Altered Circumstances
(For) of Fortune's sharp adversity
The worste kinde of infortune is this,
A man to have been in prosperite
And it remember when it passed is.
CHAUCER.
"THERE, Mat, haven't I tired you out?"
"'Twould take more nor that, miss, to tire me. And a tired body can
soon be put right. If there were no worse ills in life than that, us
would be happy!"
"You mean that your soul and spirit are tired. Well, I can give you a
text that was given me the other day. And I think it is a lovely one
for you: 'I have seen his ways, and will heal him; I will lead him
also, and restore comforts unto him.'"
"Nothin' but words," muttered Mat, under his breath.
"Oh, Mat, you mustn't say that, because they aren't my words, they are
God's; and His words and promises are facts."
Mat began to shuffle down the aisle of the church. Betty had been
playing the organ for over an hour and a half; she found now that Mat
was always ready to act as her blower. His protests waxed fainter each
time, and a wintry smile would pass over his face when he heard Betty's
fresh young voice.
She would not let him go now, but laid her arm on his coat-sleeve.
"Listen, Mat; I long to comfort you and make you happy, but only God
can do this. Listen again to what He says, for I have thought over
this verse so much: 'I have seen his ways.' Your ways, that means,
your troubles, and difficulties, and doubts of God's goodness; 'and
will heal him,' heal your broken heart, and all your soul's aches and
pains 'I will lead him also.' He won't leave you. When He comes to
comfort and heal, He will stay by you, and lead you day by day, so that
temptation and trial will not be too much for you, with His hand in
yours. And now this is the best part of all: 'I will restore comforts
unto him.' You will be like Job, who had everything taken away from
him, and then had it restored fourfold. I don't think you can need more
than that."
Mat cleared his throat.
"Ye be a wunnerful praycher, miss. Good afternoon."
He hurried out of the church; and Betty sighed heavily, little knowing
that every word she uttered remained riveted on the blind man's memory.
Mat went to his solitary home, and sat down to his tea like a man
stunned. Slowly repeating the verse over to himself, the beauty and
simplicity of it seemed to strike him afresh.
"Ay!" he said at last, with a groan; "'tis more than I can expect, if
He have seen my goin's on! I be in sore need of healin' an' comfort,
an' as I can't get it nowhere else, I'd best let the Almighty have His
dealin's with me!"
His tea remained untouched, but the frozen ground in his soul was
thawing and softening rapidly. That night it yielded to the seed of
life, and though it was long before the sower knew about it, the seed
took root and sprang up.
When Betty left the church and retraced her steps to the vicarage, she
was met in the drive by Molly and Mr. Russell.
"Oh, here she is!" cried Molly joyously. "Betty, Mr. Russell is going
to carry us off to dinner with him. Mother has given her permission,
and he is going to let us see a new planet through his telescope this
evening."
"And as I have been waiting for your return for a full hour, I am going
to lay violent hands on you, and insist upon your coming with me this
very moment," said Mr. Russell.
"But," hesitated Betty, looking down at her dress, "I must—"
"You must do nothing but step into my trap, which is waiting for us at
the blacksmith's. My horse has been shoed. You young ladies are always
in such dainty white frocks that you do not need any extra adorning to
grace a bachelor's table!"
They were a merry party driving out to the Hall. Molly and Betty vied
with one another in old reminiscences, and Mr. Russell listened and
laughed at them.
But as they drove up to the front door he made a comical face of dismay.
"Visitors! Now if only we had been five minutes later! It is Mrs. Fitz
Hume and her sister; that means a good hour's gossip!"
"Let us go round to the stables before they see us!" cried Betty.
But it was too late. A stout lady in the act of descending the steps
caught sight of them approaching, and called out gaily,—
"Ah, Mr. Russell, here you are! What a blessing! My poor horses have
driven twenty-five miles to-day, and I have found no one at home."
In a few minutes they were all in the drawing-room, and tea was brought
in.
Mrs. Fitz Hume's sister, a Miss Allison, was as silent as Mrs. Fitz
Hume was discursive; but when she did make a remark, it was pithy and
to the point; only, as Betty afterwards remarked, she viewed life
through dark blue spectacles.
When Mrs. Fitz Hume had taken her second cup of tea she became
impressive.
"Now, my dear Mr. Russell, have you heard the news? And can you
enlighten us at all? For I assure you it was the greatest shock to me.
I always have liked Gerald Arundel. My dear husband used to say that
you and he were the only intellectual men in the county—men of books
and thought. And I know Gerald is a great crony of yours, so I suppose
he has told you all. I have heard rumours for some time that he was in
some difficulty, but I never dreamt of anything like this."
Betty's breath came and went quickly. Mr. Russell quietly helped
himself to another cup of tea. Not a muscle of his face moved. Mrs.
Fitz Hume looked at him, then gave a little laugh.
"Oh, how stolid and unemotional you men are! Matters of life and death
will not move you."
"Arundel was in good health when I saw him yesterday," Mr. Russell
remarked.
"It is a wonder that he is! If any man was ever wedded to his property,
he was, and now, at one blow, it is all taken from him!"
Molly opened her blue eyes in astonishment. "Is Mr. Arundel going to
leave that dear old house of his?" she asked.
"It is going to be put up for sale to-morrow fortnight," said Miss
Allison, in a sepulchral tone.
"And it is a marvel to me why he has kept his friends so in the dark,"
said Mrs. Fitz Hume.
"I actually saw a notice of the sale in the paper yesterday morning,
and till then I had not the remotest idea of such a catastrophe!
There are the wildest stories afloat, but none quite so interesting
as the truest version, and that I have heard from Dr. Strong, who has
Gerald's permission to make it public. Of course details are wanting,
so I should be glad to hear your version of it, Mr. Russell. Is it
true that an unknown uncle of his in Australia has been discovered,
and claims the whole property as his? And that, having no love for
the old place and no desire to live in it, he has written to give
directions for it to be sold? How is it that he can lay claim to it?
Is he senior to Gerald's father? And where has he been all this time?
Why did he not come forward before? And is he so desperately mean as to
make no allowance to his nephew? From what I gathered, Gerald will be
absolutely penniless."
"My dear Mrs. Fitz Hume," said Mr. Russell quietly, "you require no
information from me, for you have told me more than I know myself."
"Oh, poor Mr. Arundel!" said Molly. "How dreadful for him! Will he have
to sell that lovely old library?"
"It is most distressing; he will have to part with all that he loves
and values, and will not get a halfpenny himself! I feel inclined to
open my house to him, and offer him a home, but he is so proud that I
should be afraid of suggesting it."
"He is not too proud to thank you for the kindness of heart that
prompts such a suggestion."
Mrs. Fitz Hume looked round startled, and was not reassured when she
saw it was Gerald himself, who had entered the room unperceived. There
was an awkward silence. Gerald was the only one who seemed at ease. He
shook hands with Molly and Betty, bowed to Miss Allison, and took a
seat near Mrs. Fitz Hume.
"Please don't mind me," he said, a little twinkle of humour stealing
into the corners of his eyes. "I have had to pay three calls this
afternoon, and each time found myself the absorbing topic of
conversation. I came over here thinking that I could not be an
interruption. But I am afraid I was mistaken."
"Now, my dear Mr. Arundel," said Mrs. Fitz Hume, with more kindness
than tact, "let us be quite frank with each other. We are all friends
here; and I'm most distressed at this appalling news. Have you no way
out of your difficulties, except by the sale of the Red Manor? Just
think, some City man may buy it, and we shall have neighbours whom none
of us will care to visit! Can't you persuade this unknown uncle of
yours to come over and settle here himself? It is such a pity when a
sweet old family place like yours goes out of the family."
Gerald looked grave. Betty glanced at him shyly, wondering how he could
stand Mrs. Fitz Hume's well-meant sympathy.
She went on, unheeding Mr. Russell's frown,—
"Do tell me, now, what you mean to do? Are you going away? And are you
going to sell that valuable old library of yours?"
"I will send you a catalogue of the sale," answered Gerald
imperturbably, "and then you will see all the 'goods and effects.' As
for my own plans, they are not quite formulated yet; but when they are,
I will let you know."
"Meanwhile, it is kindest to leave you in peace," said Miss Allison
drily; then, turning to her sister, she said,—
"Marion, my dear, I don't want to take the initiative, but our drive is
a long one, and it is getting late."
Mrs. Fitz Hume reluctantly took her sister's hint, and rose from her
seat.
"You will come and dine with us, Mr. Arundel, one day this week? I
won't take a refusal. As I was saying to Mr. Russell just now, my dear
husband always had such a regard and liking for you. I don't know what
he would have said, had he known—"
Mr. Russell came to Gerald's rescue; he asked Mrs. Fitz Hume to give
her opinion on a picture in the hall that he had lately bought, and a
few minutes after her carriage rolled away.
Gerald stayed to dinner. His family affairs were not touched upon; but
both the girls wondered at his calm and cheerful composure. Betty was
so full of his trouble that she could not regain her spirits; and when,
after they had dined, they adjourned to the observatory, Mr. Russell
rallied her on her silence.
"Are abstruse calculations filling your mind and thoughts, or have you
made a resolve to practise discretion of speech, and think before you
speak?"
"I always try to do that," said Betty naïvely, "except when I'm in a
hurry and forget."
When, a few minutes after, Molly took up her position behind the big
telescope, and Mr. Russell was instructing her in the mysteries of the
planets, Betty turned to Gerald.
"Let us look up at the stars without a telescope, Mr. Arundel, like—I
was going to say—God meant us to do. Will you think me very silly if I
venture to criticise the telescope? Don't you think, if God had meant
us to see so much, He would have given us eyes to do so?"
Gerald smiled. He opened a window, and they leant out together. It was
a sweet, still June evening. The scent of mignonette and roses came
upwards from the garden. The sky was studded with its diamond-like
constellations; in the stillness the plaintive hoot of the owl and the
croaking of the frog in the meadow stream close by were the only sounds
that were heard.
"I don't think I can agree with you, Miss Betty. Every bit of science
discovered, by the intelligence given to us from above, only serves to
bring one great and important truth to light, and that is,—
"'O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
how unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out!'"
Betty raised her eyes to the dark blue above her. Gerald added almost
under his breath,—
"And His ways with us, though incomprehensible to our intelligence, are
full of the same riches and wisdom."
Then Betty turned impulsively to him, and her voice was unsteady,—
"Mr. Arundel, may I say how sorry I am for you? I do feel it. I wish I
could do something, but none of us can. How will you bear it?"
"Thank you for your sympathy," he said very quietly. "It is a wrench,
but the bitterness, thank God, is over."
"Now, Betty, it is your turn," cried Molly.
Betty turned, but her first peep through the telescope was not a
successful one, for her eyes were dim with tears.
Mr. Russell drove them home in his trap that evening, and on the way
told them a little more of Gerald's trouble.
"It was his father's eldest brother who ran away, and was supposed to
be dead. The property is really his, but it was only quite lately that
he wrote to the family lawyer saying that he was alive, and meant to
have his rights. He married a rich woman out in Australia—beneath him
in station, I believe, and has one son. Lately he has lost a good bit
of money, and for the first time seems to have thought of his property
here. I fancy, owing to his wildness in his youth and a quarrel with
his father, he believed old Mr. Arundel had disinherited him; but he
had no power to do so. It has always gone to the eldest son, with no
reservations. Owing to a flaw in the will, Gerald comes in for nothing,
and his uncle, whose only need seems to be ready money, with his
son's consent has the power of selling the whole for his own selfish
gratification. It comes very hard on Gerald, as he has such a love for
the place."
"What is he going to do?" asked Molly pityingly. "It is just like a
story-book. He can't starve. Will he write books, and make a name in
London?"
Betty gave a little impatient laugh.
"Your one idea is writing books, Molly! Too many people do that now."
"I am advising him to take a farm in this neighbourhood," said Mr.
Russell. "He has farming at his finger's ends, and has always been
accustomed to an outdoor life."
"But will he like seeing his own home in the hands of strangers?" said
Betty dubiously.
"Oh," cried Molly enthusiastically, "I see a way out. There must be an
only daughter, and he must fall in love with her, and marry; and then
in the end he will live in his old home again!"
"A delightful thought," said Mr. Russell, a little drily; "you had
better suggest that a stipulation should be made as to the buyer of the
estate: 'Only people with a marriageable daughter need apply.'"
"As if that would ever be the same!" cried Betty scornfully. "I hate
men who marry women with money; it is quite the wrong way round. Money
makes you the master of everything, and a woman ought not to be the
master of her husband."
"You have not advanced with the times," said Mr. Russell. "I thought
all young ladies liked to rule nowadays."
"I don't," said Betty emphatically; "at least I shouldn't like to rule
a man."
"No, I don't think that is your role, and I hope it never will be."