A WARNING
"GOOD morning, Miss Frith. May I come in? Are you very busy?"
It was Rhoda who spoke, and she was mounted on Sultana outside the
post-office. It was her first ride since her accident, and greatly had
she enjoyed it.
Miss Frith looked a shade more worn and stern, but she came out at
once and helped her to dismount, calling a small boy to hold the horse
whilst she led her into the back sitting-room, which looked strangely
empty without the familiar figure in the arm-chair.
Rhoda took hold of her hand when she was seated. "Now tell me, if you
can bear to speak of it. I have been praying for you and thinking of
you so much lately."
"I can believe that. You know I am not a good letter-writer, and one
can't write about the thing dearest to one's heart. I will tell you all
I can; I should like to."
Miss Frith paused; then she said: "I never can thank you enough for
speaking to me as you did that day. I came back, and all the evening
those words rang in my ears,—
"'Keep not silence.'
"She did not seem to be any worse, and her breathing was not so
alarming as I had heard it before, but her spirits, as I told you, were
very low, and she kept saying,—
"'I shan't get over this, Susan.'
"I tried to cheer her up. But the next morning, when she kept on at the
same refrain, I said to her,—
"'Well, Lucy, if you don't get over it, what then?'
"She shivered, and as I had broken the ice, I went on, 'If you know
what it is to commit your soul to God's keeping, you need have no fear;
you'll be only going home.'
"'I couldn't,' she said; 'I've wasted my life, and it is too late.'
"I took my Bible up, and picked out a verse here and there, to show
her that she had only to come to the cross as a sinner. She listened
eagerly, but only shook her head when I asked her to pray. So I—I had a
bit of prayer with her myself. I felt easier in my mind after.
"And then the next day, in the afternoon, she was taken much worse. I
sent for the doctor, and he came and did all he could, but I knew then
she was sinking. Just about twelve that night, she seized my hand.
"'The blood—' she gasped. 'Say it.'
"I repeated,—
"'The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.'
"She nodded her head, and those were the last words she said. I can't
help hoping she saw the truth before she went, but I don't think I
should ever have forgiven myself if I hadn't said a word to her. Poor
Lucy! She was always spoilt by every one of us. I dare say, if I had
been different, I could have had more influence with her."
Miss Frith's face quivered a little as she finished speaking.
And Rhoda said gently,—
"It will be a great comfort to you to remember that God's own words
were the last on her lips. I am so glad and thankful you had the
opportunity of speaking."
"I miss her dreadfully," Miss Frith continued. "I sometimes think I
won't stay here, but then I must get my living somehow."
"I should be sorry for you to leave. Have you no relative to come and
stay with you?"
"None. I am best alone."
Rhoda stayed some little time, and resolved to come down pretty often
to try to cheer and comfort the lonely woman.
As she was riding home, she met Mr. Rokeby, who turned back and rode
for some distance with her.
"I am glad to see you out again. How is the foot?"
"Getting on nicely, though I cannot stand on it yet. I don't know what
I should do without Sultana."
"She has proved a good investment on the whole. And are you scouring
the moor, and visiting all your old friends again?"
"I hope to do so, but this is my first day out."
"I have some new tenants that I thought you might like to visit. They
have taken the Cobbs' place. When you are over in that direction, you
might see what you can make of them. The father looks like a gaol-bird;
he has two wild slips of girls; the son is the most presentable of the
lot."
"They do not sound promising," said Rhoda, with a smile. "Do you know
nothing of them?"
"I know they have been out to America, and not long been over here. He
says he knows how to farm, and has some capital to start with. As you
know, it is a tiny place. I thought perhaps you might get an influence
over the girls. The son has got work on the line. There is no mother."
"I will certainly go to see them as soon as possible. Thank you for
telling me about them."
"Are you going to recommence your Sunday service again?"
"I have promised to go over next Sunday."
"Miss Montague informed me that she was sometimes one of your audience.
What do you make of her, I wonder?"
"I like her very much," Rhoda replied simply.
He smiled. "You are on good terms with every one here. Even that silent
postmistress brightens up at the sound of your name. How do you manage
to ingratiate yourself into these people's good graces?"
"I don't know. They have all welcomed me most kindly whenever I have
been to see them. I haven't met with any disagreeable people here yet."
"Present company excepted? I did hear I was very disagreeable once."
"So I used to hear, but though I have not yet personally experienced
it, I should not wonder if you could be."
"That is not the answer I expected. Cannot you comfort me with the
assurance that 'you like me very much'? You have not known Miss
Montague as long as you have known me."
"I have only known Mr. Rokeby for a few weeks. Miss Montague is a much
older friend."
"I am afraid you will not forget the past, Miss Carlton. It is not
generous of you. You were much kinder to me when I was simple Mr.
Wallace."
Rhoda skilfully changed the subject.
But as he left her, he said,—
"Do not be surprised if you see me stealing in and taking a back seat
in the Tents' kitchen one afternoon when you are speaking. I do not see
why I should be excluded from all good things."
"The man is getting troublesome," muttered Rhoda to herself, with
knitted brows, after they had parted; "I did not think I should have
to deal with any of that sort up here. He seems to consider my work as
child's play, a perpetual source of amusement to him. I wish he would
go abroad, and leave me alone."
She came across one of the girls he had mentioned just as she was
reaching home. A handsome, dark-haired young woman she was, with a
shawl lightly thrown over her head, and a pile of faggots slung across
her back. As Rhoda passed her, she looked up at her and returned her
earnest gaze with a saucy laugh.
"Hope you'll know me again, my lady."
"I beg your pardon," Rhoda said at once; "I was wondering if you were
one of the fresh arrivals that I have heard about. Have you taken a
little farm that used to belong to some people of the name of Cobb?"
"That's the ticket, though it seems folks are very spry on new-comers,
if you spot us so soon."
"I live on the moor myself," Rhoda explained gently, "so I know most of
my neighbours. May I come and see you one day?"
The girl hesitated; then she said, "Father will be out to-morrer—if you
come then, I don't care."
"Very well, then, I will come. I wonder if you will get as fond of the
moor as I am! Look at the shadows of those clouds crossing the hills."
And Rhoda turned her radiant face to the blue distance beyond, where
the sun was shedding its last rays before sinking into its golden bed.
The girl looked at her, not at the hills, and a curious expression
passed over her face; then she laughed.
"This style of country don't suit me, though it do give one breathing
space. London is the city for me, or New York."
And then, setting off at a quick run, she began to whistle "Yankee
Doodle"; whilst Rhoda put up a prayer that this fresh acquaintance
might be influenced for good.
The very next morning, she had the following note from Mr. Rokeby:—
"DEAR MISS CARLTON,
"Please do not go to see the people I mentioned to you until I have
seen you again. I will give you reasons later on.
"Yours sincerely,
"W. ROKEBY."
"Now," said Rhoda emphatically to herself, "I will not stand this.
I am not going to have him arranging whom I shall visit and whom I
shall not. He is very fond of laying down the law, but I will not
place myself under his instruction. It is like him, this note—cool and
peremptory; it is quite sufficient to issue a command without giving
any reasons for doing so! And of course this means that he is coming
to see me about them, and I will not have him visiting me here. Go I
shall, most certainly! The question is whether I shall answer this or
not. I think I shall take Hannah into my confidence."
Hannah was called in, but did not strengthen her young mistress in her
resolve.
"They may be a bad lot, and not fit for a lady to visit," she said.
"Nonsense, Hannah; what harm could they do me? I promised the girl to
go. She said her father would be out, and I never break a promise if I
can help it."
Hannah looked doubtful.
"It is only kindness on Mr. Rokeby's part, mum; he must feel they
aren't the right sort of people to visit, and as he himself suggested
your going to them, I can understand his writing to warn you against
them now."
Rhoda's head was moved a little impatiently.
"Kindness! I don't want kindness from him. He is nothing to me, nor I
to him. If he once begins interfering with my visiting, there will be
no end to it. I will not allow him to have control over my actions. No,
I will not get angry about it—it is not worth that—but the fact is,
Hannah, I do not wish to become on intimate terms with him. I fear I
have been too friendly, and the less we have to do with each other the
better. I think I will answer this note after I have been over this
afternoon."
Hannah said no more, but walked into the kitchen, and there began
muttering to herself, as was her wont when somewhat perturbed.
"She will treat him as she has treated the rest of them. She sees
now, I expect, what I've seen for some time—he shows his admiration
in the very way he looks at her. I wish she weren't so masterful. I
should like to see her comfortably settled in a home of her own, and
Mr. Rokeby and she would make a splendid couple. Still, if he is not
religious, it would be a terrible thing for her; and it's difficult to
say if she mayn't be doing right by nipping it in the bud. But he is a
kind, open-handed gentleman—I am sorry she takes his friendliness amiss.
"I suppose I have been a fool, a-building castles in the air over them.
She would help him so much, if it could be. I shan't forget the way he
looked at her when he put her into the carriage to come back here from
staying at Rokeby Court. And I knew what was a-coming when he gets his
sister to come and call. I wonder now what he said yesterday to her, to
make her take up this haughty way of hers again. Sometimes she's like a
child, with her bright laugh and high spirits, but when she gets on her
high stilts, as I may say, no one dursn't say a word!"
Rhoda had recovered her equanimity of mind before she started for her
ride that afternoon. Her foot was rapidly healing, and she was hoping
before long to begin walking again. She rode along slowly, enjoying
the bracing air and the sweet smell of the gorse and broom that here
and there brightened up the dull brown of the dry heather. Larks were
rising up, carolling out their sweet songs, and, soaring into the
bright blue sky, were soon lost to sight. Now and then a hawk would
poise in mid air with fluttering wings, and then swiftly swoop down
into the valley below after its prey; and the rabbits chased each other
in quick succession across her path.
She was never nervous, least of all when she was on horseback; yet, as
she came near the dwelling of which she was in search, she could not
help allowing that it was in a very lonely, isolated position.
She noticed that it was now in good repair, but there did not seem to
be a sign of any one about. Carefully she dismounted, tied her horse to
a rough piece of fencing near, and, with the help of a stout stick she
had brought with her, made her way to the door. It was fast shut, but
she heard the sound of men's voices in close altercation, and after she
had knocked sharply there was a sudden lull.
For some minutes she waited, then knocked again; when the door suddenly
burst open, an evil-looking man, with closely cropped head and large
square jaw, thrust his head out, and greeted her with a volley of oaths
and curses and much abuse, telling her to go about her business and not
come "spying out decent folks' dwellings. And if you show your nose
round this part again, it will be the worse for you!"
Rhoda was quite staggered by such a reception, and before she could
offer a word of explanation, the door was banged in her face and
locked and bolted inside. She hesitated for a moment, then, very
crestfallen, retraced her steps and mounted Sultana. As it was early in
the afternoon, she thought she would go on a little farther, and then,
descending into the valley over which she was looking, would ride back
through Ashampton on the other side of the river.
She had not been so far in this direction before, and for a time
the loveliness of the country around her took off her thoughts from
her disagreeable experience. Presently she noticed a little cottage
standing in a small belt of fir-trees, and, always on the look-out
for a fresh sphere for work, she made her way up to it. A little girl
of twelve or so was hanging up some clothes to dry in the yard as she
approached.
"I wonder if you could give me a glass of milk?" Rhoda asked, bringing
forward her usual excuse for entering the doors of a fresh place.
"Yes, miss; please come in."
Rhoda dismounted, and entered a tidy little kitchen. Whilst waiting
there, she heard a voice in an adjoining room calling out,—
"Nellie! Nellie! Who is it?"
The door was ajar, and as the child was out of hearing, Rhoda stepped
up, saying, "It is a stranger asking for a glass of milk. May I come
in?"
"Yes, please, do."
And Rhoda, stepping in, found stretched on a bed drawn close to a small
latticed window a comparatively young woman, who greeted her with a
pleased smile.
"Sit down, ma'am. I rarely see visitors. It whiles away the time to see
a fresh face."
"Are you ill?" inquired Rhoda, sympathetically.
"Bedridden for life," the woman said sadly. "I shall never be on my
legs again."
"Oh, how sad! How did it happen?"
"It was an attack of rheumatism—rheumatic fever, the doctor called it.
I was out picking worts two years ago on the moor, and a mist came
on, and I lost my way and was out all night. The wet and the cold did
it, I suppose. It has been a weary time here, but one gets accustomed
to anything in time, and I'm reconciled now. I'm quite crippled and
helpless, but I have the use of my hands, and I'm thankful for that."
Rhoda sat down by the bedside, and was soon hearing all the family
history. The poor woman's husband, Richard Dyke by name, worked in some
quarries a little distance off, and Nellie, their only child, looked
after the house and her mother.
"She's turned fifteen, though she looks small, and ought to be in
service, only we can't spare her. I don't know what we should do
without her! I am able to make some crotchet mats, and she goes to the
market at Ashampton every Saturday with butter and eggs, and sells my
mats as well. She's a careful little maid, she is!"
"You're not a native of these parts yourself?" Rhoda asked.
"No. I've been in service all my life, and was parlour-maid to old Mrs.
Hutton, the other side of Ashampton. Maybe you know her. She owns the
old castle by the river, and a lot of property joining Mr. Rokeby's."
"I have never met her," said Rhoda. "I suppose you married from her
house, then?"
"Yes. She gave us a handsome clock as a present. It stands in the
kitchen. She often used to say to me,—
"'Jane, you'll live to repent leaving me.'
"But I don't think I have. I've a good husband."
Rhoda marvelled at the quiet patience in her tone, and told her of her
own experience when laid by. From that she went on to talk about the
subject most dear to her heart, and Mrs. Dyke lay still and listened,
with a softened, interested look upon her face.
Before Rhoda went, she had a few words of prayer, and Mrs. Dyke said,
with tears in her eyes, as she was wishing her good-bye,—
"Come again and see me, will you, ma'am? You don't know what it is to
have a visit like this. We might be heathen up here—we never see a soul
to speak to about such things. Clergy seem very scarce about here,
and no one seems to trouble about this side of the moor. I'm not very
religious myself, but I do make Richard read a chapter of the Bible to
me every Sunday, and Nellie goes down to the chapel Sunday school in
Ashampton of a Sunday morning. I was brought up well, and since I've
been lying here, I've often thought over things, and wanted to be a bit
different."
Rhoda promised to come again soon, and left the cottage with a
lightened heart, feeling very thankful for the cheery opening for work.
Then she made her way down the valley, crossed a low stone bridge, and
got upon the high-road leading to Ashampton.
Shortly afterwards she met, to her surprise, the girl to whom she had
spoken the day before, and reined up to speak to her, but she evaded
her by springing across a stone wall into a field close by, calling out
as she did so,—
"We don't want nought of you, and if you've been to our place, you know
it!"
"You told me your father would be out," Rhoda said, a little
indignantly.
The girl laughed. "Might as well try to tell a swallow's flittings as
his. If he says he'll be out, he'll be in; and if he says he'll be in,
he'll be out, as sure as nuts is nuts. You go your way, and leave us
alone; but I warn you, if you're found spying round our place, you'll
get into trouble."
And then away she ran across the field with another derisive laugh,
whilst Rhoda went on her way, feeling vexed and chagrined to find that
she had better have followed Mr. Rokeby's advice.
"And yet, Hannah," she said, when talking it over that evening, "I feel
I was guided to that poor woman. I should never have discovered her
whereabouts if I had not gone to the other place."
She sent the following reply to Mr. Rokeby that night:—
"DEAR MR. ROKEBY,
"Many thanks for your warning about your new tenants. Please do not
trouble to give me your reasons, as I have been there this afternoon,
and do not intend at present to repeat my visit. I should hardly think,
from what I have seen of them, that they are an improvement upon the
Cobbs.
"I remain, yours truly,
"RHODA CARLTON."
And Mr. Rokeby first frowned, then smiled, as he read this note, and
folding it up, consigned it to a small drawer in his writing-desk, in
company with others bearing the same signature.