GWEN WRITES TO THE BISHOP.
"I don't know what is to be done about Rachel," said Gwen, as she stood
looking at her sister Sybil weeding in the garden.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that she won't live long at the rate that she is working."
"Don't be silly, Gwen."
"I am not silly; I am only thinking of what Rachel is doing in that
horrible Trowsby. No girl could do all that she is doing and not pay
for it. There is Luke in the first place who seems to require no end
of her attention; then there's the baby and the house; and now she is
doing Mrs. Greville's work."
"Of course it's unfortunate about Mrs. Greville being ill; but there
is no reason why she should not get better. And after all Rachel likes
parish work."
"But when she had the time for it they gave her none to do; and now
that there is that troublesome baby who is always needing her, she is
called away from him to do her mother-in-law's work. But you don't care
Sybil, I get no sympathy from you."
"I care very much, but I'm not going to worry over what can't be
helped. And after all it's nobody's fault but Rachel's. She chose to
marry Luke and must abide the consequences."
"I can't imagine what made her do it, when she could have had Archie.
He is worth a dozen Lukes."
"I don't agree with you. Luke is worth more than Archie."
"Archie of course has his weak points, but for all that he is a dear.
But if he did not suit her there was Sir Arthur, who was head over ears
in love with her, and asked her twice to marry him."
"Yes, he was a nice man, and yet she chose Luke. I thought it silly of
her at the time, but I am not sure that I have not changed my mind."
"But why?"
"Because he is such a thoroughly good man. Of course Rachel recognised
this about him. She could trust him; and after all that is what a woman
wants to be sure about before she marries."
"Oh, he is trustworthy I grant; but I don't like him. Rachel ought to
have someone quite out of the common."
"He may be a better parish priest than a husband; but it is not from
want of devotion to his wife; it is from a certain denseness—I don't
know what to call it. You don't understand him Gwen."
"I certainly don't."
"I am not sure however that he ought to have married. He is so wrapped
up in his parish. Or he ought perhaps to have married someone different
to Rachel—a real parish worker. I sometimes wonder if his parish does
not stand for more in his estimation than his wife. But for all that he
is good."
"I don't call him good."
"Well you don't understand him, that's all. He would do anything in the
world for anyone who wants his help."
"Except for his wife."
"That is what I say; he is rather dense, and probably doesn't suppose
she needs his help. I remember when I was at Trowsby, he sat up all
night with one of the men of his Bible Class who was dying. No nurse
could be got."
"Well of course that was nice of him," said Gwen grudgingly, "but
I doubt if he would think of sitting up for an hour with his own
refractory baby to give Rachel a night's rest."
"I own he is a little blind about those comparatively small matters,
but for all that he is a good man and Rachel knew it, and that was why
she loved him enough to marry him."
"He is so blind that he is killing her with his neglect," said Gwen
warmly. "Mother must not be told, but I shall write to the Bishop."
"Don't be silly Gwen."
"I love her much more than you do. You are evidently satisfied to leave
matters alone without trying to remedy them; and as both father and
Uncle Joe are dead there is no-one whose opinion I should care to take
except the Bishop's."
Sybil rose from her kneeling posture and rubbed the earth off her
gloves.
"I wish you would be more sensible," she said, "and see things in their
right proportion. As for me I tell you that I envy Rachel."
"Envy her!"
"Yes, because she follows out our Lord's command so wonderfully. She
denies herself daily, takes up her cross, and follows Him."
"Yes," said Gwen slowly. "She is the one person I know who makes me
feel ashamed of myself."
"And it seems to me," said Sybil, making her way towards the house,
"that instead of commiserating her on her hardships, and pointing out
to her, as you do, her husband's imperfections, we ought to encourage
her. She has to live the life, why should we make it more difficult
for her. Why try and rob her of the 'Well done' that she will hear
by-and-bye."
"That may be all true; but it does not mean that we are to stand still
and see her die. I shall certainly write to the Bishop."
The Bishop smiled as he read the letter that lay on his hall table
next morning. He knew Gwen, and had no doubt whatever that in her love
for her sister she had exaggerated matters. He sent her a kind answer
reminding her that no life was perfect. There was almost always some
drawback or other.
"All our joy is touched with pain;
So that earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain."
He owned that the trials that Rachel had apparently to meet, if Gwen
had reported their correctly, might not be very good for her bodily
health, but they were the means of strengthening her soul, of helping
her to grow in grace, evidence of which was not wanting. That after all
it was worth enduring hardness, if it resulted in becoming a better
soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ. He ended his letter by expressing the
wish that his little friend Gwen knew what it was to take up her cross
and to follow Christ.
But the Bishop did not put the thought of Rachel and her husband away
from him. He determined to run over to Trowsby before long to see if
Gwen's report had the element of truth in it.
The first few months after the baby's birth had been supremely happy
for Rachel. Little Pat had supplied all that she had been conscious
of lacking in her life. Notwithstanding the fact of their increasing
poverty, she was able to fight successfully the anxiety which would
have depressed her in earlier days. She was so engrossed with the
thought of her child that other cares were put into the background.
That the balance at the bank grew steadily less she knew; but it was no
use allowing this fact to weigh down her spirits, and when she now and
then had to face it, a glance at the lovely little flushed face lying
on the pillow in the cradle, filled her heart with such rapture that
anxiety fled, leaving her with a smile of happiness on her face.
She was astonished that even his baby son had not the power of
engrossing his father's attention for more than a minute. He would take
a look at the child, lay his finger on his cheek, and smiling at the
little laugh that issued from his lips would turn away and run up to
his study. Even the baby fingers had no power to keep him! How he could
resist them Rachel could not imagine. "It is perfectly shameful the
little notice you take of your son," she said one day laughingly. "It's
a happy thing that he has a mother to look after him, poor little man."
"I thought mothers always looked after them in the crying stage," he
answered. "Just wait and see how I shall fulfil my duties when he is
older."
"I doubt it. Did you see the account of the baby sea lion that was born
in the Zoo the other day? The mother undertook its education, teaching
it to swim. The father avoided all responsibility. There are hosts of
fathers like that."
"Wait and see," answered Luke. And then the door bell was rung sharply
and Rachel little thought that a new chapter in her life's story was
about to begin.
Luke had come in late after a heavy day's work in the parish, and the
conversation just related had taken place at the supper table. He, rose
to open the front door, and Rachel stood listening to a man's voice
that she did not recognize. What she heard made her run into the hall
and clasp her hands round her husband's arm, as if to shield him from
the blow she knew the news would be to him.
"When did it happen?" he was asking in a quiet tone of voice. His very
quietness made Rachel aware of what he was feeling. Under any strain he
was unnaturally still.
"She was took about half an hour ago, Sir," said the man. "And the
doctor, he say it would be as well for you to come round as soon as
possible, and Mrs. Luke too. It's difficult to get a nurse just at
once. But he say, that it ain't a really bad stroke. She can talk a
bit, but is quite helpless on one side."
"We'll come at once," said Luke, reaching for his hat which hung on the
peg. "You'll follow directly, won't you?" he added.
Rachel's thoughts flew at once to the baby who was sleeping peacefully
upstairs, but who might wake any moment. She had never left him
for more than a few minutes before. How could she leave him for an
indefinite time in Polly's care! Polly was as good as gold, but had
had no experience with babies. She was devoted to Pat, but her very
devotion was likely to take an unwise form. She would probably give him
anything he cried for, whether it were advisable or no. Rachel's heart
sank at the prospect of leaving her little baby in her care.
"Is it quite necessary that we should both go?" she asked faintly.
Luke, forgetful of his little son, looked at her in surprise, and there
was a tone of reproach in his voice as he said:
"Surely we must not fail my mother at this time. I am quite sure that
she would feel it very unkind if you did not go to her."
"I will follow you," said Rachel.
She ran upstairs and looked at her boy. He was fast asleep in his crib.
She always loved to look at him asleep; her whole heart went out him
now as she leant down over him, giving him into God's keeping. She
would have to trust him to the One Who loved him better than she did,
but it was difficult not to be over anxious.
"Polly," she said, as after putting on her coat and hat, she went into
the kitchen to give parting directions; "if I don't get back in time to
give baby his bottle, be sure that you don't make it too hot, and that
he doesn't take it too quickly. And if he cries, mind you don't give
him anything but pat him gently and sing to him; then perhaps he won't
notice that I am not with him."
"I'll be ever so careful of him, Ma'am," said Polly. "He shan't come to
no harm I'll promise you."
And Rachel left the house determined not to give way to her fears.
She found Luke kneeling by the side of his mother's bed smoothing her
hand and talking in a soft comforting tone of voice. His mother was
lying with closed eyes, occasionally murmuring a few words.
"I'm going to try and find a nurse," he said in a low voice, "now that
you have come. The doctor has given me several addresses. They have
no-one at liberty at the Nurses' Home. I shan't be long."
Left alone Rachel took his place by the bedside, and for many minutes
she knelt in silence. Then Mrs. Greville opened her eyes. When she saw
who was with her an added look of anxiety crossed her face.
"Baby?" she murmured.
Rachel smiled reassuringly at her.
"I've left him with Polly," she said. "Don't be anxious about him.
Polly is very fond of him and will take good care of him."
Mrs. Greville closed her eyes again. But though Rachel had spoken so
reassuringly to her mother-in-law, she had hard work not to let her
mind dwell on the occupant of the crib in the nursery at home.
She was touched at Mrs. Greville's anxiety for her boy, and that even
in this first hour of her illness she was thinking of him rather than
of herself. That she loved her grandson had been evident to Rachel from
the very first. She was in fact wrapped up in the child; and was in
consequence creeping into a warm place in her daughter-in-law's heart,
the daughter-in-law who had never yet been able to frame her lips to
call her "mother." Mrs. Greville had noticed the omission but had said
nothing about it either to Luke or to his wife. It hurt her too much to
mention it. But as Rachel knelt by her bedside holding her hand Mrs.
Greville recognised the fact that the girl, who she had at times rather
despised, had a strength in her, after all, that, made her glad to have
her at this sad time, and when Luke returned with a nurse, he found her
peacefully sleeping.
Rachel was thankful to be able to slip out of the house, and ran all
the way home. After all, her fears had been unnecessary. Pat had had
his bottle and was asleep again with Polly sitting by his side.
[Illustration]