"O man, little hast thou learned of truth in things most true."--Martin
Farquhar Tupper.
(_In Helen's handwriting_.)
SELWICK HALL, OCTOBER THE XII.
Well! _Milly_ saith nought never happens in this house. Lack-a-daisy!
but I would fain it were so!
One may love one's friends, and must one's enemies, _Father_ saith. But
how should one feel towards them that be nowise enemies, for they mean
right kindly, and yet not friends, seeing they make your life a burden
unto you?
Now, all our lives have I known Master _Lewthwaite_, of _Mere Lea_, and
Mistress _Lewthwaite_ his wife, and their lads and lasses, _Nym, Jack_,
and _Robin_, and _Alice_ and _Blanche_. Many a game at hunt the slipper
and blind man's buff have we had at _Mere Lea_, and I would have said
yet may, had not a thing happed this morrow which I would right fain
should ne'er have happened while the world stood.
What in all this world should have made _Nym_ so to do cannot I so much
as conceive. He might have found a deal fairer lasses. Why, our
_Milly_ and _Edith_ are ever so much better-favoured. But to want me!--
nor only that, but to come with so pitiful a tale, that he should go
straight to ruin an' I would not wed with him; that I was the only maid
in all the world that should serve against the same; and that if I
refused, all his sins thereafter should be laid at my door! Heard any
ever the like?
And I have no list to wed with _Nym_. I like him--as a dozen other
lads: but that is all. And meseems that before I could think to leave
_Father_ and _Mother_ and all, and go away with a man for all my life,
he must be as the whole world to me, or I could never do it. I cannot
think what _Nym_ would be at. And he saith it shall be my blame and my
sin, if I do it not. _Must_ I wed _Nym Lewthwaite_?
I sat and pondered drearily o'er my trouble for a season, and then went
to look for Aunt _Joyce_, whom I found in the long gallery, at her
sewing in a window.
"Well, _Nell_, what hast ado, maid?" saith she.
"Pray you, Aunt _Joyce_, tell me a thing," said I.
"That will I, with a very good will, my maid," saith she.
"Aunt _Joyce_, if a man were to come to you and entreat you to wed with
him, by reason that he could not (should he say) keep in the right way
without you did help him, and that, you refusing, you should be
blameworthy of all his after sins--what should you say to him?"
I listened right earnestly for her answer. I was woeful 'feared she
should say, "Wed with him, _Nell_, for sure, and thus save him."
"Say?" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, looking up, with (it seemed me) somewhat like
laughter in her eyes. "Fetch him a good buffet of his ear, forsooth,
and ask at him by what right he called himself a man."
"Then you should not think you bound to save him, _Aunt_?"
"Poor weak creature! Not I," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "But whatso, Nell?
Hast had any such a simpleton at thee?"
"_Aunt_," said I, "'tis _Nym Lewthwaite_, who saith an' I wed him not,
he shall go straight to ruin, and that I must answer unto God for all
his sins if so be."
"Ask him where he found that in the Bible," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Take
no thought about him, _Nell_. Trust me, if a man cannot keep straight
without thee, he will not keep straight with thee. Poor limping soul!
to come halting up and plead with a weak woman to leave him put his hand
on her shoulder, to help him o'er the stones! `Carry me, prithee, good
Mistress, o'er this rough place.' Use thine own two legs, would I say
to him, and be ashamed of thy meanness. And I dare be sworn he calls
himself one of the nobler sex," ends Aunt _Joyce_ with a snort of scorn.
"O _Aunt_, I am so thankful you see it thus!" said I, drawing a long
breath. "I was so afeard you should bid me do as _Nym_ would."
"Nay, not this while," quoth she, of her dry fashion. "When we lack
stuff for to mend the foul roads, _Nell_, we'll find somewhat fitter to
break up than thee. If young _Lewthwaite_ harry thee again, send him to
me. He'll not want to see me twice, I'll warrant."
"I was 'feared I was wicked to shrink from it, _Aunt_," I made answer.
"_Nym_ said so. He said 'twas all self-loving and seeking of mine ease
that alone did make me for to hesitate; and that if I had loved God and
my neighbour better than myself, I would have strake hands with him at
once. And I was 'feared lest it should be true."
"Ay, it is none so difficult to paint black white," saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"'Tis alway the self-lovers that cry out upon the unkindliness of other
folks. And thou art one of them, _Nell_, my maid, that be prone to
reckon that must needs be right which goes against the grain. There be
that make self-denial run of all fours in that fashion. They think duty
and pleasure must needs be enemies. Why, child, they are the best
friends in the world. Only _Duty_ is the elder sister, and is jealous
to be put first. Run thou after _Duty_, and see if _Pleasure_ come not
running after thee to beseech thee of better acquaintance. But run
after _Pleasure_, and she'll fly thee. She's a rare bashful one."
"Then you count it not wrong that one should desire to be happy,
_Aunt_?"
"The Lord seems not to count it so, _Nell_. He had scarce, methinks,
told us so much touching the happiness of Heaven, had He meant us to
think it ill to be happy. But remember, maid, she that findeth her
happiness in God hath it alway ready to her hand; while she that findeth
her happiness in this world must wait till it come to seek her."
"I would I were as good as _Father_!" said I; and I believe I fetched a
sigh.
"Go a little higher, _Nell_, while thou art a-climbing," quoth Aunt
_Joyce_. "`I would I were as good as _Christ_.'"
"Eh, _Aunt_, but who could?" said I.
"None," she made answer. "But, _Nell_, he that shoots up into the sky
is more like to rise than he that aims at a holly-bush."
"Methinks _Father_ is higher than I am ever like to get," said I.
"And if thou overtop him," she made answer, "all shall see it but
thyself. Climb on, _Nell_. Thou wilt not grow giddy so long as thine
eyes be turned above."