Bringing Bad Tidings
'A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which
is but saying, in other words, that he is wiser to-day than he was
yesterday.'--_Pope._
It was towards the end of February that old Nannie sat by her fire in
the peaceful almshouse in which she had taken shelter. Rain was
falling fast, and when she heard a knock at her door, she hardly turned
in her chair, for she thought it could be only one of her neighbours
come for a chat.
When the new-comer came silently forward and stood in front of her,
Nannie looked up with a gasp and a cry.
'Miss Gwen! My dear Miss Gwen, is it you? Where do you come from?
And oh, how ill you look!'
Gwen bent over the old woman and kissed her; then she took a seat by
her and gave a hard little laugh.
'Oh no, I am not ill. I wish I could be--at least, I am almost coward
enough to wish it. I only landed early this morning in the London
Docks. I have come from California, Nannie. Aren't you glad to see
me?'
Gwen was clad in a plain dark blue serge and sailor hat, but somehow
had not her habitual neat appearance. Her face was wan and white, she
seemed to have aged ten years, and her once sparkling eyes were now dim
and worn-looking.
'Just off a voyage,' murmured Nannie, putting on her spectacles and
peering anxiously into her face. 'Ay, my dear, surely them foreign
parts don't bring such change and misery to all the folks who venture
out?'
Gwen laughed again.
'Every one, I hope, has not had my experience,' she said. 'If I may
quote from your favourite book, Nannie, I can say truly, "I went out
full, and have been brought home again empty!"'
'"The Lord hath brought me home again empty,"' corrected Nannie.
Then Gwen leant forward, and taking Nannie's two hands in hers, she
said in a hard, strained voice:
'Nannie, I have come to you because I am desperate, and I thought
perhaps you would give me courage to face them at home. I have never
had such a hard task set me in my life; but I deserve it, and I am not
going to flinch from my duty. I have ruined four people's lives, my
own included!'
She strangled a dry sob in her throat, then went on,--grasping the
withered hands in hers, as a drowning man might a rope,--'Nannie, do
you remember my verse you gave me this time last year?'
'Ay, Miss Gwen, my dear, surely, and many's the prayer I've offered up
at the throne of grace for you! "Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust
also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass!" Maybe you've come to the
end of your own ways by this time--will that be it?'
'Judgment has come on me. I was so sure, so certain of my plans. I
frustrated every difficulty, I forced some against their will to assist
me in carrying them out; and yet all this last year your verse has
haunted me. I was determined to be independent of God. I was so
self-assured, and my pride and spirit carried me through all, that I
laughed at the idea of failure; and then when the blow fell, it crushed
every atom of self-confidence and spirit out of me! I am a poor,
miserable, broken-down creature, Nannie; what can you say to help me?'
Nannie gently withdrew her hands, and leaning forward, placed them on
Gwen's shoulders. Then in a tender, solemn tone she said, '"Blessed
are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven!"'
There was dead silence for a few moments, and then Gwen bowed her head
in her old nurse's lap, and tears came thick and fast.
Nannie let her cry on, but her lips moved in prayer. 'Dear Lord, Thou
hast smitten to heal; Thou hast broken to mend; let her meet with Thee
now, and get Thy blessing!'
'I have never shed a tear until now,' uttered Gwen at last, looking up
at Nannie with almost a pathetic look in her tear-dimmed eyes. 'I felt
my trouble was too great for tears. I was turning to stone until I saw
you. Oh, Nannie, if you knew all, you would be sorry for me!'
Will you be telling it to me, Miss Gwen?'
'Yes, indeed I will.'
Gwen gave a rough sketch of her life for the first month with her
brother. She told of the bitter blow it was to find him about to be
married; and then told Nannie of Mr. Montmorency's arrival, and the
pressure put upon her brother to sell his farm, and join him in his
quest for gold.
'I gave him no rest, Nannie, until he promised to do as I wanted. I
even went to the girl he was going to marry, and coaxed and entreated
her to add her persuasions to mine. She was bitterly disappointed,
poor little thing, at their marriage being postponed, but she was
thoroughly unselfish, and only thought of Walter's good. Mr.
Montmorency worked hard too. He wanted more capital, and said Walter
must do his share in getting it, if he was to be a partner, so I worked
with all my might and main to get it for him. I persuaded Meta Seton
to invest a legacy of hers in the scheme; I wrote home and implored all
the others to invest in it too. I put all the money I had myself in
it, and then when all was done, and I had broken up Walter's home, I
sat down in complacency and waited for the success that was sure to
follow. I can't tell you when the first doubts of the whole thing
crept into my mind. I only know the last four months have been ones of
torturing suspense and uncertainty. I wonder I have not come home
grey-headed. The crash came six weeks or so ago. Mr. Montmorency,
after ruining himself, my brother, and hundreds of others, decamped,
and has not been heard of since. It was simply a mad speculation set
on foot by a clever man with little capital of his own. Walter is
ruined; he has crept back to his own part of the country, and has to
begin life all over again; his hopes of a married life and a happy home
have been dashed to the ground. Meta's father is so enraged at his
daughter's legacy being lost, that he has forbidden Walter the house,
and his bride as well as his farm has been taken from him. I wonder he
did not curse me, as he came to see me off in the steamer; but his
face--the hopelessness and despair written there--was quite enough for
me. And now I am going back to break to Clare and Elfie that they as
well as myself are absolute beggars. Agatha was the only wise one
amongst us. She refused to trust Mr. Montmorency with one farthing of
her money.'
'Ay, my dear, it's terrible--terrible for you; but loss of money is not
ruin. You have health and strength and youth to sustain you, and
though the cloud has been dark, it will have a silver lining!'
'How can I tell them!' cried Gwen; and her face grew set and hard, as
she stood up, and dashed the tear-drops from her eyelashes. 'They have
no idea I am returning home, or what has happened. I have been to our
lawyer before I came to you, and though he has heard bad reports of Mr.
Montmorency, he has never said a word to them. Do you realize I have
beggared our whole family, Nannie? Poor Clare has had trouble enough
of her own, without this in addition; and Elfie, who has never had a
care or thought, how will she take it? I wish--I wish I were dead!'
'Hush, hush, my dear!' said Nannie, almost sternly. 'That would be a
coward's wish, and you are not that! If you learn the lesson the Lord
would have you learn, you may yet live to find that this big trouble
has been the biggest blessing in your life.'
'Do you think if I had been like Agatha, who prays even if she goes
shopping that she may spend the money properly, and if I had committed
my plans to God, this would have happened, Nannie?'
'No, I don't think it would,' was Nannie's grave reply.
Then there was silence, which Nannie broke by begging Gwen to have some
refreshment.
'No, thank you, Nannie, I must be going. I wish I had done with life,
and was in an almshouse with you. It would be so easy to be all that
one ought to be. Good-bye, you old dear. Pray for me, for I have a
dreadful time before me, and I don't see how on earth we are to live.
I shall have to earn money somehow at once. Perhaps I shall go into
service--that is the fashion now. Ladies are becoming servants to the
class who used to be in service. Give me your blessing and let me go!'
Gwen was talking fast and lightly to hide her emotion, but old Nannie
took hold of her hands and looked up at her very solemnly.
'My dear Miss Gwen, you have heard God's voice speaking to you many
times since you were a little girl. You are hearing it again now. Are
you going to close your ear to it? If your pride and self-confidence
is crumbled to dust, 'tis the opportunity to confess it to Him who
hates a proud look, and says the humble shall be exalted. Take your
bitterness of soul to the Saviour, and He will heal and comfort you.
Promise me you will listen to His voice!'
'You're a saint, Nannie; I promise you I will pray, if I have never
done so before. Good-bye.'
She went out into the pouring rain, found her way back to the station,
and an hour after was at Waterloo Station starting for Brambleton. She
was just getting into the carriage when some one accosted her. It was
Clement Arkwright, who had travelled out to California with her. He
looked unfeignedly pleased to see her.
'Just come home again, Miss Dane? How did you like California?'
Gwen hardly knew how to answer him. A rush of memories came over her.
The time on board ship when she had so systematically avoided him, and
cultivated with assiduity the one who had ruined her, stood up before
her with awful distinctness. But she pulled herself together, and
tried to speak unconcernedly.
'I am glad to be back again.'
'How is your brother? I hope the report I heard was not true, that he
had joined Alf Montmorency in his search for gold?'
Gwen was in the carriage now, and the train was just starting. She
spoke on the impulse of the moment, and Clement Arkwright never forgot
the look of despairing hopelessness on her face as she held out her
hand to him.
'Good-bye--we are off. You told me once that I would bring disaster
upon myself by my obstinate wilfulness. I have done so. You warned me
on the steamer against Mr. Montmorency. But I would not listen, and he
has ruined the whole lot of us.'
The train steamed out of the station, and Clement Arkwright turned away
with a grave, thoughtful face.
'Poor Gwen! Yet it will be the making of her, if she can once be got
to confess that her judgment is not infallible. I should like to get
hold of that scoundrel!'
It was about five o'clock when Gwen reached Brambleton. She left her
luggage at the station, and tramped through the driving rain and wind
with fierce indifference, arriving at Jasmine Cottage with drenched
garments, and weary, footsore feet.
The lamps were lighted in the drawing-room, and the shutters were not
closed. Gwen stepped quietly up to the window and looked in. It was a
cosy, cheerful scene. Agatha was sitting with a smile on her face by a
bright fire, knitting in hand. Clare was reading aloud on the opposite
side of the fireplace, and Elfie in her favourite position on the low
fender-stool, tempting a grey Persian kitten to perform acrobatical
antics with Agatha's ball of wool.
'How changed will be the scene a few minutes later!' thought Gwen
bitterly, and she knocked sharply at the door. It was opened by a maid
who had superseded Jane, and who looked suspiciously at the drenched
figure.
'You have mistaken this for the vicarage,' she said superciliously.
'If you want shelter or food, you will get it there!'
Gwen swung her aside with a quick impatient laugh, and opened the
drawing-room door. In another moment, with cries of astonishment and
delight, her sisters were caressing and welcoming her; but she pushed
them away from her.
'Let me tell you how I come back first,' she said sharply. 'You will
not give me such a hearty welcome when you know. I have ruined Walter;
the gold company has been a big swindle, and every penny of our money
has all gone. Now what do you say to me?'
'Never mind the money now,' said Agatha, who was never discomposed.
'Come upstairs to bed at once, you are wet through. How could you walk
through such a storm! Not another word till you have had something to
eat. Come along--you are dead beat.'
She led her away, motioning to Clare and Elfie not to follow, and they
stood looking at each other with dazed, bewildered eyes.
'Does she mean it? Is it really true?' exclaimed Elfie, 'Oh, how ill
she looks!'
'What a dreadful thing for Walter!' was Clare's response; and then the
full force of Gwen's words dawned upon them.
'Whatever shall we do? Agatha's hundred pounds will not keep four of
us!'
When Agatha returned to the room, nearly an hour later, she found an
anxious consultation going on by the fire. Her face was just as placid
as usual, though a shade graver.
'I have left her to sleep,' she said; 'it is the best thing for her.
She seems quite worn out, and I think it is best for none of us to go
near her till the morning.'
'Is it really true what she says?'
'I am afraid so. I would not let her give me details. She is so
filled with remorse at having persuaded you to invest your money so,
that I saw she was working herself into a perfect fever over it, and I
stopped her at once. I am thankful she is home again. I have been
very uneasy about her lately.'
'I never thought you were uneasy about anything,' said Clare, trying to
smile.
'We are planning what we can do to earn our livelihood, Agatha,' said
Elfie. 'Have you any idea to give us?'
'We will not go into that to-night,' was Agatha's quiet response.
'This house is our own, and so is the furniture. We have sufficient
for the present. When Gwen has got over the fatigue of her journey, we
will have a talk together about ways and means.'
Just before going to her own room for the night, Agatha stepped quietly
into Gwen's room.
She found her lying wide awake staring at the flickering fire with a
hard set face, and determined lips. Agatha came up and put her hand on
her forehead.
'You are feverish,' she said. 'Are you comfortable? Do you not feel
sleepy?'
'Would you?' was the quick retort.
'I am sure I should, after the journey you have had. Oh, Gwen dear,
don't look so! There are worse losses than money. Don't reproach
yourself too much.' And Agatha was so touched by the hopeless misery
in her sister's face that tears filled her eyes.
Gwen looked at her, and her face began to soften.
'You're a good old thing, Agatha. I wish I were more like you. You
will need all your faith and prayer now, and so will the others.
Good-night.'
She turned her face away, and with a kiss and an unspoken prayer,
Agatha left her.