A WHITE SUN-BONNET
My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mystery:
A love eternal in a moment's space conceived.
--AROERS
One lovely morning in August, about a fortnight after the garden-party
at Glebelands, Malcolm Herrick sauntered slowly down the woodland path
which the Templetons always called "the lady's mile." His face was set
towards Rotherwood, and in spite of his loitering pace there was an
intent and watchful look in his eyes; but what his purpose or design
might be was best known to himself; for wonderful and devious are the
ways of man, and who can fathom them? Presently a tempting tangle of
honeysuckle attracted him, and he clambered up the bank in search of
it. The bank was dry and slippery, and the honeysuckle was difficult to
reach, but Malcolm was not to be conquered. He had just caught hold of
the branch, when the far-off click of a gate attracted his attention,
and still holding the branch he peeped cautiously through the brambles.
The next minute a tall, massive young woman in a white sun-bonnet came
into view-actually a white sun-bonnet, such as a milkmaid or farming
wench might have worn; but this was no rustic lass who walked so
briskly through the woodlands--none but Elizabeth Templeton moved with
that free, graceful step, or carried her head in that queenly fashion.
In his hiding-place Malcolm had a good view of her face. Her eyes were
bright, and she had a soft smile on her lips, as though some thought
pleased her--some dream's dream that seemed fair to her inward vision.
"Miss Templeton--" then Elizabeth gave a great start, and stood still
and looked up at him. "Wait a moment, please," he continued hurriedly;
"this branch is so tough and my knife is small. There, I have secured
it;" and then, waving the festoon of honeysuckle triumphantly, he
scrambled down the bank and stood beside her.
Elizabeth shook hands with him rather gravely.
"So you have taken up your quarters at the Crow's Nest," she observed
as they walked on together.
"Yes, I came down last evening, and settled in with all my goods and
chattels. I thought I was in the Garden of Eden when I woke this
morning and saw all those pink and white roses nid-nodding their
beautiful heads at me."
"Oh, I remember how the roses clambered into the room," returned
Elizabeth in an interested tone.
"Yes, and the birds seemed as though they wanted to get up a sort of
Handel Festival, only the prima donnas and the big guns were missing.
But there was plenty of twittering and bird chatter--I think they were
settling the solos."
Elizabeth laughed--she was always amused at Mr. Herrick's nonsense.
"I have begun by enjoying myself immensely," he went on. "I have eaten
a record breakfast and smoked two pipes, and now I have picked all this
honeysuckle and met you"--a slight emphasis on the last word. "To tell
you the truth, Miss Templeton"--and here he looked at her with a
pleasant smile--"the meeting was not purely accidental, I knew it was
your morning for the schools."
"And you came to meet me?" Elizabeth's manner stiffened; if Malcolm had
been thin-skinned he might have suspected that she was not quite
pleased at this avowal.
"Yes, I was anxious to meet you." Malcolm spoke with quiet assurance.
"There is something I wanted to tell you--if I had waited to call at
the Wood House this afternoon your sister would have been with you."
"And it is something you do not wish her to hear?" and Elizabeth's
slight frown vanished.
"Well, I thought it would be better to talk it over with you first. I
have seen the Jacobis, Miss Templeton, and I must confess that I am not
favourably impressed by them."
"Cedric is with them now," exclaimed Elizabeth in rather a distressed
voice. "Dinah heard from him this morning; he is very happy, having a
good old time, as he expresses it. He saw the Godfreys before they left
for Scotland."
"They have gone then--what a pity!" observed Malcolm. Then Elizabeth
looked at him inquiringly.
"You mean on Cedric's account. Yes, I am sorry too. Will you tell me
all you can about the Jacobis?" And then Malcolm, with masculine
brevity and great distinctness, retailed his impressions of the brother
and sister. Elizabeth's face grew grave as she listened.
"Oh, I am sorry!" she exclaimed. "What will poor Dinah say when I tell
her; she is so anxious for Cedric to choose his friends well, and by
your account Mr. Jacobi is certainly not a gentleman."
"I thought perhaps you would keep this to yourself;" but Elizabeth
shook her head.
"I dare not; Cedric is her own boy, and I must hide nothing from her.
There was only one thing I kept to myself, but then Cedric told it me
in the strictest confidence. Mr. Herrick, it is an absurd question, for
Cedric is such a boy--but is not Miss Jacobi likely to be the
attraction? You say she is so handsome."
"I might go farther and say she is a beautiful woman," returned
Malcolm. "But tastes differ, you know; I admire Miss Jacobi as I should
a picture or a statue, but I could not imagine falling in love with
her."
"Indeed! I am rather surprised to hear you say that; I thought you were
a lover of the picturesque." Elizabeth's tone was a little teasing.
"I do not deny the soft impeachment," replied Malcolm somewhat
seriously; "but moral beauty and the loveliness of a well-balanced
character outweigh, in my estimation, mere outward beauty. Miss Jacobi
is a stranger to me certainly, but in my opinion there is something
complex and mysterious in her personality; there are hard lines in her
face, and her expression is at once cynical and unhappy. One could pity
such a woman," continued Malcolm to himself, "but one would never,
never yearn to take her to one's heart."
Elizabeth looked at him curiously, as though she understood this
unspoken speech; and when she spoke again it was with a new and added
friendliness.
"You are a good judge of character, Mr. Herrick, and I feel I can rely
on your opinion. If only the Godfreys were at the Manor House!"
"You forget that Beechcroft is at Henley," he observed with a smile.
"Oh no, I have not forgotten, but I was thinking that I might have gone
down to spy out the land for myself. Of course it would have vexed
Cedric, but I should have done it all the same. Well, there is nothing
for it but patience. By the bye, Mr. Herrick, we have fixed the date of
the Templeton Bean-feast; Cedric will have to come back for that."
"Do you think he would care to bring his friends?" he asked in rather a
meaning tone. Then at this daring suggestion Elizabeth's eyes opened
widely. "Do you think that would be wise, that it might not complicate
matters and increase the intimacy?" Elizabeth put this question with
manifest anxiety. "We have no desire to have the Jacobis on our
visiting-list."
"Of course not," was Malcolm's answer, "you know I never meant that;
but it would give you and Miss Templeton an opportunity of studying
them, and it could be managed without difficulty."
"I wish you would tell me how. I suppose we should have to send Miss
Jacobi a card of invitation?"
"No, I think not--at least not at first. Tell Cedric that he may have
carte blanche for his friends, and leave him to follow up the hint. He
will answer by return, and tell you that he has asked the Jacobis, and
then the card can be sent."
"Yes, I see; it is a good idea. I will talk to Dinah, but thank you all
the same for your suggestion. I am quite ashamed of bothering you about
our concerns; I fear we trespass on your good-nature."
"Not at all," returned Malcolm easily. "I was going to ask your advice
about a little protegee of my own;" and then Elizabeth lent a willing
ear while Malcolm, in his best style, told the story of little Kit.
They had turned in at the gate of the Wood House by this time, and the
dark firs stretched on either side. Elizabeth had taken off her
sun-bonnet, and it dangled from her arm; her eyes were soft with
womanly sympathy; never had the charm of her personality appealed so
strongly to Malcolm, he scarcely dared to look at her for fear she
should discover the truth. "It is too soon, she would not believe it,"
he said to himself. But as he talked his voice was strangely vibrant
and full of feeling; and when the sun-bonnet brushed lightly against
him he was conscious that his arm trembled.
But Elizabeth was too much occupied with little Kit to notice Malcolm's
slight discomposure.
"Oh, I am so glad you told me," she said in her eager way. "I really
think I shall be able to help you. There is the dearest old woman in
the village, Mrs. Sullivan. She lives in a pretty cottage quite close
to 'The Plough,' and she was only telling me the other day that she
wished that she had another child to mother. Sometimes my sister and I
have a little East-end waif and stray down for a few weeks in the
summer," continued Elizabeth modestly--"some sick child, or
occasionally some over-burdened worker, and we always lodge them at
Mrs. Sullivan's. It is not much of a place, but we call it 'The
Providence House;' the cottage is really our own property, and Mrs.
Sullivan has it rent-free."
"Do you think that she would take care of Kit?"
"I am sure of it. But, Mr. Herrick, Kit must be our guest, please
remember that. Hush," peremptorily, "I will not hear a word to the
contrary. And there is something else I want to say. Would not Caleb
Martin like to come too? Kit would be strange without him, and there is
plenty of room for them both. Think what a month of this sweet country
air would mean to him after Todmorden's Lane. You must write to him at
once, and tell him to hurry Kit down."
"I think it would be better to go up and speak to him myself to-morrow
morning," returned Malcolm. He spoke rather reluctantly, but the
beaming look of approval that followed this speech rewarded him for the
little sacrifice.
"Now I call that kind," returned Elizabeth warmly. "Very few people
would take so much trouble for a shabby little cobbler and an ailing
child," she thought. "How pleased Dinah will be when she hears about
it."
"The kindness is on your part, Miss Templeton," returned Malcolm. But
he was much gratified by her manner. "If Kit and her father are to be
your guests there is little enough for me to do; when I spoke to you
just now I had quite decided to take lodgings for them at Rotherwood."
"Kit is my guest," replied Elizabeth obstinately. "Now, will you come
in, Mr. Herrick, and have luncheon with us?" But Malcolm declined this;
he would look in later in the day and pay his respects to Miss
Templeton; and then he lifted his hat and turned away. Elizabeth stood
in the porch and watched him. "He is a good man," she said softly, "and
I like him--I like him very much;" but she sighed a little heavily as
she turned away.
Meanwhile Malcolm was saying to himself in his whimsical way, "It is my
destiny--is it not written in the book of fate? The Parcae Sisters
three have willed it so. Good heavens, what an enigma life is! Some
winged insect whirling in a cyclone would have as much chance of
escaping its doom as a human being under such circumstances." Then he
stopped, and looked with blank, unseeing eyes down the slanting fir
avenue. "It is a mystery," he went on--"the very mystery of mysteries;
the Sphinx is nothing to it. A month ago we were strangers--I neither
knew nor cared that such a person as Elizabeth Templeton existed; and a
week--a little cycle of seven or eight nights and days--has wrought
this wondrous change. Am I the same man? Is this the solid earth on
which I am walking?" And then he gave an odd sort of laugh, which
seemed to hurt him. "My God," he muttered, "how I love this woman!" and
his head was bowed as he walked on.
The following afternoon, when Malcolm returned from his charitable
errand to Todmorden's Lane, he saw the Keston family grouped on the
shady patch of lawn in the front garden. Verity, who had Babs in her
arms, flew to meet him; but Amias merely waved his pipe and grunted in
an amicable fashion.
"Oh, how tired and dusty you look!" exclaimed Verity, in the pretty,
maternal way that always sat so quaintly on her. "Look at him, Amias; I
do believe he has walked all those miles from Earlsfield."
"Yea-Verily, you are right, child," returned the giant placidly; and
then Verity put down Babs on the grass to sprawl among the daisies.
"Sit down," she said, pushing Malcolm with her tiny hands into a big
hammock chair; "I am going to make you some fresh tea--iced lemonade is
out of the question;" and then she flitted into the house on her usual
errand of "hunting the Snark."
Malcolm was certainly tired; he had been unable to get a fly at
Earlsfield, and the long climb in the heat had rather taken it out of
him, so he was well content to lie back in his lounge and let Verity
wait on him.
"We have had visitors," she observed presently; then Malcolm looked up
quickly.
"The ladies from the Wood House," she continued. "They were here for
quite an hour. You are right, Mr. Herrick, the eldest Miss Templeton is
a perfect darling. Amias was just saying as you turned the corner that
he would like to paint her as a Puritan lady; the dress would exactly
suit her."
"She has a very sweet face," endorsed Amias, "and her manners are
remarkably pleasing. Yea-Verily fell in love with her because she
admired Babs. 'Love me, love my Babs,' don't you know!"
"Don't be a goose, Amias! He was as much pleased as I was, Mr. Herrick,
when Miss Templeton kissed Baby and made much of her; she said the
sweetest things to her, and Babs was so charmed that she actually put
up her face and kissed her of her own accord."
"The other Miss Templeton is a striking-looking woman of rather
uncommon type," observed Amias, blowing away a cloud of smoke rather
lazily. "She made herself very pleasant too, and said all sorts of
civil things."
"I thought her rather formidable at first," annotated Verity, "but I
soon discovered that she was interesting; she is very bright and
original, and we soon got on very nicely together."
"By the bye, Mr. Herrick, they want us all to dine at the Wood House
to-morrow; it is to be a comfortable, informal sort of meal. I told
Miss Templeton that I had no company manners, as I had lived all my
life in Bohemia; and then Miss Elizabeth laughed, and said she was
rather unconventional herself, and that she thought I should exactly
suit them."
"I told you so," responded Malcolm in a low voice. "I suppose there
will be no other guests?"
"Only the Carlyons," returned Verity. "Mr. Carlyon is the curate at
Rotherwood, Miss Templeton told us, and just now his father is staying
with him."
"Oh, Carlyon junior seems always on the premises," replied Malcolm
carelessly; "he is a sort of tame cat. Well, I am off to the Garden of
Eden now." But as he stood by his window the nodding roses turned their
pink cheeks to him in vain, and wasted their sweetness on the desert
air.
"He is always there," he muttered; "one is never free from him. Perhaps
it is her goodness of heart, she is so kind to every one, and he is her
clergyman. Of course it must be that." He frowned and sighed
impatiently; but as he turned away he saw the sprays of honeysuckle
that he had gathered the previous day lay on the window-sill forgotten
and neglected, with all the beautiful creamy blossoms withered and dead.