormented to death about that?"
Another pause came, and Mrs. Copley finally left the table with the air
of one who is thinking what she will not speak. She went to the
honeysuckle porch and sat down, resting her head in her hand and
surveying the landscape. Twilight was falling over it now, soft and
dewy.
"I don't see a sign of anything human, anywhere," she remarked. "Is it
because it is so dark?"
"No, mother; there are no houses in sight."
"Nor from the back windows?"
"No, mother."
"Where is the village you talk about?"
"Half a mile away; the woods and rising ground of Brierley Park hide it
from us."
"And in this wilderness your father expects me to get well!"
"Why, I think it is charming!" Dolly cried. "My drive home to-night was
perfectly lovely, mother."
"I didn't have it."
"No, of course; but the country is exceedingly pretty."
"I can't make your father out."
Dolly was hushed here. She was at a loss likewise on this point.
"He acts just as if he had lost his money."
Dolly did not know what to say. She had had the same impression. To her
inexperience, this did not seem the first of evils; but she guessed it
would wear another face to her mother.
"And if he _has_," Mrs. Copley went on, "I am sure I wish we were at
home. England is no sort of a place for poor folks."
"Why should you think he has, mother?"
"I _don't_ think he has," Mrs. Copley flamed out. "But if he hasn't, I
think he has lost his wits."
"That would be worse," said Dolly, smiling, though she felt anything
but merry.
"I don't know about that. Nobody'll ask about your wits, if you've got
money; and if you _haven't_, Dolly, nobody'll care what else you have."
"Mother, I think it is good to have one's treasure where one cannot
lose it."
"I thought I had that when I married your father," said Mrs. Copley,
beginning to cry. This was a very strange thing to Dolly and very
terrible. Her mother's nerves, if irritable, had always been wont to
show themselves of the soundest. Dolly saw it was not all nerves; that
she was troubled by some unspoken cause of anxiety; and she herself
underwent nameless pangs of fear at this corroboration of her own
doubts, while she was soothing and caressing and arguing her mother
into confidence again. The success was only partial, and both of them
carried careful hearts to bed.
A day or two more passed without any variation in the state of things;
except that old Peters the gardener made his appearance, and began to
reduce the wilderness outside to some order. Dolly spent a good deal of
time in the garden with him; tying up rose trees, taking counsel, even
pulling up weeds and setting plants. That was outside refreshment;
within, things were unchanged. Mr. Copley wrote that he would run down
Saturday, or, if he could not, he would send Lawrence. "Why shouldn't
he come himself?" said Mrs. Copley; and, Why should he send Lawrence?
thought Dolly. She liked it better without him. She was pleasing
herself in her garden; finding little ways of activity that delighted
her in and out of the house; getting wonted; and she did not care for
the constraint of anybody's presence who must be treated as company.
One thing she determined upon, however; Lawrence should not make the
next visit with her at Brierley House; and to prevent it, she would go
at once by herself.
She went that afternoon, and by an easier way of approach to the place.
Mrs. Jersey was very glad to see her, and as soon as Dolly was rested a
little, entered upon the fulfilment of her promise to show the house.
Accordingly she took her visitor round to the principal entrance, in
another side of the building from the one Dolly had first seen. Here,
before she would go in, she stood to admire and wonder at the rich and
noble effect; the beauty of turrets, oriels, mouldings, and arched
windows, the wide and lofty pile which stretched away on two sides in
such lordly lines. Mrs. Jersey told her who was the first builder; who
had made this and that extension and addition; and then they went in.
And the first impression here was a contrast.
The place was a great hall of grand proportions. There was nothing
splendid here to be seen; neither furniture nor workmanship called for
admiration, unless by their simplicity. There were some old paintings
on the walls; there were some fine stags' horns, very large and very
old; there were some heavy oaken settles and big chairs, on which the
family arms were painted; the arms of the first builder; and there were
also, what looked very odd to Dolly, a number of leather fire buckets,
painted in like manner. Yet simple as the room was, it had a great
charm for her. It was lofty, calm, imposing, superb. She was not ready
soon to quit it; and Mrs. Jersey, of course, was willing to indulge her.
"It is so unlike anything at home!" Dolly exclaimed.
"That's in America?" said the housekeeper. "Have you no old houses like
this there, ma'am?"
"Why, we are not old ourselves," said Dolly. "When this house was first
begun to be built, our country was full of red Indians."
"Is it possible! And are there Indians there yet, ma'am?"
"No. Oh, yes, in the country, there are; but they are driven far
off,--to the west--what there are of them.--This is very beautiful!"
"I never heard anybody call this old hall beautiful before," said the
housekeeper, smiling.
"It is so large, and high, and so simple; and these old time things
make it so respectable," said Dolly.
"Respectable! yes, ma'am, it is that. Shall we go on and see something
better?"
But her young visitor had fallen to studying the ceiling, which had
curious carvings and panellings, and paintings which once had been
bright. There was such a flavour of past ages in the place, that
Dolly's fancy was all alive and excited. Mrs. Jersey waited, watching
her, smiling in a satisfied manner; and then, after a while, when Dolly
would let her, she opened the door into another apartment. A great door
of carved oak it was, through which Dolly went expectantly, and then
stood still with a little cry. The first thing she saw was the great
windows, down to the floor, all along one side of a large room, through
which a view was given into the park landscape. The grand trees, the
beautiful green turf, the sunlight and shadow, caught her eye for a
minute; and then it came back to the view within the windows. Opposite
this row of windows was an enormous marble chimney-piece; the family
arms, which Dolly was getting to know, blazoned upon it in brilliant
colours. Right and left of the fireplace hung old family portraits. But
when Dolly turned next to give a look at the side of the hall from
which she had entered, she found that the whole wall was of a piece
with the great carved door; it was filled with carvings, figures in
high relief, very richly executed. For a long while Dolly studied these
figures. Mrs. Jersey could give her little help in understanding them,
but having, as she fancied, got hold of a clue, Dolly pursued it;
admiring the life and expression in the figures, and the richly-carved
accessories. The whole hall was a study to her. On the further side
went up the staircases leading to the next story. Between them opened
the entrance into the dining-hall.
Further than these three halls, Mrs. Jersey almost despaired of getting
Dolly that day. In the dining-hall was a portrait of Queen Elizabeth;
and before it Dolly sat down, and studied it.
"Did she look like that?" she said finally.
"Surely, she must," said the housekeeper. "The picture is thought a
deal of. It was painted by a famous painter, I've been told."
"She was very ugly, then!" said Dolly.
"Handsome is that handsome does," said the housekeeper, smiling; "and,
to be sure, I never could make out that Her Majesty was altogether
handsome in her doings; though perhaps that's the fault of my
stupidity."
"She looks cold," said Dolly; "she looks cruel."
"I'm afraid, by all I have read of her, she was a little of both."
"And how she is dressed!--Who is that, the next to her?"
"Mary Stuart; Mary, Queen of Scotland; this lady's rival."
"Rival?" said Dolly. "No, I do not think she was; only Elizabeth chose
to think her so. How lovely, how lovely!"
"Yes, and by all accounts the portrait tells truth. They say, so she
was to be sure."
"She looks so innocent, so sweet," said Dolly, fixed before the two
pictures.
"Do you think she wasn't?"
"One cannot feel quite comfortable about her. The story is ugly, Mrs.
Jersey. But how a woman with that face could do anything fearfully
wicked, it is hard to imagine. Poor thing!"
"You are very kind, I am sure, to a person of whom you hold such a bad
opinion," said the housekeeper, amused.
"I am sorry for them both," said Dolly. "Life wasn't much good to
either of them, I should think."
"Queen Elizabeth had power," said Mrs. Jersey; "and Queen Mary had
admiration, I understand."
"Yes, but Elizabeth wanted the admiration, and Mary Stuart wanted the
power," said Dolly. "Neither of them got what she wanted."
"Few people do in this world, my young lady."
"Do you think so?"
"Young people generally think they will," said the housekeeper;--"and
old people know better."
"But why should that be?"
"Does Miss Dolly Copley know already what _she_ wants?" the housekeeper
asked.
"No," said Dolly, laughing out; "not at all. I do not know what I want.
I do not think I want anything in particular, Mrs. Jersey."
"Keep so, my dear; that is best."
"Why? Because I should be so sure to be disappointed?"
"You might. But it is safe to let God choose for us, Miss Copley; and
as soon as we begin to plan, we begin to work for our plans, generally;
and if our plan is not _His_ plan,--that makes trouble, you see, and
confusion."
"Of course," said Dolly thoughtfully. "Yet it seems to me it would be
pleasant to have some particular object that one was striving after.
The days go by, one after another, one like another, and seem to
accomplish nothing. I should like to have some purpose, some end in
life, to be striving for and attaining."
"A servant of Christ need never want that," said the housekeeper.
"I have not anything in special to do," said Dolly, looking at her.
"Every servant has something special to do," the other answered.
"I have to take care of mother. But that is not work; it is not work
for Christ, at least, Mrs. Jersey."
"Dear, it may be. Everything you do, you may do for Him; for He has
given it to you to do for Him. That is, unless it is something you are
choosing for yourself."
Dolly pondered.
"And if there be nothing ready to hand that you call work, there is
always preparation for work to be done," Mrs. Jersey went on.
"What sort?"
"The knowledge of the Bible,--and the knowledge of Christ, to seek and
win. That surely."
"The knowledge of the Bible? Mrs. Jersey, I know the Bible pretty well."
"And Christ also?"
Dolly mused again, with a very grave face.
"I do not quite know what you mean."
"Then, there is something to be gained yet."
"But,--of course I know what the Bible says about Him."
"That is one sort of knowledge," said the housekeeper; "but it is not
the knowledge of Him."
"What then?"
"Only knowing about Him, dear."
"What more can we have?"
"Just _Himself_, Miss Copley; and till you have that, dear, you don't
rightly know what the Bible means."
"I don't think I quite understand you."
"Suppose I told you all I could about my Lady Brierley; would that make
you know her as I know her?"
"No, certainly; it would not make me really know her at all."
"That is what I was thinking."
"But for _that_ there must be sight, and intercourse, and the power of
understanding."
"All that," said Mrs. Jersey, smiling; "and the more of that power you
speak of, the more and the nearer knowledge there will be."
"But in the case you are speaking of, the knowledge of Christ, sight is
not possible."
"No, not sight with the bodily eyes. It is not; and if it were, it
mightn't do. Did all the people know the Lord that saw Him with the
bodily eyes? 'Ye have neither known My Father nor Me,' He said to the
Jews. 'Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known
Me, Philip?'"
"You are setting me a regular puzzle, Mrs. Jersey."
"I hope not, my dear. I do not mean it; and it is the last thing I
wish."
"But without sight, how is such knowledge to be gained?"
"Do you remember, Miss Copley, it is written,--'The secret of the Lord
is with them that fear Him.' And Jesus promised to him that loves Him
and keeps His commandments, 'I will manifest Myself to him.' Doubtless
we must seek the fulfilment of the promise too."
"How?"
"The same way as with other things. We must ask, and expect, and use
the means. And no doubt one must be single-eyed and true-hearted. But
dear, there is no knowledge like that, once get it; and no friend to be
had, that can equal the Lord Jesus Christ."
Dolly sat still and pondered, gazing at the two portraits.
"It is very hard to think that this world is nothing!" she said at
last. "To most people it seems everything. Just look at those two
faces! How they struggled and fought; and how little good their life
was to them, after all."
"Ay, and folks can struggle and fight for less things than what divided
them, and lose all just the same. So the Lord said, 'He that loveth his
life, shall lose it;' but He said too, 'He that loseth his life for My
sake, shall find it.'"
"You are talking riddles again, Mrs. Jersey," said Dolly, laughing. "I
thought I was beginning to understand you; but I do not understand
that."
"No, dear; and surely it is a hard saying to many. But I'll give you a
key. Just you give your life to the Lord Jesus, and He will show you
what the losing it means, and the gaining it, too."
"Thank you. I will," said Dolly.
They went on again after that, through more rooms of the house; but the
afternoon did not serve for the whole. Dolly must return to her mother.
Mrs. Jersey sent her home again in the dog-cart. The evening was very
bright and fair; the hedgerows sweet with flowers; the light glittered
on the foliage of trees and copsewood and shrubbery; the sky was clear
and calm. Dolly tasted and rejoiced in it all; and yet in the very
midst of her pleasure an echo from Mrs. Jersey's words seemed to run
through everything. It did not depress; on the contrary, it excited
Dolly. With all the beauty and enjoyment of this very beautiful and
very enjoyable world, there was something still better to be sought and
found; somewhat still more beautiful, far more enjoyable; and the
correlative fact that the search and attainment were, or might be,
attended with some difficulty and requiring some effort or resolution,
was simply an additional stimulus. Dolly breathed the air with intense
taste of it. Yes, she thought, I will seek the knowledge Mrs. Jersey
spoke of. That must be better than anything else.