_GOING TO CHURCH_
"But having entered in, we shall find there
Silence, and sudden dimness, and deep prayer,
And faces of crowned angels all about."
--ROSSETTI.
Elsie woke on Sunday morning with her thoughts full of the charms of
Wayne's Court.
She pictured the place to herself in the silence of the early hours, the
cool depths of shadow in the green aisles, the trimly-kept gardens, the
first sunshine stealing along the grey terrace. Did Arnold Wayne care
for her well enough to ask her to come and reign over his old home?
He liked her, she was sure of that. And his cousins detested her, of
that she was sure also. No woman can ever endure the thought that she is
disliked or despised by the relatives of the man she loves. And poor
Elsie, against her own will, had fallen in love with Arnold Wayne.
Against her own will! And Elsie had always fancied that her will was so
strong. She had had several strong likings, and had found out (before it
was too late) that a strong liking is only a distant cousin to love. For
the first time in her life she was beginning to feel that terrible
self-distrust which is love's cruel companion. And it is a painful
moment for a woman when she learns that the sound of one voice can set
her heart throbbing and drive the colour out of her cheeks.
Mrs. Lennard stoutly affirmed that she was quite equal to walking to
church and back again. Nobody should get pony-chaises out for her on a
Sunday. So the two old ladies and the younger one came out into the
lane, just in time to see the flutter of summer gowns on the
meadow-path. The Danforths were ahead of them. Yes; and Mrs. Verdon,
slim and cool and graceful in a dainty costume of blue-grey cashmere--a
dress which wrung unwilling admiration even from the rector's wife.
"That straw-coloured woman dresses well," she said to Elsie. "What a
miracle of self-worship she is!"
"But she has a kind heart," Elsie answered. "Think of her love for
Jamie."
The boy, trotting by nurse's side, had gone on in front of Mrs. Verdon
and the Danforths. They were moving so slowly along the path that the
party from Willow Farm instinctively began to saunter. There was a
consciousness among them that it would be best for Miss Kilner and the
Danforths not to meet too often.
But if they were sauntering, some one behind them was coming on with
rapid strides. Arnold Wayne joined them with a cheery greeting.
"You are early," he said. "Do you keep your clocks too fast at the Farm?
Miss Kilner, isn't this pure air delicious after London?"
Mrs. Lennard allowed herself to be displaced, and he stepped close to
Elsie's side. It was a sultry morning; but the odour of the grass, fresh
with half-hidden streams, was in the air. The meadow was dotted with
yellow-rayed flowers, and in the moist places the tall bulrush lifted
its dark brown head.
"Yes," Elsie answered, with a sigh of satisfaction; "it makes it hard to
think of going back to a 'long, unlovely street.'"
"You are not going back yet," he said quickly. And the earnest look
which accompanied the words brought the colour into her face.
"Not yet," she responded; "but one's bright days always fly."
The tone touched his heart. It told him that her bright days had been
few. What he would have said was never known; words were rising to his
lips when Mary Danforth came running back to them at a girlish speed.
"Oh, Arnold, how you are loitering!" she said, panting. "You will be
late at church, naughty boy! It's a dreadful thing for the Squire to set
a bad example, Miss Kilner."
"Isn't it rather warm for such violent exercise, Mary?" he asked in a
lazy voice. "A cool face is a blessing to its possessor and all
beholders."
Mary had the complexion that flushes easily. The glow which overspread
her face was not becoming, but she felt that she was a martyr in a good
cause. She had run back to separate her cousin from the dangerous Miss
Kilner. Lily, whose eyes were on Francis, was hastening after her.
As to Francis, he was beginning to be piqued by Elsie's gentle
indifference, and he had a vague suspicion that Wayne was carrying on a
flirtation with her instead of attending to Mrs. Verdon. Lily's
light-grey eyes were not as beautiful as Elsie's brown orbs, but they
were pretty enough when they glanced at him in mute reproach. He felt he
had neglected Lily.
Mrs. Verdon did not follow the Danforths when they ran back to the
Willow Farm people. She sauntered slowly on talking with their father;
but, when the two parties came together and melted into one, her
greetings were very gracious.
Elsie, who was somehow edged out of the group, found herself walking
alone. The Danforths were breaking the quietness of the meadows with
their laughing voices. She was glad to escape them and overtake nurse
and Jamie.
The boy met her gladly, putting his little warm hand into hers. And only
a woman with a heartache can understand the comfort that she found in
the clasp of that childish hand.
"We're going to church," said Jamie. "You shall sit by my side. It ain't
a very pretty church."
"Oh, Master Jamie, 'ain't' again!" nurse murmured, in a tone of mild
reproof.
"But there's nice things in it," continued Jamie, paying no attention to
the good woman. "There's a man, cut out of stone, lying on his back, and
he's lost his nose. He twies to put his hands together, but can't, not
properly, 'cos some of his fingers has come off."
"I should like to see him," remarked Elsie, "very much."
"I'll show him to you, when the pweachin's done," Jamie promised. "Keep
close to me."
She did keep close to him when they entered the little grey church, and
found a sense of peace and quietness there. She sat by his side, close
to a massive pillar, near an open window set deep in the ancient wall.
The breath of the warm summer wandered in, and she did not criticise the
singing or the sermon. Through it all she could hear the distant
bleating of flocks and the hum of bees.
If she could always live a simple country life with Jamie, it would be
full of calm content. But the boy would grow up and demand more than her
slender means could provide; and he belonged to Mrs. Verdon. She did not
think she could endure a country life without Jamie. It would be better
to go back to the London street, and care for the children of the poor,
than live in rural solitude.
"Come and see the stone man," whispered Jamie, as soon as the service
was over.
She let him lead her into a side aisle where a battered knightly figure
lay on an altar-tomb. It was still and cool in this dim nook, and faint
lights and shadows fell softly on the old warrior in his repose. The boy
stood looking at him in silence.
"I wonder who he was," Elsie said in a low voice.
"His name was Lionel de Wayne," replied Arnold, at her elbow; "and he
was one of the goodliest knights that ever bare shield. 'His soul is
with the saints, I trust.'"
"Amen," said Elsie gravely. Jamie looked up at both the speakers with
big blue eyes.
"I have some records of him at the Court," Arnold went on. "You must
come and turn them over some day; if you care about such things, you
will find a store."
"I do care," she answered. "Why do you not write a book about the Court,
Mr. Wayne? England likes to know the histories of her stately old
houses, and there is a great deal to tell."
"We will write it together," he said; and her heart gave a sudden throb.
"We had lost you!" Mary Danforth exclaimed behind the pair. "Arnold,
Mrs. Verdon has promised to lunch with us; won't you come too?"
"I'll think about it," he replied, relapsing into that lazy manner which
his friends knew so well.
"There isn't much time to think of it," said Mary, rather sharply. "You
know father likes his luncheon punctually at half-past one."
"Don't let him wait for me. I was always a dawdling fellow."
Jamie held Elsie's hand as they walked home through the meadows. Miss
Ryan asked Mrs. Verdon to let her keep him at Willow Farm for the rest
of the day, and Elsie spent the long afternoon hours with the boy.
Seeing that Francis Ryan was prowling about in the garden, she carried
Jamie off to her large, cool room upstairs, and told him stories to his
heart's content. Then, too, she had discovered a pile of nursery books
in a corner of the house, and had brought them up here for his benefit.
Their hearts grew closer and closer together; they enjoyed each other's
love, and exchanged caresses like a couple of children. The child had a
wonderfully freshening influence on Elsie's life, and when she brought
him down to afternoon tea, the two old ladies rejoiced to see her
looking so young and bright.
"Francis is gone to the Danforths'," said Mrs. Lennard, with a merry
twinkle in her eyes.
The afternoon was deepening into evening when Arnold Wayne came up the
garden path to the door. He found Elsie under the porch, with a mass of
jessamine hanging over her head.
"There is to be a picnic next Thursday," he said; "I am dragged into it.
The gathering-place will be in a meadow, under some trees near the
river. I've got a little boat, and a man to row people to and from the
island."
"I shall like that," remarked Jamie, who was listening. "Mammy will be
sure to let me go!"
Elsie did not feel strongly inclined to go to the picnic. She had taken
the quiet of the country into her heart, and wanted to escape from
society. But Mrs. Lennard disapproved of this growing taste for
solitude.
"You must mingle with the others, my dear, whether you like them or
not," she said. "I shall come upstairs and turn over your dresses. You
have a cool, brown holland-looking thing, trimmed with bands of scarlet
silk and black lace. I think you shall wear that."