STRADIVARIUS.
The chapel doors were open, and a bright light streamed across the
gravelled enclosure on to the dreary street beyond. People were
flocking in, talking and laughing, in eager anticipation of pleasures
to come; and a number of hungry-eyed children clung to the railing,
and gazed at the promise of good things within.
And indeed the promise was a very palpable one. Mona had scarcely
entered the outer door when she was presented with a large
earthenware cup and saucer, a pewter spoon, and a well-filled baker's
bag.
"What am I to do with these?" she asked, aghast.
"Take them in with you, of course," said Rachel. "You can look
inside the bag, but you mustn't eat anything till the interval."
Mona thought she could so far control her curiosity as to await the
appointed time, but her strength of mind was not subjected to this
test. A considerable proportion of the assembled congregation were
children, and most of them were engaged in laying out cakes, sweet
biscuits, apples, pears, figs, almonds, and raisins, in a tempting
row on the book-board, somewhat to the detriment of the subjacent
hymn-books.
"They ordered three hundred bags at threepence each," said Rachel, in
a loud whisper. "It's wonderful how much you get for the money; and
they say Mr Philip makes a pretty profit out of it too. I suppose
it's the number makes it pay. The cake's plain, to be sure; I always
think it would be better if it were richer, and less of it. But
there's the children to think of, of course."
At this moment a loud report echoed through the church. Mona
started, and had vague thoughts of gunpowder plots, but the explosion
was only the work of an adventurous boy, who had tied up his sweets
in a handkerchief of doubtful antecedents, that he might have the
satisfaction of blowing up and bursting his bag. This feat was
pretty frequently repeated in the course of the evening, in spite of
all the moral and physical influence brought to bear on the offenders
by Mr Stuart and the parents respectively.
The chapel was intensely warm when the speakers took their places on
the platform, and Mona fervently hoped that Mr Stuart had failed to
find a stopgap, as the programme was already of portentous length.
It seemed impossible that she could sit out the evening in such an
atmosphere, and still more impossible that the bloodless, neurotic
girl in front of her should do so.
The first speaker was introduced by the chairman.
"Now for the moral windbags!" thought Mona resignedly.
She felt herself decidedly snubbed, however, when the speeches were
in full swing. The gift of speaking successfully at a _soirée_ is
soon recognised in the world where _soirées_ prevail, and the man who
possesses it acquires a celebrity often extending beyond his own
county. One or two of the speakers were men possessing both wit and
humour, of a good Scotch brand; and the others made up for their
deficiencies in this respect by a clever and laborious patchwork of
anecdotes and repartees, which, in the excitement of the moment,
could scarcely be distinguished from the genuine mantle of happy
inspiration.
In the midst of one of the speeches a disturbance arose. The girl in
front of Mona had fainted. Several men carried her out, shyly and
clumsily, in the midst of a great commotion; and, after a moment's
hesitation, Mona followed them. She was glad she had done so, for
fainting-fits were rare on that breezy coast, and no one else seemed
to know what to do. Meanwhile the unfortunate girl was being held
upright in the midst of a small crowd of spectators.
"Lay her down on the matting," said Mona quietly, "and stand back,
please, all of you. No, she wants nothing under her head. One of
you might fetch some water--and a little whisky, if it is at hand.
It is nothing serious, Mrs Brander and I can do all that is required."
All the men started off for water at once, much to Mona's relief.
She loosened the girl's dress, while the matron produced
smelling-salts, and in a few minutes the patient opened her eyes,
with a deep sigh.
"Surely Kirkstoun is not her home," said Mona, looking at the girl's
face. "Sea-breezes have not had much to do with the making of her."
"Na," said the matron. "She's a puir weed. She's visiting her
gran'faither across the street. I'll tak' her hame."
"No, no," said Mona. "Go back to the _soirée_, I'll look after her."
"Ye'll miss your tea! They're takin' roun' the teapits the noo."
"I have had tea, thank you," and, putting a strong arm round the
girl's waist, Mona walked home with her, and saw her safely into bed.
She hurried back to the chapel, for she knew Rachel would be fretting
about her; but the night breeze was cold and fresh, and she dreaded
returning to that heated, impure air. When she entered the door,
however, she scarcely noticed the atmosphere, for the laughing and
fidgeting had given place to an intense stillness, broken only by one
rich musical voice.
"So my eye and hand,
And inward sense that works along with both,
Have hunger that can never feed on coin."
Mr Stuart's stopgap was filling his part of the programme.
Mona hesitated at the door, and then quietly resumed her place at the
end of the pew beside Rachel. The reader paused for a moment till
she was seated, a scarcely perceptible shade of expression passed
over his face, as her silk gown rustled softly up the aisle, and then
he went on.
It was a curious poem to read to such an audience, but even the boys
and girls forgot their almonds and raisins as they listened to the
beautiful voice. For Mona, the low ceiling, the moist walls, and the
general air of smug squalor vanished like a dissolving view. In
their place the infinite blue of an Italian sky rose above her head,
the soft warm breeze of the south was on her cheek; and she stood in
the narrow picturesque street listening to the "plain white-aproned
man," with the light of the eternal in his eyes.
"'Tis God gives skill,
But not without men's hands: He could not make
Antonio Stradivari's violins
Without Antonio. Get thee to thy easel."
It was over. There was a long breath, and a general movement in the
chapel. Dudley took an obscure seat at the back of the platform,
shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked at Mona.
Again and again in London he had told himself that it was all
illusion, that he had exaggerated the nobility of her face, the
sensitiveness of her mouth, the subtle air of distinction about her
whole appearance; and now he knew that he had exaggerated nothing.
His eye wandered round the congregation, and came back to her with a
sensation of infinite rest. Then his pulse began to beat more
quickly. He was excited, perhaps, by the way in which that
uncultured audience had sat spellbound by his voice, for at that
moment it seemed to him that he would give a great deal to call up
the love-light in those eloquent eyes.
"She is a girl," he thought, with quick intuition. "She has never
loved, and no doubt she believes she never will. I envy the man who
forces her to own her mistake. She is no sweet white daisy to whom
any man's touch is sunshine. There are depths of expression in that
face that have never yet been stirred. Happy man who is the
first--perhaps the only one--to see them! He will have a long
account to settle with Fortune."
And then Dudley pulled himself up short. Thoughts like these would
not lead to success in his examination. And even if they would, what
right had he to think them? Till his Intermediate was over in July,
he must speak to no woman of love; and not until his Final lay behind
him had he any right to think of marriage. And any day while he was
far away in London the man might come--the man with the golden key----
Dudley turned and bowed to the speaker in considerable confusion.
Some graceful reference had evidently been made to his reading, for
there was a momentary pause in the vague droning that had accompanied
his day-dreams, and every one was looking at him with a cordial smile.
"Who would have thought of Dr Dudley being here?" said Rachel, as the
cousins walked home. "It is a great pity his being so short-sighted;
he looks so much nicer without his spectacles. I wonder if he
remembers what good friends we were that day at St Rules?--I declare
I believe that's him behind us now."
She was right, and he was accompanied by no less a person than the
Baptist minister.
"I would ask you to walk out and have a bachelor's supper with me,
Stuart, by way of getting a little pure air into your lungs," Dudley
had said, as he threw on his heavy Inverness cape; "but it is a far
cry, and I suppose you have a guest at your house to-night."
The minister had accepted with alacrity. He was tired, to be sure,
but he would gladly have walked ten miles for the sake of a
conversation with one of his "intellectual peers."
"I have no guest," he had said eagerly; "it was my man who failed me.
I would ask you to come home with me, but there are things we cannot
talk of before my wife. 'Leave thou thy sister,'--you know."
A faint smile had flitted over Dudley's face at the thought of Mr
Stuart's "purer air."
So they set out, and in due course they overtook Rachel and Mona.
Mr Stuart could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw Dr Dudley
actually slackening his pace to walk with them. It was right and
Christian to be courteous, no doubt, but this was so utterly uncalled
for.
Dudley did not seem to think so, however. He exchanged a few
pleasant words with Rachel, and then, regardless alike of her delight
and of the minister's irritation, he very simply and naturally walked
on with Mona in advance of the other two.
Many a time, when hundreds of miles had separated them, Mona and
Dudley had in imagination talked to each other frankly and simply;
but, now that they were together, they both became suddenly shy and
timid. What were their mutual relations? Were they old friends, or
mere acquaintances? Neither knew.
The silence became awkward.
"Your reading was a great treat," said Mona, somewhat formally at
last.
Anybody could have told him that. He wanted something more from her.
"I am glad if it did not bore you," he said coldly.
She looked up. They were just leaving the last of the Kirkstoun
street-lamps behind them, but in the uncertain light they exchanged a
smile. That did more for them than many words.
"It is not poetry of course," he said. "It is only a magnificent
instance of what my shaggy old Edinburgh professor would call
'metrical intellection.'"
"And yet, surely, in a broader sense, it is poetry. It seems to me
that that magnificent 'genius of morality' produces art of a kind
peculiarly its own. It is not cleverness; it is inspiration--though
it is not 'poesie.' In any case, you made it poetry for me. I saw
the sunny, glowing street, and the blue sky overhead."
"Did you?" he said eagerly. "Truly? I am so glad. I had such a
vivid mental picture of it myself, that I thought the brain-waves
must carry it to some one. It is very dark here. Won't you take my
arm?"
"No, thank you; I am well used to this road in the dark. By the way,
I must apologise for disturbing your reading. I would have remained
at the door, but I was afraid some man would offer me his seat, and
that we should between us kick the foot-board and knock down a few
hymn-books before we settled the matter."
"I was so relieved when you came forward and took your own place," he
said slowly, as though he were determined that she should not take
the words for an idle compliment "I had been watching that vacant
corner beside Miss Simpson. How is Castle Maclean?"
"It is pretty well delivered over to the sea-gulls at present. I am
afraid it must be admitted that Castle Maclean is more suited to a
summer than to a winter residence. I often run down there, but these
east winds are not suggestive of lounging."
"Not much," he said. "When I picture you there, it is always summer."
"Oh," said Mona suddenly, "there is one thing that I must tell you.
You remember a conversation we had about the Cooksons?"
"Yes."
"Matilda and I are great friends now, and I have had good reason to
be ashamed of my original attitude towards her. I think it was you
who put me right."
"Indeed it was not," he said warmly. "I, forsooth! You put yourself
right--if you were ever wrong."
"I was wrong. And you--well, you took too high an estimate of me,
and that is the surest way of putting people right. You have no idea
how much good stuff there is in that child. She is becoming quite a
German scholar; and she has read _Sesame and Lilies_, has been much
struck by that quotation from Coventry Patmore, and at the present
moment is deep in _Heroes_. What do you say to that?"
"Score!" he said quietly. "How did she come to know you?"
"Oh, by one of the strange little accidents of life. She has done me
a lot of good, too. She is very warm-hearted and impressionable."
There was a lull in the conversation. Across the bare fields came
the distant roar of the sea. They were still nearly half a mile from
home, and a great longing came upon Mona to tell him about her
medical studies. Why had she been such an idiot as to make that
promise; and, having made it, why had she never asked her cousin to
release her from it? She drew a long breath.
"My dear," said Rachel's voice behind them, "Mr Stuart wants to have
a little conversation with you. Well, doctor, I hope Mistress
Hamilton is not worse, that you are here just now?"
Mr Stuart's wrongs were avenged.
For one moment Dudley thought of protesting, but the exchange of
partners was already effected, and he was forced to submit.
"Our conversation was left unfinished this morning, Miss Maclean,"
said the minister.
"Was it? I thought we had discussed the subject in all its bearings.
You are to be congratulated on the substitute you found."
"Am I not?" he answered warmly. "It was all by accident, too, that I
met the doctor, and he was very unwilling to come. He had just run
down for one day to settle a little business matter for his aunt; but
I put him near the end of the programme, so that he might not have to
leave the house till near Mrs Hamilton's bedtime."
For one day! For one day!
The minister sighed. Miss Simpson had left him no choice about
"speaking to" her cousin; but he did not feel equal to an encounter
to-night; and certainly he could scarcely have found Mona in a less
approachable mood.
"You are not a Baptist, Miss Maclean?"
"No."
"Have you studied the subject at all?"
"The Gospels are not altogether unfamiliar ground to me;" but her
tone was much less aggressive than her words.
"And to what conclusion do they bring you?"
"I think there is a great deal to be said in favour of the Baptist
view; but, Mr Stuart, it all seems to me a matter of so little
importance. Surely it is the existence, not the profession, of faith
that redeems the world; and the precise mode of profession is of less
importance still."
"Do you realise what you are saying?" Mr Stuart began to forget his
fatigue. "God has declared that one 'mode of profession,' as you
call it, is in accordance with His will, but you pay no heed, because
your finite reason tells you that it is of so little importance."
"It is God who is responsible for my finite reason, not I," said
Mona; and then the thought of where this conversation must lead, and
the uselessness of it, overwhelmed her.
Her voice softened. "Mr Stuart," she said, "it is very kind of you
to care what I think and believe--to-night, too, of all times, when
you must be so tired after that 'function.' I believe it is a help
to some people to talk, but I don't think it is even right for me--at
least at present. When I begin to formulate things, I seem to lose
the substance in the shadow; I get interested in the argument for the
argument's sake. Believe me, I am not living a thoughtless life."
Mr Stuart was impressed by her earnestness in spite of himself.
"But, my dear young lady, is it wise, is it safe, to leave things so
vague, to have nothing definite to lean upon?"
"I think so; if one tries to do right."
"It is all very well while you are young, and life seems long; but
trouble will come, and sickness, and death----"
Rachel and Dudley had reached the gate of Carlton Lodge, and were
waiting for the other two. But Mr Stuart did not think it necessary
to break off, or even to lower his voice.
"----and when the hour of your need comes, and you can no longer
grapple with great thoughts, will you not long for a definite word, a
text----?"
Dudley's face was a picture. Mona underwent a quick revulsion of
feeling. How dared any one speak to her publicly like that! She
answered lightly, however, too lightly--
"'Denn, was man schwarz auf weiss besitzt,
Kann man getrost nach Hause tragen'"!
Of course she knew that Dr Dudley alone would understand, and of
course Dudley keenly appreciated the apt quotation.
"Holloa, Stuart!" he said, "you seem to be figuring in a new and
alarming _rôle_. I am half afraid to go in with you. I wish you
could come and join in our discussion, Miss Maclean. 'Nineteenth
Century Heretics' is our topic. Stuart takes the liberal side, I the
conservative."
"Do you think it expedient," said the minister reproachfully, as the
two men crunched the gravel of the carriage-drive beneath their feet,
"to talk in that flippant way to women on deep subjects?"
"Oh, Miss Maclean is all right! She could knock you and me into a
cocked-hat any day."
And he believed what he said--at least so far as the minister was
concerned.
"She really is very intelligent," admitted Mr Stuart. "I quite miss
her face when she is not at church on Sunday morning; but you know
she does put herself forward a little. What made her go out after
that fainting girl, when so many older women were present? Oh, I
forgot, you had not arrived----"
"It was well for the fainting girl that she did," interrupted Dudley
calmly. "When I was going to the vestry some one rushed frantically
against me, and told me a woman had fainted. I arrived on the scene
a moment after Miss Maclean, but fortunately she did not see me. By
Jingo, Stuart, that girl can rise to an occasion! If ever your
chapel is crowded, and takes fire, you may pray that Miss Maclean may
be one of the congregation."
It gave him a curious pleasure to talk like this, but he would not
have trusted himself to say so much, had it not been for the friendly
darkness, and the noise of the gravel beneath their feet.
Mr Stuart suspected nothing. Dr Dudley and Rachel Simpson's cousin!
People would have been very slow to link their names.
"Yes, she is very intelligent," he repeated. "I must try to find
time to have some more talks with her."
"I wish you joy of them!" thought Dudley. "I should like to know how
you tackle a case like that, Stuart," he said. "Tell me what you
said to her, and what she said to you."