JEAN GRAHAM'S illness verified Dr. Crawford's prediction, and proved
sufficiently serious. It was found necessary to secure the services of
Helen Fraser, who gladly came to Steynes-Cote to help in nursing her
old fellow-servant.
It was only occasionally that poor Jean's mind wandered, and she
alluded to the trouble which had laid her on a sick-bed. Her old
habitual reticence with regard to her one secret seemed to exercise an
instinctive influence over her during her hours of unconsciousness,
and the sound of an unfamiliar voice would always put a stop to her
wandering talk.
This was Mrs. Crawford's first experience of sickness, and, to the
delight and surprise of her husband, she manifested many excellent
qualifications for a nurse's work, of which he had never before
suspected the existence. He told her so, and very sweet were such words
of praise in the ears of the girl-wife.
"I did not know of them myself, Andrew," she said. "I am afraid, if any
dormant powers of mine have been roused to action, necessity and Grace
Steyne must have all the credit."
"You do yourself less than justice, Ida," replied the doctor; "you
have only just begun to understand the need for exertion on your part,
and you have striven to supply it heartily and cheerfully. Grace
has undoubtedly taught you a great deal, but your own instinctive
tenderness and consideration for the sorrows of another have done more
still towards developing the qualities I rejoice to see whenever we
meet by poor Jean's bed."
It was when the invalid was showing signs of recovery that Dr. Crawford
praised his wife's nursing. Long before that Mrs. Prattely had returned
to Shelverton, and, having been informed of the state of affairs at
Steynes-Cote, had besought her husband's permission to offer her
neighbourly help.
"Go and welcome, my dear," said Mr. Prattely. "Do not imagine that
I shall object to your offering assistance where it is wanted. What
I objected to was your tendering help which was not needed, and
encouraging a young wife in habits of uselessness, inaction, and
dependence upon others."
"Then you will not mind, dear James, if I bring one or two of the
children back with me, in order to relieve Mrs. Crawford."
"Bring three if you choose, Maria; but remember, I draw a line at the
baby," replied Mr. Prattely.
"As if I could think of such a youthful visitor! Thank you, dear James;
if I can, I shall bring back Doris and the elder boy. I am afraid
things will be rather at sixes and sevens at Steynes-Cote. It makes a
terrible difference when such a useful creature as Jean Graham is not
only compelled to give up work, but requires to be nursed and waited
on. Fraser says that his wife is helping, and that Bennett, the head
nurse, was sent off at an hour's notice."
"And a good riddance too," said Mr. Prattely, with considerable
energy. "That woman's face ought to have been like a danger-signal
to any mother who thought of engaging her. I am truly glad that the
responsibility of introducing Bennett did not rest upon you."
Mrs. Prattely assented, and then went off with willing feet on her
neighbourly errand. After a couple of hours' absence, she returned
alone, a little to her own disappointment, and, though he did not
own it, her husband's also. She was, however, brimming over with
satisfaction about something, and was not long in telling Mr. Prattely
what had given her so much pleasure.
"The children are coming to see us to-morrow, James," she said, "though
only for the day. There is really no need to remove them, for Jean
Graham's illness is not of an infectious kind, and, though serious,
the danger is now over. It seems the poor thing had been over-wrought,
owing to some family trouble whilst in Scotland."
Mr. Prattely was glad to hear that Jean was improving, but he had no
time to say more than this, for his wife continued, "And, James, I do
believe that Jean's illness and the recent upset about the nurse will
be productive of real good at Steynes-Cote. I was perfectly amazed to
see how Mrs. Crawford, poor thing! has roused herself to meet this
domestic emergency. She told me about everything in such a sweet, frank
way, reminding me of the time when Doris was born, and I went to stay
with her during the doctor's absence. She said I must have found out
long ago that when she married, she was not in the least fit for the
solemn responsibilities pertaining to a wife and mother, and that,
indeed, she had only just been awakened to them. She blamed herself
for having left her little ones in such unsafe hands, all for want of
proper inquiry and care on her own part, and said that she could not be
thankful enough that they had escaped without serious harm.
"I began to sympathize with Mrs. Crawford about Jean's illness, and she
actually said that all the trouble which had come of late, the sickness
amongst the rest, was a perfect godsend to herself, though she was
grieved for the sufferings of her faithful servant. And she wound up in
this way,—
"'You will remember, dear Mrs. Prattely, how you pitied me in
those early days, as if I ought to be petted and to live an idle,
self-indulgent life, all because my father had been a man of title.
And you told me, too, how you had called me 'poor thing' for being the
wife of a country doctor. I was a poor thing indeed, to live such a
butterfly life, instead of striving to be a helpmeet to the good man
who had chosen me, and of whose love my great ambition now is that I
may in time be worthy.'"
"Bravo, Mrs. Crawford!" interposed Mr. Prattely, with enthusiasm. "You
must never call her 'poor thing' after this, Maria."
"Indeed, my dear James, I wish I had never done it. My pitying Mrs.
Crawford, instead of congratulating her on the many blessings by which
she was surrounded from the first, was a great mistake. You said so,
James, and you were right. I am an old wife, but old wives will always
find they have something to learn as well as young ones, and I am not
ashamed to take a lesson from my husband's lips."
"My dear Maria, only my lips can pay you for such an acknowledgment and
the implied compliment." And Mr. Prattely gave his kind-hearted wife
more than one lover-like kiss.
"I have a little more to tell you, James," said she, after this
pleasant interlude. "You will remember that Mrs. Crawford always
comforted herself, when she had indulged in any little tasteful
extravagance, by thinking that the interest of her five thousand pounds
would meet all such expenses. It turns out now that Dr. Crawford has
never had a penny except one year's interest, though the principal
ought to have been paid on his wedding day. Instead of the money, Lord
Carnelly gave him, almost under pressure, a second mortgage on one of
his estates, but the interest has never been paid. And that dear good
doctor kept this fact from his wife, in order that she might not be
troubled by her brother's conduct."
"He made a great mistake, Maria. There should be no half-confidences
between husband and wife," said Mr. Prattely in a decided tone.
"'We' feel that, and so do the doctor and Ida now. He treated her too
much as his girl-wife, instead of the partner alike of his joys and
sorrows. And so you see, wise man as Dr. Crawford is, he must share
with his wife the responsibility of the past. Mrs. Crawford would have
been preserved from yielding to all those little extravagances, if
she had known that they were paid for by the fruits of the doctor's
hard work. And she never would have kept so large an establishment, if
she had supposed that to make ends meet the doctor was doing with an
assistant less, and nearly working himself to death."
Mrs. Prattely paused for breath, and her husband took the opportunity
to express the pleasure with which he heard her tidings.
"But I have not finished, James," she added. "I knew you would be as
delighted as myself to hear of this change of mind in my favourite,
Ida. There is, however, another individual who has had a large share in
bringing it about, and whom do you think it is?"
Mr. Prattely was not allowed a very long time to fail in guessing, as
fail he did, for his wife triumphantly interposed the answer.
"Grace Steyne. You remember her, James? She is the eldest daughter of
the rector of Hillstead Magna, who was Mrs. Fereday's cousin, and used
often to visit at Steynes-Cote before her death. She has not stayed
with the Crawfords until now, for there is an immense family and an
invalid mother at the rectory—just the things to give a girl most
valuable domestic experiences."
"If they do not make her old before her time," said Mr. Prattely. "Such
experiences might be averaged with advantage both to the 'do-nothings'
and the over-burdened."
"True, dear James; and though the arranging of such matters is
in higher hands than ours, much might be done by ourselves if we
were bent on fulfilling the law of Christ by bearing one another's
burdens. Happily for Grace Steyne, she is a fine bright girl, and
has done the work of a woman without losing her youth. I hope you
will see her to-morrow. I told her you would be pleased to renew the
old acquaintance, though your memory will recall only the child and
schoolgirl who used to be with Mrs. Fereday."
Mrs. Prattely paused, then exclaimed,—
"I must not forget to tell you of another visitor at Steynes-Cote, a
Mr. Carnelly, who is second or third cousin to Mrs. Crawford. She told
me how they had met—through Grace Steyne, it seems, though strangers
before."
"Through Grace Steyne?" said Mr. Prattely, with considerable emphasis,
and with a look of inquiry at his wife.
"You need not ask questions with your eyebrows, my dear James," replied
Mrs. Prattely. "I meant no more than I said, so please do not weave a
story out of my words. Grace Steyne met this Mr. Carnelly at Hillstead,
where he was visiting some mutual friends. The young man returned to
the place after she came to Steynes-Cote, and having heard that he
had a distant cousin in Mrs. Crawford, expressed a wish to make her
acquaintance. There you have the whole story."
"Except that, having fished for an invitation, he got it, and is Dr.
Crawford's guest at this present time."
"Only for the day; but he will probably come again, as they seem to
like him very much," said Mrs. Prattely.
"What is he? Did Mrs. Crawford tell you if he followed any profession?"
"I fancy he is nothing at all. Only he is very rich, and a bachelor."
"Not a very flattering summary. Of all hard work, doing nothing is the
hardest; and of all lots, to be nothing, must be the most terrible,"
said the gentleman, whose own lot had been cast in what most would
consider a pleasant place. Probably experience enabled him to speak
with authority on this subject.
If Mr. Prattely could have been the proverbial little bird, and heard
a conversation which took place between Mr. Carnelly and Grace Steyne
at the very time when his wife and Ida were exchanging confidences, he
would have felt that the young lady agreed with him entirely.
Mrs. Crawford was about to accompany Mr. Carnelly through the
grounds—Grace being also of the party—when Mrs. Prattely's arrival
recalled her to the house.
So to Grace was deputed the office of guide. And perhaps neither of
the remaining two felt the interruption a misfortune, much as the
girl-guest liked her hostess.
As a matter of course, Mr. Carnelly was charmed with the place, and
duly admired its beauties. Then he had to tell Grace all the Hillstead
news, and especially all that related to the rectory and its inmates.
"You are very much missed there," he said. "What will be the ultimate
result to Watty's garments if you stay away too long cannot be guessed."
"Was he so very ragged when you saw him last? Or are you merely trying
to harrow my feelings by describing a state of things which exists only
in your own imagination?"
"It is a positive fact, Miss Steyne, that no later ago than yesterday
afternoon I witnessed Watty's arrival at the rectory gate after a
prolonged absence. I am afraid he had forgotten the dinner-hour, for
the young people had been granted a whole holiday for nutting purposes.
A respectable widow, who I fancy superintends the wardrobe department
at present, was awaiting Watty's coming with anxious looks."
"And, pray, in what guise did Watty present himself?" asked Grace, with
pretended concern.
"Minus his jacket, though what remained of it hung on his arm. The
absence of a sleeve sufficiently accounts for its not being on both
arms. I trust you will be content with a general description of
his other garments. Watty had begun to fall from a tree during the
aforesaid nutting excursion, but happily he was caught, or I should
say his clothes were, on a lower bough. He suffered no personal
inconvenience beyond a temporary suspension of his—occupation, I was
going to say. But I remember that, with commendable presence of mind,
he took advantage of his position to gather and drop into the eager
hands of his friends below several clusters of nuts hitherto out of
reach. I saw the widow turn Watty round and round, with the remark that
leather was the only material fit for some people's wear."
This word-picture was too lifelike to be an imaginary one, and made
Grace laugh heartily.
Then Mr. Carnelly, having exhausted all other topics likely to interest
Grace, ventured to express the regret he felt on finding her absent
from home when he arrived at Hillstead.
"I was surprised when I heard that you were coming into our
neighbourhood again," said Grace.
"That says little for Hillstead," replied Mr. Carnelly. "Did you think
that I had enjoyed my summer visit so little that I should not wish to
see it again? Many people there were very kind and hospitable to me.
I do not easily forget those, for instance, who give me porridge in a
soup plate."
"But it is so short a time since you left Hillstead, Mr. Carnelly; and
is it not rather too soon to come again for—say—more porridge?" added
Grace mischievously.
"Miss Steyne, I did not think you would be so unkind. You have wounded
my self-love by telling me how short the interval has seemed to you
since I bade you good-bye at the rectory. To me it has seemed very
long."
"I suppose time passes quickly with me because I am always busy,"
replied Grace.
[Illustration]
"Another home-thrust for me," said Mr. Carnelly; and it was difficult
to tell from his tone whether he was in jest or earnest. "Do you not
see, Miss Steyne, that an allusion to your life of active usefulness,
and to the work which gives an extra pair of wings to Father Time, is
a tacit reproof to a mere idler? It tells me plainly enough, though
without words, that if I were equally well employed, my time would not
hang heavily on my hands."
"Believe me, Mr. Carnelly," said Grace earnestly, "I never intended my
words to convey such an impression."
"I must believe you; but confess—do you not think my mode of life a
very reprehensible one?"
"I am not your judge, Mr. Carnelly," replied Grace, with quiet dignity.
"If you ask me whether I think a life spent without any definite aim or
employment the kind I should choose to lead, I should say 'No.'"
"I believe all good people unite in blaming persons who, having no
need to work in order to gain money, and no ambition to become public
characters, choose to lead an idle, dilettante life like mine. I go
about, admiring all that is beautiful wherever I see it, and I trust,
not forgetting Him to whose wisdom and goodness I owe the pleasure thus
derived. I prefer the society of the good and noble amongst mankind,
and I honour where I cannot hope to imitate their works and virtues.
Does such a life deserve unlimited censure? Yet as a rule it gets it.
But let a man make a colossal fortune by a new kind of soap, or, say, a
fresh method of crystallizing ginger, and the man who has thus served
himself is lauded to the skies."
"If the soap diminishes labour and promotes cleanliness, and the
ginger is wholesome as well as pleasant to the palate, the inventor
has conferred a benefit on mankind. He deserves to be praised, though
in serving others he has made a fortune for himself," replied Grace
stoutly.
"I cannot deny this; but is the other life so blamable?" persisted Mr.
Carnelly.
"I am not so wedded to my busy life as to under-value rest. Indeed,
I should sometimes like less work and more play," replied Grace in a
half-musing fashion. "But I would say, 'Better a life with too much
work than one of the kind you describe.' Mind, I blame no one for
thinking differently—I speak for myself; though perhaps, if I could get
rid of all sense of responsibility with regard to the use of time and
such talents as God has given, I should be as comfortably idle as any
person."
"Thank you, Miss Steyne," began Mr. Carnelly.
But the appearance of Mrs. Crawford prevented his saying more on this
subject, and the conversation was turned into another channel.
[Illustration]
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