Rose Songs
That music breathes all through my spirit,
As the breezes blow through a tree;
And my soul gives light as it quivers,
Like moons on a tremulous sea.
New passions are wakened within me,
New passions that have not a name
Dim truths that I knew but as phantoms
Stand up clear and bright in the flame.
And my soul is possessed with yearnings
Which make my life broaden and swell;
And I hear strange things that are soundless,
And I see the invisible.
FABER.
IT was an exquisite evening. Mrs. Stuart lay on her couch by the open
window. Molly was seated on a low chair, gazing out into the dusky
garden. Her hands were idly clasped in her lap, and her blue eyes were
filled with dreaminess and content. Bowls of roses—pink, crimson, and
white—scented the room with their fragrance. At the piano sat Betty; an
old-fashioned silver lamp above her threw its soft light upon her small
dark curly head, her eager sensitive face, and her slight graceful
little figure. She was singing, and singing in one of her most pathetic
moods. Her voice thrilled to the soul, one unseen hearer outside.
"'Where blooms, O my father, a thornless rose?'
'That can I not tell thee, my child;
Not one on the bosom of earth ever grows
But wounds whom its charms have beguiled.'
"'Would I'd a rose on my bosom to lie,
But I shrink from the piercing thorn:
I long, but I dare not its point defy;
I long, and I gaze forlorn.'
"'Not so, O my child; round the stem again
Thy resolute fingers entwine;
Forego not the joy for its sister, pain—
Let the rose, the sweet rose, be thine.'"
Steps on the gravel made themselves heard as her voice died away.
And then Mr. Russell's voice broke upon them,—
"Mrs. Stuart, may we come in? This is very unceremonious, but Arundel
has been dining with me, and the night is such a lovely one that we
have been tempted out for a stroll. Let me introduce him to you—but you
have met before."
The two men stepped in through the open French window. Mrs. Stuart
welcomed them gladly. She missed the constant intercourse with her
acquaintances in town, and always enjoyed a chat with Betty's old
friend.
Betty rose from the piano with a pretty flush of pleasure on her
cheeks, as she shook hands with Mr. Russell.
"You are not to leave the piano," he said. "We have been enjoying your
music outside. We saw a little white figure surrounded by roses in a
pale light, and we stood still to watch and listen, only half believing
that she was real flesh and blood. No! Please, Mrs. Stuart, do not ring
for lights. May we sit in the dusk and listen to another song? And let
it be about roses still, Betty, only let us forget they have thorns."
Betty turned over the leaves of her music irresolutely.
"I have not many songs about roses, Mr. Russell," she said. Then,
sitting down again, she sang,—
"'It was peeping through the brambles—
That little wild white rose,
Where the hawthorn hedge was planted,
My garden to enclose.
All beyond was fern or heather
On the breezy open moor;
All within was sun and shelter
And the wealth of beauty's store.
But I did not heed the fragrance
Of floweret or of tree,
For my eyes were on that rosebud,
And it grew too high for me.'
"'In vain I strove to reach it,
Through the tangled mass of green—
It only smiled and nodded
Behind its thorny screen.
Yet through that summer morning
I lingered near the spot;
Oh I why do things look sweeter
If we possess them not?
My garden buds were blooming,
But all that I could see
Was that mocking little white rose,
Hanging—just too high for me!'"
"Thank you, Betty," said Mr. Russell, as she shut up her music and
came away from the piano. "You are bent upon teaching us to-night the
undesirability of taking possession of roses. We must look at them, but
they are not to be ours."
"A high standard ensures a high aim," said Gerald Arundel. "An easy
possession is apt to be despised."
He had a pleasant, mellow voice, and as Molly turned up a lamp in her
corner, which shed its light full in his face, Betty started violently.
Where had she seen him before? Surely this calm, self-assured man was
not the same whom she had seen in the full violence of emotion in that
quiet field corner a few days before! Yet even in that short glimpse
she had had of him, his face was too riveted on her memory ever to be
forgotten. She sat down by Molly, and listened to the conversation
without taking part in it.
"You would not sit down contented with that singer's conclusion," said
Mr. Russell, smiling—"that it is 'just too high for me'?"
Gerald's eyes looked mirthful.
"There are always ladders," he said, "to everything!"
"But forbidden fruit is best not touched," said Mrs. Stuart.
"It depends on who forbids it."
"Arundel has the fighting element in him," said Mr. Russell. "I often
tell him that his blood will cool with age."
"We want combativeness," said Mrs. Stuart, smiling; "I think the sin of
our age is easy indifference."
"Yes; combativeness on the side of right is good, but not combativeness
with fate."
"What is fate?"
"I will not use that word, for I do not believe in it. With what
Providence ordains for us."
"Our circumstances, you mean? Do you preach the gospel of resignation,
Mr. Russell, to all things that befall us? I must allow that I cannot
tolerate those who drift with every wind that blows. I am on Mr.
Arundel's side. The greater the difficulties, the more effort I should
make to overcome them. I do not like that word 'Providence.' It is made
use of to excuse laziness and indifference."
"I have expressed myself badly," said Mr. Russell. "I quite agree that
easy acquiescence to whatever comes to us, without any effort to remedy
the evil, is cowardly and weak. But there is a crisis in men's lives
sometimes, when it is useless to fight with the inevitable."
"Your argument is, to fight till you know you are conquered, and then
make the best you can of your defeat?"
It was Gerald Arundel who spoke, but he spoke as a man in a dream.
"Come," said Mrs. Stuart lightly, "let us leave arguments alone. Mr.
Arundel, tell me what you have been doing since I saw you last."
"That seems a long time ago. I do not think I have been idle."
He drew up a chair to her, and was soon deep in many philanthropic
subjects which seemed as dear to his heart as to hers.
Mr. Russell turned to the girls.
"When are you coming over to see me?" he said. "Betty, I want you to
sit for me again. Will you?"
"I don't know," she said, a little mischievously; "I have a vivid
recollection of the torture I underwent when you made me lie down and
pretend to be asleep. How I longed to move! And how frightened I felt
if I so much as winked my eyelid! It is like an endless photo being
taken. I am afraid I could not have the patience to sit still."
"But you could talk," said Mr. Russell; "and I fancy that would
compensate for a good deal."
Betty laughed merrily. Gerald Arundel, catching the sound of her laugh,
turned round for a minute, then went on with what he was saying.
"I chatter too much, don't I, Molly? My tongue is always getting me
into hot water."
"You never think out what you're going to say before you say it," said
Molly.
"Who does? Only prigs and preachers—and I hope I'm not that sort."
"Molly," said Mrs. Stuart, turning to her eldest daughter, "can you
find me the last report I had of the S.P.S.H.? I want to show it to Mr.
Arundel."
"What are those magic letters?" asked Mr. Russell, as Molly left the
room in quest of the pamphlet.
"The Society for Promoting Self-Help," said Betty promptly.
"One of the best societies going," said Mrs. Stuart warmly. "I
thoroughly approve of its principles. It is true charity to teach those
in need to help themselves."
"Yes," said Gerald Arundel musingly; "but I have come across some who
are absolutely helpless to help themselves."
"Are you sure? Such cases are few and far between. I want to show you
how this society meets the needs of the most improbable cases. Even
bedridden cripples have been taught to support themselves. And you do
not feel, in supporting such a charity, that your money will be wasted
or thrown away."
"I don't see that it is a charity at all, mother," said Betty, in
her reckless fashion. "I would much rather help the poor in the good
old-fashioned way. Every one is so dreadfully afraid nowadays of giving
to the undeserving. It makes me always want to do it. I hate all these
societies, made up with red-tape machinery! Feeling and sympathy and
love are all wrong, they say. I'm sure the Bible doesn't tell us to
help our neighbours through societies!"
"You are on the side of freedom, Miss Stuart," said Gerald Arundel,
smiling. "But if you have had any experience in charity, you will know
that indiscriminate almsgiving sometimes aggravates the misery that you
are anxious to relieve."
"Yes, that is what mother says, and I know she must be right; but I do
hate to be tied and bound down by rules and regulations, don't you?"
"Mr. Arundel has seen a little more of life than you have," said Mrs.
Stuart pleasantly. "It is only a question of time, Betty; you want a
wider view of life."
"But, mother, I think I take a wider view than you do."
"Of course you think so. All young people do."
Molly came in at that minute, and soon afterwards, the gentlemen took
their leave.
But before they went, Gerald Arundel asked Mrs. Stuart to bring her
daughters over with her to lunch with him one day.
"I should like you to see my library," he said. "I am sure you would
enjoy it. It is almost a snare to me sometimes, for when I get
inside it I become entirely engrossed, and forget the outside world
altogether."
"Perhaps we might drive over one day when I feel a little stronger,"
said Mrs. Stuart. "I should like to come very much."
They went; and Betty watched them go down the drive with interest.
Gerald Arundel was filling her mind and thoughts. She dwelt again on
every word that she had heard him say. His tone of voice was light and
pleasant; his grey-blue eyes had a frank, honest look in them, with an
occasional twinkle of humour, which lightened up his naturally stern
face. Nothing in his manner or conversation betrayed any secret passion
or grief. Yet she could not forget the glimpse she had caught of him a
short time before.
"He is not married," she said to herself. "He lives in that sweet
old Red Manor House. He has everything that the world can give him.
What can his trouble be? Was it only a passing feeling, I wonder? But
his face looked so fiercely miserable. I wish I knew more about him.
Perhaps Mr. Russell knows, and yet I would not tell any one for worlds.
I shall not tell Molly that I have seen my unknown hero. She is putting
him into her story already. I am sure that he did not recognise me, and
that is one thing for which I am thankful!"
Down the drive, the two men were discussing their visit.
"Mrs. Stuart has changed very little since I last saw her. What a
handsome woman she is!"
"Yes; and the girls take after her—only in a different style."
Gerald was silent; then he said,—
"Little Miss Betty is your favourite."
"She used to be as a child; I cannot quite get reconciled to the change
in her, but she is a winsome little creature still. Molly is too
sedate, too placid, to interest me much."
Another silence. Then Gerald spoke in a different tone.
"My fighting powers are at an end, Russell. I knew what you were
driving at when you talked of being resigned to the inevitable. You
were only continuing our conversation of a few days ago. I told you
then that I was fighting what I hoped would prove a shadow, but it has
turned into a very substantial foe, and I am worsted in the combat."
"I wish you would enlighten me a little."
"I can't. It is only a question of time, and then you will know fast
enough."
"Then I can only assure you of my sympathy, and hope that the
inevitable may prove a blessing."
Gerald gave a short hard laugh. Then he said,—
"You had better turn that into a prayer. You and I both believe in its
power; but I tell you the powers of evil seem to have been let loose on
my soul! I have not, I will not, lose my faith; but it has been tested
to breaking point."
"Thank God it is not broken. Faith, to some, seems mere acquiescence
in what they see and understand. True faith can only be tested in the
dark, when sight and understanding have been swept away—when it has
been strained to breaking point, and does not break!"
Gerald stood still and bared his head in the moonlight.
Mr. Russell noted his upward gaze, and the light that was reflected
on his face from within seemed to match the soft chastened beams from
without. It is good to watch the sunshine pour out from a human soul;
it is better to see the impress of the peaceful silvery light that only
comes in black darkness.
They walked on in silence; then Gerald spoke again,—
"I have been roused to-night by a quick, sweet vision of what might
have been, and what can never be. Thank you for your words. They have
helped me."
He began to talk of other things, and the deep earnestness that had
vibrated in his tone died away. Gerald could be very good company when
he chose. He struck his friend as being singularly light-hearted when
they parted that night, and Mr. Russell said to himself as he turned
into his lonely home,—
"He is young, and troubles will not vex him long. A good constitution,
a hopeful disposition, and a firm belief in God above, will carry him
through triumphantly."
But he would not have spoken so certainly if he had seen Gerald in his
library that night.
Till the small hours of the morning he was pacing to and fro; his brows
were knitted and his hands clenched, but his lips moved in prayer.
As the dawn broke, he flung open the window shutters, and leaning out,
drew in with deep long breaths the dewy sweetness of the morning. And
then a subtle fragrance stealing upwards took his thoughts back with
a bound to a sweet little figure framed in roses, and a still sweeter
voice.
He put his hand out of the window and plucked a small climbing rose,
then a smile played about his eyes and lips, and he murmured,—
"'But all that I could see
Was that mocking little white rose,
Hanging—just too high for me!'"