WHAT THE FERN-OWL HEARD
There is but one thing that can never turn into
suffering, and that is the good we have done.
--MAETERLINCK.
It takes two to speak truth--one to speak and another
to hear.
--THOREAU.
While Malcolm was trying to make himself agreeable to the second Miss
Templeton, and not succeeding as well as he could wish, he more than
once broke off the conversation to listen with some amusement to the
bantering by-play going on between Cedric and the young clergyman, Mr.
Carlyon.
They were evidently on intimate terms, for Cedric addressed him as
David or Davie in the most unceremonious manner. Mr. Carlyon appeared
to be quite young, certainly not more than six-or seven-and-twenty, and
had an odd, characteristic, but most pleasant face, that somehow took
Malcolm's fancy at once. It was rather thin and pale, and the mouth a
little receding, but the broad forehead and kindly, frank-looking eyes
somewhat redeemed this defect. There was so much life and animation in
his expression; and a boyish eagerness in his manner, a curious
abruptness in his speech, a certain quick clipping of words and
sentences, only added to his marked individuality, and was by no means
disagreeable when one had become accustomed to it.
Malcolm soon found out that he was the curate belonging to Rotherwood,
the church attended by the Templeton family; and it was soon evident to
him that the sisters, Miss Elizabeth especially, took a great interest
in parochial matters.
"How is old Dr. Dryasdust?" asked Cedric presently, but he spoke in a
jeering tone. Then Elizabeth laughed, but Dinah looked shocked, and Mr.
Carlyon threw a dry clod at him.
"It really is not such a bad name," observed Elizabeth softly, as
though to herself, and then her eyes encountered Mr. Carlyon's--it was
evident that he agreed with her.
"The vicar is not a lively person, certainly," he rejoined, "but all
the same I have a great respect for him. He is a trifle too mediaeval
for these days, and his environment does not suit him a bit."
"He ought to be a fellow of his college--spending his days in
disinterring dusty old folios in the Bodleian," pursued Cedric,
"instead of being vicar of Rotherwood."
"I think very highly of Mr. Charrington," and Dinah spoke rather
gravely. "He is not only a very learned man, but he is such a thorough
gentleman. Poor man, it is a blessing that he has you near him, Mr.
Carlyon, for his life is very lonely."
"Why does he not get married then?" growled Cedric. "I bet you he is
not much over fifty." Then again Elizabeth and Mr. Carlyon exchanged
glances.
"I don't think the vicar ever intends to enter the holy estate of
matrimony," returned Mr. Carlyon. "He is an old bachelor by choice, and
in my humble opinion is likely to remain so; and then his worthy
housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, makes him so thoroughly comfortable."
"I heard something once from one of our fellows," observed Cedric, with
a mischievous glance at Dinah--he knew well her objection to gossip.
"He was not always a woman-hater. Palgrave of Lincoln told me that he
had been engaged to a lady, and that just before the wedding-day the
engagement was broken off; no one seemed to know the rights of it, but
ever since he has been a little shy of petticoats."
"Cedric, I am sure it is time for us to dress for dinner, the gong must
have sounded long ago. Will you show Mr. Herrick his room?" Dinah spoke
with gentle decision, and as she evidently expected Malcolm to join
her, he rose from his seat. As he did so he heard Elizabeth say in a
low voice to Mr. Carlyon, "I wonder if Cedric's story is a true one."
"Very possibly--why not?" was the answer; "he looks like a man with a
past," and then they dropped behind and he heard no more.
It is never well to form an opinion too soon; before the next half-hour
had passed Malcolm had been compelled to readjust his ideas on the
subject of Miss Elizabeth Templeton. When he saw her again he would
hardly have recognised her. Her massive but well-proportioned figure
looked to its best advantage in the black evening dress; the
transparent material only set off the round white throat and
finely-moulded arms to perfection. The coils of brown hair were
effectively arranged, and the shape of the head was beautiful. Before
the evening was over Malcolm, in sheer honesty, was obliged to confess
to himself that Miss Elizabeth Templeton was a very attractive woman,
and would cast many prettier and younger faces into the shade. "I
wonder where her charm lies," he soliloquised when he had retired to
his bedroom that evening; "her sister is really almost beautiful, but,
with the exception of a pair of very bright and expressive eyes, Miss
Elizabeth has not a single good feature, and yet one is compelled to
admire her. She is a little dignified and reserved with a stranger, and
yet she is not shy; even while she talked to Mr. Carlyon, who certainly
seems a sort of tame cat at the Wood House, I could see her looking at
me as though she regarded me with interest, but we have broken the ice
now with a vengeance."
"One thing I have discovered," he went on, as he looked dreamily down
into the scented darkness of the garden, "she is a woman of large
sympathies, with an excellent sense of humour, which her good heart and
kindly nature keeps in good control; and if I do not mistake, she is
the leading spirit of the house. The sisters seem to be devoted to each
other; and the way they spoil that boy--" and here Malcolm shook his
head in strong disapproval, without being in the least aware that he
was not free from that fault himself. He had just sent the lad away
proud and happy by his delicately implied praise of the Wood House and
its inmates.
"I am quite sure that I shall get on with your sisters, Cedric," he had
said with good-natured condescension; "they seem to me such thoroughly
good, kind-hearted women, and very superior to the generality of folk.
How beautifully your sister Elizabeth sings! I have seldom heard a
voice that pleased me better."
"They both like you," returned Cedric shyly. "Dinah told me so at once;
and though Elizabeth did not actually say so, I could see by her manner
how she enjoyed talking to you;" and indeed Malcolm had never been in
better form.
It had been a very pleasant evening; the small oval dinner-table, with
its flowers exquisitely arranged, the open windows, with the dogs lying
out on the terrace, were all to Malcolm's taste. Everything was so
well-appointed and so well-managed. The servants were evidently old
retainers, and took a warm interest in their mistress's guests.
After dinner they had their coffee on the terrace, and watched the sun
setting behind the fir woods, and when the last yellow gleam had faded
away from the sky, at Dinah's suggestion Elizabeth went into the
drawing-room, where two pink-shaded lamps were already lighted, and
seated herself at the piano.
"There is no occasion for us to go in," observed Dinah, who had noticed
Malcolm's evident enjoyment of his cigarette; "we shall hear her
perfectly out here, and Mr. Carlyon will turn over for her."
Such is human nature, for one instant Malcolm felt strongly impelled to
throw away his cigarette and oust Mr. Carlyon from his snug corner, if
only to teach him his place; but indolence prevailed: his cigarette was
too delicious, the air was so refreshing and balmy, and the pale globes
of the evening primroses and the milky whiteness of the nicotianas
gleamed so entrancingly in the soft dusk, that he felt himself
unwilling to move. Even the curious notes of the night-jar seeking its
prey in the dim light had a strange fascination for him, and he spoke
of it more than once to Dinah. "It is like the humming of a
spinning-wheel," he remarked; "it is very weird and uncanny."
"So people always say," she returned. "It is the goat-sucker, you know;
they are very fond of feeding on that sort of beetle called the
gnat-chafer; in fact, it is their favourite food. It has another name,
the fern-owl."
"So I have heard;" and then, as a rich strong voice broke suddenly on
his startled ears, he leant back in his hammock chair and composed
himself to listen.
It was a wonderful voice, so sweet and true and full of expression;
there was such tenderness and depth in it, that it seemed in some
mysterious way to touch the very recesses of the heart, and to play on
the whole gamut of human feeling. Malcolm found himself thinking of his
lonely childhood, and of his father, then he recalled his youthful
aspirations and his old ideals. "The thoughts of youth are long, long
thoughts," he said to himself, "and the wind's will is a boy's will;"
and then, as the last lingering notes died away, he flung his cigarette
aside and rose abruptly from his seat.
"You have given us a great treat," he said in a low voice as Elizabeth
stepped through the window. Mr. Carlyon was laying aside the pile of
songs in the music cabinet as neatly as though it were an accustomed
duty. Malcolm gave him an impatient glance. "One would think he
belonged to the house," he said to himself rather crossly.
"Please do not thank me," returned Elizabeth smiling; her eyes were
very bright, and there was a warm flush on her face, which made her
look young and handsome. "It is my greatest pleasure to sing; I believe
if I had nothing else to do I should waste hours at the piano."
"The hours would not be wasted," replied Malcolm. "It is a great gift,
and like all other great gifts it should be utilised as much as
possible. I could find it in my heart to envy you, Miss Templeton."
"Oh, how often I have said that!" chimed in Dinah. "I think I enjoy my
sister's voice as much as she does herself; in the evening she always
sings to me."
"Mr. Herrick and Dinah are trying to make me vainer than I am by
nature," observed Elizabeth with her happy, childlike laugh, as Mr.
Carlyon came to her side. "Cedric, it is such a lovely evening that we
might have our usual stroll. Would you care to come with us?" to
Malcolm.
"You may as well go my way," remarked Mr. Carlyon, and Elizabeth
nodded; and then Dinah fetched her a light gossamer scarf, which she
tied over her head.
"Dinah does not care for moonlight rambles, she thinks them frivolous,"
she observed, as they walked slowly through the dark woodlands, "but
Cedric and I love them. I like the silence and emptiness; the villages
are asleep, and the whole world seems given up to fern-owls and bats
and night-moths. Take care of the branch, Mr. Herrick, or you will
knock your head. It will be lighter on the road outside. I am so used
to this path that I think I could find my way blindfold."
The two young men were before them, but Elizabeth, to Malcolm's relief,
showed no inclination to join them; even at this early stage of their
acquaintance he experienced an odd desire to monopolise her society. He
never felt more content with his surroundings. The tranquillity of the
hour, the soft half-lights, the mystery of the long wide road, with two
dark specks moving before them-all appealed to Malcolm's artistic and
romantic sense.
"It is a study in black and white," he half murmured to himself; but at
that moment he was not thinking of the tall, black-robed woman beside
him, with the shimmering white veil over her head. Nevertheless, when
Elizabeth laughed, he understood her and laughed too.
"Mr. Herrick," she said suddenly, and her voice became grave, "I am so
glad to have this opportunity of speaking to you alone--without my
sister, I mean. For months--for nearly two years--I have longed to see
you and thank you for what you have done for Cedric. No--do not
stop"--for in his surprise Malcolm had paused in the act of crossing
the road; "they are looking back, and I do not want them just now," and
here she waved her hand a little impatiently. "We must follow them
through that gate into the woodland path that leads to Rotherwood. It
is so pretty in daylight. The moon will soon be rising, and then you
will see it better."
Malcolm followed her meekly. When he stumbled over a concealed root,
Elizabeth quietly put her hand on his arm to guide him. The firm, soft
touch, the spontaneous kindness of the action, and her utter
unconsciousness, gave him a positive thrill of pleasure.
"When one's heart is full of gratitude to a person," went on Elizabeth
in the same grave, low tone, "it is so difficult to find words. Mr.
Herrick, I know all you did for our dear boy--I know everything."
Malcolm started. "Cedric told me; but of course we kept it from my
sister."
"My dear Miss Templeton," began Malcolm in an embarrassed voice, for he
was not prepared for this. But Elizabeth would not let him speak.
"You must let me have my innings," she said, with a delicious laugh. "I
have pent up my feelings for nearly two years, and they must find vent.
Mr. Herrick, you have been our benefactor--Dinah's and mine as well as
Cedric's. When you held out your generous hand to a stranger--when you
saved our poor boy from disgrace and a ruined career, you did far more
than you thought--"
"Miss Templeton, for pity's sake--"
"Please, please, let me finish," a pressure of his arm emphasised her
words; "it is so difficult for a woman to hold her tongue. Dinah knows
nothing of all this; we dare not tell her--it would break her heart. My
sister is too good for this world; you know what I mean Mr.
Herrick--she believes too much in other people's goodness, and then
when they disappoint her she is quite crushed."
"I should have thought Miss Templeton's nature an exceptionally happy
one," returned Malcolm.
"You are right," and Elizabeth spoke with evident feeling; "but these
bright, sunshiny natures have their hours of eclipse. Cedric is her
special darling, the object of her tenderest care; if she only knew--"
but here she paused, as though her emotions were too strong.
"My dear Miss Templeton"--Malcolm was determined to be heard now, he
should not be suppressed and silenced any more--"you are making far too
much of the trifling service I was able to render to your brother. What
was a small loan?"
"What was it?" here Elizabeth struck in again; "it was, humanly
speaking, life and salvation to a poor weak boy who was on the brink of
despair; who was so desperate, with trouble and misery, that he might
have fallen deeper and deeper if a Good Samaritan had not passed that
way. He has told me since that the thought of Dinah's unhappiness
almost drove him crazy, and that he could not have answered for
himself. Cedric is a dear lad, but he is not strong."
"He has had his lesson. We all enter our kingdom of manhood through
some tribulation, Miss Templeton."
"Ah, true, but we would gladly spare our belongings such a painful
experience. Mr. Herrick, they are waiting for us at the little gate,
and I have only time to say one thing more. I offered to help Cedric
repay his debt, but he refused. I am glad to say he absolutely refused;
he wishes to do it all himself."
"I think all the more of him," was Malcolm's answer; "a little
self-denial will be good for Cedric. He has already paid the first
instalment. Miss Templeton, in return for your confidence, I will be
quite frank with you: I do not need the money, as far as that goes he
is welcome to every penny, but for Cedric's sake I thought it best to
take it. I hope you will understand this."
"I understand you perfectly, and I thank you from my heart for dealing
so wisely with him; but not another word--voices travel far in this
clear silence--and they are just by." Indeed, the next moment a voice
hailed them.
"Hallo, you people," shouted Cedric, "have you been looking for
glowworms or hunting moths? David is quite tired of waiting."
"I am afraid we have dawdled," observed Elizabeth briskly. "Mr. Herrick
and I were deep in conversation. I think we will not come any farther;
I have done my lady's mile, or thereabouts. Good-night, Mr. Carlyon, I
shall be over at the school to-morrow morning--" but here Elizabeth
dropped her voice, and Malcolm heard no more.
She was rather silent when she joined them, and left the conversation
to Cedric. More than once Malcolm wondered what made her so thoughtful;
but when they reached the house, and she bade him good-night in the
hall, there was no coldness or abstraction in her beaming smile.
"If you sleep as well as you deserve--" she said; but he chose to
misunderstand her.
"I should be hag-ridden and tormented, I fear."
"Oh no, you would have rosy visions of celestial bowers," returned
Elizabeth merrily. "Now; Mike," to the little dachshund, "let us make
tracks for the upper regions. Good-night, Cedric."
As Elizabeth paused at the foot of the staircase, Malcolm thought what
a splendid subject she would make for a picture. The soft draperies
gave her a queenly, aspect, and the white scarf that she still wore
over her head lent her a mystic look; in her hand she carried a curious
brass lamp of some antique design, and at her bosom were fastened,
negligently, a great spray of crimson roses. "She looks like a St.
Elizabeth in this dim lamplight," he thought. "Those red roses look
like a dark stain on her breast. The figure, the turn of the head, is
superb. If only Goliath could see her. Ah, now she has moved, and the
illusion has gone--faded into thin air," and then Malcolm smiled at his
own conceit and fancy as he took up his chamber candlestick.