dispirited.
"He will never understand. How can I explain? How can I tell him that I
am trying to dig out from the mud a treasure which has been lost. It's
like the woman in the Bible. But he only sees the racket and the dust:
he doesn't know the silver bit is there."
The next day she asked permission from Mrs. Burke for an afternoon to
herself, and set off for Eton Place.
She was shown upstairs into a rather gloomy drawing-room, but in a
moment Mysie flashed into the room, and in her old impulsive way flung
herself upon her.
"Oh, you darling! I can't believe it's you. I yelled when Dad told me,
and Cousin Bel asked if I was trying to do the Highland Fling. Cousin
Bel has a cold and is in bed, and Dad and I sit downstairs in the
smoking-room. There's no fire up here. Come along down."
Rowena found that Mysie was growing into a very handsome girl. She had
developed in many ways, and it was pretty to see her with her father;
there was absolute confidence and understanding between them.
"He has got younger, and she has got older," was Rowena's conviction.
She took Rowena downstairs, and General Macdonald rose to greet her
with a bright smile of welcome.
He pulled an easy-chair before the fire for her, and Mysie squatted
down on the hearthrug and leant her brown curly head against her knees.
"Isn't this comfy, just us three! Dad and I often wanted you when the
days got dark after you left us. And do you know I've got a new name
for you. I used to call you the prisoner—now I call you Miss Mignon. I
learn French now, so I know a lot of fresh words!"
Rowena laughed.
"Oh, Flora, it is nice to hear you talk again! Tell me all you have
been doing."
Mysie was only too delighted to chatter away. She appealed to her
father very often, and he sat for the most part listening to his small
daughter, but sometimes putting in a word himself.
"Dad says you live with an old lady now. Couldn't you leave her, and
come and stay with us for a nice long visit? Dad and I thought you were
still in India; we would have come to see you long ago, wouldn't we,
Dad, if we had known you were in London."
"I'm sorry to tell you that young Macintosh is leaving us," said
General Macdonald. "He has been offered a Church in Edinburgh. That is
one of the causes which has brought us to town. We are going to try
another governess, but we have decided that she must be quite old;
somebody who will be content to sit at home over the schoolroom fire
whilst Mysie and I tramp the country together."
"I hope you will find her," said Rowena gaily. "But I am sorry the
Macintoshes are leaving. I liked them so much."
Then she turned to General Macdonald.
"Are you more at home now? Perhaps you have finished your work?"
"It finished me unfortunately. I had a breakdown, and was ordered back
to my native air. A quiet life is the only thing I'm fit for."
"Oh, I'm sorry, and yet I know Mysie must be glad—and your tenants!"
"That's a fact!" said Mysie, nodding her head.
"And how are the Kelpies and the fairies?" Rowena inquired.
Mysie began to tell her a fresh story she had heard from an old
Highland woman of the fairies' existence.
"How is your Highland book?" asked General Macdonald.
"Oh," said Rowena with a little sigh, "I have never got any forrarder.
I took it out to India with me, meaning to complete it there; but
somehow I couldn't get on with it. The atmosphere was lacking, and then
poor Ted died, and I haven't had the heart to touch it since."
"You must finish it."
"Perhaps I will. You have stirred me up afresh."
Presently Mysie slipped away.
"I'm going to hurry up tea," she said importantly. "Dad and I think
Cousin Bel's old servants all go to bed in the afternoon. None of them
can be found anywhere till tea-time, and sometimes we don't have it
till half-past five!"
When she had gone, General Macdonald turned to Rowena. "Why did you not
answer that letter of mine?"
"What letter? I remember your saying just before I left Abertarlie,
that you would either come over again, or write, but you did neither."
"I most certainly wrote. Did you never receive it?"
He got up from his chair and paced the floor in agitation, and Rowena
felt breathless, as if she were on the point of a crisis in her life.
"Never. Letters sometimes go astray, and I am afraid poor Sandy was
addicted to the bottle."
"I wrote, and took it for granted from your silence that—"
He broke off suddenly, and looked at her strangely. "Don't think me
interfering. I can't beat about the bush. But I cannot bear to think of
you with that painted woman and in her noisy set. I know her well by
name. My young friend Graeme has talked of her. If you value the things
you once did, how can you live with her? I do ask you as a personal
favour to leave her."
Rowena was astounded and dismayed by this sudden turn to their talk.
She was proud, and she seemed to General Macdonald to stiffen from head
to foot.
"I have my reasons for staying with her," she said coldly. "You may
doubt and misunderstand my motives, but at present I have no intention
of changing my life."
"I am sorry," he said simply, and at this unfortunate juncture Mysie
danced back into the room.
"Tea is coming. I coaxed and coaxed old stiff Mary till she said she
would bring it at once. And I'm going to pour out, Dad, and we can just
imagine we are home in Abertarlie."
But conversation was dead. Mysie chattered away apparently unconscious
of the effort it was to her elders to respond to her. And very soon
Rowena rose to go. She felt bitterly hurt by General Macdonald's words,
and was not inclined to justify herself in his eyes.
As she walked home alone, she said to herself: "Oh what a touchy fool
I am! He saw me at that rowdy party, and did not know it was quite an
exception, my being there. He thought it was my habit, my life! How can
I tell him why I'm not going to leave Mrs. Burke yet! I hardly dare put
it into words, but I've prayed so hard, that I will not despair. No, if
he misjudges me he must. Oh, how I wish I knew what was in that letter!
In any case he is cautious, and canny like a Scot! I hate his cold
calculating mood. I almost feel as if I never want to see him again!"
But if Rowena persuaded herself that she did not want to see him again,
he most certainly wanted to see her. For the next morning at twelve
o'clock he called at the house and asked for her. Mrs. Burke had not
left her room yet, but Rowena was hard at work in the library. She gave
a little sigh when she heard who was in the drawing-room waiting to see
her. She had had a sleepless night, wondering about the contents of the
missing letter, regretting the way she had spoken to her old friend,
turning over in her own mind if she had been right or wrong in electing
to live with Mrs. Burke, and now hardly knowing in what frame of mind
to meet him.
But the moment she entered the room, General Macdonald advanced in his
most courteous and kindly manner.
"I have come round to apologize for the way I spoke to you yesterday
afternoon. I had no right to dictate to you as to your choice in life.
May I say in extenuation, it was only my extreme interest in you, my
regard for your real welfare that made me so anxious and captious about
your present surroundings."
Then Rowena smiled her old sunny smile.
"You treated me as a true friend should. I felt sorry that I had not
an explanation I could give you. Perhaps one day I may be able to
vindicate myself."
"Meanwhile, whilst we are in town will you give me the benefit of
your counsel and advice? My cousin is old. She says, 'Send the child
to school.' I tried that, as you know, with disastrous results. Could
you—is it too much to ask of you? Could you interview some of these
governesses for me? A man is at a disadvantage. I had one afternoon
of it last week, and I can tell you I have been in tight corners in
my life, and have had to face a good deal, but nothing equal to the
horrors of that room behind the registry office, when one undesirable
young woman appeared after the other in quick succession, and they all
wanted so desperately to come!"
Rowena laughed outright. She pictured the scene.
"You poor man! Of course I will help you if I can. I wish I knew of
some one suitable. I wonder—"
She stopped short. The remembrance of her visit to the North came to
her.
"It is only a chance, but I do know of a nice woman—a governess. She is
a niece of Mrs. Burke's."
"Oh, I hardly think she would suit me," said General Macdonald hastily.
Rowena smiled. "Please don't be so prejudiced. Mrs. Burke's father was
a very saintly clergyman. Her sister is a most sweet woman, wife of a
hard-worked vicar in Durham, and this woman is her daughter. She has
the same sweet face and manners as her mother, but with more character
I should say. She is at present looking after her nephew and niece, but
she wants a situation as governess. She is certificated."
"Miss Falconer had very sweet manners."
"She is as different to Miss Falconer as chalk is to cheese. She is a
real good woman. I know a genuine person when I see her. Couldn't you
stop in Durham and interview her, on your return to Scotland? Let me
write to her first."
"I wanted to have it all settled up before we leave."
"Well, if you would rather I went to a Registry for you, I will do so."
"Thank you very much. What do you think of Mysie?"
"She has grown and developed wonderfully."
"She is most intelligent—able to talk with me on any subject, and a
most interesting companion. But she has a very strong will of her own."
"Like her father," said Rowena mischievously.
"Yes, but women are not required to have as strong wills as men."
"Oh, you old-fashioned person! If a strong will is a good thing why
should we not share it? A weak woman very often makes a bad man! Don't
try to eradicate the strength in Mysie's character."
"I don't agree with you. The weakness in woman awakens all the chivalry
in man's nature. These strong-minded females are abhorrent to me. One
of these would-be teachers of my child asked me if I did not believe in
the emancipation of the female sex—now what did she mean by that? Mere
clap-trap or real immorality!"
Then he checked himself.
"We won't discuss these questions. You and I always slipped into an
argument, didn't we, in the old days? I shall be deeply grateful if
you can help me. Mysie is to me now a cherished possession and I
always consider I have to thank you for bringing me to my senses about
her. Now before I go, we propose paying a visit to the Zoo to-morrow
afternoon. Could you come with us?"
"I am afraid not," said Rowena regretfully. "It is Mrs. Burke's 'At
Home' day to-morrow, and I must be here to help her."
"Mysie will be bitterly disappointed. Where do you go on Sunday?"
Rowena mentioned a certain Church not very far off.
"Canon Villars is a most earnest preacher," she said. "Have you ever
heard him?"
"No, I'll bring Mysie round there!"
He got up to go.
"I must not transgress again; but if only you were with one of these
philanthropic useful women of the day, how much happier you would be."
"You don't know Mrs. Burke," Rowena said gravely. "You only judge by
outer appearances."
He looked at her with a flicker of a smile in his eyes.
"A tree is known by its fruits."
"Good-bye," said Rowena very sweetly. "I will let you have the last
word, though it is a woman's prerogative."
At lunch, she told Mrs. Burke about the General's visit, and to her
surprise that lady became quite enthusiastic.
"We'll send for Marion at once. I'll pay her fare! She can easily leave
those young people for a day or two. It is too great a chance for her
to miss. I should like to help her, poor thing, and that handsome
General Macdonald must be a nice man to deal with. Let us ask him to
dinner; we must get her here first. Nothing like striking whilst the
iron is hot. Write directly after lunch, will you, and you had better
enclose a cheque for travelling expenses. Don't you think you had
better wire?"
"No," said Rowena, laughing, "the poor creature would be thoroughly
mystified. You would like it all settled up by this time to-morrow now,
wouldn't you?"
"You know how I hate to let the grass grow under my feet."
Rowena wrote the letter. She had been much impressed by Marion's
personality and capability, and felt sure that if she agreed to go to
Abertarlie, she would not be a failure there. "And oh," she thought
with a little grimace of disgust at her own longing for the Highlands,
"why did he not offer me the job, instead of wishing to relegate me to
these useful philanthropical ladies of his acquaintance!"
CHAPTER V
A SATISFACTORY INTERVIEW
"The character of a generation is moulded by personal character."
Westcott.
ON the following Sunday Rowena met Mysie and her father at the doors of
the church which she attended. It was a quiet old-fashioned service,
and the congregation was not a fashionable one, but the preacher had an
arresting, quickening power of delivery, and he took the Bible alone
for his authority.
General Macdonald said when he came out:
"I don't as a rule feel at home in London churches, but that man has
the power of raising one from earth altogether."
"Oh, Dad!" expostulated Mysie. "I didn't feel that. I felt I was wedged
between the two people I love best in the world, and I longed to hug
you both!"
Rowena laughed at Mysie, but replied to the General:
"Yes, Canon Villars always takes me right away with him. He is a
wonderful mixture of practical common sense and mysticism."
"And do you never get your—your friend to come and hear him?"
"Once I did."
A shadow came over Rowena's face as she spoke. She had taken Mrs. Burke
there soon after they came to town, and the Canon had preached a very
scathing sermon on worldliness, and the unprofitableness of it. Mrs.
Burke had come away furiously indignant with him, and had refused to
set her foot inside the door ever again.
"Didn't she profit by it?"
"I am afraid not. His text was, 'Hear now then, thou that art given
to pleasures,' and he was very severe and convincing. But with some
people, most I should think, it is absolutely useless to tell them they
should give up all that they have; empty their hearts, before they know
how to fill them! Love draws, severity drives!"
"I don't quite agree," said General Macdonald. "In these days there is
too much laxity and forbearance with sin. But you must remember I have
centuries of Scotch training behind me."
"But in vulgar words, the 'proof of the pudding is in the eating.' That
sermon has kept Mrs. Burke from going to church ever since she heard
it."
"I wish you would leave her," said the General emphatically.
Rowena shook her head and changed the subject.
She began to tell him of Mrs. Burke's niece, and of the letters that
had been sent to her, and asked him if he would be willing to interview
her, if she would be able to come to town.
"And if Mrs. Burke asks you to dinner to meet her, will you come? I
hope you will."
"If I can meet her in a quiet way I shall be glad to do so."
"Now that is nice and friendly of you. I assure you that you will not
be shocked in any way."
Then with a little laugh she added:
"We want to see some good people sometimes, you know. They bring a
different atmosphere with them."
They took a turn together in the Park before Rowena went home. As they
parted he said:
"I hope you have a quiet Sunday. But it seems to be the fashion to
receive visitors all the afternoon. Even my old cousin does it."
"You will have to run away as I do if you want to be quiet," said
Rowena cheerfully.
She walked home with a little amusement as well as pity at the
General's inadaptability to his circumstances. "He is a man in one
groove," she said to herself. "I am sure he is much concerned at my
atmosphere surroundings; but after all, my business is not his, and he
has no right to try to manage my life."
The next day Mrs. Burke heard from her niece. "She is actually
coming," she told Rowena, "but only for a couple of nights, as she
is in charge whilst her mother is away. My dear, I am frightened of
her, and feel I should like to run away and leave her to you. I shall
scandalize her every minute of the day, I know; her very letter reeks
of righteousness!"
"Oh, don't!" expostulated Rowena in a pained tone. "You really do
respect sincerity and goodness in the bottom of your heart. Don't mock
at it."
"Well, I respect you. But you're not what I call sanctimonious. Now
write off to that good-looking old Scotchie, and ask him to dinner. Who
shall we have besides? Some one to frivol with me, I think."
"No, let us be alone for once."
"My dear, I shall be bored to tears. I shall go off to the theatre
then, and leave you to entertain them."
"That you can please yourself about. But I don't think it will be very
polite."
"Then I shall be as cross as two sticks—unless we can manage to shake
a little fun out of our guests. I haven't seen Marion since she was a
child in pinafores, but I can imagine she will be a repetition of her
mother."
Marion arrived in two days' time. Rowena was glad that Mrs. Burke was
dining out, for she had her to herself, and told her all she knew about
Mysie and her father.
Marion was a good-looking woman. Her clothes were shabby, but she had
a sweet face and a quantity of soft brown hair coiled round a shapely
little head. Rowena was satisfied that she would find favour in General
Macdonald's sight. They sat over the drawing-room fire and talked, and
Marion at last began to ask questions about her aunt.
"I don't feel at home in all this luxury," she said, "and yet I must
confess I like it. I cannot understand why my parents were so averse to
be helped in any way by Aunt Caroline. You say you are fond of her. She
cannot be wholly bad!"
"No," said Rowena, "she is not. She is one of the most kindhearted
creatures that I have ever come across, and—remember—she has known
what is good and right, and still keeps memories of her young days
packed away in her heart. She always tries to appear more empty-headed
and frivolous than she really is. And I believe that one day she will
search and find again what she has so carelessly thrown away. Bear this
in mind when you hear her talking."
Marion was tired with her journey and went early to bed. She did not
see her aunt till noon the next day. Her heart sank when she saw Mrs.
Burke's smart attire, and noted the powder and rouge on her smiling
good-natured face.
"Well, my dear, glad to see you! Rowena has made you welcome, and
you will see more of her than you will do of me, for I have a good
many engagements in town. Are you ready to go off to this immaculate
Highland lair? According to Rowena, the child is a perfect child, and
the father everything that an ordinary man is not. He is coming to
dinner with us to-night, and I advise you to take stock of him. Now
tell me about your father. How is he?"
"Not much better. The doctor says it is now only a question of weeks!"
"Dear me! How sad! But doctors are often mistaken. Now, my dear Marion,
have you a decent dinner dress? As my niece I like to see you nicely
dressed, and if you don't possess one, I will get Rowena to run you
round to the shops. There are wonderful ready-made little gowns at
Dalton & Lane's, and I think a nice dark velvet would suit you. Don't
trouble about the price. I have an account there and it will be booked
to me. And if you do come to terms, and agree to go off to Scotland,
you must have a suitable outfit. Rowena will see to it for me, I know."
Marion looked very uncomfortable. She tried to thank her aunt, but
Rowena saw that gentle though she was, she possessed a certain amount
of pride.
"A governess is always very quietly dressed, Aunt Caroline," she said,
"and I have been a resident governess before in quite good families. I
shall be able to get what I require."
"Well, I mean to give you a very quiet but handsome gown for dinner
parties. Rowena, take her out directly after luncheon."
And so it came to pass that when General Macdonald arrived that evening
he was introduced to a very sweet-looking, dignified woman in a brown
velvet gown which matched her brown eyes and hair. He came early, and
had an interview with her in Mrs. Burke's back drawing-room. There was
a light in his eyes, as he joined Rowena just before dinner, and had
the opportunity of speaking to her alone. "She'll do," he said. "I like
her extremely. A woman with religion and principle. She's willing to
come, but not just yet, I'm afraid—says she must wait till her mother
returns home. And she does not seem to know when that will be. She
has shown me any amount of certificates and references, but I know a
good woman when I see her, and I place that first; education comes
afterwards."
Dinner was a difficult time. Mrs. Burke was in her usual high spirits,
and rattled away in an astonishing fashion it seemed to her niece.
General Macdonald was courteous, but rather stiff, and Rowena strove
to bridge over awkward pauses and water down some of Mrs. Burke's rash
statements.
"I'm sure my niece is one of your sort," she informed the General. "You
Scotch people always take life seriously, and she has been brought up
in the old-fashioned orthodox style. Her family never has approved of
me."
"Why is it old-fashioned to take life seriously?" said General
Macdonald gravely. "Isn't life with all of us a very wonderful and
mysterious thing?"
"Oh, I have learnt to take things as I find them," said Mrs. Burke,
deliberately giving a slow wink to Rowena. "I'm not good at theology,
or at any of the other 'ologies. But I remember a maxim of Solomon's—or
one of the Bible sages: 'A man hath no better thing under the sun than
to eat and to drink and to be merry.' And I practise that every day of
my life."
"Oh, Aunt Caroline!" protested her niece.
"We have the story of one who practised that too in the Bible," said
General Macdonald, fixing a stern eye upon his hostess. "And his
summons to meet his God came like a thunderbolt to him."
"Yes, I think I used to be terrorized by that story when I was a
child," said Mrs. Burke with smiling indifference.
Rowena felt so nervous that she almost laughed, a habit which sometimes
overcame her against her will.
General Macdonald looked at her in pained surprise.
"I want you to tell Miss Panton about Abertarlie," she said, hurriedly
turning to him. "She has never been in Scotland before, and has no idea
of the solitude of some parts of the Highlands. Didn't you find an
eagle's nest on the crags above your house when you were a boy? Mysie
was telling me about it one day."
A smile came to the General's face at the memory of a very bright day
in his childhood; he began describing his home to Marion, and Rowena
turned to Mrs. Burke and talked nonsense with her for the rest of the
meal.
Things did not go much better in the drawing-room afterwards. Mrs.
Burke lit up her cigarette, offered the General one, which he declined,
and asked him if he would like a game of bridge. Then she told a
society scandal, and finally went to the piano and began trying over
some topical music-hall songs. Rowena saw that she was determined to
show her worst side to her guests, and General Macdonald's stern face
had the effect of egging her on.
She sat down by him presently and began talking to him about his child.
"What does a man know about a girl child!" she exclaimed. "Let me give
you a piece of sound advice. Give her her head whilst she is young,
don't blacken all earth's beauties and pleasures to her. If you tie
her up and confine her to one tiny rut, if you make her an obedient
follower of all your prejudices and vagrant fancies, she will break
away from you when she is older. It's like bottling up steam. Let the
young enjoy themselves, nature will have it so. I know what I'm talking
about, and I've seen many girls and boys come to utter grief because
their parents tried to make them into long-faced canting Puritans."
Then the General had his say:
"Madam, there are two classes in this world. Those who train their
children for Heaven, and those who train them for the Prince of this
world. I seek to train my child for her heavenly inheritance, and want
no advice from anyone but God Himself."
Mrs. Burke had nothing to say. She was strangely subdued for the rest
of the evening. She and General Macdonald parted from each other
courteously but coldly, and when he had gone she took hold of Rowena
and made her come upstairs to her room with her.
"Do you really like that stiff-starched Pharisee, Rowena? Don't tell me
that he is your ideal of a gentleman and a father! He's a strong man,
I admit. His eyes blazed when he turned upon me. I almost admired him
then. But, oh, I wouldn't be Marion for a hundred—a thousand pounds!
To be shut away in a lonely Scotch glen with a man of such views would
be purgatory to me. How did you stand it when you were ill? But of
course I feel he is disgusted and horrified by my ways. And with you he
is tenderly sympathetic and protective. My dear, his eyes never left
you. He watches for you to speak, and when you do, his eyes glisten
and soften as a lover's would do. Has he ever made love to you, eh?
I suppose he lives too close to heaven to have anything to do with
earthly love. Oh, how I hate your good people! How righteously superior
and complacently smug they all are! All except you! And why are you so
different? Why have you such love for such poor sinners as I and my
friends are? I do believe you have a sneaking love for me even when
I am outraging your sense of decency and delicacy, now haven't you?
Confess it!"
"I have more than a sneaking love for you," said Rowena warmly. "But
you annoy me most dreadfully when you set yourself to disgust and
alienate those who would be good friends to you if you would allow them
to be. You don't believe or mean half you say. Why do you delight in
making yourself out such an utterly worthless and empty-headed woman?"
"Because that is what I am, and no one knows it better than I do
myself. I am utterly worthless, Rowena, and one night I shall be
summoned to meet my Judge like the man who admonished his soul to eat,
drink, and be merry. You see I know all the Bible stories as well as
your pious friend does. I wish I didn't remember the Bible so well. We
were taught so much of it, and learnt so much of it by rote, that I
even now find whole passages and chapters coming into my mind."
"Then you will be comforted by it when you come to the deep waters,"
said Rowena.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you surely remember all the lovely promises in it, don't you?"
"They are not for me."
Rowena was silent. Mrs. Burke's face was pathetic, as it sometimes was
when a mood of despondency seized her. Rowena bent over and kissed her
with one of her warm, sweet kisses.
"I am praying every day for you," she said softly; "now good night, and
may you have pleasant dreams."
Mrs. Burke seized hold of Rowena by both hands. "I won't have you pray
for me. I forbid it. I won't be made uncomfortable. I want to be left
alone in peace. I believe you think you are going to bring me over to
your side. I like you, but I hate good people, and I've taken a real
dislike to that old General!"
"Good night," repeated Rowena, as she left the room.
Sometimes Mrs. Burke reminded her of a spoilt pettish child. She had to
be humoured and left alone.
The next day there was quite a consultation about Marion's future.
Mrs. Burke said that she ought to be ready to go to Scotland after the
Christmas holidays. "And if your mother has not returned by that time,
send me your nephew and nieces. I will look after them, and you can
shut the house up, or hand it over to the locum tenens. You can't keep
that old tartar waiting. I'm sorry for you to be housed with such a
cantankerous saint, but you'll suit him, and he'll suit you. Write and
tell him you'll be ready by the middle or end of January."
"Circumstances permitting," put in Rowena.
So Marion meekly did as she was told, writing at the same time to her
parents and telling them what she was doing. She left her aunt the
next day. Rowena felt she was relieved to go, and Mrs. Burke made no
pretence of her feelings.
"Oil and water will not mix. She opens her eyes in fright whenever I
begin to speak, and when I smoke she simply turns her head away as if
she cannot bear the sight of me. I have done my duty by her, and I get
no thanks for it. I hope she will never come here again!"
It was only two weeks afterwards that Mrs. Burke heard from her sister.
Her husband had died suddenly, and she was returning home after the
funeral.
"And I suppose she is left without a penny," was Mrs. Burke's comment.
"Well, it is none of my business. I shall wait and see what she does."
Rowena knew that help would be ready for the poor widow when she would
need it.
One afternoon General Macdonald came round to see her. Mrs. Burke
was out. Rowena was not very well. She had had a heavy cold, and
was only just out of her room. She was sitting over the fire in the
drawing-room, and a book was upon her lap.
"I am afraid this is a 'good-bye' visit," said the General. "Mysie will
run round to see you to-morrow, but I have business to do in the City,
and we leave by the night train to-morrow evening."
"I am sorry you are going," Rowena said frankly; "but you will be glad,
I know, for you don't like town."
"I think London is now as frivolous as Paris," said the General
gravely. "It is no pleasure to be in it."
"There are many circles," said Rowena thoughtfully. "In every big city
there is a certain section who are taking their pleasures madly, but
there is a great deal of good going on in a quiet way."
"You see good in every one," said the General with a smile; "even in
your giddy old friend with whom you live."
"Now, we won't talk about her. I feel so glad that you are going to
have Marion Panton. I am sure she will prove a success. She is devoted
to children and wins their love wherever she goes. I have seen letters
from some of her old pupils. They were most attached to her."
"Yes, I am grateful to you for the trouble you have taken."
He paused, and Rowena bent forward, a glint of laughter in her bright,
soft eyes:
"And don't frighten her too much by giving her your views of a child's
training! You sound so very alarming when you talk, and you are so
delightfully different when you act! Let yourself go sometimes, and
show her that you are human like the rest of us! Am I not impudent in
talking like this?"
For a moment the General's eyes held a gleam of corresponding amusement
in them, then he stood up, his back to the fire and his whole face full
of softened emotion:
"I really came to talk to you about something very important," he said.
"Will you give me a hearing?"
CHAPTER VI
THE LAIRD SPEAKS
"I held her hand, the pledge of bliss,
Her hand that trembled and withdrew;
She bent her head before my kiss,
My heart was sure that hers was true."
Landor.
ROWENA drew a long breath, then she said very quietly: "Of course I
will. I am all attention!"
"I want to refer again to that letter which I sent you before you went
to India, and which you never received. In it I asked you if you would
write regularly to me as a friend, and I felt then I had no right to
ask you if you could link your life to mine, because of my delicate
health, and because—I could not offer you the gift you deserve—the
offer of a first fresh love! I told you in the letter that if I did
not hear from you in response I should conclude you did not want our
acquaintance to deepen into warm friendship; and, not hearing, I
concluded you felt we must remain merely acquaintances. I have tried to
put you out of my thoughts. It is quite impossible. I know I am years
older than you, that I am a quiet humdrum sort of creature, who has
no attractive qualities for a bright young woman like yourself; but I
cannot help that. My child loves you, and I—well, you have been in my
heart and life from the first day I ever saw you, and I want your love
if you can give it to me. I want to take you away from this life you
are leading, back to Abertarlie. Will you give me the right to do it?"
Rowena's eyes were downcast. She did not speak for a moment. The rush
of happiness that came to her heart almost overcame her self-control.
She had striven for many a long day to put this friend out of her
thoughts. She had taken herself to task for thrilling all over when
he spoke or looked at her. She had schooled herself to consider that
he and she would always remain pleasant friends, but would never get
nearer each other. And now he cared—he had always cared!
He waited patiently; and then she looked up. Tears were glistening in
her eyes. She stretched out her hands to him.
"Here I am," she said simply; "to belong to you will be bliss, for you
have had my love for a long time."
"Really?"
He seemed as if he could not quite believe it. His humble diffidence
was most touching. Then he took her in his arms, and no further speech
was needed.
"If you had had that letter," he said presently, "you would never have
gone to live with Mrs. Burke. Rowena dearest, you must leave her at
once. I cannot bear to think of you continuing to live with her."
Rowena looked at him with her old sunny smile.
"Hugh,—you see your name comes quite easily to my lips; I am afraid I
have often called you by it in my heart before—if you love me, you must
trust me. Look me in the eyes, and tell me if you can."
"Who would not?" was his emphatic response.
"Then don't overpower me with your protecting love and care. I am not
a weak young girl. I have had to stand alone, and be a prop to others,
and think of their faltering steps before my own. And at present Mrs.
Burke is my mission in life. Your love won't shatter that to pieces."
"But you cannot enjoy her society."
"I am fond of her; and I want to help her back to the old paths in
which her feet once were. It is slow work, but she is beginning to
hanker after them. Her present life satisfies her less and less. You
must not tear me away from her just yet."
"I feel I want you at once; and I don't and I can't approve of your
home here."
"No; and it is difficult to make you understand. But we won't mar this
best hour in my life by talking of disagreeables. Do you know, I am
just a wee bit afraid of you? Am I to give up my own individuality and
freedom of soul if I link my life to yours? Am I to look-out upon the
world only through your eyes, and not through my own?"
"Never!" said the General fervently. "Your individuality is what has
drawn me to you. You have always done me good by your wise counsel.
I should have lost my child's affection had I not listened to you.
No, Rowena, I want you to be your own true dear fearless self always.
But—well, we will not discuss it now. You have made me too happy for
words. I feel as if I am beginning life again, as if I have been
walking under a forest of dark gloomy impenetrable trees, and have just
emerged into glorious sunshine!"
"I believe tea is coming in," said Rowena demurely. "It's a pity we
still have to eat and drink. Will you stay to tea, General Macdonald?"
The butler was in the room. The General looked as if he wished him
farther, but his time alone with Rowena was over. Mrs. Burke returned
home, bringing two young men and a girl with her, and General Macdonald
promptly took his leave. As his hand touched Rowena's he said:
"When shall we see you? I won't send Mysie round now. May I call
to-morrow, after I have done my business, and will you come to lunch
with us? I will bring an invitation from my old cousin when I come."
She nodded to him brightly, then turned to help entertain Mrs. Burke's
visitors. But she was rather dreamy and silent, and Mrs. Burke's quick
eyes perceived it.
When they were alone together later she said:
"What has that old fusty friend of yours been saying to you? Something
unpleasant about me I don't doubt."
"No; indeed he has not. We hardly mentioned you."
Rowena felt she could not announce her engagement till she had had some
quiet time to herself. She was longing to get away into the solitude of
her own room, but Mrs. Burke went on talking. If she had no visitors
she liked to chat with Rowena over the fire between tea and dinner. She
enjoyed talking over all her doings of the day, and making fresh plans
for the morrow.
"I shall be quite glad when that man takes his departure. I think I
feel jealous of him. I don't like him hanging round you as he does. Is
he going to-morrow?"
"Yes—to-morrow evening."
Rowena stared into the fire as she spoke. Mrs. Burke looked at her
sharply; then went on:
"I think we must leave town next week. It is getting near Christmas,
and I mean to have a big house-party this year. You will be glad, I
know. How you hate town, don't you?"
"It is always such a rush," Rowena said. "You make me breathless. I
cannot keep pace with you. And I don't feel so young as you do. I get
so tired."
"I'm rather tired myself," Mrs. Burke admitted; "but I'm only tired
when I'm doing nothing. Now, to-morrow morning I'm going to drive the
Carlton Hughes down to Richmond in a car—we shall lunch there. But I've
promised to go to the matinée at Chelsea for the Poor Actors' Fund, so
I must be back early. Would you like to come with me?"
"Not unless you really want me."
"I can do without you. I've asked Lady Goring and her brother to
dinner, and the Yates, and I think Mr. Wales is coming in afterwards
with his violin—I've asked him professionally. Lady Goring is mad on
music, and so is her brother. He has just returned from India, rather
a nice man. You'll see to the table decorations, won't you? The new
parlour maid is such a fool—she's no ideas in the floral line."
"Oh, I'll see to the dinner; and I shall have a quiet day to myself,"
said Rowena contentedly. "Don't you think we had better write and let
Mrs. Gates know we are returning to the Court so soon? She will want to
get things ready."
"Yes; write to her to-morrow."
The talk went on. At last the dressing-bell rang, and Rowena was free.
She went up to her room and sank into a chair before her fire. She
could hardly believe, even now, how her whole future life would become
altered by the event of the afternoon.
She realized that responsibilities and cares would mingle with the
vista of sunshine and joy that lay before her. She wondered how Mysie
would take the news.
"She loves me now; but she is also most devoted to her father. Will
she think that I shall step in between them? I hope not. I hope that
she will be willing to have me as a stepmother. Perhaps it is a good
thing that she is still so young. A few years later, and it would be
very difficult with a grown-up daughter. I don't think I should have
the courage to go through it! And yet I don't know; with Hugh at my
side I feel I would do and dare anything. It is wonderful to have got
his love. He has always seemed a little unapproachable. I must make him
unbend. I will—I must, for his own sake, get him to be less stern and
autocratic. I dare say I shall have a few pitched battles with him.
But it is his strength and determination that I love so. I wonder if
we shall quarrel over Mrs. Burke? I will not be rushed into a hasty
marriage; he must wait my time." Then she remembered that she had not
mentioned the invitation to lunch which was coming for her. "I must
tell her to-night, and get it over. It is of no use to hide it."
So after dinner Rowena said:
"I forgot to tell you that General Macdonald wants me to go round to
lunch with them to-morrow. He may call here himself in the morning."
"Ah! This is your quiet day! Rowena, is there anything between you?"
Rowena sat in her low chair with her hands clasped loosely round her
knees. She turned towards Mrs. Burke with a glow upon her cheeks as she
said:
"I hope you won't be vexed if I tell you that there is."
"I knew it! It is my fate! Oh, I wish I had never brought you to
town, and then you would never have met him! I felt from the first
he was determined to take you from me!" Mrs. Burke got up from her
chair and paced the floor furiously. "I hate him!" she burst forth. "A
narrow-minded bigot! He condemns every one who doesn't think alike with
him. He will rule you and keep you under his thumb, and be a despotic
tyrant. How can you be such a fool as to marry him? Don't you value
your liberty and independence? Is it all settled?"
"We have loved each other for a long time," said Rowena. "You must
remember I knew him before I met you."
Mrs. Burke came back to her seat.
"I feel inclined to blubber like a baby. I can't let you go, Rowena.
Are you going to leave me at once?"
"No; indeed I am not."
"I believe if you had stayed with me you could have done anything
with me," said Mrs. Burke helplessly. "I don't know how it is, but I
have said to myself more than once, 'It is no good for you to resist,
Rowena means to drag you after her into heaven itself.' And I've been
wretched. I confess to you I have. You've never preached to me; but
just a word here and a word there—it's been like the dropping of water
upon a stone. I've stifled my conscience and gone desperately on; but
the honest truth is that I am getting old and tired, and would give
worlds to have the peace and rest of soul which you have. Now I don't
care! If you leave me I shall plunge along in the old way. I never
thought I could get so fond of anyone as I have of you. I feel I could
kill that gaunt grey man who has come here making love to you behind
my back. I know his sort. He has an iron will, and can make you do
anything he chooses. And I beg you to count the cost, and consider
calmly while you have your senses in your own possession, whether this
contemplated marriage of yours will be a success. I know men better
than you do, and I know this Scotchman. I knew him by repute. He did
not make his first wife very happy. He ignored and neglected his child,
till he was shamed into doing something for her. She was being brought
up as a little savage; his cousin, Mrs. Graeme, told me all about it.
And he'll crush your spirit and lead you the life of the condemned. Let
him marry Marion. She's the sort for him. The kind of woman who would
black his boots and lie down for him to tread upon her. But you have
character and a will of your own. You will never be happy with him. Do,
I beseech you, reconsider it, and tell him you can't marry him!"
Mrs. Burke paused for breath.
Rowena leant towards her and took her hand in hers.
"My dear Mrs. Burke, I can't help being grateful to you for your
affection. But you really don't know Hugh Macdonald, as I do, or as
my brother did. You must remember he is an old friend of my family's.
I won't discuss his character with you. You are doing him great
injustice, and he would make any woman happy—of that I am assured."
"Not me!" put in Mrs. Burke emphatically.
Rowena laughed; she could not help it.
"No; I cannot fancy you and him pulling together. But I shall be more
than content. Don't let us talk any more of my engagement. I am not
leaving you at present. We will go down to Minley and have a nice
Christmas together. Don't let us look on too far into the future. You
have made me very happy to-night."
"How?" asked Mrs. Burke in a bewildered tone.
"Oh, it was something you said. You are turning round with wistful eyes
to the old road on which your feet once travelled. And you will soon be
back there again. Now forgive me, but I'm going to quote a prophet's
words: 'Stand in the ways, and see and ask for the old paths, where is
the good way and walk them, and ye shall find rest for your souls.' You
are standing now and seeing. The rest will follow."
"Ridiculous girl!" Mrs. Burke moved restlessly in her seat as she
spoke. Then she said: "You have a way of getting confessions out of
me, and then you turn and rend me with your Bible verses. People don't
believe in the Bible nowadays. It is only a collection of Eastern
sages' sayings."
"I used not to believe in it, until I began to read it. You have
only to read it, and read it, and read it by itself, without any
commentaries or other books which justify its divinity, to be certain
that it is inspired. It begins to feed and nourish your soul at once in
the most wonderful way. I have proved it."
"And now your sermon is ended," said Mrs. Burke, with a forced laugh,
"and we will go to bed edified by it. And to-morrow you will have to
hear more of my opinions concerning your Scotch General. I am glad to
hear you do not intend leaving me at present. Perhaps the fates will
intervene, and he may meet with some accident or illness which will
take him to the sphere for which he is fitted. He is certainly not
fitted for this one."
Rowena felt it useless to protest. She knew and understood Mrs.
Burke too well to be hurt or offended by her words, and she realized
that she was talking recklessly to hide her feelings. She kissed her
affectionately when she wished her good night, and Mrs. Burke had the
grace to be ashamed of herself.
"You will have to go over to your sister-in-law to tell her the news.
She will give you the sympathy you ought to have. You can't expect me
to like it, if it means that you are going to leave me."
By mutual instinct they both avoided the subject of her engagement the
next day. Mrs. Burke went down to Richmond, and about twelve o'clock
General Macdonald appeared, his cousin's note in his hand.
Rowena was ready for him. In her dark green cloth coat and skirt, with
sable furs, a present from the generous Mrs. Burke, and a green velvet
picture hat, she looked very handsome and dignified. But her radiantly
happy face as she turned towards him made him exclaim as he greeted her:
"Oh, Rowena, I hope I shall be worthy of you!"
"Now, I must make a stipulation that I have no more speeches of that
sort," she said, laughing. "Let us both consider ourselves the best of
human beings. It will give us such a nice satisfied, comfortable sort
of feeling. Have you told Mysie?"
"In a kind of way."
"How did she take it?"
"She was of course overjoyed at the prospect. You don't think she would
object?"
"She might. Stepmothers are not popular with children."
"Oh, I didn't go into details. Have you told your old lady?"
"Yes. She is not very pleased."
"I can understand that. Don't you think you and I could walk into
some quiet church here and have the marriage service to ourselves? I
don't want to hurry you, but Mysie is expecting you at Abertarlie for
Christmas."
A flush came into Rowena's cheeks. That prospect seemed so alluring;
but she shook her head.
"I cannot leave Mrs. Burke so soon. I am spending Christmas with her at
her country house. We must wait a little longer."
General Macdonald looked disappointed. He called a taxi, and they
drove off to Eton Place. Mysie had been watching out for them at the
drawing-room window, and came dancing out into the hall. Rowena kissed
her very lovingly.
"Oh," the little girl exclaimed as she hugged her tight, "Dad says
you're coming to stay with us. What does it mean? Are you going to be
my governess? Cousin Bel seems so mysterious about it, and Dad wouldn't
tell me properly."
She was taking Rowena up to the drawing-room now, which was empty. For
a moment they were alone, as General Macdonald had stopped to take some
letters from the old butler.
Rowena put her hand under Mysie's chin and turned her face upwards.
"Now you and I are going to be quite fair and square, Flora. How would
you like me to come and live with you and Dad for always?"
Mysie's blue eyes gleamed.
"But why haven't you done it before? I've always been telling Dad that
you ought to. And then cousin Bel said the other day that it would not
be proper. Such ridic'lous nonsense!"
"I could only do it one way," said Rowena softly, "and that would be by
marrying your Dad. He wants me to do it. What do you say?"
Mysie gave a delighted yell.
"Then you'd belong to us for ever and ever! Oh, Mignon, it would be
heavenly! And you and I would go and see the fairies' hills; and we'd
tell each other stories by the fire when Dad was out; and—oh, I think I
could scream for joy at the thought of it! You'd always be there when I
wanted you, and you'd help me and love me always. Why didn't Dad tell
me the whole of it, not just a little bit? I thought you were only
coming for a visit."
Rowena's heart felt as light as a feather. She could say no more, for
General Macdonald appeared, leading in his old cousin, Mrs. Peale, who
greeted her very warmly.
"Very glad to see you, my dear. Your name is quite familiar to me; and
now I have seen you I quite understand why I have heard so much about
you. Hugh is to be congratulated."
"And I think I am, too," said Rowena, smiling.
They had a pleasant lunch together. Mysie was in the greatest delight,
and chattered incessantly about all that Rowena would have to do and
see at Abertarlie. Mrs. Peale checked her at last.
"My dear child, we don't want to hear any more about that wonderful
Highland home of yours. I shall advise Miss Arbuthnot to live half the
year in London—certainly the greater part of the winter she ought to be
here."
"But she loves the Highlands; don't you, Mignon?"
"I adore them, Flora. Sometimes a bit of bracken or the smell of a wood
fire will give me a whiff of the sweet Highland air, and then I forget
everything and everybody, for my soul flies over there at once, and my
body sits with a daft smile, deaf to every one till my soul comes back
again."
Mysie clapped her hands.
"Yes, and now you'll belong to us altogether."
When lunch was over Mrs. Peale insisted upon Mysie going upstairs to
the drawing-room with her, leaving the General and Rowena alone.
And they had a delightful hour together.
"It will be the first time that I return home regretfully," General
Macdonald said; "but if you are leaving town at once, I should not have
seen much more of you."
"No; we must just be patient. When the New Year comes perhaps we can
make plans. Do you expect to hear from me?"
"Need you ask?"
"I am not very good at writing letters, but I shall write to you in my
quiet times."
General Macdonald was standing looking down upon her. How he loved
her low mellow voice and her happy laugh. As she raised her glowing
mischievous eyes to him now, he just stooped and enclosed her face
between his two hands.
"Rowena, I feel as if I cannot part from you. I don't think you know
how impatience has seized my soul, and I do want to get you out of Mrs.
Burke's clutches. How long are you going to keep me waiting?"
"Until I can provide her with a nice substitute. I want to get a
great-niece of hers to come and live with her. If I am successful, I
shall not mind leaving her. I promise to write and tell you everything
that is going on, even how many At Homes and parties I attend in the
week." Then he gently released herself. "I won't tease you," she said.
"I assure you I live a very normal life when we are in the country.
Very much the sort of life that you do at Abertarlie."
"Oh," he said, drawing a long breath, "what a lot of things we shall
have to discuss together when you come down there, and how you will
help me in some of my plans for the good of the people round!"
Time slipped away only too soon. Rowena had to return to Mrs. Burke's
early, and the General and Mysie both accompanied her to the door. She
wished them good-bye there; and after they had left her, she felt a
sudden depression of spirit seize her.
"I could have gone to Geraldine for Christmas, got my things ready
and married him in the New Year. Why do I cling on to Mrs. Burke so?
I shall have to leave her sooner or later. I suppose it is my lack of
courage in tackling anything disagreeable. But I do feel awfully sorry
for her. She is like a child who has always had her own way."
CHAPTER VII
AN ACCIDENT
"We cannot well forget the hand that holds
And pierces us and will not let us go,
However much we strive from under it.
The heavy pressure of a constant pain ...
Is it not God's own very finger-tips
Laid on thee in a tender steadfastness?"
Hamilton King.
"MY dear Mrs. Burke, you are never going out this afternoon?"
Rowena looked up from a newspaper which she was reading. She was
toasting her feet over a roaring wood fire in Mrs. Burke's pleasant
morning-room at Minley Court. It was three o'clock in the afternoon.
Outside the house, a storm of wind and rain was raging. For three days
the weather had been so bad that they had been confined to the house.
The rain was not quite so violent now, but after luncheon Mrs. Burke
had told Rowena she was going to lie down in her room, with a novel,
till tea-time.
"There is nothing else to do," she had mournfully complained.
Now she burst open the door attired in an old tweed hat and in her fur
coat.
"Yes; I'm going out," she said. "I couldn't stand my book, and I
couldn't sleep; so I thought I'd go over to Vi and Di. I haven't seen
them yet; and I've ordered out the car. And I may go on and look up the
Sheringhams. I want the Colonel for my theatricals, on Boxing night."
"I don't expect Vale likes the prospect of driving in this storm," said
Rowena, looking at her friend with some dismay in her eyes. "Are you
wise in going? You have a slight cold."
"I shall be under cover, so will Vale."
"It will soon be dark, remember."
"What of that? We have lamps."
"I wish I was better at amusing you," said Rowena, with a twinkle of
humour. "You are the sort that would appreciate a house fool, like the
royalties used to have. He would keep you in the house an afternoon
like this, by sitting at your feet and by amusing you with stories and
songs and clever wit. I am too dull for you, and that's the fact. If
I had only known you were bored with your book, I would have rummaged
through Mudie's box and brought you another."
"Oh, you're all right," said Mrs. Burke, patting her shoulder
affectionately. "When I come in, I want to look through my gowns for
a suitable one for me in the character of Lady Teazle. Your taste is
so good that you will help me in that. Don't wait tea for me. I may be
late."
Rowena came to the front door to see her off. The wind made a
determined onslaught upon them directly the door was opened. The butler
helped Mrs. Burke down the steps, holding an umbrella over her to
keep off the driving rain. She waved her hand airily to Rowena when
she was in the car, and Rowena went back to her comfortable seat by
the fire. Her idle time was over; she had an hour's work before her,
finishing Mrs. Burke's correspondence for the day. But she was writing
letters now of great interest to her. One was to Mrs. Panton, Mrs.
Burke's sister, to enclose a Christmas cheque, and to ask her to let
her grandchildren come to Minley Court for part of their holidays. Also
to suggest to her to come down to the South of England, where schools
were cheap, and where she could sometimes be seen by her sister. They
were selling their furniture at the Vicarage, and Marion was going to
Scotland the last week in January.
When Rowena had finished her work for Mrs. Burke, she began writing
letters for herself.
She had seen her sister-in-law before leaving town, and she was, of
course, delighted with her engagement. Now she wrote to her telling her
she hoped to come to her for a week after the New Year to talk over her
coming marriage; and lastly she wrote her letter to General Macdonald.
They kept up a brisk correspondence with each other, and his letters
revealed more of his real self than did any of his conversation. He
possessed the Scotch reserve, in talking, which disappeared in his
letters.
Rowena wrote to him with gladness in her eyes and smile.
"MY DEAREST,—"
"Your letter is before me. It arrived in a howling, blustering storm,
when outside all was cheerless and grey; and it warmed my heart, as
your letters always do, and made me feel as if the sun was shining out
upon a gloriously happy world. Dear Hugh! May I prove worthy of such
love as yours. Only don't, I beseech you, place me on a high pedestal.
I assuredly shall have a tumble if you do; and I want to keep my feet,
for Mysie's sake as well as your own. As you are greedy for all details
in my daily life I will proceed to describe my day—"
She had only got this far when Dodge, the butler, appeared, ostensibly
to close up for the night, as it was getting dark, and to bring in tea;
but he moved about so uneasily that at last Rowena looked up.
"The storm seems getting worse again," she remarked.
"It does, ma'am; and I wish the mistress were back. The postman says
the bridge across Minley Weir is getting shaky. He thinks it unsafe.
The river is terribly high."
"They'll have to go round by Tanbury if they can't pass it," said
Rowena.
He said no more; but when her tea was brought in, and she heard the
howling wind and the torrents of rain which were falling, she grew
anxious. It was a pitch-dark night. Supposing that Vale, the chauffeur,
was not told about the unsafe condition of the bridge? She knew he was
a fast driver, and Mrs. Burke had more than once remarked that he was
not cautious enough. If they dashed over the bridge and it gave way,
there would be an awful accident, and the weir was only ten minutes'
walk from there.
Rowena shuddered. She began to long that Mrs. Burke was home; then she
wished that she had accompanied her. Time went on, an hour passed, then
two; and then Rowena expressed her fears to Dodge.
"Couldn't some of the men in the stables go down to the bridge and see
if it is all right? I wish we had thought of it before. They could at
least have hung up a warning light."
"Webster did go off half an hour ago, ma'am; and he took the two stable
lads with him."
"Oh, I am glad. Of course, Mrs. Burke may have stayed with the Miss
Dunstans. They have sometimes kept her for the night; but she would
have sent a message to us, and we ought to have had it by this time."
There was a slight bustle in the hall. Dodge hastened out, and Rowena
followed him. There at the door was Mrs. Burke, streaming wet, the
footman and Webster, her coachman, were supporting her in their arms.
She was blue with cold, but looked up at Rowena with a glimmer of a
smile, though her teeth chattered in her head as she spoke.
"I've had a ducking, and I'm frozen through. Get me to bed."
They did not take very long to do that. Rowena asked no questions,
she rolled her up in hot blankets, gave her brandy-and-water, put
hot bottles to her feet, and she and her maid rubbed her all over to
restore her circulation. Then, when she was thoroughly comfortable,
Rowena sat down by her, and Mrs. Burke began to talk.
"Don't stop me, I feel I must speak. People tell me luck is always
with me. Why I am not lying drowned under the weir at this moment is
the marvel. That fool of a man drove right into the river: part of the
bridge had been washed away; and over we went, and the awful part was I
couldn't get out. The car plunged its nose downwards, but stuck between
some bits of timber, and there I was pinned. I clung to my seat, and
the water came in right up to my shoulder, but not over my head. I
yelled, but no one came to, my rescue, and it seemed to me I was there
hours, and at last I heard footsteps and voices, and I think I must
have done a little faint, for I remember nothing more till I was being
carried up the steps here. Where is Vale?"
"He is safe," said Rowena. "They say he jumped off, but was lying
unconscious on the bank when Webster found him. He struck his head
against one of the posts of the bridge, they think."
"He'd better have the doctor."
"Webster will see to him. Lie still. You have had a marvellous escape.
We must thank God for it."
But Mrs. Burke would not lie still. She seemed feverish and excited.
"My dear Rowena, I've been in purgatory. I really have. Now I know
what it is to be left alone with your sins, and death staring you in
the face. It was like a torture trick, to be bottled up in that car,
slowly drowning in the dark, and not being able to get out of it. The
water was rushing and whirling outside at such a rate that I dare say
it was as well I could not get out—I should only have been carried over
the weir. Well, you tell me I never give myself time to think; I've
had the time to-day; and I was dumb, Rowena, and stupefied. An awful
Bible verse came into my mind and stuck there. 'What wilt thou say when
He shall punish thee?' What could I say? Nothing—I had cast away my
confidence. And I knew I might be in the other world at any moment. I
felt the car being gradually sucked down."
She shivered. Rowena looked a little anxiously at her bright eyes and
flushed cheeks.
"Don't think any more about it now, but try to sleep," she said
soothingly.
"I can't sleep. Why was I left to hang between life and death for so
long?"
Rowena was silent, then she bent over her.
"I am sure you ought to sleep. Let me give you a verse for you to sleep
on: I will heal their backsliding, I will love them freely.'"
Mrs. Burke gave a little impatient snort.
Rowena added—
"I am going to send Phillips to watch by you whilst I go and see how
Vale is. Do try to sleep, dear. Are you warm now?"
"I have been badly scared and shaken," said Mrs. Burke, trying to speak
indifferently; "but I shall be myself to-morrow."
Rowena bent down and kissed her, then slipped out of the room.
She found that Vale was recovering, but she wrote a note to the doctor,
for she did not like the look of Mrs. Burke, and she asked him to come
over early the next morning.
When the next day arrived, Mrs. Burke was tossing on her bed in agony,
and before very long, she was in the throes of rheumatic fever. It was
so severe that she had to be wrapped in cotton wool from head to foot,
and two nurses were brought in by the doctor to attend to her.
Rowena spent most of her time in the sick-room. All the Christmas
festivities had to be postponed. At one time the doctor thought his
patient would not pull through. He told Rowena that her heart would not
bear the strain of the attack. But she rallied wonderfully, and her
constant cry through both her conscious and unconscious times was that
Rowena should be close to her.
"Keep death away from me, if you can," she whispered once. "Pray. You
will be heard. I sha'n't."
Rowena never left off praying that her life might be spared. On
Christmas Day she lay very weak, but perfectly conscious.
"What a Christmas you are having, poor child!" she murmured, looking up
into Rowena's face with a flicker of a smile. "Have my sister's young
people arrived?"
"No," said Rowena; "I put them off. The doctor said I had better do so."
"That's a pity; but it would be dull for them. Does the doctor think
I'm on the mend?"
"Oh, yes—decidedly."
"It's going to be a long business, eh?"
"I am afraid so."
"How is the General? I thought of him when I was in the river. I made
sure my summons had come. 'Soul, this night—' You know how it goes on.
But it didn't come."
"No," said Rowena softly; "God wanted you here."
"I shall be no good to anyone. I wonder why I was given a fresh lease
of life?"
"To live to His glory," said Rowena quickly.
She said no more, for she knew that Mrs. Burke must be kept absolutely
quiet and not excited in any way. The sick woman moved her head
restlessly on her pillow.
"If He would only put me out of pain. I can't think, when red-hot wires
are pulling me in every direction!"
It was long before she was able to leave her bed. Rowena was horrified
to see how twisted and swollen her joints were, and she spoke to the
doctor about it. He looked grave.
"My dear Miss Arbuthnot, I'm afraid she will never be the same woman
again. For a long time she has overtaxed her strength, and lived too
fast for health; and now this rheumatism has come to stay, and her
heart is much affected by it."
"Yet you have told her she will recover."
"I think she may live many years yet; but she must be content with a
quiet invalid's life. She will, I fear, always be crippled."
"Oh, how dreadful! She has been such an active woman. How will she bear
it?"
"As many others have borne it. Pluck is not lacking in her composition."
"She is always asking when she will be well again. You must break it to
her."
"I would rather leave it to you," said the doctor, with a little rueful
smile. "You manage her better than we do."
And so it came to pass that, two or three weeks later, Rowena got her
chance; and when Mrs. Burke said impatiently that, if the doctor could
not cure her quicker she would go up to town for special treatment, she
answered her.
"I wonder if you realize how very, very ill you have been?"
"I should think I do. They say I never do things by halves; and I've
never been ill in my life before, so I have done the job pretty
thoroughly now!"
"Rheumatic fever generally leaves its effects behind," Rowena went on.
"I am afraid you will be no exception to the rule."
"What do you mean?"
Real fright showed itself in Mrs. Burke's eyes.
Rowena leant forward and took one of her poor swollen hands in hers.
"You have never shirked difficulties, or even danger, have you? Can you
be brave if I tell you what every doctor would fear in your case?"
"Go on. For goodness' sake don't beat about the bush."
"The fear is that you may never wholly get the use of your limbs again.
You are getting better, and you will be able to walk soon, I hope, with
the help of a stick; but you must make up your mind to lead a quiet
life and be more or less of an invalid."
"Rubbish! I won't make up my mind to it. I will resist with all
the power that is in my body against such a verdict. I shall go to
Harrogate. I have seen cripples cured there. I shall go abroad to the
baths. I will travel all over the world before I'll lie down under such
an infamous assertion."
"You see, you cannot do the cures because of the weakness of your
heart."
Mrs. Burke laughed scornfully.
"So this old molly of a doctor says. Now make arrangements for the best
specialist on rheumatism to come down and see me. I will make him tell
me a different tale to that. Write at once, Rowena; don't lose a post."
"But," said Rowena, with a little helpless laugh, "whom can I write to?
I must ask Dr. Hole to give me the name of one."
"Telephone to the little wretch at once, then."
Rowena went to the telephone in the hall. She came back presently with
the name of a specialist, and as Mrs. Burke happened to know of him, he
was summoned at once.
In two days' time he arrived. But he could not give her much hope.
"If you were ten years younger, madam, you would have a better chance.
As it is, time may be kind to you, and you may to a great extent get
the better of the disease. I should hope for it, if I were you; and you
will find that you can still enjoy life quietly and peacefully."
"My good man, I hate quiet and peace! I loathe a quiet life! There, say
no more, I never did think much of doctors; and if they can't manage to
make a cure of a strong healthy woman like myself, well, they're not of
any account at all."
She was so furiously angry that she brought on a heart attack, and lay
like a frightened exhausted child an hour later. But when she recovered
she said no more on the subject, and for several days was very quiet
and subdued.
Then, one sunny afternoon towards the end of February, as she lay on
her couch by her bedroom window looking down upon the spring bulbs in
the beds below, she called Rowena to her.
"I want to have a real good talk with you. Come and sit down and give
me your whole undivided attention. I'm thankful to have got rid of
those nurses at last. They were always coming in and interrupting if I
happened to get you to myself for a moment or two. And you're rather an
elusive sort of creature sometimes, Rowena. You've had such splendid
chances of preaching to me on the vanity of life, and the iniquities of
my past, and the judgment that has descended upon me, and you've never
taken them."
"I'm not good at preaching," said Rowena; "but I have prayed for you
hard."
"I know you have. But now I want a thorough good sermon from you. I'm
ready and waiting for it. Begin." Rowena smiled.
"What is it you want to be told? You know your Bible as well as I do."
"I want to be told," said Mrs. Burke very slowly and impressively, "how
my present life can be made bearable. You tried to take away my zest
for the life I loved when you first came to me. Now I want you to give
me zest for this changed life of mine. Can you do it?"
"I don't think I can," said Rowena slowly and thoughtfully; "but I can
tell you how to get it. Why should your life be emptier now than it has
been? On the contrary, you can make it much fuller."
"My dear, when a woman of my age becomes a hopeless, helpless invalid
she drops out of everything. Her friends will write letters of
condolence. As you know, I have had a good many already, and some
of them will come over and see me for a week or two, then they will
go their way and forget all about me. Their lives are too much in a
rush to remember me. I remember a very young woman. I was very fond
of her—struck down by a kind of paralysis. I saw her once after the
illness, but never again. It was too painful, and I was too busy. That
is how I shall be treated now by my most intimate friends. You see I am
looking the thing in the face. Now, what is going to sustain me through
this lean time? How can I get through it cheerfully and happily, when
everything that I live for has been swept away from me at one fell
swoop?"
"You'll never do it. It is an impossibility," said Rowena soberly; "if
you still persist in living your life apart from God."
"Ah! now here comes the sermon. Proceed. Do you think I am going to
creep to the feet of the Almighty because I am in trouble?"
"It is your proper rightful place," said Rowena firmly. "You used to be
happy in His service—you have acknowledged it. You have tried, like the
Prodigal, to feed your soul on husks, and you have been brought very
low. There is nothing for it but for you to come home with that cry on
your lips, 'Father, I have sinned.'"
There was silence in the room, then Mrs. Burke said in a strangely
gentle tone for her:
"I told you in town that I was getting old and tired, didn't I? That I
envied you the comfort you get out of your religion. Now I lie on my
couch here and I think and think and think until I nearly go mad. Do
you honestly think, having cast away my confidence, that I can ever
get it again? There's an awful verse—I looked it up on the sly this
morning when I was alone—it's in Hebrews. It says it's impossible for
those who've once had the real thing and have fallen away to come back
again—to renew them again unto repentance. What do you say to that?"
"What do you make of the parable of the lost sheep?" Rowena said. "Our
Saviour told that Himself, and He gave two other instances in the same
chapter. There were the lost sheep, the lost bit of money, and the lost
son. Dear Mrs. Burke, if you want to return to your rightful Owner, do
you think He will refuse to take you? Don't you remember this verse
spoken to the people who had forsaken God for idolatry: 'Return, thou
backsliding Israel, saith the Lord, and I will not cause Mine anger
to fall upon you: for I am merciful, saith the Lord, and I will not
keep anger for ever. Only acknowledge thine iniquity, that thou hast
transgressed against the Lord thy God.'"
"How can you remember so much of the Bible?"
"I love it," said Rowena simply. "I am always reading it. If you
started to read it, you would find it would tell you all you want to
know."
"I suppose I may as well tell you that when I was seeing death so close
to me out of the car windows, when we stuck in the river, that I was
in such a funk that I vowed a vow—I really did. I promised to alter my
life, if it was spared. I suppose I shall have to do it."
"Then if you have made up your mind to do that, you'll end by being a
very happy woman," said Rowena. "And you don't want any more sermons
from me, for you know what will bring peace to your soul."
They sat very silent then for some time. This was only one of the
many serious talks they had together. Rowena marvelled at the gentle
childishness which Mrs. Burke showed in these conversations, and then
one day she told Rowena that she had begun to pray again.
"I find it much more difficult than I used to do, so many doubts come
into my head. But I just go on, and I feel better, after a bit. I want
to make my peace with God. If He'll be willing to take just these last
failing years of my life, I'm willing to hand myself over to His care."
Rowena at times could hardly believe that this was Mrs. Burke who was
speaking. She had never thought the change in her life could come so
quietly and gently.
But it was the fact, and before very long Mrs. Burke was able to say,
with a happy shining face, that she believed she was forgiven and
received back within the fold.
Rowena loved this quiet time of convalescence. She devoted herself to
the invalid, and though her thoughts were often in the Highlands, she
was content and happy to be where she was.
She knew that the purpose of her stay with Mrs. Burke had now been most
wonderfully fulfilled.
CHAPTER VIII
AN ALTERED OUTLOOK
"In any repentance I have joy—such joy
That I could almost sin to seek for it."
Clough.
"WELL, I've come over at last! I heard that Mrs. Burke was receiving
visitors."
It was Vi Dunstan who spoke, and Rowena replied: "She has only seen the
rector as yet, but I'm sure she will be glad to see you."
"What an awful thing it is! Di and I have been quite upset over her;
but we hate sickness in any shape or form, and always keep away from
it. We hear the poor thing will never be the same again. Is it true?"
"That is quite true. But you will find her very cheery. Come along.
It does her good to see visitors. She will know then that you haven't
quite forgotten her!"
"We think it's partly our fault for not keeping her for the night that
awful day. It was such a ghastly accident."
Rowena led the way upstairs. It was March now, but Mrs. Burke had not
yet left her rooms. A room adjoining her bedroom had been furnished as
a sitting-room, and she was carried in there every morning, where she
lay on her couch, as she was still unable to walk.
Vi greeted her affectionately, and Rowena left them alone. Mrs. Burke
had often wondered that neither of the girls had been over to see her.
"You look better than I expected," Vi said, after she had expressed her
sympathy. "I don't believe anything would ever upset your serenity. You
look jollier than ever. You must hurry up and get well. Di and I were
saying that this part stagnates unless you are down here to stir us up
and keep us going!"
"I shan't be able to do that any more," said Mrs. Burke gravely.
"Never say die! Rheumatism is a thing that comes and goes, doesn't it?"
"It won't leave me, I am afraid. I wonder how much you care about me,
Vi? I don't expect you'll understand, but an accident like mine makes
one think. I've stared death in the face, and it has altered my life. I
see now that this world isn't enough. I want another."
Vi gave an embarrassed laugh.
"I can't fancy your taking to Pi jaw! How you've always mocked at such
things!"
"And now I'm going to love them and uphold them," said Mrs. Burke
with emphasis. "If you give me a wide berth because of it, I shall
understand, but I hope you won't. I shan't preach to you; I shall
only try to live out my religion. The fact is, Vi, I used to believe
in these things once, and then I gave it all up, and it made me extra
bitter and reckless against the people who believed in it still. Of
course, you'll say I've taken to religion, because I've had to give up
all my gaieties. It does seem mean, on the face of it. But I only know
that I am twice as happy as I ever was before."
"You look A 1," said Vi.
She seemed slightly uncomfortable at this talk.
"Of course, I know who's talked you over," she said, after a minute's
silence. "It's Miss Arbuthnot; she nearly talked me into it once. At
least, she didn't talk much, but she suddenly hit the nail on the head
fair and square, and left me to think it out. Well, I'm glad you've
something to cheer you! We're a pretty dismal house at present. Have
you heard the news? Bob is going to be married."
"Oh, my dear, I'm sorry for you!"
"Isn't it rotten? And it's to that Dolly Duccombe of the Gaiety. She's
an awful little bounder. Di and I are pretty sick! Out of the house we
have to go before next June. I mean to take on old Colonel Sheringham.
He's proposed to me five or six times, so I shall still be in the
neighbourhood. What Di means to do I don't know."
"Are you really going to marry Tom Sheringham? My congratulations. He's
a nice man. I always liked him; but what will the General do?"
"He'll have to go; so that will be another turn out. The house is the
Colonel's, not his. It's pretty dreary for us all; and now the hunting
is stopping! We're always like bears with sore heads when that's off.
When is Miss Arbuthnot going to be married?"
"Oh, don't ask! It's awfully good of her staying on with me. But I know
that I shall have to lose her soon."
Vi chatted away for a good half-hour. When she left, she said:
"I'll tell Di to come and see you. And she might be the better for a
preach on her iniquities. She's knee-deep in debt, and doesn't know how
to pay her bills. Ta, ta!"
Mrs. Burke was relieved when the visit was over. She had rather been
dreading it, but her warm heart still went out to the two girls,
especially now when they were experiencing, for the first time in their
lives, what it was to lose their home.
They were the only ones of her old friends who still stuck to her. The
rector and his daughter Maude came round very often. The days were long
and monotonous to Mrs. Burke. She had never worked, and got tired of
reading. Sometimes Rowena found it hard work to keep her cheerful.
Easter was coming round, and then Mrs. Burke called Rowena to her one
morning.
"I mean to have an Easter party. I am well enough to enjoy young
people. Will you write to my sister and tell her to bring her
grandchildren here? And then, after they are settled in, wouldn't you
like to go to your people?"
"I should, very much," said Rowena frankly; "but I can wait."
"And is your Scotch General content to wait? How he must hate me! I'm
a selfish woman, Rowena, and the habits of a lifetime can't easily be
discarded. I am selfish still. It will be a black day for me when you
leave me."
Rowena wrote to Mrs. Panton; she was still in the North, but had been
in constant correspondence with her sister; and she gratefully accepted
the invitation to stay at Minley Court.
The little party arrived at the close of a bright spring day. Mrs.
Burke received them upstairs in her room. There were tears in her
sister's eyes as she embraced her. And Mrs. Burke remarked in her
cheery way:
"There's nothing left of me to be afraid of. I'm just an old rheumatic
cripple, and there will be nothing in my house now to shock or distress
you. Now introduce me to my great-nephew and nieces."
George Holt was a handsome boy, slight in make but very upright. The
elder girl Bertha was fair, with a sweet, sunny face. The young one,
Milly, was a bright little tomboy. Her short curly hair and piquant
mischievous face attracted Mrs. Burke at once.
Before very long the young people were chatting to her as if they had
known her all her life, and she was, in her genial happy way, promising
them all kinds of joys through the holidays—ponies to ride, expeditions
to the sea, and boating on the river. Their delight in their new
surroundings amused and pleased her.
"We never knew you had such a lovely house," said Milly. "Why it seems
like a palace to us! You should just see our lodgings that we have
left. Granny was miserable in them—they were so dirty."
"You must all make yourselves at home," Mrs. Burke told them. "Don't
ask what you may do, but just do it, if you want to."
It brought much enjoyment to her hearing the young voices about the
house. Rowena found her gazing out of the window one day following,
with real enjoyment, the antics of George and Milly as they chased each
other over and round the flower-beds, a couple of dogs yelling at their
heels.
"It keeps me young to have them here, Rowena," she said rather
pathetically. "Couldn't I keep them altogether? Must they go away to
school?"
"George ought to, of course," said Rowena. "I don't know what your
plans are. But you might have a resident governess for the girls and
keep them with you, if you would like them."
Mrs. Burke laughed.
"That ridiculous child Bertha tells me she has finished her education.
Finished at sixteen! And her French is too awful for words. And her
general knowledge hopelessly deficient. But her music is delightful.
She has inherited that from her grandmother. Would a governess drive me
wild, I wonder?"
"Have over a daily governess from Crossington," suggested Rowena. "It's
a big town, and must contain some teachers. She could come in by train,
and you would get rid of her between four and five in the afternoon."
"That would be a good idea. I feel inclined to deluge these children
with luxuries—they have had to go without so much. And my sister Helen
too—she's a mere shadow. I believe the whole batch of them have been at
starvation point these last two or three difficult winters. I want to
make it up to them now."
"Happy woman!" murmured Rowena, half under her breath, but Mrs. Burke
caught the words.
"Well, I am happy," she said; "a good deal happier than I have ever
been before. But why do you make that ejaculation at this present
moment?"
"Because you have the means and power to give such happiness to
others," replied Rowena quickly. "Only don't err on the side of
spoiling them. Their grandmother told me she was afraid of it."
"Oh, Helen is a born Spartan; thinks it wrong to have anything
comfortable, rejoices in cold baths and open windows all through the
winter. But she and I understand one another. I shall make her have a
home with me. She has really no money to start one herself."
For a moment Rowena wondered whether the gentle Mrs. Panton would be
happy in her sister's house, but later on she had a talk with her.
Everybody confided in Rowena, and she found that the sorrowing widow
had no desire to start another home.
"It would be no home to me now that he has gone. I am only waiting till
I can join him; and if I can be of any use to poor Caroline, I will
gladly stay with her. It is very generous of her to offer us all a
home. Do you think my noisy young people will be too much for her?"
"I think they will be the greatest comfort and cheer to her. She has
always loved the young; and I should let her have her way with them.
She won't do them any harm by giving them as much pleasure as she can.
You know I must leave her before long. If I can feel you are settled in
here, I shall go much more happily."
"She won't let me help her by writing her letters, and you do that for
her. Who will do it when you go?"
"I am trying to get her to tackle her correspondence herself. She will
have the time now, and it will give her occupation. But I think, when I
am gone, that you will find she will be glad of your help."
Rowena had a busy time before she went to her sister-in-law. She
managed to find a suitable daily governess who would come over from the
nearest town, and teach the two girls. At first gentle Bertha ventured
to remonstrate.
"Am I to do lessons with Milly when I have been teaching her for the
past year?" she asked her grandmother.
"My dear, accept your aunt's offer gratefully. You are old enough
now to realize how little you know. I have not been able to educate
you properly. You will not be learning the same things as Milly, and
you will be thankful, later on, to have had this chance of improving
yourself."
Milly, of course, was delighted. She was a quick, clever child, and had
been rather too much for her sister.
"It's so ripping staying on here," she informed Mrs. Burke. "I was so
afraid I would be packed off to school. I pinch myself, sometimes, to
make sure it is true. Do you think we shall tire you out if we stay on?"
"I don't think so," said Mrs. Burke, with her old jolly laugh. "You'll
keep me young, Milly. I've always hated a house full of middle-aged
sober people who are past making jokes and playing the fool."
Milly hugged her on the spot.
"You are a delicious great-aunt. George says you might be only twenty,
to hear you talk."
And, of course, Mrs. Burke was human enough to be delighted with such a
compliment.
The day came when Rowena went down to Sussex to her sister-in-law's
home. Geraldine welcomed her warmly, and her gentle old mother received
her with old-fashioned sweetness and courtesy. The children were grown
almost beyond recognition, but the little boys, Buttons and Bertie,
remembered her, and flung themselves into her arms.
"You are looking thin and worn," commented Geraldine. "Mother, we must
feed her up, and treat her like an invalid. She must not go to her
bridegroom a bag of bones."
Rowena put her hands up to her cheeks, with her happy laugh.
"Spare my blushes; I am not going to be married yet."
"How long are you going to keep him waiting? Now come and sit down
and let me talk to you for your good. You have a most unhappy trait
of attaching yourself like a vice to any people you meet or places in
which you may find yourself. Look at your year in that God-forsaken
place, Abertarlie. Who but you would ever stick out a whole winter
there?"
Rowena's face grew very soft and grave.
"Not 'God-forsaken,' Geraldine, for I found Him there!"
"My dear, I know; it was the desolation of it drove you to seek
consolation in religion. Now you have attached yourself to this old
freak Mrs. Burke. I never approved of it from the first. If I had not
known she was treating you well, I would have moved heaven and earth to
get you away. You have forsaken us for her. You are even making Hugh
Macdonald step aside and take the second place. He must be a saint to
wait so patiently."
"My dear Geraldine, we have only been engaged four or five months. He
is not a young man, nor am I a very young woman. There is no occasion
for us to rush into marriage so precipitously."
"The fact that he is not a boy is in favour of a speedy marriage, I
consider. You are both quite old enough to be certain of your own
minds. He has been too long alone, and that nice child of his wants a
woman to look after her."
"She is very happy with her governess."
"Don't go on making excuses for yourself, but tell me if you have fixed
the day. The sooner you leave that old woman the better. You are simply
a nurse-attendant to her. It isn't good enough. She has her sister now,
and doesn't want you."
"I am conceited enough to fear that she will always want me," said
Rowena, with a little sigh. "I am really fond of her, Geraldine, and so
is she of me."
"Yes, I know all that; I believe if you were shut up with criminals of
the deepest dye you would tell me that you were becoming most attached
to them, and felt that you could not live with anyone else. It is your
fatal adaptability to your environment. There! With that big word, I've
finished."
"Well, listen to me then. Hugh wants me to come to him in June. We mean
to have no honeymoon, except that perhaps we may stay a few days in
Edinburgh on our way down. And you and I must fix the date. Somewhere
in the middle of the month."
"That's something; now I see light. And what kind of wedding do you
mean to have?"
"A very quiet one. No friends asked at all. Neither of us wishes it. If
you will have me here, I would like to walk into your little village
church early one morning, with only you in attendance, and he would
like it, too."
Geraldine only looked half-satisfied, but Rowena had her way.
She spent a very pleasant fortnight with her sister-in-law, and in
that time got a simple trousseau together. Mrs. Burke had given her
a most generous cheque for a wedding present, but she displeased her
sister-in-law by the modesty of her requirements. In her worldly wisdom
Geraldine said:
"My dear Rowena, you must be handsomely dressed as Hugh's wife. He
has one of the biggest properties in that part of the Highlands, and
you must not shame him, by going to him in gowns that a minister's
wife would choose. He will only have to supplement your trousseau
afterwards, if you don't go to him with a thoroughly good outfit, and
that is most galling to a woman's self-respect, I always think."
"Yes, I see your point," said Rowena humbly, "and I will get all that
will be suitable; but as for taking fashionable ball gowns down to
Abertarlie, it's ridiculous!"
"Don't you intend to be sociable? For two or three months in the year
at least you will be in the habit of meeting your neighbours. Do you
know that the Arnold Rashleighs have taken Ted's old lodge?"
"No, I had not heard it. I don't know them. Who are they?"
"She was a McTaggart of Loch Filley. She has two daughters, and a son
in the Blues. His mother lives in this part. Quite nice, they are, but
not Hugh's sort. Thoroughly up-to-date, and the girls rather strenuous.
Think women ought to be in Parliament, and that sort of thing."