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CHAPTER II CHAPTER ill UNDER THE ROWANS . i6 3« CHAPTER IV THE POTENTATE . CHAPTER V THE HEART OF THINGS CHAPTER VI ACROSS THE RUBICON . CHAPTER VII A NEW HORIZON 45 59 74 »9 vJ THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER CHAPTER VIII THE BACKWATER THE MOLLUSC . CHAPTER rx CHAPTER X^ ALL HALLOWS' RECTORY CHAPTER XI THE BIRD OF PASSAGE CHAPTER XII THE LAST REFUGE WILL IT WORK? THE REALITY CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV AT THE ROUND HOUSE CHAPTER XVI THE CANDID FRIEND . FACE • 116 130 143 '55 . 168 . 181 ^93 205 PACK »30 M3 »5S 168 181 193 THE COUNSELLOR THE GULF FIXED CONTENTS CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX THE OUTSIDE VIEW CHAPTER XX THE COLD LIGHT OF REASON A WOMAN GROWN CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII THE FLEETING SHOW CHAPTER XXIII THE REAL THING CHAPTER XXIV THE PLAIN TRUTH CLOSING IN CHAPTER XXV vii PACK az6 238 241 254 265 277 -m- 289 300 31a VIII THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER CHAPTER XXVI THE CLEAR CALL CHAPTER XXVIT -H= WlKn PROM THE .OKTH . MAN TO MAN CHAPTER XXVIII FAOI 337 348 TER CHAPTER I TO SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDER artist's career. ™ '" *''« "cissitudes of an OrZ^^nTXu SeNo''"t .*«'"'«« on the flMks. Artists were not .ui '"^ '«< «= father's Locha.dleandthe'Gknome^X'uTtr''"''^ «^« XfseS^:^. - -- -- n- at^nrtLTt?^^ byius intelligent int£esftht^*''y'>'^ beauty. *"» finally by some quahty that drew T ^ . * *^'''' ^"^ the south was at some pains in Ze^!,,''''^'' *''' "» i'om foster Otto Breck's artistrtites ' 'n'T'"'" '""""^'^ '» an overweening desire to became a mt?' T't^ '" "im This, in the eyes of the BrX nf tT .'"'* '>™«"- only a sore wrong, but a raorbittl 5°"" ^^'' "'^^ "ot forthwith turned their backs on h.l!'^*'" ^"'^ t^'y stranger take and keep to, ^t/.^^ ""^ ""ade the zrdid^---or^^iftShrT]s^^^ on':h?c'ate'rr'^-J:i°-Breck'siife,butof we ne :.., concern ourseives 2 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER with is the fact that he achieved considerable success in his calling, and became in due course one of the best- known landscape-painters of his day. His life had been congenial though strenuous, and on the whole happy; for, though he had had the misfortune to lose the wife of his love after twenty brief months of married Ufe, he had been singularly blessed in his friends as well as in the love and devotion of his only child, who at five-and-twenty was unaware what a hard and sometimes cruel place the world can be to women less sheltered than herself. She occupied the whole horizon of Otto Breck's thoughts as he let himself out of the little house on the North Bank in Edinburgh, about half-past nine on a night in the late October, and turned his steps citywards. He had been told that day that he was suffering from a mortal disease, which in the natural course would cut him off in less than two months' time. While not altogether unexpected, this verdict, which his inner con- sciousness as well as his physical state assured him was unimpeachable, filled him with a sudden panic and dismay. For he was not ready in any sense of the word, but least of all where Christine was concerned, and he could not face her until he had taken counsel with himself and with those who might be able to help him. She was dining happily at the house of a friend, and he had taken the opportunity of summoning the Clan to meet him at Hately Noble's studio in Canaan Lane, Morningside. No surprise had been created in the minds of the Clan by such a summons, which was not of very rare occurrence and which would serve as an excuse to make another night of it. Of such nights surely there could never be too many. Now, though Breck knew every short cut on the south side of Edinburgh and lost no time in getting to Canaan Lane, he was dead beat when he reached the famihar green door in the wall giving admission to a delectable garden, from which the studio could be entered by another private TO SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDER , door. Each member of fhA n,. door which they were wdcomi ,7°''^'^ ^ "'^ «° 'Ws o'clock rang as Breck Int^™d ,t ,h f '"^ •™^- ^en garden, „p„„ „hi,h theTght from ft T ?'"='"' °' *"« a welcoming gleam. There was "fl f i"*" ^''^^ ""h of marb!e fauns in the middk „f M ?'"" ^'^ => Sronp X^n^a^:tSr'"-"°-'"^^°™^ and th^at hThad ^ol t'entbleTr V^" ^" ">^ -»■"-• work at the White Cot age a \„efa ' le" T «°°' "^^'^ years he had painted the oicture i ^*: ""^^'^ '" ""le"- sented his year's work R,,?^, , , "^ .P"=""'^^ '^at repre- ^rth^pSit}-" autum'^^^t'Sling ^ heSS^ab:!;: f^'^K'^^^ "' '»» reverted persistently to the past ' *'' "'""Sh'^ arrite^a^ttsfmile^str att '°°V-'' "■- "e has nothing_or at least IKtt * ^ ''''PP^ '"='" "lat was by no „eans s„ „ taL':"'" [^^ret Otto Breck case. He had worked hard and .7 ,„""'' '^""ifortabk the harshness and ' nius fee If T'""^' ^""^^ '"''getting parents in his sensiti™ y™n had'^ °"', !.° ''™ "^ ^s m their old age and surrountH !k P""*^ 'hem a home of kindness and care ?hat .„! " "l'" '" atmosphere duty^ Though som:wha?re'„ncUeIte T °"'^.''^^'' '>'^ I'fe, Hamish Breck anH n. ■< '° *''^"' =on's way of stand or to hddt ripect tl "7'-^™'^^=^'' *° ""de?- had far more pride TSSr son Bot'^r °' P^'"""^' »d -.d not »nderstann^t;^^'-r:^[:. j4 f 4 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ^i?K K^u^. summer-time should desire to stand in front of the White Cottage and look at it because it belonged to Otto; and when, m the fulness of time yet without warning he brought an Enghsh wife to them they felt it was the last straw, the crowning offence against all the order and traditions of their race. But when they saw her they straightway feU down and worshipped before the sweetness of her flower-like face the caressing gentleness of her ways, her exquisite lady^ hood, which in Itself was a thing they had never before seen, or dreamed could exist. When she died they never hfted their heads again Breck had often smiled over that-when he was able to smile agam-and spoke of it to the Clan as one of the wonders of the world. All that was ancient history now yet how near it seemed !-it might almost have been yesterday that Alice went away. The old folks were dead and the large family of the Brecks scattered far and wide' The sole occupant of the White Cottage now was his youngest brother, David, who had always been a weakhng- a nateral as they caUed him at the Glen of the Ford who had never earned a penny for himself. But he was perfectly harmless and had a womanish cleverness with his hands which enabled him to keep the White Cottage as daintily as any serving-woman could have done and at much less cost. He worked early and late among ihe bees and flowers and fruit, and, selling the proceeds, lived thriftily costing Otto but little, while keeping the Cottage open all the year round for him and Christine whenevS they chose to come. He loved Christine, but had no power of expression, and nobody knew except Christine herself who loved him too. The rest were scatteJed- T.t ,i f ' "^'^^-do-weels.' and all, with the exception of the eldest sister, Lizzie, a drain upon Breck's resources and his heart. Lizzie had done well for herself, having married a commercial traveller who had achieved great i I > 't i in front belonged : without ey felt it it all the lown and ike face, ite lady- 5r before s again. able to e of the )ry now, ve been re dead, id wide, was his ikhng — e Ford, he was ss with Cottage and at he bees- i, lived i^ottage lenever lad no iristine ered — :eption iources having great TO SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDER , success and was now the hpaH r.t ^u n ployed him. But Otto had nn. ' ?™ *^^* ^^^ '^- twenty years, rot be n^ .hf ? '""" ^^' ^^^ "^°^e than in-law. Hedd,^'k7li^^^^^^^^^^^ ^"' "" ^^'^ ^'^ ^^^ther- on his hfe seeded to ma sh! t^""^ '"1*^^^^ ^^™8 vision, as he lingered brthpfn *^""^'^^^^s before Breck's disturbed by the sudden n-*^'" ""*^ ^'' ^^^^ was When he sa^ HaLlXwe o'nTe'sten *'' -^^"^^ ^°-- forth into the night he rntl a *^P P^^""& anxiously a noiseless foot ^ ' ^"^ ''°''^^ ^^^ ^oft turf with Then Noble started as if ho ho^ Noble was a sSendA ^1 . '''" ^" apparition, fair hair, and aXp tuouTtemn^ "^'."'."^^^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^ stood in the way oTh s sulss^B f.-'^ ^"^ '°"^^^^^t l^eart kept his few fri nds grapDled /o ^^^ ""'""u ^^"^^^"^ steel, and he had been fortun'T *° ^'!" ^^*^ ^^^^s of easy-minded woman who ^d"l\' i" Tu'^'"'^ ^ slow-going, and was inclineTto eat j^"' ^/,l^'^^"^^^^ difficult of the numerous brno? ^- ^ '^''* ^"'^ '"^'^ the old house in crn/^n t '''^''^^ "^^^^ ^^^ rafters of ' Otto, you appe^^^^^ ^'!^ \'^'^ "^^rry voices Lochardle^. he'S rathe/ Xt 'wl *'.l"^^^*^ °^ marshalhng of the forces at^n^rfmelytfr r' "''^" come'.P^ °"^^ ^^'^ ^^^-^- H-e MaVe"a„d Jimmy passed unt? t^b^.t;trrHl ^^^^^' -^ - they he regarded him narJowll ,^ ^""^ ^" *^^ doorway than usual on WsSler' ^^ "^"^^'^ " ^^^^^^^ ^^nd ' What's up, Otto ? ' ; Come inside, Hately, and you'll hear.' have c^e ttiJEy'?^^^^^ T ^^^^ J-t as easily expectingher.' ^ • ^^^^^^ Christine ? Jeanie is wa/t Tsee^Lv of tf'^ '"'"^ ^^^^*^"^' -"^ I don't any of the women-folk to-night, Hate?y. f 6 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Moreover, I won't keep you long. Shut the door, and aon t let anybody else come in.' He spoke with a kind of feverishness, which, however, left him as he stepped into the studio and gave a nod to Maclure, whose gaunt figure was outUned against the white wood of the mantelpiece, and then one to Jimmy /!!! ' u /"ilf"' weary-faced creature who was the butt of the whole Clan, but who had perhaps achieved the most enduring success of any. 'Get me a mouthful ^f brandy. Hately, and don't be scrimpy with it. Often you've tempted me when I didn't neef^ it ; let me have it now.' hnn!?^" ?P?,f.*^' '"P^°^'^ ^°°' ^"^' taking a black bottle out filled a generous glass. Breck did no more than touch It with his lips. The colour stole back to his wan cheeks after a little, and he glanced round with a silently filled a pipe and put it in his hand, but nobody spoke^ They realised that it was a solemn moment, and waited with what patience they could command for some enhghtenment from Breck. ' IVe seen Meiklejohn,' he said abruptly, 'and he rives me SIX weeks.' ^ 'Six weeks of what ? ' inquired Noble, and the quick colour leaped m his fine face. 'Six weeks of life, man ; and after that six feet of earth under the rowans at Lochardle.' They stared at one another and at him. and a great horror seized them. ^ 'I've come to speak about Christine, and I want none of you to say a word till I am done.' He. usually so quiet, saying Httle but falling in with their more boisterous ways, was now in command, as it were, and they had no choice but to obey blankly, but with a tightening pressure about their hearts. There is a lot to say. and the time is short.' he went on TO SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDER 7 ' I want to get it all said to-night so that the next six weeks and' whitVT °^*^rf "; ''" *^" y- fi-^' - "-k and wh te how I stand. 1 nave no money but forty pounds m the bank, which will wipe out the small deb^' There are the picture, in the studio and in the othe; rooms. I've had Aitken up this afternoon and marked off what are to go and what to be kept. He'll put them Lf w .Y^'^^ '^ ^' ^"" S^t the catalogues out S tune, but this is only Monday night. milff^l ^ u^! ^^}^^"ig as I daundered round that it m ght be better-in Christine's interest. I mean-if the iotnTT' °^ '°' ''"'" weeks-that is assuming Meikle- john to be an accurate time-keeper. They would fetch ^n^rL^Zf'.ri'''' "" "^^°^"* °^ th^ sentimental sSuffled off' '" '^' ^°'^ "^ " "^"^ ^^« ^^ j^^t ^roflH^""? M ' l*^^f^ Noble impetuously while the others fbout .nH ^ ?°.^' •°""' i' '' y^^^^^^f y°"'r« taking gospel?^ ^"'"^ ' ^"'"'"^ '* ^" "' " ^* ^^^^ ' Take example by Maclure and Jimmy. Hatelv and Sm": 'VV^'r^ '' *'^ story.'-' Breck repHed quTte h^L r*"^'"' '^y' ^^ ^""S i" ^ "tatter of two !? B.S.rJT 'r°n T^^" *^'^^- Then there's the fof / fh ^T^''- . I «°ld that to Meiklejohn to-day f.hil r'TlP°""^'' ^"^ ^" l^^t t^^ <^heque on the table and took the picture away with him in the brougham A long pnce. lads, was it not ? ' "i*S"«tni. 'Christine will have it back. Otto, and it ought not to have been sold without asking her ' ' w?ii M"?t ''^''^ ^'^^^ *° ^^*'' ^^s the grim retort. TfToo K ''""^! 'J' "P *° ^ '"^tt^'^ °f fifteen hundred. If It can be mvested at 4 per cent, that would bring her sixty^pounds. Christine-passing rich on sixty poinds They stared at one another and at hi- vith soraeth'ng a 8 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER locket ai, ^^%^ hTinte&oT '" ""'^ forced him to sm-h .^^ -^ f" "'"n«""n> would have despised "'*' "^""^'deration of the filthy lucre he in'tte'^STanrcCd'hi: r^'^'-" "^ '-"«• "->< together. ' Do yot Lie he ^"i.Jr ''• ™™"' »»* White Cottage wy^tttcTv,"^' °" '"" ^' '"' wa„tt'n°'!r'rrL'°v ^?" '°r^ -'- >- money you're ta"kiM ah™,? ^Z. ^"°"' ^°"<^' ' The and cUtin^wU come here YoA° '' V"'"^ "^'"'86 Breck srrnled, but T htt'absX"""' '' "'""'' '^•' sepSllU?y°J"T-:/f ''^^'"- » *- thick, atthe tails o/S oldtl^fC yXth"'""™ "^" h. m^de his nj^a^t ilHke'-L^r ^ 4 ■"' repiLi?i?k°;'^SettSt^'n':i7ir:'n"*'^'^"^"^ the better part of a year ■ ^*™ ''"°"" " ™«' '<" of that i^^^T'^t"'ltZ7/'7V'"'''''^y ^:!.^^^:^ '^'"nttnf tXt 5S: -whitecot:;:t^roy™tKsu:t^^^^^^^ to Breck, ly in his f money poke the lid have lucre he led back s hands t at the ess you 'The lest-egg nie is.' thick, reason to bide is the ? He us.' ohn's,' ow for r then ed by days Ford. 1 how itions ranny 1 the :e his te of side. TO SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDER g ti-e™:.":'/!; r.,"' y^'^^- ^^^^^ ^^ ^^- anguish in his voice whVhh ,^°^'^ '""■ => "o'' of a bit of bluff! ^ ^^ ™"''' ''^" '«« liidden by this evening ?!!*„i„„^° 1° ,''T ,"""' ^"""'"^ i^ new woman from Snn m^ ^' „W>ckham's to meet a to speak aboTwome^; P t ^'"'}'"' "'''° ''^ oome cotes in AuldReelSsheVeJf./M;"'* ''""^'' ">' ^ove- Rooms this attemoon tLT * '?"**'"S="^°»'drs Meildejohn to coZ "in/ . Vu' "'''*" ' P'^™«d for WhatdoyouthTnkshesifl ";!«" '"' overhauling, -that she^hadTeen a ba^^^ "- '""' ''°"'^' '»ds ? witnessed a new da^ •''Z 1° Vif"^' '".'^ "L^' ^''^ ''"d sheltered women to make cl^?t , .'I" "'' ^"^y "^ the open. That's what Christ.r u k '^'^ "s'"""? '" ">« time, lads-fighW in tS r ' ^ !'°'"S '" ^« ^^oks' covert for her ■ ^ "P""' ^"'^ ™'h "obody to make deserved it.' ^ °^^ maybe we have Br^^a^'tLr waltatt S^ "" t° '°' -^ ' -<> •She's twenty-iiveTut „L?H^ ''T T'''"' ^"«' 'hem. -"othing. She has Ll 1 ' "'' ''"°" ^^out hfe ? niothered%nd4dus^ b„f ''''^ ""?« "'■ ^^ "''^ for herself wiU™ her o^e rtl ? ""i''' ''"^ =' '"<'">«'■ has a queer way of X^Wnl"''''; ^""^ ^'S'-'y ap« that ^we .o:'^i^':'ru^\iT:;','i^, he^^u^fd^N^f --«*,-. 0«o. Jeanie will mother Breck shook his head. 'A vision comes to me laH t c«« i -th a woman travelling^it ^ i:3:iMhSi?S^ 'O THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER twn "iw'l"."'' " ""' P'"' "•» "^'""ds are darkening he added with a SiId ^h.fM -m f ' ^"'^^ supposing/ cu Willi a gulp, that Meiklejohn should hp nVhf If among us we can't undertake to see th^f n. l^ comes to her the sooner we're wi^edou the better • uii ms oreast, and his eyes were hidHpn w^ ,.^. u 1 he'slid^^i^T'^ tu""^"* y^" ^^"' t^^^t's why I'm her. ' ^e said at last, but his tone lacked conviction ' r if, been thinking I have been wrong to be so tLwn ^^ gooa woman, and it might have been better for Christine n'liXe ' "' rr ^>; -^^, them all. I'll s" rU betil' ^;^,:^ '^^^t^on «ie morn. Now I think wherelo?^ -mderstand-every one of you- hers B^^^^^^^^^^ S? Fu^- ?^ "^"^^-nothing else-under ners. But 111 tell Christme when I can. That's the R darkening I would ) leave her e, without oing, that doubt' s. For a had little enough it ition. :he whole J belongs 3ur turns 3ugh the pposing/ be right, no harm Jr.' bead fell 3uld not the kind 2, if she ng very f three Ti her- ' I have m with zzie's a hristine :e what [ think you— Strath- -under t's the TO SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDEP n -L^'ller^d'c^iJpV-^^^-a^-sh.llItellhernow. go to Lochardle in thaTtime no °^"' ^'"^^' y°"'" Bf^k ' ''- ' : f^^^^l^^T^^ '''-' ' ' mayefthr " rVthf '" "^T ^^^^'^-^ ^^^^ clis- in L, thXhTe wan'ss'of htr '^"^^^^ °^ ''^^' ' I'll Ro I thint ru f- ^^^ ^^^® ^'^s unmistakable. by th Uml I get back^o ;"h' ^" '^ '^"^^ "°-' t^^^gl^ hope. I coX, t^^ IX niS: '' r " '^ ^'^^^^"^^ convoy. lads. We cannrLi k f ^'^ """ ^ ^^^t^h VVe'vehadmanyarrarniih on i ""''•!? ^' '^^' ^^^*- and many's the^onv'oy wete W un ?nf .f *'' ?r' in the morning ' > ^« ^e kept up till tliree o'clock ■GolTto^telTCV;"^:; °,"°,^^^^''' -<» Noble. I am able to walk-and willing. Come • >'t.ioh ^u'tL^minl'^eSll'^^Lrf '^l-"'T' °' short cuts to ' The PleaiTOe • i„^ If !{ °'' """ ^^ "••« tothe North Bank, Brk"s,ood s^iU ""' "'™" ^"'™« n>eef Ur to'mitw ""■= *^''' =^^ ^-'^-'^k'- We'U he!lSdttrt't"htf"wl'rh""' "^"^ ™^' ='»<""8 "-- fheeml:L%'orufe""'"' "''" "''° "^"^ "'"^ "^^ ^or 12 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER come face to farp wHh r.;. ut i ."^^"^eacUe. He had in the great deecs thin i^f'''""''^ "'*''«'■•>»»" soul .is.n4to\^2^;?Si:ol:LrL^^^^^^ ' Good-evening • ThT EvS M' T'P' *" '''"'"' Ws Bank, built on the slopes thT *' '"" ''™^^ ™ t^e ugly Uttle housro?Muewh?nstor»'?^'~t^^ ""«• studio tacked on to the eTd »♦ \*V " ""« ''™-'"'« came to look because ' ^^ tt tae o'Hh' '™ P^°P'^ painter of Highland scenmf of t • ""= ^^cessful said, the Queef wafpa'SSely JS°" "'''""=■ " "^^ jBdlrr^h/tol^nlTto^ltl'^ '^"'^"^ '" by the unique outlook from Z , cheapness and studio had Ln an-^erXht! ^d"lllThfc^ Z n the story fhey stood a gloomy iman him, d savagely 1 in a grim s solitude settle with He had ■ness, and id he ieit iman soul familiars :es. used to shores of y except watches iries, he iturn his on the ill bare, am-hke ■' people ccessful it was ted in iss and <• The in had TO SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDER 13 ^L?J\u^\^^T^^ ^""^ execution. Maclure had de- signed the fireplace, and Jimmy the north hghts and Noble's hand had painted the frescoes that co?erei tSe gable-end Grotesque without, the Eyrie was a Thing of beauty and simplicity within^the only home Otto bLic had ever known. There had passed the too brief epoch of his married Ufe, there Alice had left him t" \v?estle ^ h he problem of the girl-baby who had coTh r her life It was of that daughter he thought nowl solely of Christine; and the burden upon his soul was almost more than he could bear. .hpl' I'^f ^/P?" the cold iron railing which barred the sheer declivity down to the Park, and looked across the R^sTh^e V"' '°^^"" '^^' '""--- of slmon' SdnsT f h. i ^^ Tl '" "^"'^y ^°^^' ^heer ^nd black against the sky which was the mysterious veil hiding the beyond from mortal ken. The foolish words of f ^\",yTu ^' ^'^ ^'^'""'^ ^t the Sunday School in his childhood beat on his brain : * "^here's a home for little children Above the bright blue sky.' Breck was not a religious man in the accepted sense and had httle part or lot in churches. But the soul tha revtent TS"""''."^'' "^*"^^ ^^^ -^^ssarily reverent. He had never been a scoffer, he had simnlv hved his own hfe as seemed good in his sight ^ ^ Even at the White Cottage he had made" himself con- spicuous sometimes by sitting serenely unde^ the oW I'uZTS''-''- ''''' ''' ^^"-^^^^ -- ** And by example rather than precept he had taught Chnstine that it was better to be in the open worsh pS with the sun, than in any temple made with hands It had been a mistake. Looking back and recalUng h mother's austere joy in the kirk and all iu n^nce iili Ulli m H THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER »d £ ^^, Sr.r^,''f '^"e„ into the .00. words • Whom He loveth H^ k T^"^" ~"'°rt » ">» to her, religion ^ Zht ^ ,?^t""'''' '>' •="« 'hat unassailabie^butSes3 S^hrsto/h r*"'' "''* *■«" -" The day of trouble was at h»r A"? '"'^'^ ''"«f«^- her how to pray He hart t ^ ""* '"' '^'"^ ^''^f teusht religion meant much to a tZ» ^ '■'5^. '""-where that halcyon period of his martld W. 'h*"!^ J" *''' "^""f ^^ Chdstine's mother on her Tntes %,' M°"™ ="?"'-" things the sky became l.tf'j . ' ^^ """"Sht of these for the eyes o^ 0?S Bteck t .1 '°I '^' '°'^ ^' *«« «= contemplation and let htaself i„ * '""^t^way from its as if with sudden cold ° "'^ ^y™' shivering the''cit?cS'Tne!I'H^°" '"""'«''* 'himed from all bring t^o it that wa.":oftl"?hat°"- ,r.^' "'"' >"= *° the making of a man ?™rotW but? "?' '"''?'"' "> and asTe tte*^ SmTn*?bf !/"" ^"'°""-"^ '°^^. was the masterpiece of Maciure V "Jf "'antelpiece that by the serene and penetr^^^i '"^a«»tion was riveted the wall. It w^s t'he Sy portfatt olht "T^'t' '" '" -his own work, which stood n,tf ?i "''^ '" 'he house thing and prociaimSh^l rsSThl^craf?' "'"'"'°'' which was a maS of „",Mv ""* *° ""'^ °" bureau being crammed :S, bills maL^'oH?' '^"^ P'S^™"""'- There he wrote two itte^^L ""T ?"P^''^- stamped. But the oh r beta^ °/ *'V* >" ^^^led and Christine, required much ;. -^^ ' " 'a^' ""^ssage for longer time. ^ ""^ '^"''^deration, and took him a TO SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDER 15 When he had finished and signed it, even with tears, he went out again bearing the sealed letter and dropped it in the pillar-box with a sigh of rdief. For at the last he had done something perhaps to make the way easier for the child of his love, aU unknowing that it was the most disas- trous step concerning her that he had ever taken in his hfe 1^1' ^""^ conscious of a hghtened spirit he ascended the creaking stairs to look'once mo^re upon oSed t '''; f '' fi^^-^nd-twenty years he had never ornitted to go to her room the last thing at night to see that all was well with her. The Winds were drawn up n the wide low attic with the storm-windows so near the sky, and a current of keen, sharp air swept through It. The full moon shone upon her where she lay with her arms folded above her head, bared to the elbows their whiteness shaming the hnen of the sheet. She was sound asleep, in that dreamless sleep which is the heritage of the pure in heart. ^ of PhH^r Tf ""''' ^"? strength were the characteristics of Christme s face, but her hair was her crown. It fell in ruddy waves about the pillow-a frame for the clear pallor of the brow which it adorned How he loved her, and yet how little about that shetadf ""' ^^^i"'^^"' ^^ ^"^-•' Like a flowe she had been permitted to grow, but even at five-and- twenty all the petals had not unfolded-they waited for some other sun than his. His heart went out to her in a fhTcrM ^T^"^' y'* ^" ^^^^^ "°t kiss her lest haply she should wake and ply him with unanswerable questions^ He stepped back softly, closed the door, and stole downstairs to try the pipe that had been the solace of so many solitary hours. But it too had lost its savour At last m sheer abandonment he threw himself on the old settee and pulled up about him the old plZ-lul that Chnstme had long ago christened Joseph's coat ^ Being very weary then, he shortly fell on sleep ' CHAPTER II THE SUMMONS It was the habit of fh« • Glen of the Ford T', ^^ "^^^ ^^e beginnin^of fh Pjebald cob that had S'l"" ""'■ ^ast of aU the fat ^''^d o„g and thrived weU^n^r'"'- '^^ ^nd beast was a leisurely thing/'' *'" '» «>«e parts, because We •in Uctober therp i,roo way had an eye for ttur! ° '" k' '"'■^*- «nob?rS^e sCe ^"^ ™''^"^ ''.eX'trS- "^^ °' '"^ *te THE SUMMONS 17 post-gig, because he received a ^nnA well as pamphlets anH hnl! f °^ ""^"^ betters as parts. The Tintter of Ch' '.f "^^Wers from all He had been a more ?L; ,'^'n ' .'""' ^ ^^^^^^^ "^an. at Aberdeen UmVe'St^^^nr^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^-t at his acceptance of a livL "^ ^^^" surprised where the stipend left mnr^ . u^^^J' ^' Lochardle, recommendation was haTit. ''' ^''^^^ ^^^ ^^^y which, it was und;r ?ood T" ' ""'" *^"^^ ^°^ ^^"dy. wanted. ""clerstood, was precisely what Grier infSoflTi/Sr^^^^^^^^^ ^^fts which send attainments, deeply versed ii th.of ' """" T'"" °^ '^^^^^'^V supposed th;t he wouS omVdav S^^^ '' ?.^ ^^"^^^"^ which he might emerge from ..J ^/''^* ^°°k. after place in the ChurcTcourt ^IT'f f'^ '^^' ^'' "^^^ful fluently, and had spent a ye rS "^^e'tl'"' ^ Gottingen. Those in authoriS Lh .J ^^^^^^^ity of • and he was often asked f^r -^^^'^ ^^^ °" ^rier. "tatters; Jso h fs we itritt tk^^^^^ ? ^"^P°^^^"* of subjects were always welconip^^^^^^ ''" ^ '^' "'^""^^ place in the differentTjn Tth- r? ^'^ ^ P^^^^^nent with which was incorpofated tl ri ^"f^u ^^^^ardle- poor, sparsely poSd palh in^ '^ ^"'^""^"^ ^ able to suppose tLt ther^e "^^^^^^^^^^ '' ''^' ""^^^^°n- of Grier's^'attainments Net?^^^^^^^^^^ -an seemed to like him and infhIV.t .^^ ^'""P^^' ^o^k big houses and the klUVbtrw'T^^^ ^ *^^ an empty seat in the church ' ^^'^ "^^^ "°t his'^ClTrrtho Ir^^^iS^ f -^" t^e Manse with a pedestal ^nd kept him the^^^^^^^ v^ ^'^ ^^"^^^ ^™ «" Early widowed. Se had r^.d^'^iiPPT ^'"^ ^^°"^ ^^^r. equip him for the ministr^ h. "nheard-of sacrifices to ministerial family aTtfe^prid^^^^^^^ '^'°"^^^ *° ^ Alan was not h^er onircl^S!^^ ^^^^ ^^a t u^ ' B ' '■•''*">«!f(.-j*fci(iia 18 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER sole ^"bifeVofh?r*2ttrll-, """.' ^"""fdinate to the paUed the glorification o/^" SS"'^*.^®« irreverently ■n Aberdeen as a pupil tetih"r a^^ h*"' 'l'™ ^enticed 0/ mind, had achieved coSdera^i^ '"^ ''"«''' ^"^ ^«' «on, and was now in wS "^"^ '" ^^' Pro^- Post in which she was enSdv Sf'^P^"? " ^^"^ Sood a rank-spoken, fearless khfd oL» ^P""'"*'- She was delivery of unwelcome tmths anT' T'^ ^^^" '° '"^ Lochardle in the long vaca«n„ ' T*^" "''^ ^ame to mpther, whose ^Zr^^^^ll'^'^I^.^'^^^ibyh^r mmister she did not share S'oriiication of the capacity, did nothing but face^Effi? '? """ » '^''^ hepeif an ahen in the Mani ' "''° ■5"'='^^ '°™™ '° Edinburgh expect and hope that Christine rflh» f" '? '"," ^ ond I c?n,;'-S:- '- ' - -"^^ -Sit fot intrdS world or of life, i, jfa hea t of J^H ?■?*"« "''<'"' «>= Chnstine must have room t? I ve fnrt '.i, "1" "f^ *= "•"• t.on wou d irk her beyonS^endHr^ce *' ''°"''' "^ <^°"™- -re. be^tp '^X'rk'Ifow^K" ^°".^-«' ' - ness such as yours is nexf i-r. 1 7 .f ^^^ ^^^- Simple good- world I like" to^S^HL ° ou'lntrr?^^ P°"'^ ^« °'e your little bairns would sometimes ]nni,"j^'"\^"^ P^^haps Lochardle kirkyard at the g L^e to wh.Vh'^ ? '^' ;:^"^"« i" Come-come soon to your friend ^''^ n^"' ^^'^^ning. ^ . , , ' Otto Breck. Gners hand Visibly shook as he read the letter througH, THE SUMMONS 31 and Malcolm Macgregor, affecting to be very busy about the harness of old Jess, noticed it atinllv "° Q?" ^'°"' ,^T. ^^"' ^hatefer/ he said insinu- went away.? """'' '"^ ""'" ^"^ ^^""^' ^^^" ^^^ ' No-it is not from my sister, Malcolm. When will brfh.%h°''" ^.^f'"; ^°' ^ "'"'^ ^^ ''^'^y t° go to Edinburgh by the three o'clock train ? ' ® pnS'enc'e!^''"''' '" Malcolm's eyes got the better of his 'It iss not pad news, I hope, whatefer ? ' he said h\^ cunosity regarding the affairs of the Glen, of wh ch he was m part custodian, only tempered by the fear of God and the more material fear of man 'When will you be down from the Little Glen, Malcolm ? ' said the mmister quietly. ' Tell me that.' ' '""^'""'""^ cridc1ut"'thr V;;' ?^' ^'^ ^"^"^P "^^''^ ^"d studied it critically, though he knew to the very moment when he should pass the Manse gate again. h.L^i^°?* ^t""P^'* °"^' ^ suppose,' said the minister a trifle hastily for him, and he turned away towards the house the postman gazing after him with hunger in his eyes " Mrs. Gner had by this time come to the door, and her figure, hmned against the clear October sky seemed abnormally tall and gaunt. She always wore black un reheved and unadorned, and a long black apron trimmed cT and her'''' ''^ T' '' ""'' ^^^^ ^he hTdno leL.7, 'T'^'^y ^^''' '° *^g^tly brushed back. ace Sh'rf'''"'*%'^' ^°"^' ^^^"' ^^<^^tic line of he; rernetual tif ' ^'^' ""''^ *^^" ^"^ ^^^^ ^^^ idea of perpetual self -repression. ' an^T^hl' "° ^f *'' ^V^"' ^°*^^^'' ^^id the minister, and I have only one that is of any importance to-dav It IS from Otto Breck, and I'll have to go trEdinburTh this afternoon in answer to it.' ^umourgn I 32 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER were inwardly perturbed ^ ^ «sUessIy as if she present with her during tTe wh'^i. ".* °"! '''^* "^^ been so ourned at the V/hitf r„» J^""^ ">« Wrecks had that they had absoT^'d\?,f £, H'l "="'^<' •" "« their track, as she expressed i't tn hi ?r*\*''' "'"^^ o« never dared to voice hTSconte^t ^"^"' '"""S" '"» 0"^ sorry!- h: aTsltd l^ntrlTt '^"^ ^"^ ^'"^^ I'™ r »- s-'SS-r- — - ~ppn,J^--'>;^'>.«do^^^^^^^^ oneXk',r i ;^rxdTbf ^?'-'-"- I go ru be glad ' ^^ ""^ ^ ^^* of dinner before A.» rs„::fy^ if iJt™ *r^Lr h"^" ' ^»' -0^' '0^. ■nimster of his own parish" "^ '"^^'' *»"« « the mothi""' "''• *• ^^"='='' ^^^'^ to see me as a friend ™ii|\fejrercS;!,iv^^^,''^ t «>^' -- for this is Wednesdav nnl ^^' ^^°"* Sunday, Would you ,et b^kX' SatdTp "'™°"" ™' '•^'' an houf i: r^S'anJ llS^cf f * '"' '"' ''^ about supply • ^^® Macandrew and arrange had no eyes for her. When hVnl.t^ ? ^" '* "'^^^^ ^^an. '"' '>- "efore her ^Itt l^'^^^^^yj^ 1 THE SUMMONS 33 She was unhappy and filled with a thousand vague fore- bodings There never had been, nor ever could be any kinship between the austere soul of Marian Grier and the happy Bohemian household at the Glen of the Ford She did not approve of that household, but Christine herself was the head and front of offence. There is not on earth a more unerring instinct than that of the widowed mother of one son concerning other women who might take him from her. Poor Christine was en- tirely innocent, and had often made fun of the minister and his solemn ways, being altogether unaware in what light he regarded her. For his mother she was always sorry, because nothing in aU the world seemed potent enough to make her smile. Mrs. Grier would have indignantly repudiated the idea that her son would never marry, or that she would stand m his way when he desired to take a wife ; but she would have hked to choose the wife— some placid, old-fashioned giri who would not be above taking a word of counsel from her, and who would have a proper respect for the minister and the greatness of his office. Perhaps she would live with them at the Manse, or at least very near, so that she could still keep an eye on Manse affairs. Such was the cherished dream of Marian Grier. though it had never been put into words. ' I wish you would let me see Mr. Breck's letter ' she repeated, as she followed him in.o the house. He turned back at the stair foot, being on his way to pack his bag, and regarded her with surprise. ' I have said it is a private letter, and indeed I have given you the gist of it. I shall tell you all about it when I come back, he said, and so dismissed the matter from his mind. He had no idea of the deeps of his mother's nature, of the narrow channel into which all the passions of a strong nature were pent ; and the idea of trouble with her did not occur to him. His mother would adjust herself, as H I, fill '4 ii ' I il l-HE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Gner had arrived where hfa m^,."^'""""' ■« "Wch Alan attributedittoherdislTk? f r' ^ ^^*"« strained but -"'"""H^sve^'d-aJ.llrdl'''™;^^^^^^^ minister called ,ohi„:' """ =^'"^'' '° >>- asleep .^''^f I'il seTZr'°bf„tr"t ve'"^ ■ '>^ "'^ che.rtoty ■ and Davie lifted hishead fromT, ^ ""^S-^ <<=' ^m ? • %^Edth7r:rrd''^r -^^^^^^^^^^ '"' •"""'-' >>« "'"-"ta'anS'^^Sl^TK"'* ^«»- Davie- !>■» you're all right ? ' ' '" ^*nburgh. Shall I tell «.edir""^-' =^^ "^^'^ -«'.' -Peated the poor creature tCgThL!' ''™^^" '"^ -»«'- felt a cold Shiver go -f&:ror^S?'"'"'''-"'-^-ie. Ihadaletter No, I hinna heard. Atlea«ti,. there never wiU pe any more /»' ™'' "^^ '««er, and Pe pack in time for the L"ral ? ' ' """'''''■ */« ye .1 ER n of life he which AJan cerned, and rained, but the Manse, •age he had stop there avid Breck he Ford. Jm with a kin' in the I time for fie garden 'as sitting P till the Hy. ' and him? ' minister ivinna — Davie ; II I teli feature ver go letter t", and ill ye «%3 THE SUMMONS 25 The minister, pressed for time as he was, could not stop to unravel the mysterious workings of the weakling's mind but he was haunted all the way in the train by a portent of evil. The vision of Christine sometimes banished it for a brief space, and as he pictured her alone in the world turning to him for protection and care, the austere blood coursed through his veins with unaccustomed warmth The thoughts emanating from the vision were so enthralling and so sweet that the tedium of his journey was entirely beguiled, and he was even surprised when he reached Edinburgh so soon. Familiar with the city from end to end, he took a car at once to RankeiUor Street, whence it was but a few steps to the North Bank. ^ On the way, however, he had to pass through a very poor area where there was plenty to do for both missionpv and philanthropist. Christine was very familiar with the poor streets behind the North Bank, and all the Httle baims knew her. She had a singing-class for them in an empty room, and delighted in her prok'g^s, often coaxing them with bribes to the studio so that her father might see the types. Alan Grier knew very little about the poor as they are found m cities. The decent poverty of the country was tamihar enough, and never an insolvable problem He was mchned to think the problems of city life exaggerated It was quite dark when he reached the familiar gate of the Eyrie, and he was relieved to see lights in the front windows. Perhaps he would be in time to join them at their evening meal, and he suddenly remembered that he had eaten nothing since the hasty bite his mother had set before him at one o'clock. His handhng of the old knocker brought an immediate response, but he did not know the lady who appeared at the open door— a middle-aged woman with a kind, somewhat careworn, motherly face expressing a somewhat sorrowful comoosure ii ill 26 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ^an I see Mr. Breck ? ' asJrer? r • • manner characteristic of him ""' '" *^« abrupt She shook her head. ti^e b:gl%ri: -" "^'^^^"^^ ^ ' ^^^ -icl, glancing at in cS^^e^o^a I^t .^^^^^^^^ I a. here morning.' '^"^^ ^ received from Mr. Breck this the t.ri"„°;l:'e^^^-^ »to the ha., g^wing p.,e ^^.^ in K?^^^ ■' ^*'^ impossible f ' he saM 1.0 • • '^et ^ '-'^'' ' Here isSte^.t^^^^ l^^^ thlt}^^^^^^^^ Po.ceman saw him post found dead in the studio XreLtr^"!!"^- ^e was J^s sleep. You don't knormLr ^^r'^'"*^^ ^^^ in have met ray husband, I thiSc^ Z r^' '',"'^^- ^ou He has gone there to-dann f ^^^° °^ ^^^ Ford, to-morrow or next day I^ has au\T ''' *'^ ^""^^^^ we seem paralysed.' ^" '"^e" ^o sudden that StillGrierdidnotsDpal' t* gettmg one after they cam? hitt '.'"'" ^ort^^te in comes in by the day ^i^T}j''%}^^ ^-n^" who foLtrr. ^- -'--^^ <^- ^^ee^tons•t ^t-he^'I^Ttt^^^S^^^^^^^ «- '^""e dnn,b,y a meal were going forw^S "" Preparations for -.^^^IXt^ert /at,'* ^^ """^ »» '-".. ER the abrupt glancing at I am here Breck this e motioned : pale with to fumble the night ' him post He was !y died in )le. You the Ford, i funeral den that thought, iere's no mate in lan who ig with Use her 3umbly ons for " calm, THE SUMMONS 27 'Christine i? expecting her uncle from London-Mr. Hedderwick. He telegraphed this morning to say he wodd arrive at eleven to-night. That will be a help/ How is Miss Breck ? ' Grier managed to ask in a voice strangely unhke his usual measured tones ' She's very quiet. She has said very 'little at all, and has spent the most of the day in the studio. He is in there. We just left him where we found him on the old settee. Chnstine is in the dining-room now. writing a letter. I had better tell her you have come ' 'In a moment Mrs. Noble. Tell me first, what did Meik e]ohn say when he came ? I suppose you sent for Meiklejohn, since he had the case in hand.' ' He said that the heart was broken. Hately told me I was struck by the expression. ' lieved^"^ ^^^ ^^^^^ *°°' ^"* ^® looked— as he felt— re- ' There was no suggestion that he had taken any drug to make him sleep-an overdose, perhaps ? Forgive me for asking the question. Mrs. Noble, but Mr. Breck told me at the Glen of the Ford about six weeks ago, that he had to take constant doses to stop the pain ' ' Dr. Meiklejohn did not say. and anyhow it is of no consequence now. He is gone, and his poor girl is left. She doesn t reahse it yet. I am glad Mr. Hedderwick is *^T,T^' « ^^ ^ ^ practical man and will be a great help ' Mr. Breck was not very fond of Hedderwick ? ' sug- gested Gner. * ' Wasn't he ? Ah well, it doesn't matter now. Death 11 ^ ^^l^f^'^f"! softener even of family differences. And the Hedderwicks are very weU off. Christine might do worse than try to be happy among them.' Here spoke the practical woman whose life had been a long combat with the vagaries of the artistic temperament and who in the last twenty years had consistently borne the burden of two. It had not harrlpti^^ ft»r k-^ ^P •art. m 28 [I III II ^H^ II h lii THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER teU her.' P^^^^^d to see you. j ^^d better . Don't— I'll just ffo in TU J- . said.P Iknowthewry"' ^^' ^"^"^™m, I think you i^/4hT^^^^^^^^^ the door, hut *« went to the end otthtV "^ ^^ ^mpty. Then studio door. A sditl*'c JIT '"^ '"'"^ °P^"-d th" the mantelpiece, showiX?n Sw T ^' "" '" ^"^ "" Ahce BrecJc at the back On l'^?^™^"« Picture of north h-ght there was somt I,- f^ °'^ s«ttee under the was sitting on a ZTZlZlT^'^- »dCMst Le her knees, her eyes fixed L,^,*^*'' *i'h her elbows on -d hfehke did Otto Breck Zkt^l"!. '^'^- So „T4™ been asleep, and Christine L»^■*^' ^^ ""Sht but have hp3 that had never spoken to h"' "f " '° '^^'^ 'hat Ihe love would open nevermor? "'' """ '" '"« accents o? Very softly did Grier steal ,mtK ■ room and Pristine turn nt hTr h > *" ^P^oes of the It often cameTk o'^'in'Sf rlT "' «>" "oment end. '' '"P"'^'' fro"™ m or fver T "'''^" ''"P^ »d tenderness welled in his hSrt and . A""^ P^^^'on of motety, some compelling"hri; f '■"■ ^"^ »™rd "tei r s^~- -~^^^^ '"'"^ ' '^o- -ice, andTerCercCr ?"' '» ^ ""H even •^" a-y:;i;4S"^^^^ '' ^"^" ^--. ?ome-3lreX--S„^.^. i ER fiain chance, had better ^ think you door, but ^ty- Then >pened the far end on picture of under the I Christine -Ibows on 'O natural but have ■ that the scents of es of the ^> rising, noment. ope and ssion of inward sn and Now, . even hands i^stery have THE SUMMONS 29 She released one hand, and with the other drew him towards the old settee. ' 'Look at him-surely he is asleep. He will speak presently. So he has looked all day. If it is God who has done this, what have you to say for Him ? For see— I am only a girl, and he was all I had.' Grier was dumb before the intensity of her voice the compeUmg questioning of her eyes. Commonplace words would not avail here, and he was still casting about for something to say when she spoke again. ' In aU his Hfe he never harmed a human being, nor have I-at least willingly ; and we did not ask very much ;;^nly a few more years of life together. Out there in The Pleasance where life is often hideous, old men and women do not die though their relations want them to die so badly, and would even help them away ! What is the meaning of it ? That is what I have been asking myself aU day-what I am waiting to hear now. You are a religious man and you have made a study of these things, she went on when he did not answer. ' Why is hfe so full of injustice ? Why is my father dead ? ' It was God's time, dear Christine.' he answered slowly but she only laughed. ^' ' But it was not my time ! I shall never forgive Him for It. Is that some one else at the door ?-thsre seems to be an endless ringing of bells.' She pressed her hands to her head, and Grier saw that she was distraught. He put his arm about her and tried to draw her away from the old settee, soothing her as if she had been a child. For the moment his own personal feehngs were merged in a diviner sympathy of so rare a quahty that it began to penetrate to Christine's heart and even to comfort her. ' _' yo« aj-e very good, and he loved you.' she murmured. I shail always remember that.' Before Grier could speak further, Mrs. Noble somewhat I ' m 3° THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER '^LT'' *"' "-- <>- '- betraying a ^, their attitude. ™'' ''*'"'' ''"• Noble had noticed ov^AVtodfottjfrtdT r '•"" ^""^ ''^'ling and solemn vow. ' *°°'' "P™ h™self a fresh t :r a passing edderwick, •lier train. self from id noticed standing If a fresh CHAPTER III UNDER THE ROWANS ' Uncle Hedderwick enjoyed himself to-day— yes very much,' observed Christine with a small dry smile. ' ' He makes an excellent stage-manager.' She was walking slowly along with the minister by the side of Loch Ardle, their faces turned to the Glen of the Ford. The furj^ral was over, the Clan had gone back to Edinburgh, and Hedderwick, detained at the Inn of the Ford by the quiet obstinacy of his niece, who sunply said that she was not ready to go, was smoking a pipe in the common room of that interesting hostel, which had that day witnessed his lavish hospitality. Otto Breck's funeral baked-meats would indeed furnish food for talk in the Glen long after their consumption and the reckless expenditure of the man from London in the matter of coaches and horses and other appurtenances had created a feeling of awe and respect in all save Christine who had accepted it without com- it— either in the way of praise or of demur. ' An absolute autocrat in his own home, controller and arbiter of destinies, Hedderwick was completely non- plussed by the calm-faced, clear-eyed young woman who seemed so very Uttle impressed by his lordly ways Yet she interested and drew him. She had an air of dignity a particular charm which his own showy daughters lacked' And she feared nothing in heaven or earth. Such was the conclusion to which he had come. He would still 81 3a THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER pf UJa. • . -" v-^rar, AhTER ran-y out his original nla„_ ■ "omenta of extreme gen ro^i^^Th"?'* " ""' <" «,ose other moods-and take hSbacr ''^'°i" ^"^^"'^ his H 'i'l'''°'*W<=h would denendth,,^''"'^"'' °° ^ visit, Hedderwick's motive was'iX "^ °" '>=■■ behaviour Never at any time a ^.Tnt ^LH "'^ disinterested had seized the first oppoZit of Ik "^'''^ '^'''y- he ^f:'"-'--''^-SpredXr-x'^3 heltXrci^TnCte'e'tr-certe- '^l'"^™'^'' ^-d not the shape of pictures tL, t ,. ^ '"n benefits forgot • i,. Pa«l for withC Soty 'ftls*'''^" »« "« haSs and had never forgotten or togive^^w^ '"'"" "^i^h Breck ^>= amus^dte^^altf l*iS't:"^ '- ""* «^^der. hTkr^ any other man^tS hafe^^tit^e But he has been very kind ' r • reahsmg what practical h-in S u ^"^'" reminded her and how smooiiy eve^yttit t' l7Z 7'"^^ *^^* ^5 ^ suppose he means fo be h"?/°"^°^- W some people in Trinit; 1 ''f drum-major. We Admiral Du Cane. mJs V r ^^^ ^"^ daughters o? behaves exactly as if iZ\ ^^"^ ^^^^ the Admiral and shouts ordLUL^ht""lT.?/^ '^^^ ^^ ^^P to shout back. I can^a^ne Vn^r^'' ^ ^^^^^^ ^^ai^ at home on a ship's deck.' ^ ^^°^S:e being quite ■aa-- 'ER )ne of those balanced his ' on a visit, ■r behaviour, isinterested. s family, he impression Tl. his sister's saw in the less to his very bitter ^ bad not forgot ' in fiands and ich Breck s sense of r pictures >re value, ide made Hedder- ■ed. He 5 within led her, hat day r. We iters of admiral a ship i leam : quite UNDER THE ROWANS 33 Grier smiled only faintly. • Why did Davie disappear, do you think ? Nobody has seen him all day. and Jimmy told me it was because he saw Uncle Hedderwick in the first coach. So you see I am not alone in my opinion of him.' The tone distressed Grier. It was hard. Her face too was hard, and aU through that most trying day she had never shed a tear. When reminded that it was not usual for women to attend in the churchyard she had acquiesced but had sat at an open \vindow in the gable-end of the inn and watched the proceedings through the thinning branches of the trees. Mrs. Grier who. at her son's request, had come to sit with her, was affronted— as she expressed it. 'The man may have been what he Uked— I never thought much of him myself— but at the last she ought to have shown him proper respect.' Grier had no answer ready then, and he could not find any for Christine now ; but he surmised that underneath this strange exterior there were unprobed depths. He also fancied that had the whole ordering of Otto Breck's burying been left in Christine's hands it would have been 'tifferent. He was not therefore much surprised at her ntxt words. 'Father will never forgive me, I am afraid, for letting them do all this. We ought to have brought him our- selves—the Clan, and you and I. Mr. Grier— and laid him away m the gloaming when there were no strangers by. I felt so helpless this morning when we left Edinburgh in the cold dawii, and it seemed easy to leave everything to Uncle Hedderwick when he was so anxious to undertake It. I now see that we ought not always to choose the easy things.' ' Christine,' said Grier in a low voice, ' will you go back to London with your uncle ? ' 'Yes. I suppose so. He seems to wish it, and besides, lather m his letter said I must get tc know Aunt Lizzie. I lU ■■' I 34 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER r n«r« 1 _ J J y««er/ay to;i;;7'lf"'f*fr°» ton, Christina . »--ta..L^c.LTneisr ' That • ""Iter of an to_think aCut it,TuU stel" n„J r^l^P^^^ ^« =haU have But you might one day Qh rf '.'° "^"T just yet ' It astonished Christin. , °' Ctast me I ' he Li^ , J h"r--o%:s-S-r'-t^ he Ousted me ? ' ^°" '^"'^'- ^"■i I think that at S FER It is fuU of Pristine, only "tten at the he took out 'g away and ■ two quite utter of an shaU have ^^ just yet.' - said, and ^^S man ng on his bought of power to she asked Joch and ish you, • 'You at least enough iday to "istine ; ns you n the erent. UNDER THE ROWANS 3S perhaps indecent. She was watching them at the moment from an attic window at the Manse, whence she was just able to disceni their shadowy figures in the gloaming, her heart filled with dire foreboding. There was something about Alan in these days which she could not fathom, but she feared he was falling away from grace. ' Father used to say that I could inspire a man if I loved him,' said Christine. ' But you and I don't know any- thing about love. Do you beheve it exists, Mr. Grier ? I have never met it out of books.' ' Your father loved your mother, surely. Have you not seen his face at the rare times when he talked of her ? ' Yes,' she said with a sigh. ' But you see, I never saw them together, and all the married people I know seem never to think of love at all. It is chiefly of bills and babies, and the wives wear a worried look and get old very quickly, like poor Mrs. Noble. The husbands smoke long pipes and grumble because there is never enough money to pay everybody who wants it. The pigeon-holes of our bureau at the Eyrie now are full of bills. I shall show them to Uncle Hedderwick. He is a business man and will perhaps help to put me straight.' Grier had not a word to say. She was so much of a child— so Httle of a woman, though her face had already lost the girlish curves. He felt more and more at a loss It was protection that she undoubtedly needed. Never surely had one been born less fitted to do battle with the world. ' I should like to take to myself all the privileges which you are going to accord to your Uncle Hedderwick ' he said jealously. ' I should hke to keep you here now in the Manse of Lochardle and never let you away again.' Christine smiled very sweetly. ' You've always been kind, and I shall remember it. I shall be sure to come back after I have been out in the world and seen a bit of life.' tv!' l! ■■:■■ •. 'pi l|i' yZJ:>^^^^^'^ZiZ^:^'f:i -<> ^^^^ away Cottage belongs ,o mH ;i°To '"V""- ^^» WW.e from his own Jins «.ho/.i, "* *° see Davie and tr. u that ™ade hta'^A^.y "Vh" '^' ^"* ""^d^^tk see by his eyes that Kn,> ,■'"""'>' *°W me I "ouM voiced his o™ LZLl^X.foUe had i„ these word, -i^^L!_S-*!-?-i--togoto.o„do„ , Who IS Mrs. Prentice ? ' -^^entice hves there.' for Women's Suiirage to hi ?h "'"""S'' *>:' ">« ^cietv made everything so dwr t ™ '° Set the vote ^Z meetfeg th^t da^, XZZ^:^,X^^^^P^'^.t t fc, th'eyr sTsotd ;„ t?^«-e rt JS^«r antagonistic to evervthtaghe had h ^"^^ "'^■'e alien a^d he beheved regarding women and th" ,''"** »d ^ aU But something warned hta ?hat tv ^"^^ '" *">« worM - the Place to argue theVoinI Z:':^^ «>' time • ER I take awav rd.' ^ P^y. 'And The White Lnd to hear leddenvick fne I could - Clan dis- 5aid to me >u]d rue it ese words > London here,' vho Mrs. Wend of seen at Society e. She • at the 1 better Politics. !lt very 1 know that I )rward shone, 1 ever n and to all ^orld. time UNDER THE ROWANS 37 i ' Such women have very often lost their sense of pro- portion,' he said gravely ; ' and anyhow you can be assured that it is not in that direction happiness Ues,' ' I've had twenty-five years of happiness— perfect happi- ness. I have never known anything else in the world. I am going to waken up now. That is why I am so anxious tc see London and life.' ' London and nfe ! ' Grier repeated under his breath. It was a strange subject for conversation on the evening of her father's funeral day. Not in such mood had he hoped to find and comfort the woman he loved. ' Dear Miss Emily told me that Mrs. Prentice had had the courage of her opinions and that she had suffered very much for them.' said Christine thoughtfully. ' She is a widow, I suppose— or is there a Mr. Pren- tice ? '—and for the life of him he could not help adding ' Poor beggar.' To his surprise Christine laughed quite spontaneously. ' You are one of the men that Mrs. Prentice spoke about at the meeting. It is men who have lost their sense of proportion. I don't think I shall go on to the Cottage to-night,' she said suddenly; 'and I must find out to-morrow what has become of Davie. Let us go back. I am tired.' Her face had grown white and weary, and Grier took her by the arm. ' It has been too much for you altogether,' he whispered tenderly. * I wonder if you know just how much I want to keep you here to take care of you.' 'I . n tired of being taken care of. and I know nothing,' she made answer, myself what life is hke. I am selfish. know myself.' ' We love you as you are. Don't go out into the world, Christine. It will change, perhaps harden you. It is not what he would have wished.' I am twenty-five, ' I must know for I must learn to i III m 3" THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' Father knew thaf h. t j ,-;'!' "e. His ,ett w« Ir/"",? ""■='="'» «n>ewhere beginning to enH a f "^° ^'*^ self-reornarh 7 me an these years,' "" "'^ '°«ly We which he gave . H^^"owsitwhereheisto.a.,3aiaGrieri..„,^. Chnstine lifted nn«=*- • , ■ Vou say th^.^t Z'"!; 'r^""°"= ^^^ '« his face tae. Nobody I^Jws Cca ™ noT;! '""^ ^"'^^ " S When your mother wa, t!,^?.^ ""^"^y ««r comes birt resigned to what she*ailed .hTi'" "" '"-"^y ="Su bS.e ^creamed out. And Urn afrai^r'^"'^ Will I could havf her, but that sort of ta?k ,i ^ "^' '^"y "erj' rude to ias irritated me r /„ T, '"""^^ "■"«»'« me-H V^„., norp«-''--''-«Pi".o his grave face When he did Y^y'''C°Zl'ttTr' '-"uld have ^ rude to t always le pujpit erred to nobody 1 he did ^e said to be '11 only t rich, taken never d/he ^es, rId-~ how who med Ue^ UNDER THE ROWANS 39 She did not look sweet as she spoke, and the tone of her voice was bitter. Grier was once more completely at a loss. His love made him humble and shy of rebuking a mental attitude of which he could not approve. He comforted himself by reflecting that it was only the outcome of the shock of a great grief. ' Now I have shocked you,' she said with a sad little smile. ' But surely it is better to be quite frank and to have no illusions about one another if we should ever be so foolish as to marry. Remember, however, that if at any time you wish to change your mind I shall quite understand. We must both be left absolutely free— until at lea?*- I have made my little excursion into life. Now there is Uncle Hedderwick ! Doesn't he look spick-and- span ? Did you ever see any one so well dressed ? He positively looks rich.' She did not wait for Grier's reply, but suddenly escaped through a gap in the hedge anH ' ^appeared. Grier strode on to meet Hedderwick, thinking how weU Christine's words had hit him off. He had a fine figure which he carried with the easy assurance of the man who had achieved success. His face would be difficult to describe or define. It had a certain handsomeness, a cheerful, well-groomed look, an expression of perfect self- satisfaction— yet vithal a furtive air as of one not quite at his ease, a sort of discontent in the eyes as if much had been gained, yet something missed. Grier wondered what it was as he approached, pleased enough to have an opportunity of speaking a few private words with the man whose personality so nearly concerned Christine. ' Good evening,' said Hedderwick. ' I was wondering where everybody had vanished to while I was settling up with the last of the fellows. I say, they know how to lay it on in these parts. Where has my niece gone ? She seems to be a law to herself, and she treats everybody 40 ndi':uIous,' answer^ rl?. * ™gg«tion is sunerfl , uJ^y ^ ^^ "nder control Tf? u , *^^ Cottage oueht tie man of the worii : *^* '' but it was ti,r • velnn^"^'^ ^^^^^ is quite Ta^f""^'^ ^^ ^"^nds. ^*' velopment, that is all ' r !• ^^""^^— a little flaw in ^ things he is perfect^; ^"'f ^"^^^red gravelv ' t " ^^' he is dead/ repS VfjiT^'^ P^headed at that ih u an ounce of comm ^""^^^ ruthlessly 'tu; °"^^ mfe-^' ^^on^mon-sense in the f^v P ' ''"'* «e stopped ther. "" '"y Hedderwick t„ w° '■*^P°nse. refraining from tondon ? 'l" s,M '^'^■;S Miss Breck back »,-.k « »"st be done With h,. She can't be left 'ng woman •fluous and ering the age ought »e was so into the ' to keep ^enin.' view of id treats ' in de- In most es him. putting though e isn't n my strong ck an Bcult ,' he tions ging The tine to Qit UNDER THE ROWANS 41 in that god-forsaken hole in Edinburgh with a charwoman. I tell you it was an eye-opener— the state of my brother- in-law's house. Yet he must have made money in his time— he did make it. I have seen it stated that he could sell a picture for a thousand pounds, but Christine will be a pauper— nothing less or more. She will have to earn her own living unless she is fortunate enough to marry well. But she isn't Ukely to, with that sharp tongue of hers. A month or two at my house will do her good. She has lived too much with men and has really shocking ideas about things.' It was perhaps the sheer truth, but it hurt Grier as if he had been stabbed. 'I don't think that we on the outside are fully capable of judging the conditions of life in the house of a man of genius,' he said formally; but Hedderwick interrupted him with a cynical laugh. ' Faugh ! Genius— it's akin to madness and it's worth precious httle, I tell you, in these days. What has he left for probate ? How will his genius pan out when set down in black and white ? I've no patience with that sort of thing. I once told Otto Breck exactly what I thought of him, and he never forget or forgave my plain-speaking. But I don't keep up ill-will. For my wife's sake I'm willing to give the girl a home for a while until we think what's best to be done for her.' Grier looked away across the dark loch and hesitated for a moment. Could he confide his hopes to this man who reduced everything to the sordid level of expediency ? No— he must wait the turn and tide of events. ' Now, she has kept me here to-night for sheer devilry. She doesn't realise what twenty-four hours mean to a man hke me with a big concern on his shoulders. My son isn't old enough to take my place or to relieve me much, and even the best of servants want watching. I may easily have lost a thousand pounds by this waste of time. 4» THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER sands because of me f - - """ ' "^y should you lose thou- , I'a':' is, she has neTCrLT=*?°"y"«'» anile- know whether yo^ ^ew mv t"^ "P'-rinP-S- I don't certafaly he seemed t^me t^ve^ w "-'^^ '''"' ""' ^sted With the custody of chilS 1^^"°" *° ^ "" Chnstme's mother ? ' ^ °"=""*«"- Did you ever meet m^?a;°„ai^t„cr^rh"ttfBre:i^ *-»*y y-«. and I to L«hardle three y^fago^ '"' ""''' "''^'' ' «me isn-t'^s ritrf;;;:tri"sho"''?"'"« °' '' «"' ' -y. handful of uncouth !♦ T ''"' * man like you-a Whydon-tyora^L:r/cSt%'^'" ^'^ ^'■^■"^' ments m'ean^h'Sv anstelSiS- " "f" "^ '"J"*- no way tempted to coZt ^v of Z I*.- '^''^' " questioner. ^n^ of his ambitions to his ^^'^f^^^fh^SSed his shoulders, tell m";o„Trf:^::,^J-3,^" ^ad^fts "''^ 3'ou-they them. I might have h.™ . ,v^'' ^ •''"e"' market for which I am n^ow held if I SaS^f "/.r '°' *''* «™ « To reach the top w^lco^V^*"? ambition to rise. Now there are some plum °ta SeTt •"'? °' '"""te^- suburbs. We're goms to h„H,i ^''i '" ^""lon and its in our neighbouS r™ ^ •'"' ^"^'''y'erian Church building fund and w„ {„ *'™8 ^ thousand to the We'IlolerWm'si^o^s^^enh^r!?^ I ^^^^ S°°^ mfn to hinder you from Sg "t ttf o? '^".r'*''- ***«'' „ The Ufe wouldn't aS f„ 1 ' something like it ? • Hedderwick, and I L^t^J ""; ' " * ''"dent, Mr. gifts.' ° ' don t possess what are called popular UNDER THE ROWANS 43 ' Well, don't stop here till it's too late. That's some- times done, you know. Now, where has that girl gone ? I must go and look after her and see that she eats some diimer. Have you ever noticed how queer women are about their food ? My wife seldom eats a respectable dinner, but tipples at tea at all sorts of unholy hours. Consequence — her nerves are all to pot. Eating is a science — an art that has to be acquired as much as paint- ing or preaching.' Grier laughed and bade him good-night. When he entered the Manse he went straight to the study and closed the d or. It had been a long and trying day, but Sunda^ coming soon and must not find him unprepared. 1 hed to compose a pulpit tribute to Otto Breck — surely the very last service that the artist would have desired at his hands. Christine was found in the hotel when her uncle entered j and they dined together in a private room from a menu that had been carefully selected by him. Christine listened to his dissertation on wines and foods in rather an abstracted manner, but she did look a little startled when a certain dish was sent out untouched, because it wos not what he had ordered. ' Does it matter what we eat. Uncle George ? ' she asked — not timidly, but in a sort of quiet wonder. ' Wait till we've had you in London a fev/ weeks. We'll teach you the whole art of dining. Meanwhile it is well to let thesp heathens see that we know what we are about.' Christine did not smile. Inwardly she felt a Uttle ashamed. They knew her well at the Inn of the Ford, her father and she having partaken of many a simple meal of bread and cheese, many a homely tea under its roof. This was an entirely new order of things, and she wondered whether she might privately acquaint Mrs. Maclaren with the fact that she had no hand in the rejec- *: . -.X j.u_ j:_i- uun ux lUC UXSli. 44 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER at the gable.e„d of the ho^e """^ °" *"' S^o-md-C *5y ten o clock aii ♦!,-. • ^ 'hat none S^d Chn J"™^'? °' *« »" were asleen Window and sU^'^^^ZT" '"' ^'"^ °P»St5 the autumn dew ^" *''^ S^'*" Ward, dank »?th °' *St^hru^,t'Srro't"f''^^^P-t''e best part Pressed against the lauS f "''"' **"' ^^' cheek *'^'^'^"'' ^^°^&e, I would ' Wh^rareTi;;y"a1l?'&:/^P^^^^ Hedderwick drily be in a dressingl^n an^ tt ""n °^ ^"^ ^^is for you to ' None of them T^: ul ?"■? ^ ^^ese men.' ^ t-e. I saidXTre^&a:?' an! "^ZT' ^^^^^ ^heir nervously. ' We were 1^^^^'^ ^?- ^^^derwick Saturday I thought I'd letlhemo"?'^^ and to-day being Umph, And Ted has gone to business/l sup. THE POTENTATE 47 ' No — Ted's sleeping yet, I'm afraid. But it was my fault, George. Come upstairs, Christine.' ' High jinks ! Didn't I tell you, Christine, I had nobody at home to trust ? Was it a ball or a cafe chantant last night ? ' ' Only a few friends came in and they had a dance. I'm si"-e Christine wouldn't mind if she's like her father. He always liked to see folks happy.' ' But you might have remembered I was away burying him — eh, Christine ? ' he said. Christine looked round uncomfortably, hating the scene and chiUed by the atmosphere, but finding a little relief in the kind expression of Aunt Lizzie's tired eyes. ' Just a moment, dear lassie, till I hurry up the break- fast,' said her aunt, disappearing through the green baize door to give directions to the sleepy, unwilling maids. ' You get the key to my position here at the very door — stuck in the door, in fact,' observed Hedderwick as he threw his numerous overcoats on the hall seat. Aunt Lizzie appeared before Christine could find any reply. ' Come, dear, never mind your uncle,' she whispered as she took her by the arm. ' I dare say you have found out that he's a little sharp, but you'll learn not to mind him — at least, not much. When you've been in the house a while you'll understand too why the bairns had a few. companions in when he was away. There was no dis- respect to your father in it, dearie, for he was my own brother, and I was very fond of him.' ' I should never think that disrespect was meant. Aunt Lizzie. Does it matter anyhow ? The only thing that counts is that he has really gone away.' Her heart went out to the sweet, worn-faced little woman as they ascended the spacious staircase together. The light from the painted windows seemed to deepen the hauntinc care behind her soft eyes= The r>athos of f^ h ! » ■it: ij ^ THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' room and your unck will i'. .^"l"™ "« » the spafe Palace Z„£^ rJSryTh""' '-""^o^uft^^h" your uncle d,d not wriS7e .hou'^K' ""' *'>'^- "-"tt get back tiU to-morrow " nd fh! t*' """<'"'' Possibjy 'vhether he would bringlu"" *'" ' "'^"'' '«" sure -h you wouldn-t say any mo.e about it, Aunt •An well but if evening and found a nkeZi.^"^'^'^ comfortably in the hav^feit better. I Z^ hke SZ 7' ^"^^°^^ "^uL at folks houses at unholy hours R?"""^'' ^"^ ^"^ving Bhnes m them. He alLTi l "* ^^"^ Uncle Geori expresses it. For ml t/^, ^^^^ catching folks-^r ? -y back, as lo^;" 'folks" I "r^ ^^^* ~ br^nd scenes. !';„ ^^rn out with / ^^^^^ ^"^ ^bere are no "^'rdi&^^V^^^^^^^ "^''''' ^^^ to the E^ie'Jhe thS^ "^'*' ^^ -ben we got back broke my heart/ saldthr^s^i^e"^"^^ so desolateMatt ^ ^Cr'Cb'l Ter^LVa^^^ed with tears, bappy here. The b'^L^?,'', If /7 and make you been counting on vonr t^ • ^""^ ^o*' and Bettv h^c iust now, anl BetrhasTa'-.h'^'" ''' Katie's L'y Robm f youve fond ofTabie^ 'hS Y"" ^^^^ ^ttl^ m of fun and nonsense. Tht is hi 7 "^'^^ ^^^ ^bap, the beasts. Eveiybodv who oV ' ^^o-just look at something new for it. '^ ^° '°^^^ Presents him with A big cage stood aeaincit tho against the nursery wall, filled with THE POTENTATE 49 Aunt stuffed animals of every size, shape, and hue. It was a motley, laughable collection, and Christine's lips parted in a tender little smile. 'A quaint wee chap,' his mother said, as rhe patted a big woolly lamb keeping guard by the door. ' Sometimes he plays at being God making the beasts at the beginning of the worid. But there— I'm keeping you. Mr. Hedder- wick will be sure to want me. There's a bath-room through that door, and you can ring for clean towels if there are none. Good-bye just now.' She hurried off, imagining she heard the peremptory voice of her lord. Christine stood still in the middle of the nursery floor, looking vaguely round with something of dismay in her eyes. Aunt Lizzie was motherly and kind, but something whispered that not here would she find a home. The sense of unrest, the hurrying discontent, the undercurrent of unbearable sadness made their impression on the girl's sensitive soul, and never afterwards left it. Meantime Aunt Lizzie in the room downstairs was bearing the full brunt of her husband's anger. He had begun to change his clothes, and was flinging them about the room in a manner which obviously indicated his state of mind. ' Call yourself a decent woman I ' he said savagely. ' Do you think it decent to get up a ball while I was away putting your brother in the grave ? What can you expect any of your children to come to, reared in such an atmo- sphere of deceit ? ' 'I don't know, I'm sure,' she answered truthfully enough. ' But they must have a little brightness, George. It was all done on the spur of the moment, and there was no underhand planning about it. How could there be ? And anyway I'm not asking you for money to pay for it —I can manage it out of the housekeeping.' ' And keep us on short commons for the next month 1 '.' ij si f 50 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' n)e about that just beL I went? "''''^^P ' «« ^^s a? ^e would mak^jying in 4 bej tr.^- ^ "''""^^ P^^ner ^ You won't say anvthinl ! [^ *^'^ ^'^^^ of day.' George. Indeed /w^^t^f '^J^^ befo^ his cLms, Besides it was my fault Th^T, 1' '^^ desperately he wen: up3tairs was that I wL t' be'"^ '^ ^^^ ^efofe *"^-— ' ^as to be sure and awaken I don't believe a word of it ru • the house that I can believe V' ^^ ^'"'* ^"^body in twenty-four hours, not kt^LlTatt'^^ '^ ''^^' '' '^r my absence. It's jollv harTl?. ""^^ ^^ Soing on in have done to bring up hi fff ^ '"^^ ^^« ^^^ed as^ raust take more drast^^ ml ""^^ comfortably. But I "^appem^g^^^^ to prevent t4 sort J that woTdt wTuM bTofnoTv^i ''Tj -^^^"^^ «^« ^ew old, old ground, which she had .n 1'* ^^ ^ *he same fuUy step by step. ^^"^ ^° ^^t^n traversed pain- She let down her hair v^rhi.u plentiful though it had"s i>r- ''^ ^"^""^t and veiled her face she relaxed Vel tS/eTf '''''''' ^^'^ ^t sadness seemed accentuated ?h" A^"^^ ^ that their • the fact that she was ve^ ted ^,1^^^^^ "^^^"^^ to a^ formerly to act the pT of b^ff^t k'.""^' "°* ^ able aifectionate but unruly childm, . f .^*'^^"" ^ Pack of they were afraid. sLebodv ^V^' ^"*^^^ ^^^hom perhaps it would be sheT U^n T'^ ^° *° the wall- jn the old huryinsf^:^^'^;^'^^^^^^ there were no hereafter Rpr Vk ^^^^ °^ the Ford-if flown that for the moment^h waT^M ' ''' '' ^^"^P^^tely of her husband's wrath ^' °^^^°"s of the torrent n.ui^r"^°"^"^^^^"°^"^s Wife's grave,' she said ^'-ot talkingabout Otto-lam talkingaboutwhat's f '^^BM THE POTENTATE 51 a word to \ He was at ie partner day.' s chums, iperately. id before 1 awaken happening in this house and what's going to happen,' he said grimly. ' Will you kindly give me your attention for a few moments till I tell you what I want and will have ? ' ' Not just now, George. I'm not able to listen or to take it in — I'm not, really,' she answered, looking at him through the parted masses of her hair. ' Tell me about Otto. What kind of a place had he, and how is Christine left ? Never mind the bairns and their dance and my useless ways j we can redd that up later. I've told you the whole truth about last night anyway. Her unexpected display of spirit had the effect of calming him for the moment. ' There's precious little about your brother you would like to hear, Liz. He died as he had lived — a thrawn beggar. Such a house and such poverty — not even a servant in the place ! No decent servant would bide in such a place.' * I can't believe that, George, looking at Christine. She's a lady every inch of her. Did you ever see such a beautiful head and one held so high ? And there's some- thing about her that none of ours have got.' ' How could they have ? ' he asked pointedly. ' Her looks are well enough, but she has had no upbringing, and what's to become of her Lord only knows.' ' I thought that Otto got big prices for his pictures. You once read out of the paper when we lived down at Brixton, that he had got a thousand pounds for a picture of the (jlen of the Ford with Lochardle in the distance.' ' So he did. But he was like you, Liz — he should never have had the handling of money.' ' But he was nice to live with, George, and that lassie of his was fond of him — you can see it in her eyes.' ' I've seen precious little sign of grief, I can tell you. Her callousness at Lochardle was remarked upon. It's in the blood. There's a big sumph of a minister up there that would make eyes at her ; but if he took Otto Break's iiiJ 53 THII ON^ WHO CAME AFTER »»ort°",„rG'e„'ir l^Y ""^h «bcut her ia such a sympathetic, fr^outlerlS S'l''*"^ ^o" w^'n'? wond " '" y°" "-"""r Vtve„^«° ,»"d ^ou would wonder over your eoiii»" I'™ ve^ Chnstine back.' "' '™« f""- ">»* and for bringing She djd not need much to n.rke hi h "'''^^ Wghtened. exorbitant demands on life pA ^P^' ^he made no exacting in the summer of h J/ '".'""^ ^^^ been more been less Sinty forhS fee/ ''"^^ '"^ P''^"' "ayTad you cjK:^ta'?Std"S^ ?T^- ' -'" ■ Hwy-umpi;T" Yo'u a!,7r'' °' b'f-' " - ■P?i'H~ey°yrcoj ^^^'^.^'y happy „hen ^ Hedderwick's way to talk JT„. .. .. . you're s on the verge on^km/tcv f^ ^''T' "^ « he were Penditure was verv hS^v l^A !t°"l'' ^^ Personal ex! enough for him. ^ ^ ^""^ "^e best was never g,Sd His wife had cea<5or? f« ^ actual state of ZT^^rs:TJl'T",^^*'y -bout the day, thankful when eac^ont tlZ I.'T''' fro™ day to She was not happy or at hom. ; *1? ^""O"' eatastrophe looked back r^M^XZl cot,^' ^^ ''°"*' ""d often Road where she had bjgun her mal^H ?? '"^ Bucksbum loved her undoubtedly, but th"^"^ "f ««■ eMdren her m »y „ ^^ forty-five gz^i""" *°"Sbt of saving of the Glen of the Ford w?= ^"^''' once the toast with the burden of t™ triS r^S-'l^"" "'^ *°"^ When they gathered about Z, "u''" ""oulders. htUe later the membe. o^tlVh^o'ui:^;^^!^.^^: t i i )nce — and in such a 1 weren't >u Would ered my r'm very bringing iger as rhtened. nade no -n more 'ay had 1 wish 3 sweet ' when 2 were U ex- good It the ay to ophe. often bum dren ving oast tnan s. le a one THE POTENTATE S3 by one, in no way elated at sight of their father, but all curious to see the only cousin they possessed in the world. Ted was the last to appear— a tall, open-faced young man with a kindly eye and a manner which pleased Christine. Before greeting her he walked straight up to his father. ' Good morning, sir ; I'm sorry you find me here.' ' I'm sorry myself,' answered HedderHrk with a grunt. ' I really meant to be at business , but 1 werslept my- self. I'll make up for it, I promise 'ci.' Christine's eyes glowed with aj.^">r<, /al; aid she mar- velled that the frank, manly words pre oke'!' so ungracious a response. There was not much conversation. Everybody ate as if for a wager, and each one as he finished left the table. Christine sat opposite the sideboard, above which hung a lovely picture of the Ardle below the Ford where it wound through the narrowest defile of the Glen. It had been painted in August after the Lammas floods, and the volume of the water was a beautiful and living thing out of which her father's spirit seemed to speak to her. And yet it almost broke her down and she made very small progress with her breakfast. The two guests departed with Ted immediately they had eaten, Hedderwick retired to his sanctum to smoke, and Mrs. Hedderwick, relieved that another half-hour's tension was over, carried Christine upstairs to the room which she was to occupy. ' I'm sorry we haven't any black clothes, dear ; but we'll get them next week. I haven't had a minute to get them since the news came.' ' I hope you won't get black clothes,' Christine made haste to answer, ' Father hated them — mourning clothes, I mean, though he liked me best in black ; and you see I have still some roses in my hat.' ' I noticed them, but I thought that, like me, you had been hustled and hurried. I'm always hustled, Christine. I hi ' i, !•! **ll 54 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER When I get the ^nZ^TmtZT' 'f P'^'"»^«- ' But why should v™, ,!!, ' ' *=*" >" ^^'he.- or so»e of StlS%™ S"^ ' • "f' ^"^ death.' ^ ^ ^ ^°" ^ook so tired— tired to life Iors'de young. But vou'ulnn h • ^°.**'° "''^* " '^ "ke to be and fo get SgSThi^? '° "f '"''"i"^' ^'^^«°' ch"rh",1SS"he."L'aXa': *''f,P'">=-ered easy- regarded her perplSeX ^f!^l° ^ '"'L' "«''• Christine What a tale of tS'^ittttt^ '"**f = compassion, yet altogether sweet fieT *^ '"'^' "'^^O'. ve^y^^lir EvSv hi\"n'.- ''" ^ '^^ ^O the very hymn s?^ that ^Z '?""^""»8 to vex them- doesn't itp^^ow fet us t^k »L\"°°'= " ^^"7 '"t- know that your father and fwe'e ^^^T*' ^° y™ were bairns together at slratSleTV'n'""' !"'" *^ bonme glen looks. Do you W thi l ""^ ^"^ ***« on it since I left it after wurTth^ ^"^ ""^ *' 'y«^ agreed about some P-ctuLTM'' H^i,^"'* '^T "■™'* *^- he would never go back to tL o "''^.'^^"'ok swore that was never more^^^d j'''!,^'"? V""^ ^ "^ ^"^^ I would go down to tSneJi^A"'^" """» ''^ =aid he see he can be kind when helikr ^^!{T ??'='=• ^ y°» ' Oh yes ; vejy kind" '" ' ''' '''""^ to you ? ' andt'L?tSiVtt&°' "T' ''"' "^'^ - clever But we were happier when t^ werf I:'"" Ji'" ^"^ '<"^=- in a four-roomed^housron tie BuckS^I*"^' '""•""«' Aberdeen.' ^ucKsbum Road outside of • .» THE POTENTATE S5 ' But you have a beautiful house here, Aunt Lizzie.' ' Oh yes, the house is well enough. But oh, lassie— these servants ! You can't think what they're like and what I go through with them every day. Mr. Hedderwick is so particular he never lets anything pass. I pay a woman in the kitchen thirty-five pounds a year— and I daren't speak to her. But she cooks the cutlets in the way Mr. Hedderwick likes them, so I keep her on.' ' But surely that is a horrible way to Uve,' said Christine as she knelt down before her trunk with her keys in her hand. 'Yes, it is. It's bondage— hard bondage. But as I said, there's aye a something, and after you're married you just have to put up with things.' ' But a woman has her rights, and it can't be any woman's right to be womed as you are.' Mrs. Hedderwick laughed rather mirthlessly. ' I'm not strong-minded, and if I had been, I believe we would have parted long since ; but there — I didn't mean to talk to you like that the very day you came into the house. There's something about you that makes me talk. I suppose you've got your father's wheedling ways. It's your eyes that draw me— they look into my soul. When you're married you'll understand better what I'm talk- ing about.' ' One thing is certain. Aunt Lizzie,' replied Christine as she turned the key in the lock with a little snap, ' if my husband doesn't like my cooking of the cutlet he can cook it for himself.' ' You seem very jolly in here,' said Betty, opening the door at the moment. ' Whatever are you laughing at ? ' ' Your cousin Christine on matrimony. Come in, Betty, and listen to her,' replied her mother. ' How old do you think Betty looks, Christine ? She's just twenty- one. Ted's the eldest— he's twenty-three.' ' He looks older, I think, but Betty might be nineteen/ n- ■■A :: .^ n } I* laJi 56 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER "Plied Christine, looting „p ^,^„^,^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^_^ giving ratlier a plS' ^„ff "^ "°^^ »«d ™de month colouring was exSe a^^^'^S ° u"'' '*«• »« well with it. ^ • ^"^ ''^' ''*'■'' hair contrasted wh7thSl\Twrcu«et"d»:'t'''^'. ''"" '^"-^ -•'"^ed Hedderwick pensiveral sh?L *^ '^'S ^ "°*'' ^^^ ««• thought what aSbte tvr,Tl^"*'^ *"' '""> P* ^d ^ many cutletsTt ?he Gkn o, ttVT' ' *' ^*>'t thankful for what we couM " t M f^ ^""^ ''^^ '^ he to that wear^ kitchen aS ar H f» m ',*^™ *° 6° d"™ he peppery'^his molTg ate S ^,1? '=°°^ ^hCU wit\:fo^Lre™x£"~ threw heSS'f'"on?e%^;".rsirc;'='^' ^^''^ ^ ^^^ you're awfuUy pretty. I wish T^„ u ?""'■ 5'°" l"ow yours, Look how scLsrv Th V ? T " '^° "y hair like hke mamma's. 1^ SV^t^T^\" 'J ^ Your hair's it made into a wig S m^^" 'IT/" *^" »<> '>''™ get it all friUy hke that ! ' *' ''° y°" <'° to it to • Ah*'^'!f~,?"'y ^^^'* in the usual wav ' to t'lt^SdtrrSfer S-'"-">'-^have the meanest effect ' ""^ P'"' ^""^ tongs to get 4^^Z 0^^""'^ '^' »^ -t " at a becoming SayXsfc:trdid y^u'lC 'r *° "'^ ^°"»''- these confidence., ytZ^^^^X.^^^Z^^^^ THE POTENTATE 57 them a very good perspective of life in her uncle's house. ' You have a way of looking at folks which makes them sit up. How ripping ! You could make our pater sit up ! Hitherto it has been his prerogative to make everybody else sit up. We're all getting a little restive under it, especially Ted and I since we've grown up, Ted's been worse of late. Of course I'll marry as soon as the suitable party comes along. The difficulty is to choose — all the boys are so nice.' Christine smiled as indulgently as if she had been listening to the chattering of a child. ' The boys will admire you awfully if you're not too standoffish with them. Say, how do you manage to keep your figure so lovely ? Look at me — my waist's two inches bigger than mamma's now. Mamma has got awfully thin lately, don't you think ? ' ' She's dead tired, Betty, and you ought to help her more than you do.' ' She won't let me, really. She only thinks of getting us a good time, and we have it in spite of the pater. To do him justice, though, he isn't always so shirty as he was this morning ; but then if he was more reasonable we shouldn't want to have dances when he gocF away. Some- times he's positively awful to the boys and folks when they come and simply drives them away. If mamma had taken him in hand firmly at the beginning he would have been better. I don't mean to let my husband drum- major me like that, you'll see. Say, Christine, have >ou ever been afraid of anybody or anything in your life ? ' ' No — never.' ' Wait till you see the pater in a real tantrum, then you'll see 1 He was in one just before Katie went away because of Braithwaite.' * Who is Braithwaite ? ' * One of the boys who was after Katie. But she's only I ' 19 u 58 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER a very strict schooilTI:^™^^^^^^^ l^er to' to write to her yet Giris C«V h ^^^*^^aite manages niany have you had ? T.T .T ^ ^^^^theart. How should think ' ^''*' "''^'^ ^^^e been after you, I ;rve never had ev-n one.' yo»'::;„Td°S 'oJ?^' ''^ "^^ ^« P"P0'^. Haven't overgrown child ^"^ '"='" '°"' ">« "oment Uke an bes^"' He^dil'e^'rCeTht "^^ ="" ^^^ ^^^ Ted attentive to he7 id «»!=' f'""^ ^■«' ™s very even sl^f on f j^^o^^/^: ™°f. '"an'thoughtful- Mne of care that worried ht '' "^ '"■°"' *"»'' ™= » ho«^Te'5?h'fl*li^:^^^=-'^ °' «P»diture in the the atace™? 1:^1^ eSlft^ T::' "'"'^"^^' -« well-ordered household ani Ti .^^^ ^" "" sense a finable feeW^t thl? ^"^^^^ ^^^'^ ^^^ t^e inde- of prosperityi^relSfsS^^^^ '- t^e tide When c4tineM her head oVh' ^'-r'^^ ^"P^°^^^- worn out with a £.r of * " ^^^ P^^^ *hat night that not her to:.,d'Terirs:ti::^-'^' ^"^ ■="- CHAPTER V THE HEART OF THINGS To Christine the Hedderwick household presented an amazing study. She was talcen into the he \:t of things at once jecause she was of their own kin, and they all talked to her in more or less confidential terms, each setting forth his own point of view. Betty was frankly disappointed and made no secret of it. ' There's no fun left in you, Christine, even supposing that you were bom with any — which is doubtful. You might have been married a hundred years.' This, because Christine refused to join a Sunday expe- dition to Richmond with some of ^ boys. ' I can't see any fun in that sort of thing, Betty, and these boys are too silly for anything. If I were going to have a secret I would make it something worth while.' Betty, only partly comprehending, stared out of her round eyes and went her own road, spending her days in small and harmless intrigues, in writing numerous love- letters, in making — but not always keeping — clandest e appointments, and in imagining that she was having a good time. Aunt Lizzie, finding in Christine some rare quality of S5anpathy and hugging to her breast the fact that she was Otto's daughter and therefore her own flesh and blood, revealed the whole pitiful system of her life, in the process ! i f: ( 6o T! e ONE WHO CAME AFTER Ta'nThTsri^ettytS ^"^ictment against the perfect system of dSo^f tweiTh"'? '' 1" ^^'^^^ "^os Everything was built on tW. t ^'*'"' ^^^ ^^^^ heard. was no fair deahng anj^^^/ fh^"^"^^^^^ ^"^ ^^ere her for household puZ^es w- h""""!^ "'''"^'''^^ *<> channels, being spent^n^additTo^^^ 1'T '"*° °^^^^^ or on surreptitious treafc .u-i, ^^°^^^ " ' the rirls drink . emained «„; jd 'U t c'^' iS^!^^ ^°^ ^^°^ ^«d f'et'a' r*- With such lepts S v^^^ '"^*^^ leet CLrwtine could not far^ion, f ^ yfvaiing at her unplea..ntaess ab.,t somemT'.nfT^.'^^y ^^''^ ^'''^^ for meals became . X^l ^r^^':^''^ ^^etings reserve before the ser^^i: l"f% /^f ^^^^^ absence of gentlewoman's instinc ^ d^^ff f ^^"'*^"^' ^^^ had . the daily explosion, no '^^ h W t ? '^^^ "^^^e before She continued to r^^JT f' ^"* "^^h disgust, all. Hewassoquet ;;TaHr ,/''P'^* ^^^ ^bove them even in the Ja^r's mS^^^^^ wondered somethinginHSde^^^^^^^^^ that she That he was not without 3!? . ^'^ "ot respond. arcoady proved, butTiey s LSd^^^^^^^ T^"^^^^ «^^ had his family area. ^ ^^^ ^"^^ to operate outside «'• She had no idea wha™ ™*rf^-^*"."'' "^ ^W"« and what efforts he made to keenTi ""' "^ *<> Wm. Heddenvick was to ChristS,^ ^^'"P^"'>"'« had won , While he was a man^? 1*' ™" '°«"™ble puzzle temper, of complete ^^J^i^'^f^^g »' household books — When h^ had Sl^^^^"^- Sunday ^^^WffiSH8l*!<<*^»**B»\fc. L THE HEART OF THINGS 6i Palace grounds, ' What I don't seem able to make my iaiidly comprehend is that the first principle of every Sriancial undertaking is honesty. It is dishonest for a woman lo spend on lace or frills the money given to her to pay for food. After all these years your aunt remains either wilfully or stupidly ignorant of that elementary truth.' * Why don't you explain it to her ? ' said Christine perplexedly. ' Explain ! Good heavens, didn't you hear me last night ? ' ' I heard you talking in a loud voice, but you did not explain anything,' replied Christine calmly. ' You simply frightened her into silence.' These family discussions were intensely distasteful to Christine, yet they seemed to be the only form of con- versation in which the Hedderwicks indulged. They never read books or nev/spapers, nor did they take any interest in the questions of the day. Hedderwick eyed Christine with frank admkation as they continued their walk. * It would not be easy to frighten you,' he said in- voluntarily. ' No human being has a right to frighten another,' she answered. ' If I were Aunt Lizzie I should not keep any more household books for you.' ' But why should she be afraid of me ? Look what I have done for her— what a position I have given her! Yet she isn't a bit grateful, and she thinks nothing of telling me that she was happier when we were poor. That isn't very good hearing for a man who may have cherished certain private ambitions of his own.' He spoke bitterly, and Christine saw his point of view. ' If only you would explain to my aunt how much you could afford to spend, or pay the household accounts yourself,' she said with difficulty. ' I might pay everything; and bills would still pour in. Ill I, iri\ ^u 'I i «^ THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER «^y wife Jacks something rh«.*- been in the house aS 'S wSs^^lC^ T '^"'' "^^ have m my business men who „Tt observing it. I but who possess no otto orX^'^^hr""^ ''"^*^' they are told. To give them ^! ^1?^'' '""^'y ^o what be to court immeCte AWe, 'Br''''*'°"'y'^°»'d efficiency on the oart ni Tp"'^"^- Believe me, this in- bousehofd is the'c^Ic: t tT^T ^' ^ "^^'^ <" the successful business man Esni-^!,,''"'"? '* <>' "any a thc«e who, like me, ha™ riS??^^''-" " "" '" *^' '»« of abUity while their vrivJ"^^ll'T "f" «'"5«avour and jnan, and I some'^^imes maL boT/" V^ ^ ^^^ lonely has dealt so hardly ^tS^t . '" "'^ '^' ^^^^ ^'^^ He hi^S;. ^^^^^^ ^- «tep involuntarily and regarded ^n'^^ZulZ^Z^^' ? ^^-•- -Wch left her on the appealing prayer"to wWcT ^h^^t^"^ "°^ ^^^^n and evening. They /ere a^ d^^ ^ f^' u^'*'"^^ "»°"^ing -an arraignment ortheAWMf1^^*^^^^^"o^^ undone. ^"® Almighty for something left ' Why do you look at me like fh=.f :> > u , her gaze quite frankly, wWle W. h !, ^' ^'^"^' "^^^^ng most winning look, ^i ruppos^ th.?'^'^"^' ^^'^ "^^'^ ^tf relegated me to my properXeVn;\r^ ^°"& ^^ce that you regard me as a mere mon^' ^\^^' '""^ ^^ ^hem, ^ ' I was not thinking thS UnT^""^^^"^ "^^^^^n^-' thought it, but oh what nnY^K r.?'°'^^- ^ have never house, and how they a^ttSd p'*^^^ ''^^^ ^^^ ^" ^^^ THE HEART OF THINGS 63 ' What are they ? ' ' The children. They are such dears from Ted and Betty down to Robin with his cherubic face. Aunt Lizzie gets far more happiness out of the children than you— and why ? It is because she does not stint them of love. It might so easily be a perfect home.' He shook his head. ' I'm Scottish— and a north-country Scot at that I can't gush/ he said shortly. ' I've done all I can for them, but nothing seems to count. Fact is, if they could all be made to feel the pinch of poverty for a bit it mipht open their eyes.' He spoke gloomily, switching the stunted grass with his stick. Christine walked on in silence. 'You get on very well with them apparently, and perhaps you will do us all good. I hope you feel happy and that you will stay with us for a while.' ^ ' You've all been very kind. Uncle George, but I think - must soon make some sort of endeavour to find a niche for myself. After all I shall have to get my own living sooner or later. I was very glad to come out with you this afternoon because I wished to speak to you about my affairs.' ' They're all right,* said Hedderwick reassuringly. ' We were uncommonly fortunate to get the Eyrie let furnished for a year.' ' To Maclure and Jimmy,' said Christine with a sweet far-away smile. 'I know exactly how to take that' Uncle George. They thought it would help me. and they all wanted to do something, but they are both poor men and can't really afford the rent that you have made them pay.' ' Why are they poor ? ' asked Hedderwick with a sudden return to his grinding iudgment of men and things. ' They have got painting povr :s, haven't they ? I have seen ;| i J 64 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Maclure on show here. .i„o , f ,..hf i some vogue as a port,,,, p/,„>-. ^''^ ^^^^^ Grant had just as they earn i, |^t whafwS th. "^ """"'^ ^^^ money, j „ean-bring in ? TeU me e' ,"'°"'''~'"^ °™ ;i.uMhveonth^"SGtfg:.''°""^='^-' '7si™Mk^""'=°"'^^='"'"'°'-«-' J sliouid like to see you trv it h,„ what yoi vTOuld pronose tn Z ":, "*™ y" any idea would set about ea^Tg „ore1 - ™" ^'^-i"'^ you Ssht^rirxxreto"-"-" -^^^^ ; Is she a richw:™2>™ " ""°"'" °' "^^ "ealth.' who°X°iL™[forUr"~^^ '^'"^ " P"^«= woman mixld':rv«*th';?bh:':::i,„«"c;r^''»i'»' y- «^* have got a hold o^ you w^TSp^L^y^r vou°" *'' "' Chnstine merely smiled ^ "' thing foolish. Did he eter Lln«r" f ° """ »*» ^"y ' Never. My fathHldT -X^^^^ t "* " ' ' the mere imaginine oi ™ff.ri, , '^ sensitivf nature, aad He would gof,o„"|4^*XZi"d"^^'''' t. him. • I S™Vf V r ™'^°'™ °' ^dfishness ? ■ didheteL*S;Sytomn?^v:;:'> T '" "= "^^ ' You were sen^^ble anH !.t/ ^ ^ . '^^ "^P^of ? ' is brains that colt Sline Tn' ""^ ^"^ ""* "^^'^ ^*- I* ouni, ^iiristme, m every department of life.' li THE HEART OF THINGS 65 ' They count, but they can never be the mainspring — of *he happy or fruitful life at least,' she answered un- expectedly. ' It is the heart that is powerful for good or for ill. My father believed that absolutely. He set forth his whole philosophy of life in a letter that he wrote to me on the night before he died. There are some passages in it which I should like to read to you one day.' Hedderwick waived aside the suggestion. ' The heart is a dangerous instrument to apply to the affairs of life ; at any rate it should never be made the guiding force. Probably you will ma' y. If you don't, it will undoubtedly be your own fault. You will be able to pick and choose.' Christine's colour rose in spite of her efforts to control it. ' But don't be in a hurry. Early marriages are mostly a mistake. So often does one of the partners grow while the other remains stationary. Well, whatever your future may 1 always remember that your Uncle Hedderwick, with ai- 's faults, will be your friend and that you have a home under his roof.' Christir^ thanked him because she knew him to be sincere, t ough another day she might have doubted it. When he was an(^ even she did not escape the ban of his displeasure. Next evening two persons dined at the Laurels — a young girl-friend of Betty's and the Rev. Charles Grindlay, a candidate for the pastorate of the new Presbyterian Church of which Hedderwick had spoken to Alan Grier. Grindlay was a young man from the country. He was rather shy, but Christine discerned that he possessed considerable gifts of intellect and s[urit. Once or twice betrayed into speech on a subject which he understood, he spoke words that made an impression. But he had evidently come from a poor home, and he seemed slightly awed by the magnificence of the Laurels and the ordeal of the long dinner. Hedderwick's manner towaids this B II 'if 6^ ™E ONE WHO CAME AFTER young man was admirable-a mixture of f«f h i , • . and suggestiveness of favours T^cle w^"''' her sweet, motherly self 'Hp rUr. ""* ^^^^'^ was any hitch. Her fece smooth.^ /'°^''''"^ ^^t^o^^t laugh rang out S a snnnf^' """^ °"'' °^ *^<^^ ^er infectious. The pTctte prSentT^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^ was and peace, one in wSrall T^^^^^^^ Tj"! ^^ f-P^"ty were conspicuous. The evening ntf . "*' "^ ^^"^"^ ^^^^ however, for sudden yTenas^Si"f/'"^^T ""^^""^^d. ' Where's Ted Lizzie ?' wL'^? ^'^"^ *^^ *able. to his wife. '''''^'""'^? ^^dderwick called up the table her ?a"^ in town,' she replied, and the gaiety faded from ' With whom ? ' ^•M the Trocadero with some Mends. He won't be She at once tried to divert the fait ,„.„ »u . but the cloud had descendS on hL°"""' "=**""*■ tl>e rest of the r^eTj^^tZCt^'f' '^^ ^^ almost at an end, however and A«nt T' • f' " ™= departure from the dinins''room ,™*.L"^?;' hastened her the minister to discus^JC^sp S™^ "^f "*!= -<> and for Presbvterianism «„ ii ' '"" "'* '^'""■ch Hedderwick wasaSrcif^cS'' '"/™«' ^^'^' the new enterprise oSts oririnTh-^"'^- «"™ ^^"^y- and public effort. ^ ° ""^ P"™te generosity who sat on a sofa nf^r teniae':'' ''''"'" '° "'= «'^ to meet h-m. ,lho is'itSri^^ S^- «'• ^^O'^r , I""* ?* the boys,' she faltered. ' But who's giving the dinner ? ' Braithwaite,' she answered bravelv ■ u: w u- .. day, and you know Ted was always^ of ^.'^ '''"'■ 1 THE HEART OF THINGS 67 * Braithwaite ! After the affair with Katie ! ' he said darkly. ' You sent him his clothes, I suppose, and gave him your latchkey ? ' ' I sent him his clothes— yes. to the Trocadero ; but I couldn't give him a latchkey because there's only one in the house and you have it. I'll let him in myself.' ' You won't. I'll see to that myself. I'll see that he has his lesson.' He retired from his wife's side and invited his guest to look at the pictures in the billiard-room. She sat still a moment, working her hands nervously on her silken lap, a red spot burning in her faded cheek. Presently she slipped over to Christine who had taken up a book. Nobody knew that Christine was a fine musician and that her voice, had it been fully trained, might have taken all uncertainty from her future. She had not revealed her accompHshments to her cousins, but sometimes the music heard in the drawing-room at the Laurels tried her. ' Your uncle is very angry about Ted's outing at the Troc, Christine,' said Aunt Lizzie as she sat down beside her, conscious of some strength coming to her from the calm, quiet girl. 'Will you slip down and let him in when he comes ? His father won't let me do it, I'm sure, and if you listen you can hear him at the gate and be down before we hear anything. If he could be let in without his father seeing him it would be a good thing for every- body.' ' Certainly. I'll sit up and listen for him. Aunt Lizzie. And don't you look so troubled. It's only a very small matter surely.' 'To you it seems nothing, but Mr. Hedderwick will make it into a mountain. We haven't had an explosion for more than a week. There's going to be one to-night. I feel it m my bones. Don't you think Ted ought now to have his latchkey and his liberty like other young men ? He s over twenty-three. Something dreadful will happen li! I ill 68 one day THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER be^o.i,,7„ott^rrstSg stir tr- han^.dear. They are as cold as ic'e! l^.y^taT courage into the shrinking heart Shi ' °™ '^'^''^ least afraid of Hedderwrck and seein''':,,^ T '" f' system of household go^rnmin , "oUd have Tui"!, ' finger unerringly on the vulnerab e sZ r™ ^ '^ what was wanted— mi,«„.7iu ^ ' Courage was every memCofthe Zl^. ""* """"'^ » «>« P-' «' The guests left early, the latter nori „« xi» proving less entertaining than he earher t/™!?^ vvere aU ordered to bed and aft-r 1 I f ' ?^*'" *'"'y own room Cliristine hekrrf h»/ , '''^ ''"*"<' '° h« house, ba^ngatTed sa^^d wlndowrihf™",? *^ unheeded. ^ ' *^'' '"^^'^ s°°« finds himself keep the soul b^nd to sortd tMnrThfl™"™'', ^"^^ noble aim, of anv real ™Xs after?h. J k ^¥''" °' ^"^ her, while she felt hlST^- . "'^*'8''«' hfe saddened restriction wW^h thf thefmemCs':*";^'^ '' """^ evaded by trickery and deceit *'"' ''°"="'»" Lochardle beckoned her. She thought with unspeak- } THE HEART OF THINGS 69 able yearning of the wide, quiet bosom of the loch, of the majesty and the beneficence of the hills. The contrast between her present petty environment and the larger, simpler sphere she had known there gave a clear dignity to the life at Lcchardle Manse, where duty was the watch- word and where every obligation was discharged with alacrity and pleasure. It was a critical hour for Christine. More than once she had taken pen in hand to write to Alan Grier and tell him that she was more than wilUng to link her lot with his. But she was deterred by the thought that after all the kind of life she daily witnessed in her uncle's house could not possibly be taken as representative of the larger life for which she craved. It was merely an excrescence. She must see more and know more before she took the irrevocable step. She sat down before the bright fire planning that on the morrow she would go to London and make some other inquiries regarding Mrs. Prentice, and try to learn some definite news of her. Suddenly a small quiet knock at a distant door interrupted her, and rising hurriedly, she sped downstairs. The bolts at the front door, though heavy, were well oiled and slipped back easily. Ted flushed with pleasure at signt of her, and she could not he] ( thinking that he looked very handsome in his evening attire with all the white about his throat. ' Christine ! How simply ripping of you ! I suppose the locking up is the governor's work. Absurd, isn't it, to treat me hke this ? I'm awfully sorry, though, that I've kept you up. It's after one o'clock.' ' Never mind. I wasn't sleepy, and I have a nice fire in my room. Did you have a good time ? ' 'Ripping! I'll tell you about it to-morrow. Good- night, Christine, and a thousand thanks.' Christine was already on the stairs. Ted only waited behind her to bolt the door again and turn off the electric lights. . ISl i'l 1 « m I) «-- -"-m.*? 70 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER in tne room ovprhf>ari tu^ • • , "*'^ci ludu usual When she awoke it seemed to be broad dav and AuM I was glad you didn't come down. 7e had a h^md ; How silly ! ' cried Christine impulsively. «hn,tf^' T^ ^^^'' y°" "^""'^ ^"«w What you're talking She sat down on the front of the bed, and Christine's THE HEART OF THINGS 71 hand closed over hers in a very real affection. Never had she seen the worn face wear such an expression of sweet- ness and sadness commingled. ' I am going to tell Uncle Hedderwick he ought not to treat Ted as he is doing— bullying a man as if he were a small and wicked boy ! Ted was perfectly sober and had been in respectable company. It is terrible.' ' It is. I really think he's getting worse as he grows older. There's no reason left in him, and I don't know where this way of going on will end. Ted will be driven from the house. If he should take to drink and bad com- panions who would be to blame ? What is there for young folks here now ? My dear, I assure you I'm so tired of it that if it weren't for Robin and the little ones I shouldn't care how soon they carried me to Lochardle kirkyard and laid me beside your father.' She did not cry. Her misery seemed too deep for tears, which are only the outlet for a natural and curable grief, and cannot relieve the canker of the soul. ' I'D get up. Aunt Lizzie, and we'll go out together,' said Christine briskly, reaUsing that her aunt must be lifted somehow out of herself. ' It's all so trifling that we must not let it dominate us like this.' ' Trifling ! It isn't trifling when you never get away from it. I wonder God can bear to let things go on like this.' ' God has nothing to do with it, believe me, Aunt Lizzie,' said Christine. ' If there is a God it is hardly fair to saddle Him with our enormities— to constitute Him a kind of scapegoat.' *0h, there's a God right enough, Christine— only He seems too far away for us to grasp His purposes with us. Your uncle will put Ted out of the house tr night. He said that he would if he showed his face.' ' He'll loiget his tlireat before night, Aunt Lizzie.* * But Ted won't. He got his monkey up and looked as -I n.l ^.>*<,*x>,A^am>jme*'-- 72 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER tear theml^^^ra? o"et™her°- " "f.^r^ *° my boy 1 Have I deserved Tchristine^^ & ""' so very wicked-only told a few Nttirti' ",' '*^" to hejp things to go ll^smo^hty'^^d sfveTeraf J^" mt,irns?o?:frszrHiT^fhi't'''n^^^^ knees and another at my breaS »nT ,^ ™,*' "'^ coming home at the we"tends^L^ ^°" ""l'^'' ""'^ see us There wlT^TT ,,■ ^'^^^ =° P'^^sed to It's ■nonlXjL^^po^f^:^ S.'''%Z ^"T "I-- who are poor Christin^e. Strne^r selkl^be^rS'"' , If n»t '■kely to be, Aunt Lizzie.' ' tCTDKe'^ltfor^ '^^^,"'<'"'* "' "''^ ^™P'e all that ? • '°' ^'^"'^ """"^'s and show, and ' He never went to them ' thi^^m! ""'"""' ^'"^' ™* - ^^ 0* fi"ery. entered Look, mamma, mv chiffon fm^i^ k^^ the dressmaker ha's m^ade a mesrof it ^ ThTskt'L"^' a thing'! right or not ' ^"^"'^^"^ '^^^^^ ^"^^^ whether fending modist| ^^in:tn^TCrliT!:Si /'^ deep hnes of perplexity across her brow *'"'' g f( a I r y C( al THE HEART OF THINGS 73 Just then a maid knocked at the door and presented her a letter on a salver. ' Just come by special messenger, miss, and there's no answer required.' Christine thanked her and closed the door. She recog- nised Ted's handwriting and broke the seal with consider- able surprise. What could he have to write to her about that required to be sent by special messenger ? Dear Christine,— I've had an awful row with the governor, and it's all up with me. I shouldn't so much mind for myself, but there are complications. I must tell somebody about them. Come into town — will you? — by the 12.25. I'll meet you at Victoria, and we can go somewhere for lunch. Don't say a word to mamma or any of them, but just tell them you have an appointment in town. Arr^ange it somehow — only come. Don't, for God's sake, fail me, or it will be still further all wrong with — Yours, Ted. k > !' V 11/ CHAPTER VI ACROSS THE RUBICON doSr! '""ZTUT ^"^.^ ^^^ P-^^* -^ went an JnnK t breakfast waited her in the dininff-room Ztt u^^ ?T'"*' °^ '°"^P^^^*^ isolation in the Hedder- wick household, and happily for Christine this wafone coaTsh" tjaf "P^*^-.^^-" to put on heT Lt and S Bettv Sh T \ "^T^ *^"* ^^''' Hedderwick and Miss^Betty had gone to the dressmaker's establishment ' J^^^ t^iem when they return that I have gone tn tnv^ I big if ^pT.'"" '^«" ^°^ y™' i-t -me, miss. Sh.a l^^i^^X Imtiet '^^^'^^ '""d lett t»o«gh ,t gave lier a sudden and fresh intS ' 23 Sooth Plain, rsr-. VT ^^^J^WYN, Bucks, Z?^«w^^yi^,j -Ji"';„'^;T„:;irS1v^'''J0-,Au„. Lattice and ^^.f ^^ u uy ,ust neard by the merest accident of your father's ACROSS THE RUBICON 75 death in Edinburgh about a month ago. Wc do not blame you for not having acquainted us with your bereavement, for, of course, you could not know anything about us or feel obliged to consider us in any way. Perhaps you may even be quite unaware of our existence. We are your mother's sisters, and I write from her old h. me. It is unnecessary to say more at present. The object of this letter is to invite you to come to Medwyn and pay us a visit in order that we make one another's acquaintance. We wrote to your father at the time of our sister's death, offering to take you and bring you up. That offer was, however, declined by your father, with whom we had no subsequent communication. The news of his death, however, shocked us, for he was not an old man. We ourselves are growing old, and we should like to see the only niece we possess in the world. If you will acknowledge this letter I shall write again and make arrangements for your journey. Hoping you are well and that you will answer this letter, I am, your affectionate Aunt, Grace Amory. i I Grace Amory ! Lettice Amory ! — the pretty music of the old-fashioned names rang in Christine's ears as she put the letter into her pocket. She heard her mother's name nowr for the first time, and an indefinable yearning of kinship came over her. prompting her to rise up forthwith and make svi^ift journey to Medwyn to cast herself upon their care and kindness. The letter came opportunely — like some voice across the misty bridge of the years. Christine felt no bitterness against the name of Amory, which her father had never uttered in her presence. She was unaware even of the circumstances of his marriage and of her mother's estrange- ment from her own people. In this Breck had proved himself a wise man ; Christine was thus able to contem- plate new experiences with a perfectly unprejudiced mind. The letter gave an entirely new colour to her thoughts, and she was surprised when the train brought her so ■-t s 7<5 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER quickly to the station at Victoria t^.i,- . , ; Fired out I What do you mean ? ' rouZtZ 'Z^^^,'"\^:\~^^y^ "'^ '- «°^d. JoUy rst-/i°j:S?^"o«^rju7rp:;:^^ abSt«t» i™ e^'tS'°'1 "r; '*'°"^'> the fndescrib. they paid ou toto^r' '° *"' '"'"°"' ^^ presently BucJgS^SceRoJ ! comparative spaciousness of ' We ca^tlTt down r^ ^T'f"^ '™'"^= ""> P^^"- co.d-it-3 so r:w auTdJp" w'AaCnC '"' f ^ of some kind ? ' ^ ^" ^ ^^^ on a fur 'Because I don't possess one.' mistake about it.' sable-real Russian, and no Christine smiled. w:.';s^h^p?^:e'd%''Ttitxt"„cr r '"^ ^«- "• that he had to Sy last night' ^"''' °'"«^ '^'^ =« anlt^ tiltlrrnllrtC^tS?'- d^^ "^^ °" Wm for a rise of screw!' ^^ ^'"'^"'y '° ^"^ ACROSS THE RUBICON 11 * Surely the moment was inopportune.' ' I couldn't help that — I hadn't any choice.' ' I am beginning to see that lots of things could be prevented by the exercise of a little tact, though I don't possess any myself,' observed Christine. ' I'm afraid you'll never acquire it — the tact at least that is of any use in this sordid world — because, you see, your eyes won't back you up. They proclaim unutterable things.' * I must shut them then.' ' And remove the light from some of us ! No, Christine, you must never do that.' ' Well, let us get to business, Ted. Tell me what has happened.' ' I think we ought to go to lunch first. I want to sit opposite to you and watch you while I'm speaking, and it's too cold to sit here. But look at my stock, lock, and barrel — two and fivepence ! It won't run to anything nobler than an A.B.C. shop.' ' I've got some money, but we don't want lunch yet. Let us go to that seat by the water and watch the ducks. Did Uncle George " fire you oui " — as you express it — simply because you asked a rise.' ' Well, it arose out of that. There was a lot said — things a fellow couldn't stand, and finally he chucked me.' ' But his anger will be over by night,' suggested Chris- tine. ' Uncle George's blasts are never eternal in their consequences.' ' I hate to eat the leek, Christine. But this time I doubt — I doubt I've no alternative.' ' What have you been doing, Ted ? ' she asked sharply. ' Your tone suggests incredible things.' ' I've been a fool, Christine, I adrnit. Gad, what a fool I have been ! ' His tone was tragic* but still Christine did not take him too serioubly. Exaggeration was an outstan?^ing char- 78 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER acteristic of the family, and his heroics rather amused her He^^seemed so like a boy playing a little witTthe fire TelJo7 Wh ^'',V^PP'"g g°od sort-the sort a feUow can rely on Where did you learn your wisdom and what not ? ' think fh./r'! I ^^^^^'^^dom. Ted. But sometimes I think that I must have lived before, and that I was very old before I was reincarnated. I never seem to be suZ pnsed at anything, and so many things seem famihar.' soberlv '"Ti!.r^ 'I ^ "'T'"^' y°" ^'^' ^^id Ted HkP fn ;.f ^V "^"^ * y°" ^^^^ ^°"^«" ? I should like o get away from it out into the sheer open, where a fellow could hve a healthy, normal life far f;om dl these trammels ' 'Then why don't v., ? You're a man. Everything s open to you,' said Ch-istine with a slight bittTmess If I were a man noUnn.; should hinder me from acc^ P^ishmg my puipos.. ^ nietimes I think I will taS^ plunge m spite of my sex. ^ Ted dismaUy rattled the coppers in his pocket. You can t plunge on two bob. It's jolly nice here and quite sheltered, isn't it ? Sit down and I'll stand on the off side and shield you from the wind. Well, I've made a beastly mess of my life, Christine.' ' It hasn't gone very far yet, Ted. Three-and-twentv affords plenty of chances for retrieval ' ^ Jl^^'t T 'r^*^^"gs that can't be retrieved. I'll ttir;-t?" " ^^"' ^^^^ ^' ^^-*^ - --^ at hnht"^ r" contemplating matrimony, then, on your two bob? she asked with a little bewitching smile I m not contemplating it,' he said, suddenly standing up before her. ' I've achieved it.' ^^anoing JIVa""^' ^-"^'"^ ^^'^^ °" ^^' ^^ank, incredulous face with a deepemng misery on his own. ' Have you been drinking, Ted-or what is it ? ' ACROSS THE RUBICON 79 ' The sober truth, Christine. I said I had achieved matrimony, and I have. Now I'll make a clean breast of it.' ' Won't you sit down there at the other end of the seat and look straight at me ? Then I shall know just h^ much to beUeve,' she said perplexedly, not even yet tas his announcement seriously. He obeyed her, and for a moment he contemplated in silence a kindly robin watching them with bright eyes from an adjacent bough. ' Nice little chap, and he hasn't any problems in liis life or his eyes wouldn't be so bright. Yes — I've made a mess of my life — a beastly, irrem diable mess, but I didn't know how absolutely ghastly it was till you came.' ' Leave me out,' said Christine sharply, ' and go on, if you wish me to listen.' ' I do wish you to Usten. That's why I asked you to come. Well it happened about eight months ago — just after Christmas last year. We had a little maid at our place — a housemaid, you know — one of the sort one is always meeting on the stairs or turning out of a room when one wants to go into it. She was a nice Uttle thing. Mammvt would tell you that, but the governor had his knife in her from the beginning, couldn't stand her at any price, and was awfully nasty to her. Her big eyes used to peer out so pathetically *hat I couldn't help telling her not to mind, you know.' The gravity on C iiristine's face deepened. She had not expected a sordid story of this kind, and involuntarily she drew herself away. But Ted, now in the thick of his story, happily did not notice this. ' She was so absurdly grateful and so charming in many ways — she was really pretty, you know, and above her station — that I got talking to her a lot i ">rv than I had any business to, and then I asked her to meet me outside. Yes, I know it was beastly foolish — and even orse. It t mmssi IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) h A f/. 1.0 I.I "■ ISiS 112.2 u S^ ^ ^ IIIIIM IL25 i 1.4 1.6 4 P Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 iV '*■'• '^■C'"^ f^ rt 8o THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ending for he girl. But at our place there isn't anybody t^to really show us what's right-and wrong. We're all on the wrong tack, from the governor down.' Chnstine thought of her uncle's long prayers and of his conhdential attitude towards the Almighty, and she wondered how the blame ought to be apportioned. ..A J ^ ^^^^*,bf ause of a row at last-nothing to do Math me-and she had no friends. She came from Devon- shire, and the lady who had taken an interest in her was dead. Turned off at a moment's notice for some trifling fault, and without a character-the maker's queer about that aiid she wouldn't give her one-she lad nowhere to go. However, she went to a Young Women's Christian Association boaromg-house where she stopped till she Tn f.T-f ^^?f • . ^/*i* ''^'"'* *^^ "S^t '^^ «f place. In fact It wasn't safe for her to remain in it ; and, vveU-I needn t beat about the bush— I took her c way .• ' ^"^u '*^'?^^" ^^''' ^"^ ^^"^""^ and above-board. Chris- tine, he added when Christine did not speak, ' for though I m a fool I m not a blackguard. I took her to a registry office and married her. Then I took rooms for her at Brixton where she has been living for the last seven months. * So long as that ! ' ' Yes, and it has taken every penny of my screw to keep her there and provide for other things. But it can't go on like this It's time she had a home of her own. In fact the landlady has as good as told her that she must find one I left the Troc. last night before ten and went to Bnxton on the way back, stopping there till twelve, rhen I missed the last train and had to walk all the way to Sydenham. That's why I was so late. I haven't a penny left, as you know, and, knowing that things had come to a desperate pass to-day I asked the governor quite civilly whether he couldn't see his way to defining I ACROSS THE RUBICON 8i my position a little more clearly. The thing that put his back up was my saying that I snould prefer to live out if he would give me a sufficient income.' ' But you didn't tell him what you have just told me ? ' ' Oh Lord, no — one thing at a time. He was simply furious and kicked me out. I don't really know what he'll say when he knows, for of course he's very ambitious. You haven't met the Woodhouses yet. They have been abroad all the autumn. It's Katherine Woodhouse he would have liked me to marry. Woodhouse is in Parlia- ment, and his sister's Lady Baker. That's the crowd the governor wants to get in with. But we don't care for them — we like something more natural and jolly.' Christine sat silent, watching the cool north wind ruffling the waters of the lake and the feathers of the little brown burds that were skimming so gaily across the surface. ' Why don't you say something ? ' he asked humbly. ' I suppose you think me a rank outsider now, and I can toll you I'm jolly well ashamed of myself.' ' There's nothing to be ashamed of except the secrecy,' she answered quietly. ' Does Aunt Lizzie know anything about this ? ' ' Nothing — I couldn't tell her, because she has got enough to put up with already. It wouldn't have been fair.' ' I'm glad you had as much consideration for her, Christine said simply. ' Well, you haven't asked me for advice, but I'll give you some. Go back now to your father and tell him how you are placed.' He shook his head. ' Couldn't do it to-day — I feel too raw. It has made me better to tell you, and I'm thankful you take it so quietly. That's what we all need to learn — to take things quietly. These cyclones take more out of us than we know.' Christine rose to her feet. u lis MNNMUrWHMM-'Mwl 82 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER fnol'^r^J? ^""^ K^ ^ Don't go yet. I've been an awful fool, Chnstme-how awful I didn't know till now when I have learned hat there are women in the world like you who^could uphft a man and make him st.ive after any" Christine's face hardened, and she turned as if to 'I have some shopping to do. Ted, and I should like now ? ' "' ^ ''^'^'' ^^^* ^° y°" *^^"^ °f <^°in6 ' ^'" ^^It *^ SO out to Brixton this afternoon-I c'oZT^^^Z '^'' ^''°"^^• ^^"^^ you-would you come ? he added eagerly. ' Not to-day, dear, but I will come one day ' she said more gently, for something in his eyes touched her ' Will PronJ^TdThflS;?"^ '^"^ ^° '''' ' ^^^" '^ *^-. it lillbe r&w?rd.''^* '' '"* '' ''' '^'-^-'^ *^- ' ^°.* ";°f,\t?a" it J^as been at other times, and pe^' ns you will tell him then. He has to be told, Ted r. .e yrthiik/ '''"''■ ^''^^^' *""'" "°* *^^' '^ '°'^^^> ^^ ' What do you think about it ? You havent expressed any opinion. ^ 'What I think is of no consequence. It is a matter that ^entirely concerns yourself, your wif j, and your own ' Sj^t yon are one of us, Christine. At least we have hoped-that is, we thought that you had accepted us ' Oh yes. But it isn't any real business of mine. I shall say only one thing. It is possible for you to be a man-to play the man's part here, Ted, and you're going to do It Remember I expect it. Good-bye just now and I will see you at half-past four.' She waked away, and Ted, a little stunned, had to I! 1 J ns ACROSS THE RUBICON 8? allow her to go, not daring to follow her. She had an aloofness of manner at times which forbade the smallest encroachment. Christine crossed the Park and came out by tortuous ways upon Whitehall. She hailed a passing hansom and asked to be driven to St. Mary Axe. She had no idea of the distance, nor had she ever been at her uncle's place of business, but she found herself there in due course. When she asked to be shown to his room the office-boy exhibited lively signs of perturbation. ' Dursn't, miss. Not for me Ufe. Gimme yer nime, an' I'll tike it— thet's all I kin do.' Christine gave her name, and waited at the door of the lift till he reappeared on the stairs beside it and invited her to ascend in the hft with him. Her uncle was standing at the door of the private room, smiling affably, no sign of the earlier storm visible on his face. * This is a pleasant surprise, Christine, though, when the boy said a lady waited, I thought it must be one of the tribe of feminine insurance agents which are the bane of every city man's life. Come in.* Christine stepped across the threshold, and was then nonplussed to observe other two men in the room. ' My partner Mr. Woodhouse, and his son, Mr. Ernest Woodhouse,' said Hedderv.ick, proud to present his interesting niece. ' You are a collector, Woodhouse, and you know my brother-in-'aw's pictures. You have often admired Otto Breck's " Glen of Silence " above my side- board at home.' Woodhouse smiled as if well pleased. He was a tall, spare, intellectual-looking man, though he did not appear physically strong. His son, with the same looks, had dm air of power and distinction which pleased Christine. * I am more than pleased to meet Miss Breck. I have it % 111 84 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER long admired the school of painting of which. I believe her father was the founder.' '^cui.ve, Christine flushed with pleasure. To find her father's work known and appreciated so far afield affected her like a sudden gleam of sunshine on a wintry sea. She had felt so remote from him of late, and all the past had begun to hover m her imagination more like a lovely and de- lectable dream than a real existence. The talk for the IfLZl T^*? "^^^ r"^^^ ^"^ ^^^PPy' ^"d Christine was amazed at her uncle, who now showed a side of his personality she had never before seen. Here he was no ^TJ T.^^^' ^^ ^ ""^^ ^""^"^ "''^"' ^is manner touched with a httle conscious humility due to the knowledge that they were his intellectual superiors. But when Christine thought of Ted's white young face of his accents of despair, her heart seemed to harden ' How IS It you are here alone, my dear ? ' asked Hedder- wick kindly. Did any of them come in with you ? ' Geof e ' '^^"^^'^ *"" *^^^ ^"^ ^""^ °" ^ ^'**^^ business. Uncle The Woodhouses took the hint and. bidding her good- day, left the room. ^ ' Fine men, Christine-men of the world of the best type, said Hedderwick as the door closed. ' Woodhouse is no business man. but he makes a good figurehead, and young Ernest is just going to contest Walmslev— will make his mark in the House, or I'm much mistaken Now these are people who are worth cultivating and whom I wish my family to cultivate, but they won't. Your Aunt Lizzie doesn't get on with them-thinks them dull and standoffish. Of course they have their pride ; they have a nght to It, but they're worth paying attention to. She 7hZ' n XT ./4.^' ^^^"^ *^ ^""^^ ^^^" I tell her. and that s all. Now, if Ted would make up to Katherine Wood- house one of my dreams would be realised. It would consolidate the business and open up new vistas for us all ' y ACROSS THE RUBICON 85 Chnstme thought of the little maid-servant in the Bnxton rooms, and her colour rose. Surely this was not the psychological moment, yet how could she explain her presence there except by repeating the story Ted had told ? -^ Dreams are very seldom reahsed, I think. Uncle George, and perhaps it would not be good for us if they were,' she observed lamely. Hedderwick spread himself in his chair and regarded her attentively, struck by the anxious expression of her face. ' What's troubling you, Christine ? Have you had bad news of any sort } ' ' Not for myself. Uncle George. It is something which allects you, and I don't know that I have any real business with It after all. I came on the spur of the moment.' Tell me what it is. You will never make me angry Chnstme-you needn't fear that. It is not possible to be angry with one who is so straight and honest as you.' I am not in the least afraid, Uncle George. I was only wondering whether I was justified in coming here at all ' she replied quietly. Then after an instant she added, ' I have just parted from Ted.' Immediately Hedderwick's face hardened. ' Did he send you here to intercede for him ? ' ' Oh no— he .s not even aware that I have come.' 'Did he go home, then, after he bounced out this morning ? ' 'No. I met him by appointment at Victoria Station. tie had sent me an express message to come in bv a certain train.' Hedderwick regarded her keenly and with an expression in his eyes which Christine perfectly understood. 'If you are interested in Ted to that extent, Christine —if you have become his special pleader— it will alter matters very considerably.' y 86 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER She (Ird not colour, but merely shook her head. .. i /' "? ^' y°" *^^"^' U"c^e George. Ted and I are good fnends and I like him very much. He is in La? trouble and I would help him. He has got to be helped I am sure you will admit that when you hear ' ^ wick drlr^! Hr °?1\°^" T'''''^' ^^P^i^^ H^dder- voun/cub .n?.h ^ ^''^-^f^'^' i^^Petuous, impossible the biter H.Ml^ T"'' ^,/' ^^""^^* *^ ^' hearings nn! . *;. ,*?^''^'^ ''^^y *^" *^is morning about going out mo the world on his own. Let him try it-^t wm bf a short and sharp cure.' said^rhrr^'^ *° I'r" ^''" "^^'■^ conciliatory to-day.' end Sm jr&' ^^^^^^^^^ responsibilSes do not end mth himself. He has a wife dependent on him ' Hedderwick leaped to his feet, nnl^ ^i^^ ' ' ^'^ ^^^°"ted. and the sound penetrated to the outer office, where sundry glances of understanding and sympathy were interchanged ^ersianamg and ' Do\^'do^^Tf 'f r^ ^^' ""P^"*^^ ^h"^ti"^ calmly, story.' ' '^' ^'°'^'' ^"^ ^'" t^" y°" the whole He did not sit down. Breathing out unutterable threaf., he roamed the room hke a caged Ln while she waV^^^^^^^^^^^ Sm in f In <^°"tmued as if she heard him not. and put piui^Son"^^^^^^^^^^^ '' ''' ^-^^ ^^^^-^ -broidfry. svelt'^^VT^^^^ "^ '' ' ' ^' ^"^'^^^^^ ^^h^n she ceased n^.c?^%u"^ ^'' "^^^"^ ^^s thick with the confiictinff frrv.^ .1! A ?^ ^'^ ^""P^^t us to countenance her ' It IS more than flesh and blood can stand. I wash mv hands of him from this moment.' ^ ^^ • M^.nTi^\"^'^ ^^"'*^"" ^"^^^^y- ' He is your son.' canct Z tie orbCdr ^^ *'°^^ '''' '''' '^^' ^^''^^ '. I am, and besides it might easily have been worse. ACROSS THE RUBICON 8; Uncle George. Ted has not been wicked—he has only been foolish. That is something to be thankful for.' ' In this case I could have forgiven him for being wicked, but I can't forgive his folly.' ' It is not you who is speaking, Uncle George. You prayed this morning that God would give us all a larger charity and love to cover all the disappointments of life. If you believe that God exists, and that He has anything to do with our destiny, you must act up to the profession of your faith.* It was a bold stroke, and it was delivered so quietly that it was a moment before Hedderwick grasped the full meaning of her words. Then he smiled a trifle grimly. ' Christine, upon my word you are great — you are indeed ! Do you know that there isn't in the whole world a human being who would dare to speak to me like that ? ' ' I did not mean to be rude or presumptuous, Uncle George. But that is how it strikes me. You have a great opportunity.' ' For what ? ' ' Of putting your religion into active practice and ci: binding Ted to you in bonds of love and gratitude. Don't miss it, Uncle George — it will never come again.' ' But the disgrace,' groaned Hedderwick. ' How shall I look my partners in the face after it ? ' ' It can't affect them in the smallest degree. Besides, there's no disgrace, though there might easily have been,' she persisted. ' If you only will treat Ted Hke— Uke a father, now, you will have part at least of the happiness which, you say, you have missed.' ' You lecture me, Christine— you have missed your true vocation. You ought to have been in the pulpit or on the platform,' he said unwillingly. ' Perhaps I may be yet,' she smiled sweetly but a little wistfully. • Uncle George, Ted has gone out to Brixton to see his wife, but he promised faithfully to meet me at 11 Wl 88 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER home at half-past four. I wiU wait here all day or walk about^o^tside till you are ready, but I will take you back ' To cause another volcano at the Laurels I What do coin'? cf""^/'^" '"^^ *'"' "^"'•"^"S ^ She said that she hPr^^ 1 . "^ ^"7 r'^ °* ^*' ^"^ ^''^t '^^ "^onld take her own life one of these days.' • She would not do that, but the threat showed the misery of her soul. Make them all happy. Uncle George Sometimes I am afraid, thinking how mu^h you haveTn and that you don't realise it.' ' Preaching again— and yet I'm not angry ! But I had no Idea that your opinion of me was so low. Haven't I been kmd to you. Christine ? I have tried to be ' More than kind. But harshness to me would have been excusable-to the others it is not. Promise me that you will come, Uncle George.' He looked at her steadily for a moment and something hke a mist blurred his eyes. ^ 'It's against my better judgment, Christine, but I'll come. I * « walk back it do t she take 1 the Drge. 'e in .se — had I'tl lave that ling I'll CHAPTER VII A NEW HORIZON Christine left St. Mary Axe assured that her uncle would keep his promise. She had still some hours at her disposal before she need return to Sydenham Hill, She would occupy them in calling at the address of Mrs. Prentice in Gower Street. A friendly policeman directed her to the nearest station of the Metropolitan Railway, from which she made the journey without difficulty. Rain had begun to fall when she left the train once more— a dreary fine rain, filtering through a sea of fog. Christine thought how depressing was the long line of the street in the blurred light, and the cries of the hawkers muffled in the mist had a weird effect. She found the number with * difficulty half-way up the street— that of a large house wah the name Whitefield's Private Hotel on a wide brass plate. A foreign servant in livery rose from the hall seat and, in answer to her inquiry for Mrs. Prentice, asked her to walk in. ' Mrs. Prentice has returned, then ? ' she said in French. ' Last night, madam. You are one of the ladies she has asked to luncheon ? ' ' No, I am not ; but, unless her guests have arrived, please ask Mrs. Prentice if she will see rne for a moment.' 'Madame is disengaged. Come now,' said the man, and Christine followed him up the wide staircase, where the crimson carpet against the white treads gave a warm effect on a winter day. •9 I J II 90 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER fcure in , 1 IT f "" "P'"'"8 of the door-a striking wK " :< "cofour IhlTd-'f ^^'^ "^ ^"^ '°-h "o1 . " "! i-oiour. bne had a fine arresting far*> nf or, showed the classic outlines of her head and features 7. nn her could have done. She smiled vvkhsurori^^^^^^ pleasure at sight of Christine. ^ ^""^ . ' My dear, I am glad to see you— reallv dad «;nm. inspiration has brought vou to-dav l h7 ■ J "^® mv letters anH T ho^ i / ^^^^y- ^ "ave just opened t^fs evenhir T i k"* ^"^"'^ ^'^^" ^°^ immediate answer fave^lTLwIrd:^^^ '"" '''' '' '''^'' -^ - ^^tters She took Christine's hands in both her own and a warm sympathy seemed to emanate from her. S keen Zh mg black eyes assumed a soft tenderness which tho^e who them S Sr "-'''' ^°"^^ ''--'y ^^^ remeXrP^/' ''^ ^°' ^°" ^" ^^"^ ^''^^bJ^- ^ have always SnT K r^' y°" 'P^'^^ °^ y°"^ father that night fn Knfth.f >'^' *' 'T ^'"">" Wickham af? f you had gone that it was an ideal relationship too rare in . fTult oft ''' ^^"^'^ '' '' ''''^ '- irksime bond The lault of our civihsation, eh ? ' severely taxed The sudden transition to tliis atmosDh,.r» ■w'^P',"?-""^ '"■^"S*" "here she was free to t • There, there, my dear, sit dov™. You have come at ou would not consider it an intrusion.' ' I have asked you, have I not ? Sit down and let us talk in the intervening moments. My friends will not arrive for about twenty minutes. Just one moment while I finish this note which has to go out for an early post.' ^ Christine occupied the silence in looking with interest round the room. It was barely furnished in the severe commonplace style of the private sitting-room in second- rate hotels, and its occupant had evidently made but little attempt to beautify it. An immense basket of exquisitely arranged chrysanthemums stood on the centre- table, where they looked like a welcome home, the card being still attached to the handle of the basket. But otherwise there was not the smallest attempt at decora- tion or even at palliation of the ugliness which depressed Christine's artistic sense. Then she rebuked herself \dth the thought that probably Mrs. Prentice could rise superior to her environment whatever it might be. ' Now I am ready, and we can talk,' she said, wheeling her chair round. 'Where are you living at present? Your letter was dated, I think, from Edinburgh.' ' Yes. I wrote it on the evening I left Scotland with my uncle, at whose house at Sydenham I am living now. I have been there for the last month.' ' And your old home is quite broken up ? Emily Wickham told me what an ideal artist's home it was.' ' It is not yet broken up, though it Tvill be later on. It is let meanwhile, as it stands, to some artist-friends of mv father.' •Hi! 92 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER I should like to tell you all there i<= to t^ii th u xu . are hunrlfpH'^ *.° ^^T' ^ ^^^t^^^^y, however smaU. There Mrs. Prentice smiled. ' Cherish that precious memory. Here in T nnri^r, you7futu?e, wUl ta ^^Z''\'^ ''"r"^ '" any plans ? ' '^ ^- ™' '""■ '»ve you A NEW HORIZON 93 Christine could scarcely associate with her the trumpet- call to action that had soundtd through the hall in Edinburgh on the occasion of her lecture to women. ' I should like to tell you a bit of my own experience, dear — it may help you. When I took the decision to order my own life I left my husband's house without a penny, and with no prospect of earning any money. I had gifts of a kind — not then marketable. There was no niche for the independent woman with the courage of her convictions and centuries of wrong goading her to the very fore-front of the fighting hn ' What fighting line ? ' asked Christine with her eyes aglow. ' The great army which is seeking to combat prejudice and injustice and oppression. It was a very small column when I began first to march at its head. Now we are numbered in our thousands, and soon we shall be as the sands of the sea for multitude.' Christine listened with her heart in her eyes, only, howe^'er, partly comprehending the meaning of the words. She had not come much in contact with the injustice or oppression of which Mrs. Prentice spoke, though private instances of domestic inequaUty such as had existed under the root of Hately Noble, and in a greater degree in her uncle's house, had often roused her indignation. Mrs. Prentice, however, spoke as if injustice and oppression towards women were rampant in the land. ' I should like to take part in this great campaign, but I am so ignorant that I don't even know what you are fighting for.' ' i ' Freedom and equality for all men and women,' replied Mrs. Prentice instantly. ' And when they are achieved they will bring in their train as a natural sequence emai. '- pation from all the old trammels of superstition and dogma. The new era will be built upon the finest founda- tion of all — a noble and Thurified humanitv.' M iji 94 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER heroes s..„,^ J, th^Z e^^ S' c'^^^-Jj' - vagueness. Mrs. Sentke harf ' ."*• '"' ''" ">^''- and she immediaferd 4ed ,h. '"'r'^^T intuition, girl before her. ""^ "™*'^ attitude of the ing wrat'lHs'iiZIf t.1;t':lf -, -l - wonder- be more enlightened. We are m. . '""'=''eon you will plans for opening a more Lh* i"® '"■''^y '° *^"« suffrage. We expec? a gSeS "1"..- '""P^'S" '°' '"' niust be prepared for it !nd «, I ? '" ^""S- We from the Government thTch s co^"* ^f ""« P'^^ges forcmg them to fulfil these '','™'"S/nto Power and tHe subject interest you ' ' '^ *'' afterwards. Does "'pS^C^^iZ^'i^^^^'f^ °'-''-. very ignorant., though I had heard the worl?,,,^™ ^^'"^ «>a' before I met you in EdtaburSf V *°'"'"'' Suffrage," with any serious movemeM ;^'„ . "T' ^'^'^ted them ha^'mad^re^rott;- ^^^^ -«^'-«». - it she 'Precisely. You dn n^f Yours was once the unLrsaiaTtH' T '" *^^ ^^^«t- are awakening very raS nm xt °^ '"°"''^"' ^"^ they leaven of ent?^siasm KrlTi. ^^^"' ^"°^^'« ^^^ the Christmas is over aX SI/'h '^^"^ ^"°^ ^^^^n ' WiU you organise 3 '"tf'P^'S^" ^^s begun.' you did in EcSnCgh T' "'"'"^ "^^^^^"^s and lecture as e4Tt?on onm;"-tatce w' n f.tf ^ °^^^"^^^d' ^"^ of our foremost speakers Th ,/^''^" ^^'^ "^ by one t speakers. The smaller constituent^ will A NEW HORIZON 95 not be neglected, but we have to speak with no uncertain voice now, and we must therefore reserve our chief demon- strations for the more important centres. It was most unfortunate that I happened to break down last summer I have been missed-oh yes. I'm a born fighter and can inspire others.' ' You were very ill, then ? ' ' Yes— I had a great sorrow, but I cannot speak of it now. Perhaps when we get to know one another better I shall be able to talk to you about it. It was one con- nected with my private life, and it came in the guise of a great disappointment-that is all. But so far as it went It gave me another instance of the injustice that has been meted out to women from time immemorial. But we are talking too much about outside things. What I am at present interested in is your future. You have great gifts, my child. I do not know precisely in what direction they can be utihsed, but yours is a personaHty ■ which interests and draws people— you could lead others. Have you ever felt the stirring of that power in you ? ' Christine thought of her experiences within the last two hours, and she remained silent. 'I have had very little opportunity of testing myself,' she said at length. ' But I can generally make up my mind quickly and can speak it clearly-if that is any sign of power.' ^ ^ Mrs. Prentice assented with an appreciative nod Most certainly it is. The curse of our sex is that so many of us are invertebrate as well as inarticulate But the new movement has done one thing, even if it has not yet accomplished its main object-it has put backbone into many a hitherto useless woman and made her a force m the world. Well, and what about your uncle's house ? You will not remain there, you think ? ' ' Not much longer. I have had an invitation to visit my mother s relatives at Medwyn in Buckinghamshire ' 96 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER youJ'^or 's „™: /^' '^ P--S *-S» ' W,.at was Med^vy„. I have Aun^^fece^" ! '"['PS ^' South Plain, Mrs. Prentice wdked tn th! i '" "^ ?"*«' "«»'•' for quite three or foX:„,^,^.™f.7;^^^ stood there back to Christine P^*^'"' =''^"« with her in".°efsle:r 'wil^JT^^^t:'^.^ T °."'^ ™" at last, her face was still nTi ^"^''^^tice turned to her that all the sw^etTeLtadl^^ Zt ^^f r ^^ *° ^^-*- inyi^itL^lJ^ Jl^^ 7- Will accept this Wish tlte oy Jo\rer^1Sti: ^^ "°^ ''-^^^^ ^ ^^^^^ MU?iier;ou~is a S"^" *^ ^^^ ^^ ^^dwyn theprejudic'esand the^LngsoT^^^ ^" ^'^ impenetrable.' ^ centunes hidebound and ' You know Medwyn, then ? ' saiH rhr^cr • ' It was the scene of the^;ear^..cf f '" '"'P"^^' niaiTiage. and my husband Ls^ in 1 ' ".""^ "^^"^^ Hallows, Medwyn ' " there-Rector of All ' Is he not dead ?— T mpan cried Chnstjne with J Jd"e;::t-ir,era„rs„:p:^'f" ' ' havr;to,dVrsteX^:fr;^:^Lit€-^- visit-if you ever return ' ^ ^"^ ^"^^"^ ^0"^ describe congenial ? ' atmosphere such as you A NEW HORIZON crisis she wiU faiJ you InT^U * """' ™expected unforeseen. Her nat'ure h!= * 'T ' '^"Sent utterly another of the 4s«ceroff£ap' "-" *-iplined-Z sror^or?^rsi!^7^^-™^"nt!'^^ laughs. spontaneous and singularly pleasant handsome and fashTnSty SXomV" "^""^ * ^'^ a strong contrast in every wa^Tw^"" '"^° Pi-^sented Chn^tme's esfimationlT^fn'o^t^rar^""' -■ *'"'"^'' '" • How do you do, LiUah ? ■ sdd MrTprl^'"^'^- teed one another with seeming X;.?^*','^ '"'^ *''"y you-I am much better thoufh , r^T' . ^^' '^^nk nerves yet. Permit me to intS, '"' '*^y » «>e Christine Breck, who may nerhar^'^r "^ '"'""^ Mend, Lady Carteret adjusted h'S^e^Z T °'f •' enough on Christine, though slfTaT^l^t"^^ ^^;jasn-t Mary Lancing come yet > I .h„„,^, , ^^ sm'aS'fl^; '^Lr 'iZ^'t:: Z ""'■ '"' ^ ^^ merrily as if delighted v^ h hSSf td'T; J'"*'^"^ She was indeed verv 4nv =,«,4 ll ° ^ "^^ ""orld. behind all the froS^d "he^av W™ "-l^ooWng, but an instmct that surprised heS^lfT^i' ?™""'' "^*'' fleJdbihty of purpos/ anrt » ? '■ ''"'j''' '^^«"' «» in- wWch ejuy m^adrh^rn^ o^f S^e?""^ "' '"'^^»' lomed them shortly, and IttrtTldTcS^Lt ! !l i f ! it m 98 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Miss Ellen Braithwaite. She was a tall, gaunt person, badly dressed and gloomy of face, and as the meal progressed she seemed to take delight in throwing cold water on every scheme and suggestion discussed by the others. Why she was admitted to the inner circle Christine was puzzled to understand, but some months later, hearing her speak on a public platform, and being carried away by the extra- ordinary flood of her eloquence and the charm of her exquisite voice, she understood. They did not seem to regard Christine as a stranger, but discussed the details of the coming campaign with great frankness and completeness. While not interested personally in the questions they discussed, and wholly unconvinced regarding the frightful wrongs and disabilities of women, Christine was yet drawn by their enthusiasm and filled with a vague envy of the purpose of their lives. At least these women lived, they had found a meaning and a vocation for each day.' That the cause to which they were pledged filled their whole horizon she could easily see. And its aims were wholly noble. There was no hint of self-seeking, they were united in a desire to labour for the common good. It was a very fresh outlook for a girl whose hfe just then was without aim or purpose, and whose future seemed a blank. Small wonder that her heart was touched and her imagination fired with the desire to become an active unit in the coming struggle. Mrs. Prentice, while talking almost incessantly and seemingly entirely engrossed by her theme, at the same time watched Christine, perfectly gauging the effect of the conversation upon her. She felt much drawn to the girl, who had accidentally crossed her path. At the moment she was feeling a singular desire for younger companionship than was available in her circle, and she felt tempted to make Christine an offer there and then. But after a moment's consideration she decided to wait till the visit to Medwyn had been made. a'new horizon ^ discover that it was now half-past three hnm ST^'^J^f. ^'' ^°"^^" P^°"^ise to appear at Syden- fc. Prentice accompanied her out to the landing You have been interested to-day ? ' she inquired with one of her penetrating glances. ^ ^*^ thlf^P^ w '^^^' . ^ "^.^^ enchained. Could you no: see yours! ^Zr rf "? ^"^^°^ ^"" ^^ -^fe such L LTaL^^^^ "'"' ""^ " ^'^ ' ^ -- - °- who has 'But who is now awaking,' added Mrs. Prentice with "Cr^^S'L^f' "^ '"^ ™^' ^^ ^«- y- I have not even decided to go there ' dutv^Vou ^ t"^V° «°-ta*«i.'l think it is your • Surdy-as many as you Uke. If only I could do vn„ ' When you hear of my enormities-as you will hear- remember that every story has two sides, and reTerve^^ judgment till experience of life has wiCedTheToS ' I should never beheve you guilty of enormities ' said Chnstme emphatically. ' I should not reqi^TeSrience to disprove my faith in you. ^ experience 'Ah, one never knows ! The trammels of convention- ahty are strong at Medwyn. It is right that you shoSd make acquaintance with that side of hfe. If yC jo^n us bye &f ;'r ^ "^" '^ ^^^y unassailable ^Good! Dye. We shall certainly meet again ' The whole aspect of lite had changed for Christine, and 100 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER as she journeyed across the labyrinth of South London, the Hedderwicks occupied a very small portion of her mental horizon. She was recalled to the problems of their existence, however, when she came within sight of the house and pictured to herself what might be going on within. She had not been fortunate in her trains, and it was now nearly five o'clock. She hastened her steps and entered without ringing. As she set her umbrella in the stand she stood still a moment, listening in.antly. The house seemed very quiet. Then she remembered that the nursery tea would be in progress and that the others would be in the drawing- room. She opened the door and looked in. The tea- table was spread, but the room was quite empty, the dining-room also being unoccupied. The morning-room was at the back of the house— a pleasant place, with a French wiiidow opening to a verandah overlooking the garden. From thence the sound of low voices seemed to come. She put her hand to the door, conscious of a strange nervousness, but striving to overcome it, opened the door softly and looked in. Her aunt was sitting in a comer of the sofa with her hands before her face. Ted was standing beside her, and from their attitude it was easy to see that he had been confiding his story to her. Christine would have withdrawn, but Aunt Lizzie, dropping her hands from before her face, called her to come. Ted turned round with a dismal smile. 'We thought you'd never come, Christine. I've told mamma, and now I don't care what happens. It must be better, anyhow, than what I've endured in the last months. I've been telling her too that I've got a job with a city firm, and that I enter to-morrow.' He drew himself up and squared his shoulders, but it f A NEW HORIZON loi was at Aunt Lizzie the. Christine looked. She moved ^ftly to her side and. dropping on her knee, chsped both the cold, unwiUing hands in hers. The pallor the expression of consternation and terror on her face appalled the girl. It was not anger over Ted's indiscretion, for her heart was far too large and expansive to refuse forgiveness for what was to her always a lovable fault-it was simply apprehension of what was yet to come ^ nnf v""* Hf^' ^°"'* ^^^'^ ^^^ *^^* ' It's nothing, reaUy nothing. It may even make a man out of Ted ' fplk ,-n'?'* *^^*7l'3l' ^ "^^* *° P^^^^^ J^i"^self where he feUs m love, and Edith is good enough-a nice Uttle girl fTfi? V "^^""^^s-but his father! Christine I th^nk I must go out. He may be home any minute. I am really not strong enough to endure his anger to-day. I must leave you to fight it out.' ^ She rose, tof.ering to her feet. Too late. The door opened and Hedderwick entered. Christine unconsciously put her ami about her aunt, and turned her fearless face iLo J ' ^u ^^'' "^""^^^y reminding him of what had already passed between them. Ted set his teeth and once more squared his shoulders. Heddemick closed the door and came across the room underetood ~^ perplexing smile which Christine scarcely h.!-f""*^^r?''-\!'"''^'' ^"'^^ ^'°^S^' and-and look at her! said Chnstme in a low voice foi^L^'"^ ^% ^Tru"" ^^"^ti^^'s ^^' Hedderwick came arm round his wife in a manner which brought back to her strained heart the happy days in the Bu'cksbum Road' bhe looked at him m amaze, and never had her face been so sweet, her eyes so full of appeal. ' Don't be too hard on him. George, when he tells you -ic Til "^^""^ y*'''"^ ^"^^ yourself, and nothing else but love mattered.' """""g I 102 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' My poor wife,' he said, straining her closer, and he held out his hand to his son. 'Christine has told me everything. We'll weather it together, Ted, and try life on a new tack.' Christine with heaving bosom slipped away very softly and closed the door. 1 le held her it softly * ft 1 CHAPTER VIII THE BACKWATER Christine arrived at Medwyn on a cold grey afternoon in the early part of January. As the train wound its way through the undulating landscape, the uniform gre5mess seemed unrelieved. In parts a slight sprinkling of snow lay upon the ground, though the fall had been insufficient to drape the pathetic nakedness of the wintry trees. The streams were few, and they flowed black and sluggish between uninteresting banks, mostly flat. Christine mentally compared the landscape with t!ie rugged and ever-varying beauty of the Highland scenery she loved so well, and the English picture certainly suffered from that comparison. Her prejudiced eye gave her no inkling of the particular and exquisite beauty and charm of these pastoral scenes when the promise of the spring has been fulfilled. She was acutely home-sick, though she was unaware of the fact. She had parted from the household at Sydenham with a curious mingling of regret and relief, followed by the lamentations of every individual member. Her uncle had broken his business day to see her off at Euston, had pur::hased her a first-class return ticket lasting for six months, and had volubly assured her regarding the open door of his house. I You're not needing to be beholden to a single human being, Christine, remember,' Aunt Lizzie had said through her grateful tears. ' This is your home whenever you like 103 IS. 1 , t I ■ t^4 THE ONE WHO ( AME AFTER ^Z. balj;:.'^'"^' "°* ^°^^ ^°" ^^y '^^"^ " y- -re gratitude-that was amply apparent in her altered and th^tlnTT 7'' ^'"^^^"^ ^^'-^^ b^^" gl-d to e ape from that affectionate atmosphere and had blamed herself fo^ her Perver^eness. Certainly a vast restlessness p'ssssS her an overwhelmmg desire for new experiences. desdnatTon' f T'',: ""u^ moderately interested in the destmation to which she was hastening. The iounev occupied her about two hours and brought her in t^e t f"^"f \i^' ^^^ ^"^ "^^ ^^^^ °f Aylesbu ' Bu? tVeZZaT ""'^'"''f "^°""*^^"^' ^°^ *he ilSnitaWe spaces of wide moors under solitary skies, for the rush of wild torrents and the mystery of inland seas whose m(K)ds "pTVoTd oft"' ""T^'i^^ ^^^'^'^^ through whiZhe T. u ^1^ magnetism, they seemed to suggest even to embody the everlasting commonplace. ^^ ' ihe tram slowed down as they approached the little ?mf Tte hoases-mostly of red brick, meUo^bv R^^nl^T A *? *\^""""*''' by wide spaces of n^i^-^ ^^- '^ .*** """^'y «Pi"=« rose high in iiie cb« M 'nSf 'JT,"' town-steeple came the subduS ye Cheerful peal of bells. The taU square tower of thp fin, g^ d'r ";:";''h '^"r ^"^ -■^^ ^"*- ""^^ «-n Si gave dig,. V ond character to its market-place. dre^ uotu- -''..vt"?.''' ^'!?'*'™ ""'^^ ^ 'he train r^rThe vi; ''"'^'•" '^ =™^' b^longi^gs from the rack. She ..elt u.. no haste to greet the welcoming face THE BACKWATER ,05 which so often makes the end of a journey a better thing than .s beginmng. When she stepped out^owever h rf v^iuon, eagerness in her glance, but among the mere haiidful of persons on the platform she could discer^ no figure answering to the appearance she expected X o' womnn '. *T'''"*- ^^^ ^^""* ^"^^6^ °f ^ midcie aged her and :,f "^..'^"'"'-^'^^ "^^^ '^' b°°k-stall arresfed fomarS " ^"'' '^'' "^'^ '^' ^°"^^" took a step ' Miss Breck, miss, if you please ? ' Yes, I am Miss Breck.' mdd toMisTAmT^:? ^'"'^' '' ^°"^ '''^'''' '^^^^^- h^7!^thfL'^"^V^' took Christine's wraps and travelling- 'TU lu r'* ^°°^ "^^""^^^ ^f t^e trained servant point it°nnf. 11^^'' ""'''' '^ y°" I^^^^^^- If yo"'" kindly pomt It out to the porter he'll put it in the flv Miss Ainory begged you to excuse the carriage not coS to-day as one of the horses has a bad cold ' ^ fusion" nrh"^'^^!^ f u 'i'PP^^ ^°^^^^ t°^^ds the con- fusion of boxes that had been disgorged from the van Her own were quickly found, and in two or three minutes she took her seat in the large, dingy station fly. Th.^°" ^''''"''. ""^ "^^""^"^ ^"^^^e' "^iss, if you please The dnver says there ain't no room on the box ' ^ .ertamly. Come in. There is plenty of room ' said Chnstine. sitting further back in her corner knee^and s^u^, 1"' 'T^'^ *'^ dressing-bag on her of the well b, J ''^' ^"PP^"^ ^t tightly-a picture t!^^ ^l:^,-^ -- -' - --- ^of thi feeW irfn^l^'' r*' ""'"' ^ ^°P^'' ^^^ s^d poUtely, h!!T?^ u^ ^'"^^ impossible to sit in absolute silence beside any human creature. ^lence 1 . tu I ■il if io6 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' Oh yes, miss/ said Sophia's trim voice—' that is, as weU as they is mostly. Miss Letty's 'ad a bad day, and Miss Grace ain't left 'er— not once since mornin'. They don't go out much in the afternoons, ever— specially when the wind's in the east.' ' They don't have good health then ? ' 'Miss Letty don't 'ave good 'ealth— not to speak of she replied evenly. Something in the fine straight gaze of the girl at her side had a most curious effect on Sophia Timbs. It unloosed her tongue. ' Oh, miss, I remember your mother, I do ! It don't seem no more than yesterday since— since it 'appened.' ' Since what happened ? ' ' Since she ran away with the artist, Mr. Breck. Nobody didn't blame 'er after they 'ad seen 'im.' Christine, at a loss for a fitting word, looked straight out of the carriage window. She could not say to the woman that her words, so fraught with import, conveyed something she had never before heard. In a moment whole vistas cleared, and she understood much that had loomed mysterious in her retrospect of the past. She fully understood now why she had never heard of her mother's people, why her father had been so silent regard- ing the brief experience of his married life. It had rot been altogether grief that had sealed his lips. ' That was a long time ago,' she said vaguely at last. I am twenty-five.' ' It will be twenty-seven years on the twenty-third of May next.' _ ' At three o'clock in the afternoon,' murmured Christine, idiotically moved to add to the sum of minute detail. ' No, miss,' replied the woman evenly. ' I believe it appened at night. It generally do. Fust place I went to one of my young ladies ran away with the groom.' ' Is there anybody in Medwyn 1 could run away with, THE BACKWATER 107 just to keep up the old traditions ? ' asked Christine, her eyes for a moment brimming with impulsive laughter. ' No, miss, an' I don't think,' she added deliberately, ' that there's anybody in the worid worth doing that for— no I don't. But I didn't ought to talk like this, miss. Please excuse me. My ladies wouldn't like it. Ever bin in Medwyn before, miss ? I was bom round that there comer by the Town 'All. My father was a saddler an' did all the county work. Bin dead eleven year on the fifteenth of January.' Christine looked out interestedly as they crawled across the market-place to which the stately edifice in the centre gave a certain dignity. ' Where is South Plain— and why Plain ? ' she asked. ' Dunno, miss, unless it's because it's so fiat. We don't 'ave no mountings them parts. But South Plain's the best part 01 the town, and we do 'ave nice gardings. Ours is lovely, but this summer, with the rain an' what not, Miss Letty 'as 'ardly ever bin in it. We didn't 'ave tea out only once, when we 'ad the Mothers' Union. Ah, there's our Rector— see ! Mr. Prentice.' Christine started and looked out, only to catch a glimpse of a disappearing back and a fringe of grey hair under the brim of a soft clerical hat. ' 'E comes a lot an' 'e do comfort Miss Letty. 'Ad a history, 'e 'as— 'is wife 'as left 'im, nobody seems exactly to know wy. She gave up everything else fust— never went once to 'Oly Communion for over a year. Miss Lucy's comin' 'ome from Switzerland to keep 'ouse for 'im, which'U be a good thing for her pore father. Mostly 'e 'as to put up with Miss Coles the charwoman. Good servants won't stop where there's no decent missus. Miss Lucy was to 'ave 'er choice when she growed up — between 'er father an' mother, I mean, an' she's choose to come 'ere. 'Ere we are, miss, 'ope I 'aven't talked too much. Some- thing seemed to come over me like, ap' w^Vp vprw nnipf M iili ro8 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER to South Plain. There are days when nobody don't speak above a whisper in our 'ouse. Maybe you'll 'liven us up a bit No offence, miss. I knowed your mother, an' she was the sweetest critter that the sun ever shined on- beggm pardm for bein' so free.' Christine could not but smile at this spontaneous tribute and the reflection that she could find a friend in this Homely human creature comforted her heart South Plain was a wide cul-de-sac with tall houses flanked by broad pavements and shaded by a row of fine old trees down the centre of the way. The houses looked substantial roomy, and severe-the immaculate curtains the Winds lowered to correct angles, the shining door turmture all proclaiming housewifely souls stirred to commendable rivalry. Christine greatly admired the knocker of the door at which the fly stopped-an immense griffin creature in heavy brass. wonderfuUy wrought. She was about to raise It for the sheer pleasure of touching it. when she was arrested by the hurried whisper of Sophia Timbs T .f ?* ^""fj' "'^''' ^^ y^" P^^^se. bein' one o' Miss Lettys bad days. Mostly we 'aves it tied up. I 'aves my key— 'ere it is.' She threw open the silent door which, though heavy, was admirably hung. Then she stood back decorously and Chnstme stepped across the threshold into the dim recesses of the large square hall on which a subdued light feU from a small fire on the hearth. It had ingle-neuk seats at the fireplace, but they looked as if nobody had ever sat on them. There was a slight sound from an inner room A door was opened, a curtain drawn back, and a tall figure rather gaunt but held erect with a certain dignity and grace, came forward. ' Your Aunt Grace, miss,' said Sophia Timbs and busied herself about the luggage at the door. ' How do you do, Christine ? ' said a measured, quiet i THE BACKWATER 109 voice in which there was no trace of welcoming warmth. ' I am sorry that you have arrived on one of your Aunt Letty's bad days, but I am glad to say she is a little better and will receive you now. You have had a comfortable journey, I hope.' ' Oh yes, thank you.' Christine stepped fprward to the inner room, the atmosphere of which was heavy with the mingled odours of flowers and sal volatile. It was a wide, low-ceiled, pleasant room, admirably furnished in perfect taste. A large chintz-covered couch near the fireplace held the figure of a woman — a small, slight figure buried in MTaps and shawls from which peered forth a face of some sweet- ness, though much faded, and marred by an expression of discontent and peevishness. ' Come forward, Christine, as quietly as you can and let me look at you. Not very like Alice is she, Grace ? No — it is a disappointment. Won't you sit down and let the door be shut ? Grace — the dodr — and the screen, at once ! ' A swift hand closed the offending door and adjusted a heavy screen to exclude any possible air. 'Another light, Grace, so that I may see Christine better. No— she is tall, Alice was short. Her hair is fair — ahnost red, n'est-ce pas P—her colouring quite different. Yes, it is a disappointment. But won't you sit down ? ' Up till now Christine had not uttered a word. Some- thing in her throat seemed to prevent her. ' Perhaps she had better see her room now — her garments may be damp. And we shall have tea a little earUer. Then you can talk to her,' said Aunt Grace in her measured tones. ' Why don't you say something ? ' asked Aunt Letty querulously. ' I suppose there is nothing the matter with you. We ought to have asked that. I am so deUcate that it would not be right to have two invalids in the no THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER can see that. You are quite strong. I house. You hope ? ' ' Oh yes— perilously strong.' ' Perilously strong-what does she mean. Grace ? Do you hear her? I hope you won't make a noise in the Ss ?,n^ v' '" P^'^ ''^ P""^ "^"^^' «^ ^^^^ all the stand it' ■ '''' ""^ P'°' ^'"^ ^"^ 'y^' ^°"^^"'t Christine gave a smaU hysterical laugh. A false note had been struck on the very threshold. For the first time she expenenced a pang of regret at the thought of the household she had left. 6 "■ "^ tne There the elemental passions had raged, while the cloak of conventionahty was of the thinnest guise. But the new atmosphere in which she found herself was stifling. The hot room with the smell of exotics and stimulants gave ^^L"^ I ^l '^' ^r^"' ^^^^ ^^^ pretentious and msmcere. Such was Christine's hasty judgment as she mentally decided that her visit to Med Jy^ shS be sho't You are to have your mother's room-my thought entirely.' went on the languid voice of Aunt Lettv 'A SwJne'd^t^^^^ ^'^ think .P Grace would never have entertained it for a moment-it would simply not have DonTvon .h T>''' '" "° -agination Jno romance Don t you think it is romance that gives a halo to life ? ' I am sure I don't know.' said Christine, and never had she spoken in a more bald, unpromising manner. sJlZt Grat." " ' '" "" ^'^ ^^ ^^^^"^ *- --^'' stmrcase to a wide landing on which many doors opened. At the end of a long corridor they entered a pleasant room hung m old patterned chintz, and ha^'ing two W windows oyer ooking the garden and the river. It seemed to be sparely furnished, but the few articles were beautiful the bed Itself with its delicately carved spiral piUars almost THE BACKWATER III priceless. Some water-colours on the wall hung upon a quaint latticed paper completed a picture which rested Christine's eyes while it satisfied her artistic sense. Here she could be at home. Yet its very perfection, the snowy whiteness of every scrap of muslin or lace, the shining of the mahogany imparted a little chill. Here was formalism expressed in inanimate things, ' Was this really my mother's room ? ' she asked with a little feeling of awe. ' Yes ; as girls, she and I shared it together, but latterly it was all her own. These are some of her books. They were never sent to Scotland, though I believe she asked for them.' A little tremor crossed the face of Christine. Her Aunt Grace spoke in matter-of-fact tones as if the affair was of little consequence. ' It was all very painful at that time, of course, for us as a family. We had been well brought up. There had never been anything of that kind before.' 'But there was no disgrace. My mother married a j,ood man— a great artist and a perfect gentleman,' said Christine, struggling with her emotion yet determined to make her stand without delay. ' Nothing could excuse the manner in which he took my sister away. It was unforgivable,' was the decisive reply which forbade further discussion of the theme. ' We must avoid painful subjects ; it is unnecessary that they should be discussed or even mentioned. They never are, in well-bred families. And here it is specially necessary for us to cultivate cheerfulness. You see how frail your Aunt Lettice is; and she is so sensitive that things hurt her which have no effect on me.* ' Has she any special disease ? ' * A very weak heart, and a soul too large for her frail body. Poor darling, she has suffered a good deal in her if 112 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER We, and imagines herself misunderstood and misiudeed Z:,zi.' "^^^^ ^^^^ ^'' ^-' ^^ wouidTrs Christine leaned a moment against the bow-fronted dressmg-chest. staring at her aunt in what she fel ?o be a smgularly stupid manner. " ^'^ ^^ What strange elements were these to which she was b;:Th~"' '"' '°" "^"^^ ^^^ ^«-*' - be af^ecTe" ' It was really I who thought of inviting you to oav us a visit/ continued Aunt Grace in her perfectly even ve pecuharly harsh, voice. ' I thought that perhaps^ a StTr'rttrb' " *'' 'r" "°^^^ ^^ beneficial to'W sister at the beginning of a long winter. You are our only niece, but we have a nephew in China ' Ihere was another sister, then ? ' ' Was he a missionary ? ' ihJrf- ^"^ ;^°' . ^^ "^^ ^^*"^y a Government official in the Chinese Customs where his son now is. BuHe was interested m missions and constituted himfelf a kv preacher m the wild parts where his dutiesToThim H." thought he possessed the complete confidence of the people among whom he had lived and worked so lont deth ''w ''' ?'" '^"^ ^" ^^ ^^^^P -d s^afbed him" o death. We no longer, of course, subscribe to missio^T' express "" "°" '"^'^ ^"^^^^^^^^ than shT could ' Our Rector understands our scruples, and of course sTsteTirfar be'; "^^""- 7^ "° ^-^- ^-r ?rom ou sister-m-law, because we do not thuik that she acted Msely or becomingly at the tim. of John's death Instead of coming home at once with her son, who w^ S seventeen, she not only elected to remain in Hong Kong THE BACKWATER but dear father and mother could not see it in thatSt' and the correspondence ceased a good few yeSs sfnce ? ' . You have never seen your nephew, then :> ' No, but at Christmas this year we were surDri«;pH f. rjeceive a few lines from Lois senLg a phrtoLZf John some special service rendered in thisXectio^ hfh k would receive them here, but we have not yet repUeT tli idf W.T' ?■ • ""^'^ ^^ '"-"^ '° yo" when SheS?^;;::?eS"!tt;fd^irnS^^^^^^ deep even one night under this strange ^M roof^ |he put her hands m the pockets of her travelling coat Sd ^fdl "'T "'^ ''°°'' '° '^' mantelshelf, above ll^h ^:|ioo^srrTj-th^tvr^^^^^^^^ Eyne. The cluld had never left the face nor the heart of 114 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER What wonder that she had been eager and ready to fly to the dark and true and tender north I And now here, in the very room where AUce Amory had 7t ^"^.,sjept and dreamed her girlish dreams, the heart of her child was seeking to make a shrine. It wac some- thing to be assured that her mother's feet had trod the selfsame floor 1 that her mother's eyes had rested on these inanimate objects ; but poor Christine, who had never kno^Am a real mother, was now a little weary with groping for the shadow. The lingering sweetness from out thf past was so elusive a thing that she could not grasp it. She felt already assured moreover that here was no warm home-nest into which her heart might nestle because she was her mother's child. The decorous knock of Sophia Timbs disturbed her as she laved her hot face in a basin of clear cold water Ave yer everything, miss ? I'm to wait on you. I am glad, she said with a quivering note of satisfaction in her voice. Do let me do somethin' for you, miss, please. It would make me appy.' ^ She took the brush that Christine had hastUy Hfted from the dressing-bag, and with deft fingers unbound the rich hair, brushing it with that practised touch which imparts a sense of comfort and well-being ' It shines just like 'ers did-it were Hke the sun of a mornm Oh, miss. I did love 'er. She was the one bit of bnghtness in this dull old 'ouse, an' when she left it the sun never shone no more. No— that it didn't • there am t bm a bit of real sun in South Plain since Miss Ahce went away.' Christine Ustened with a softened expression on her face TomXhl'Ss.'""^^ ''-'' '-'' ^" ''' '^-^'y f hfAV""^ t T't^ ""^ '"'"'" '"""^^^ *° ^^st upon her that she could find no words wherewith to answer her Teas m, an' they don't like to be kep' waitin' We to fly THE BACKWATER i feadvt 'mJT^'T f ^""'" ^"^' "'^- Now are you reaay f My, you do look nice I ' ^ niw!^*^''^ ^"^^'^ ^'"'^ *° '■^"^ove imaginary dust and sfjrs to [h?7' ^^'^ P^^^^^^^y perceptL^ride down enTer alone ^"^"^"^^^"^ d°°^ ^here she left her to an?fhf ' ^^"^ ^''" ''""^^y "^^^^ "P ^"d another lamp lit loot nf ? r'" ^ "^'^y ^^^^^f"i ^nd a very Engh h look of comfort Aunt Lettice was now propped up by from h ^'^? °*.^ ^°"^^' ^"^ ^-d removeTthe^ap from her head and looked brighter and more animated ^ Come m, dear ; now I can have a better look at you It^Z I'h^ '^t '''''''' ^^^^^' W«"^d you crediUt' Chnstme, I have to maKe this remark every time any one comes m or goes out ! I am so sensitive to ™e sh/htest brace ! Ah, if only one could get up to do things fo^ oneself how much easier it would be.' ^ ' Let me help you, Aunt Grace,' said Christine steomn^ forward to remove the screen to the required angle ^^^ Yes-that will do now. My tea, Grace. No-I will not have buttered toast, and very well you know it I I there is no dry toast I can go Jhout. The beU < Now who can that be ? Just nin down, Grace, and tell Benson that we are not at home to anybody except ?he Rector ' There was a moment of silence while the hall door was opened The colour flushed Lettice AmoryV cheeks le hT w! y o7 ^^"-"7^1;^ -^lar parlo'ur-mddwUh the weight of years and discretion on her shoulders announced the Reverend Ambrose Prentice '''°^^^^''~- ff CHAPTER IX THE MOLLUSC Mr. Prentice entered the room with the air of a man assured of his welcome. Christine saw that he had a power over the household. She was puzzled at first to account for this, since his looks were undistinguished and his personality without charm. He was a man who, unfrocked, would quickly sink to the level of the common- place. Prejudiced against him from the outset, Christine could not be just, but imagined in him untold meanness of nature, and read cruelty in the narrow lines of his mouth. His bright blue eyes, closely set together, gave shrewdness to his expression and seemed to promise consideration for himself. ' Dear ladies, I hope the uninvited guest does not intrude at an inopportune moment,' he said smoothly ; and even his voice, much admired in the intoning of the prayers, did not commend itself to Christine's hostile ear. ' Intrude, Mr. Prentice ! How can you suggest any- thing so impossible ? ' cried Miss Amory, who had become a new creature, all smiles and coquetting. Christine could not help looking at her, feeling fascinated by her changed demeanour. * I am becoming a horrible kind of person,' she muttered to herself—' a sort of detective and snake in one. What makes me like this ? ' The Rector's eyes bent themselves interestedly on her 1 \ c T "*"■ I t M HJ THE MOLLUSC u; face as her aunt mad« the necessary introduction. Chris- tine shook hands, but she had no response ready for his somewhat effusive expression of pleasure at meeting her. hhe dishked him intensely from that moment ; his small physical defects, his habit of biting his lips, a curious droop of his left eyelid, the sleekness of his hair— all obtruded themselves. ' Your dear aunts have been looking forward to this meetmg, Miss Breck, and the advent of a stranger is quite an event in our little community. You have never I understand, visited Medwyn before ? ' 'Oh never,' answered Christine hastily, colouring as she became conscious that three pairs of eyes were bent mercilessly upon her. ' I did not know until I had my aunt s letter that such a place existed.' Mr. Prentice gave a slight laugh. ' Do sit down, Mr. Prentice,' said Miss Amory solicitously. You look tired.' ^ 'I am tired. I have been at Thorpe this afternoon making inquiries about the person you spoke to me about last Saturday. I was unfortunate enough to miss the return train.' I And had to walk ! I am sure it is quite five miles.' Four and three-quarters, but Mrs. Ovenden overtook me in her victoria and very kindly gave me a lift ' ' Mrs. Ovenden drives a good deal, surely,' observed Miss Amory rather snappishly. ' We are always hearing ot her from one person or another.' ' She is very busy— in good works, let us hope,' repUed the Rector as he accepted his cup of tea from Miss Grace's hands and helped himself to a very large muffin. ' To-day she IS giving a tea to the old women of the chapel guilds whatever that may mean.' ' Mr. Prentice, forgive me. But was it quite wise to dnve pubhcly through Medwyn with such a pronounced Dissenter as Mrs. Ovenden ? It gives such occasion for Ii8 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER talk in a small place, and you know how unkind Medwyn people are.' She proffered her question timidly, with an assumption of humility which the Rector received as his due. ' I try not to be narrow-minded, Miss Amory. It is our duty to set the example of Christian forbearance. I had some need of mine this afternoon, I assure you, for Mrs. Ovenden tackled me with the utmost rigour about the Grove Street district which, she says, is a disgrace to any town, and that because it happens to he partly in All Hallows' Parish, I must be held responsible.' Miss Amory set down her cup and leaned forward in a white heat of indignation. ' Did the creature actually have the presumption to say that ? I hope you had a fitting answer ready for her.' ' I think I convinced her that All Hallows' had not been behind in effort for the redemption of Grove Street, and I assured her that a little experience would quickly con- vince her that it :'s the people themselves who are incorrigible.' ' What did she say to that ? ' * She laughed and said she was glad that the Church, in this instance, would give Dissent a free hand.' ' How vulgar, but then she doesn't belong to us, Mr. Prentice ! It is astonishing that the county suffers her as it does.' ' I think she is making some headway, Miss Amory — upon my word I do. She dines to-night with Lady Mary at Horncastle.' ' Indeed ! She told you that in a boastful spirit, of course. I am surprised at Lady Mary. We have looked to her hitherto — and not in vain — to keep society purged for us in these degenerate days.' ' Mrs. Ovenden did not boast of it, and I believe that she is quite sincere when she says she does not care a fig r5M««raie».*»TT m^- mmm THE MOLLUSC 119 for the county. This lady of whom we are speaking is one of the nouveaux riches, Miss Breck, who has lately purchased Polesden Abbey from one of our oldest families.' ' She must be an interesting person, I should think,' was Christine's answer. ' Is she interesting, Miss Amory ? She is certainly very handsome and dresses extremely well,' said the Rector. 'Extravagantly,' snapped Miss Letty, 'and far too youthfully for her age, which cannot be less than fifty or sixty. At the Yeomanry fete she positively wore a white dress though she is a widow.' ' But very early widowed, I think,' put in Mr. Prentice smoothly. ' The surprising thing is that she should never have contracted a second marriage, for she iz undeniably handsome.' ' Do you think so ? Grace and I decided that her style was loud and vulgar. She wore an ostrich feather in her hat— a white hat, by the bye— the feather quite half a yard long. It must have cost pounds and pounds. Don't you remember, Grace, how decidedly we were of opinion that she was vulgar and over-dressed ? ' Grace elevated her brows, and Christine was much surprised to behold a faint, half-derisive smile lurk for one brief instant about her hard mouth. Could there possibly be some reserve of humour or mirth hidden away behind the grim exterior ? The absence of humour in all the people she had met since she left the Eyrie had im- pressed her more than anything. The endless stream of mirthful talk that used to flow there, at the gatherings of the Clan, and the gentle, happy wit that had touched all her father's comments on men and things, before the blight of his illness had robbed him of the verve of life, seemed the loveliest things on earth now that they were gone for ever. These people were all so grim and serious m M iff 120 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' ^'^; 0«n» ' I thanked -her of course— that was my dutv I akn mentioned that I had generous friends in my own chuth duty Th- r^' ^PPly-that likewise waf Tless my duty. I think you may trust me, Miss Lettice But let, ,s leave such uncongenial themes,' added the Rector as L s'trnf a^few Zh^ 'tf "^'^ ' ^^"^ ^"t unVr! nn f : t / *^^ "^^^^^ ^'* °^ home-making. There is no tea m Medwyn worth drinking after theirs.' Amnl'; .l"*'^l'? ^^"^^y" *°° ^^"^' Christine,' said Miss Amory with a httle sigh of content. ' It is an arTwrdo p^ipLt:;;; ^' ^^ ^^^-^^-^^^ -*' ^ --- of 'zi^ humble and the truly great who are inspred\^th S Amory's divine discontent.' «in^^".f "^ wondered why he persistently addressed her TXTintT"^' f ^"*^"^^^' ^^^ haJhithertTtaken no part m the conversation whole^a?t of hnllf "'^^•*'^' ^"'^ *° ^^ ^"^*^^*^^ i"to the wftole art of home-making as understood and practised by your aunts,' he continued. ' I had a letter E. Vf chHd this morning, Miss Amory. She has lefTl^Tan': and will anive in London on Saturday.' "' PrenfL h "'1?^ ^ That means a late night for you. Mr Prentice has five services on Sunday, Christine, beginnkg 1 < r a • 1] i] S( THE MOLLUSC 121 nf hZ''' «"T"™" ^t ft=Jf-past seven-think of that I Lfort »!:? -f' }''^^ "* ''"^"^- He would need comtort and consideration at homa' hapBel fn S'*'r ""^ T "^ *^^ P"P^^^ ^t Traviata weT^fn ^ fnd offered to bring her. His women-folks were to join him at Paris. Your niece would make an admirable friend for my little Lucy. There arrso few young people in Medwyn.' ^^^ TiJ^""'^ u^^^'^^'l '*°P ^^^^"g ^er Uttle Lucy now Rector, observed Aunt Grace. ' Isn't she as tall'ls you lam^'anl",-.'^-'''^' ^" "**^' ^"^^ *^ "^^' P°°^ motherless lamb, and it is my earnest hope that she may find the ame solace m this house t:.at her poor father^has done It has been a veritable oasis in the desert to him.' h^^nZf^T' T^' ^^' ^^"y'^ f^^« radiant, nor the'Cfr o^t'^^" "'^" ^'' '^'^' ^^*"-^^ ^-- showing latio??''^ch^ ^^^^ "^^^ accompUshes in spite of his tribu- lation! she observed to Christine. 'Never a word of reproach or grumbling! Always cheerful, he clrtdnly sets a great example to us all.' cenamiy '¥^. ^^ "ft strike me as conspicuously cheerful' Chnstme could not help saying. cneeriui, ' He is not vulgarly boisterous. No well-bred person ouiet .h^°M" ^'^! *° ^^^"^ '' discriminate b weenX quiet cheerfulness of the heart and of the well-balanced rndi;irmTer^^^^^^ '''''' -''-' -' '^-^y^ ^^ inl^Zrr^^^f ^ am guilty of the latter. Aunt Letty ? ' nquired Chnstme goaded to ungracious speech by some ^^l*iTi"^?f7 - ^- -""t against which her'^Xe J I: I I 122 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' I think you are a young woman of remarkable self- possession and with a dangerously sharp tongue. But much can be excused to you when one considers the circumstances and probable faults of your upbringing. But I hope that you will benefit by your visit to us.' ' Thank you, Aunt Letty.' ' The great sorrow of my life is that I cannot do more active work in the parish and so help the Rector more. But one can only do what one is permitted,' she added piously. ' And it is something to be able to hold up a prophet's hands.' Aunt Grace returned at the moment and essayed to finish her tea which had been somewhat retarded by waiting on others. ' There is too much cinnamon in Perkin's cake again, Grace, and you know the Rector has expressed his dislike of cinnamon. You will tell cook— or would you like me to have her up ? ' ' The cake's very good, Letty, and if the Rector doesn't like it he isn't bound to eat it. There are other things to eat on the table. I hate a man who thinks so much about his inside.' ' Don't be ^oilgar, Grace— before our niece too ! I'm astonished and pained at you. After all my efforts to accomplish that divine harmony of thought Mr. Prentice so often speaks about it is disappointing.' ' I don't see what harmony of thought has to do with a cinnamon cake, Letty. It is either a good cake or a bad one. This time it is good. I'll tell you the sign cf a good cake, Christine — it requires no outside adorr ment. When you see a cake smothered in sugar or sticky ice, avoid it. Now look at that beautiful firm brown outside I I say it is first-rate.' Christine laughed merrily, greatly enjoying this spirited little passage between her aunts, which redeemed the appalling dulness of the last half-hour. } THE MOLLUSC 123 * I thought it very good, but then I am always hungry/ she said readily. ' If you are to be against me, Christine, I must prepare myself for it,' said Miss Amory plaintively. ' I have been misunderstood and misjudged in this house a very long time. Rude health has very little sympathy with the finer moods of the spirit which are bom of much physical weakness. Grace, a Uttle eau-de-cologne ! ' ' Let me get it. Aunt Letty,' cried Christine, jumping up more from a desire to save Aunt Grace than from sympathy with the invalid. ' Ah, thank you ! What it must be to be young and active ! I pray you may never know the torture of an eager spirit confined in a narrow earthly cell. Ah, that is better! Now, Grace, don't you think we might tell Christine a part at least of the Rector's story ? It will help her to understand, perhaps to appreciate, his great nature.' ' Timbs told me something in the fly as we drove from the station,' said Christine bluntly, ' when she pointed him out to me in the street.' ' I am surprised at Sophia Timbs, and it is unusual for her to obtrude her opinions. She is a good servant. You must have encouraged her to talk.' ' I don't think I spoke a dozen woids all the way, but I assure you I was very pleased to hear her talk. She gave me some particulars about her family and the dates of the principal events in Medwyn, that's all.' ' Well, about Mr. Prentice,' said Miss Letty with the air of a woman quite unconvinced. ' What would you think of a woman privileged to be the wife of such a man leaving his side, forfeiting and flinging aside all her wifely duties after having heaped on him every indignity and scandalising the whole parish ? ' ' I should need to hear both sides, Aunt Letty,' replied Christine steadily, ' and Mr. Prentice looks as if he might be bad-tempered.' •i«(ll>*i«.",3i.«»ii~.^S 124 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' Bad-tempered-that angel of a man ! Grace, you hear her? She suggests that Mr. Prentice might be bad- tempered.' ' As to that, I don't know. Letty ; but I shouldn't care about a man with fiddUng ways hke Mr. Prentice-always thinkmg about the ingredients in his food. It is hardly decent for a man to be always inquiring what things are made of. He s too finicking. I think that his wife had something to put up with, though I don't say she was justified m doing what she did.' Aunt Letty mopped her eyes and forehead with her heavdy saturated handkerchief, and there was an un- comfortable silence. 'Two in league against me and against truth ! I cannot understand it,> she said resignedly. ' You I can excuse. Christine, for probably you have never been privileged to meet a saintly man like Mr. Prentice.' ru ^?'' "^"^f^' } ^^""^ not-and I'm glad of it,' repUed thnstme. floundering still more deeply. 'But I have Uved side by side with truth all my life, and I have a reyexence for it. It is the only thing that matters.' Grace. I think our niece had better withdraw,' said Miss Letty faintly. ' In my present state I am unfit to ar^e with her. She has a fire in her room. I suppose and can be quite comfortable there till dinner-time.' ' Christine jumped up. 'There's a fire in the morning-room. Letty,' answered Aunt Grace gnmly. 'But she hasn't said anything so very dreadful. After all everybody doesn't worship Mr. i'rentice. His wife has some supporters in the parish even yet.' ^ Aunt Letty put her handkerchief to her eyes and lay back exhausted among the cushions. Christine took the opportunity of sUpping from t.xe room. Her own had been made ready for her by one who was interested and who had given her affectionate thou-ht THE MOLLUSC 125 The curtains drawn, the low easy-chair set by the bright fire, the small table close by with some books upon it — all was restful and inviting. She closed the door and threw herself into the chair with a sudden sense of relief from strain. Nearer contact with her aunts had not re- moved the chill which had accompanied her welcome. There were possibilities in Aunt Grace, but she was dominated by ths selfishness of her sister to an extent which paralysed and submerged her own individuality. Christine had no doubt that Aunt Letty was both physi- cally and mentally the strongest person in the house and that, therefore, she was a humbug. She foresaw endless conflict for herself arising out of this conviction, and she quietly decided that she should tell them that very evening that her visit would be very short. She had not escaped from Uncle Hedderwick, and she laughed a Uttle hysterically at the grotesque thought that in some form or other he lurked under every roof. She took up A Kempis again, and for the first time she observed her mother's name in small, delicate, faded writing on the fly- leaf underneath the words ' Help Thou mine unbelief ! ' What unbelief ? Had her sweet-faced mother, then, been assailed by doubt — had her fine spirit revolted against the formalism of creeds ? A subtle spell from out the past subdued the rebellious thoughts surging in the g':" heart, and for the first time she became conscious of something drawing her spirit — not back, but — upward by ' the cords which come from out eternity.' Whither had all those spirits winged their flight ? >\ere they mysteriously distributed in the upper air whence, unseen, they ministered to those beloved on earth ? Drawn thus upward from sordid details, Christine pondered with increasing joy and interest on the greater problems of life and destiny. An innate conviction that no human being, however m } 126 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER dominant or self-assertive, has the final power to order destiny for himself or another, began to take definite form m her mmd filling it with a certain terror. The ulti- matum would go forth 'Thus far shalt thou go and no tarther, and the puny will be broken and set at naught She felt herself strong with the fine strength of splendid youth to conquer fate, but she would be met by invisible forces as the others had been met, and would have to lay her fighting armour down. A yearning for definite guidance-for something greater and stronger than her- self overwhelmed her. For the first time she realised the needs of her soul. Upon this confusion of inarticulate yearnings Aunt Grace burst with the abruptness of movement charac- tenstic of her. ' She's better, Christine, and now may I warn you ? We are bound to have scenes while your Aunt Letty is so weak and so highly strung, but we needn't aggravate them. We must let her have her own way in most things —don't you see that ? ' ^ Christine clasped her hands round her knees and rocked herself m her chair. 'Perhaps it would be better for me to go tc-morrow. Aunt Grace. I can t promise not to say the wrong thing In fact something tells me I shall be continually savin ' it ' Not at all. You must learn to control yourself Look at me! I am old, and I have been controlling myself all these years until I have almost acquired a second nature.' 'But has it been right-for you, I mean .? You are entitled to be yourself surely. Why should another dominate you like that ? ' A curious expression flitted across the impassive face of Grace Amory, lightening its mask for a moment. ' Child, where did you get these strange ideas ? You are very different from anything I expected.' THE MOLLUSC 127 Christine shook her head. ' I told Aunt Letty I had lived beside truth all my life. My father called everything by its own name. I suppose that helped to make me what I am.' ' We never knew him, and perhaps it was a loss,' said Grace Amory musingly. ' It was a terrible thing that your poor mother had so short a spell of life after her marriage.' Christine did not answer. The words awakened too much that was painful. ' Aunt Grace,' she said suddenly, ' I ought to tell you that I know Mrs. Prentice.' ' You know Mrs. Prentice ! How extraordinary ! How altogether unusual ! Where and how did you meet her ? ' ' In Edinburgh — at the house of an old friend of my father.' ' Indeed I You surprise me. Here she is considered outside the pale of society.' ' The house where I met her belongs to one of the best-known women in Edinburgh, whose social position is unassailable. I have seen her again — only a few weeks ago — at her hotel in London.' ' You surprise me ! Did you tell her you were coming here ? ' Jj 'Yes. She did not seek ro prejudice me at all, only begged that I would reserve judgment — as she expressed it — ^until I had more experience. She also asked me to remember that ever> story has two sides.' ' She is quite right, and in spite of my sister's slavish worship of Mr. Prentice, I believo that he would be difficult to live with. May I beg that you will not say anj^hing about this bsfore Letty ? It would certainly upset her again. She thinks Mr. Prentice has been hardly used.' ' I see that. I will try to remember what you say, Auixt Grace, and not be a stirrer-up of strife/ she said "8 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER l>-ty7u5^S^"J: *dt ff ™- ^'"^ *° -rive at to judge any human bein^r f^ ^^ } ^ "^^ mistakes.' ^ ' ''^^^ ™ade so many ey™toThfr„old^*^ r"'" '» °P- Christine's bondage to another's smSe' nat^l ''^th'''T' ''f'' » perpetual conflict which thll wnm "^'^ °' *'"' herself for the sake ofwac^intZ^/K™'* *"«" ™* ' We must not tilt Ef interested her extremely. in 1 Jthan a quSer S T' "i'""^^ ™" "« ^^^^l come, my dear^ ?ou °1 * °"- ,.' ™ S'*'' ^o" have there is a Trick of tte w""' T '"'\^°" ■»°"'er. but that brings hi bac'kir flowtTot7 k T^ '^" cried Cte^re.''TiI''tr'?t bTh^^f^ °' -"y-" ' " What shaU I put onX 7vel^ 'f ravf onT "'" plam dinner-dress. We Uved ve™ .L^f f .^ * "^'^ never dressed in evening atto ■ ^^ ^' ■"""" *°<* pe:ptan^MriS!.tle^;\r,„t ";? H ^^^'^ ^.^opm. Soyouseewe?a^L^^;,:;^:ltC; on£m^Ut;;°rth?m^ttrSrte''^'' ~ "' Chnstme made some slight alterat;„„ • t j conscious of a auickenM £♦! ^r. °^ >" her dress. When she went do^S!?^. ""' " '"" «>vironment. dming-room d^r w^ont a^H TT- °i?°* ^'™''^' «»» her tfere. Her^alS Xe"^ e'a^trtSTt'^hllt!^ '" Benson, the angular pariour-m^rit^n'^hrand ;*<■- * VFM-a: fct.X*. ww H»»; THE MOLLUSC 129 it. Timbs there raged eternal feud, was keeping guard like a butler behind Aunt Letty's chair. Grace was immediately said, and the formal meal pro- ceeded almost in silence. It was simple, but it was exquisitely served. There had been many long and pre- tentious dinners in her uncle's house, but Christine had never eaten such delicious food as now. It bore the cachet of fine selection and artistic preparation. Aunt Grace ate very little, but the invalid made a good meal and drank three glasses of Burgundy. The massive and beautiful table-appointments indi- cated that the refinements of generations had contributed to the dignity of that table. It was always the same, and no preparation or addition was ever needed even for an uninvited or unexpected guest. Christine wondered how the careless haphazard of an artist's house had affected her mother after this ordered luxury and daintiness. Coffee was served in the drawing-room with the advent of the evening paper from which Aunt Grace read aloud certain passages to her sister as she reclined, nicely posed on the chintz-covered couch. ' Letty, Mrs. Prentice has been making a speech at Caxton Hall advocating more militant measures for the advancement of the cause she is fighting for,' said Aunt Grace excitedly. ' Shall I read it to you ? ' But Aunt Letty sank languidly back among her cushions. ' Spare me. If there is nothing more edifying in the paper you may put it in the fire.' Later, when her aunts had retired Christine hunted for the paper, eager to read the paragraph about the woman in whom she was so deeply interested. But she was disappointed in not finding it, and she was informed by Sophia Timbs, hovering about for another chance of wait- ing on her, that it had been taken up by order to Miss Amory's room. CHAPTER X ALL HALT,OWS' RECTORY On Sunday morning Christine was awakened bv th^ Hn. ^r^ny the door wt Z.LZ .%,^^:ryt:^i- and Tu^bs appeared carrying a morning tea-;,a7 iFOOd-moming, miss. Miss Grace's ro->ni;.^i„t. '^^JZZ .*" ^° *° ^-'^ — nLt.nSm-.t at^this unholy hour on Sunday morning ? ' ^ ^ "^ Yes, miss, it's our 'ardest day Mi« Am^r,, k too this mornin' in 'er chair, whkh I Wst puTh S LT f ''/ 1/ " '; "*' y°" «^^ "»^ i S you can m up comfortable after we're gone ? ' " /"" can get gone^r- "'* ' "'*"' ^'* "P """ ' "°^ '""g ^han you be C.J,™ '^^t^^'* ^'Sht-depends on 'ow many there are at Tn'^^day^Lil? '•''-"-' =" ^ "-«- *° "S: Sl^' Htt'i:"b<^r:h.?htir s^cr*: L^^Trsr now dipped into it often. The mSked p^*^ JJ„' ber mother's pencU. she did not doub^t^Zttf t^: ■^■«fH!«Wsrtl ■,-.-:i=,r-, . ALL HALLOWS' RECTORY 131 deepest interest. The book as a whole troubled Christine and even repelled her. She wondered how her mother in her youth had found anything to cheer or comfort her in this epitome of self- abasement. It was surely a book to appeal— when it appealed at all— to the old and tired and sad who have done with tJie things of time. To Christine the mystic's pronouncements upon life and conduct were sealed and mysterious. She was still engrossed with it when her Aunt Grace came to her. 'Good-morning, dear. So you won't go out this morning ? ' she said a little disappointedly. ' I can't, Aunt Grace. I have never been to a com- munion in my life.' ' And you are twenty-five ? Oh dear, oh dear ! ' Her distress was perfectly genuine, and her eyes were full of shocked surprise. ' Nobody has ever explained it to me, and it would not have any meaning.' said Christine simply. ' But why do you get up at this time on a cold winter morning— and Aunt Letty, too, in her delicate state ? It can't be safe.' ' It is our duty, my dear,' was the calm reply. * And it is the bit of service which I like best of all. There's something in the quiet of the early morning that seems to help one. Your Aunt Letty will be horrified if she hears you make such a confession and will certainly wish Mr. Prentice to speak to you.' I shouldn't like that. I suppose he will be there this morning ? ' 'Why, yes, of course. He administers the Holy Sacrament.' ' I should like to go to a Presbyterian church to-day if I may. It is the only service that I know anything about. We went to church only when we were at the Glen of the Ford— never in Edinburgh.' 132 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' But you lived in Edinburgh ? ' 'About half the year.' 'Dear, dear-you have been sadly brought ud mv d^«r and we must alwavs thint ^f +Ko* u ^"^ "P- "^V dear, ' Whv ? ' askVd rVr- . u * ^^^" y^" P^^'P^ex us.' wnyi- asked Chnstine whims call v. 'Father w^o o Your A„"^ LeZ"^" ^° ""' "' '° *•>= ="^« ^t deven. communron^'-'"^ '"" "°' «° ™* ^Sain after early 'Very well, Aunt Grace. I will go • smaS%r„:?™, ttCh^rot Tr r '''=^™^ '*^ up her bUnd and watehed he TttL T ""'""'• "'^ out in the grey half-Tight P™'''''™ ^'^^8 upVThat'Tlo'rke'rrr'' '""■^'■^'^ «^'h "«= hood S*aS;-;srngiori3ir^ :ss-r:-r-?dtft^ljr£^ the heavy stillness of fhp ntrv,^. •• lo oe oom, and wade distances, the whole vale'of A^lesbu'ry strSgtr ■ ^^-«B««SV -,«(R . ' "'«ar,-!««w suggested a Uttle so od% Stti' 'S:"' 'tf \'^' =■*»-■ She's been she was ifMed^ a„H '"°"' V'«'" "'' ^"^^'^ "hUe ' And not home in the interval ? ' ^o^wnich Mrs. Prentice r:U°eS!^^aId*^cLtS!?r„r wo'u'/ai^LVtoTT Sh''"- ^-'- of a girl lilte Lu^ Tho ^sa l^taf llT'i ^'} *' ^"« selfish. What friEhtfiH hllL ?^«'»-an°=dy-clipped yew comfort and richco^"„^lf: ^t " had none of '^^ aunts' house. Evidence" o®, *'''"'',,^.° '^''^«' h* in he? «™^Rle with pcvJrtv "eth ^' '™°""^' <" » P^n^etuS "all had only a' h^LZ ^ZsZ'^'"^ """"■ ^heVont fumBhed, while 'he draJ^f P™ " ™<^ "as meagrely '«« note in shabblneL^^T^T' """^"^ "> =«ke tt^ redeemed it a httle, anTwhen A^hT ^ '^'"'^ Are :esr- -- - -^^ i>wX.^--s awj|/t^rcarhatVS' ^^ -"•' "^ ^" ^et awfully slow up there aTsouth PI -^"^^^ y°" And « a caution-these aunts of you J'^?' ''^ ' ^'^'t they the^bogies of my childhood ^ --emember them as fr-%"s^\^^ou^t!?sra"„dttf° -i; j -P'^' *o this ■ Oh'^lTarl^" ■''"'' '° " " how. Have^Sey toU Ton ^^ T" P'^"*^ «° eat any. f^nage here.? But I'm °o- ?* ""* ^^ °" hopelZ Now I have a ch^ce ^ Sf mv"'"' ">™ ^ «^«? to do it well.' """"6 my own mistress I me^ • vs; ^f Ssrr^.;^- «"" -*~'' then ? . eome home last vear h.7. ^ *hnost. I wanted to Have they told'^™;'':^^ *''?«'''' *^^ *ooyr„ng -PP=seyouk„owStshT'f:Si;^r ""^ "'°">-" ' I hope to kntr hlr^liiS ' «^ °' ''""'^"^ "- a litUe. and S%»tnh^/^---e -tT-st ?u4der""lt's*U^r?hfwrsL ht ■{/ oped yew ne of the »er in her perpetual ^he stone meagrely trike the irful fire Lucy, in ;d up to e in yet find it i"t they hem as to this t any- jpeless !it up. mean id to 3ung. ? I and one ittle My has yf ALL HALLOWS' RECTORY 137 treated us~papa and me. I mean. And then she was disappointed because I wouldn't go to her in Londo? She came all the way to Lausanne to reason it out bS I knew my way about too well for that. You know wimen who do that sort of thing have no place anX7e It would have ruined my future. I have'come ho^e to Me ! wyn to marry respectably-the richest man I can find ' She gave her head a little defiant shake. aren't'''' Vn''"^"?"^ ^* r'"'' ^'' ^^^ •' ^' P^^haps you arent. You re clever-I can see it in your eyes-and you don't alw s say all you think. Neither doT Tm but/h ' r 7?, ^^y-"°t "^"^^ brains for learning, but I h. .died hfe a bit. You see. my mother talked Tj^ef^Lfr'' ^° "^ '' ^ -yearly Ttlgl In my career, and I have never been a child. The hdr of couTdr^t^' T'' "°"^^ ^^^^ ^*-d - end ifThey could have heard some of the discussions that went on here long ago, even before school was talked of for me Consequently while other girls were playing ;.Jth tS doUs I was pondering on the problems of life ' She spoke with a curious mixture of bitterness and sarcasm and her small features seemed to shar'erwhSe her big dark eyes contracted strangely I think papa mentioned that you are an orphan ? WeU, oiphans have their compensations. We a7e no ^owed to choose our parents, and we have to take wSat C W ^- \ I'l '"'" particularly unlucky, that's aU' Chnstme sat back on the sofa, looking candidly at the small pointed face which had a certain dainty prLt^s but which was nevertheless the face of a shrew You see. what makes everything so particularlv lf?hrh7. \"J-''^^ ^^ ^^^* "^--' has ?he mone^ what she^^d Th '' ''' r^'"'*' '' ^°"^^^' h^- done ^nnl , u ^^^'^ ^'^ h'^P^ Of ^o"^en Sick Of matri- mony, only, bemg dependent on their lords, there isn"t any way out for them.' ° ^ 138 T-^E ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' }^^^^ ^^ you learn aU that worldly wisdom ? ' asked Christine m surprise. ' I am several years older than you, and yet I am a mere baby in comparison.' 'Well, you see. I have been out and about a good bit and school teaches one a lot. We had a French governess at Traviata who had been through all sorts of experiences, bhe was most amusing. Mamma did not Hke Traviata. bhe said It had no tone, but. you see, the principal is a sort of connection of papa's, and she took me at half- Lucy stated ail the facts of her life as if Christine were entitled to hear them. Her flippancy, her hardness of outlook suggested either a soulless person or one who had been very early soured and saddened. Christine could not help wondering that a woman so large-hearted and sympathetic as Mrs. Prentice should have such a child. Could she have done her duty by her ? itselT^ ^ question which somehow naturaUy suggested ' Say. what are you going to do with your life ? ' asked Lucy, showing her really beautiful teeth in a quizzical smile You re so awfully good-looking that everything vnR be easy for you. I suppose scores of men have been after you already ? ' ' Not one,' said Christine, but in spite of herself her colour rose a httle. at which Lucy laughed mischievously. You don t expect me to believe that. I see ! If it is true Scotland must be a queer sort of place. You have the air and could carry off-what the penny novelettes caU a ducal coronet. Don't you wish you may get it offered to you ? The man I wish to marry is a nephew of Mrs. Ovenden of Polesden Abbey-not much to look at, but she has no children and he will be her heir That's my programme. Don't you wish I may see it through ? ' There wa^ a knock at the door, and the page-boy announced Mrs. Ovenden. Lucy stepped fonvard in ALL HALLOWS' RECTORY 139 genuine delight. There was the soft swish of skirts, a whiff of exquisitely subtle perfume, and a vision enveloped in rich furs came forward into the room. ' Now this is kind,' said Lucy so warmly and brightly that Christine was astonished and wondered how much of the effusiveness was genuine. * Your father told me last week that 3 ou were coming home on Saturday, and I thought I would come and call upon you,' said a hearty, gracious voice. Mrs. Ovenden's veil was thrown back and Christine looked upon one of the most winning faces which she had yet seen. The lady was about forty years of age and of comely face and figure — not exactly handsome, but possessed of an undefinable charm which made itself felt in every assemblage, disarmed criticism, and destroyed prejudice. Many people spoke harshly of the somewhat fearless and unconventional widow until they met her — never after. * This is Miss Breck, the niece of the Miss Amorys at South Plain,' said Lucy, presenting Christine. ' You know the Miss Amorys, don't you — funny old dears ? ' ' I haven't met them yet, but of course the name is well known in Medwyn. I forget how many generations of Amorys there have been in the old house. Can you enlighten me, my dear ? ' she added with her frank de- lightful smile at Christine. ' Five, I think Aunt Grace told me, and the house was built in the fifteenth century.' ' Hear that, Miss Prentice. You and I may retire abashed. And now you have come home you will be a great comfort to your father, I am sure.' * I am not sure whether he thinks so, but I shall have to be very busy for some time — I find the house in such a state. Now we must have tea. Papa has gone out to Boreham, Mrs. Ovenden, and may be a little late.' * I came to see you to-day, my dear,' was the smiling HO THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ,> .^11 fill ^ heavenly place. Wait till you see it • It will fill you with ersfacsv P»+ ^ yvu bee ii , Christine laughed. 'I won't poach, you may be verv certain P„+ t accepted her invitation only condS^^ My aunt may not wish me to go there ' '^ PoSef iSre^W./^^^^^^^^ '^ ^-el With missed Mrs OvJnden. ^Did^ me^tThe cl^ag'^^^^^ ^"^* No. I came across the fields and in by fhe stable I ALL HALLOWS' RECTORY 141 gate,' replied the Rector, * And how is Miss Breck to- day ? Needless to say we are pleased to welcome her to the Rectory.' Christine murmured a polite reply, but did not prolong her visit much further. When she rose to go the Rector, to her dismay, said that he would walk with her to South Plain as he had something of importance to say to Miss Amory. The distance, however, was short, and she felt glad to think that she need not be more than five or ten minutes in his company. ' Cert -inly I have a message for your aunt, but I wished for a word with you,' he said eagerly as they turned down between the yew-tree hedges. ' What do you think of my daughter ? I suppose you have heard of the painful circumst .nces of my hfe from your aunts.' ' Yes,' answered Christine in a low voice and with an extremely pained look. That Mr. Prentice should make a confidante of her was the last thing she desired. ' I am sure that I have your sympathy. I should not have felt the position so keenly for myself, but it has been a terrible thing for Lucy that her mother should have acted in so unwifely and unchristian a manner. My wife is a very clever woman, Miss Breck, and because it was necessary to remind her at times that a house can have only one head, she became very resentful and difficult. Then unfortunately she got into the hands of unscrupulous persons and had a large correspondence v/ith free-thinkers and socialists and all sorts of objectionable persons, who completely perverted her judgment. Finally she refused to conform to any of the sacred observances of our Church. You can imagine in what a position that placed me. Could I be blamed for offerirfjg her an ultimatum ? ' ' Mr. Prentice,' said Christine painfully, * I wish very much you would not talk like that to me.' ' I wish to make my position clear, and, if possible, to •42 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER much use to Miss Prentice ■ """ *" °' home.' ^ *° ■'^ * permanent inmate of thek •Ah well T "^^ '"" * '"""^ *» Scotland.' in your Is ^0^;':' ' '^* ' ^^"^ *° ^'^d weU naturally wfeii to I'f v '''f " ^'"'^ '=*««» People I trust ^ori*°herve t^:r^i^:"t r^f{«^- the ffct thatThave X^dtmeTtic^L^To"^^^^ ^T^' '" my mind has been happSsSce^^eTrf ^'"l'"'*"'"' have no idea of the burden Hf.if aI ^- ^°" "^ wranghng and bitte^e^ ^^We « tor"'%"^°"«'' each other at every step.' misunderstand Christme involuntarily quickened her stens She derided all that was ^o^Zi ■ ^ even questioned my slcSt Yon".? '^''' -""^ ^''^ such a hostfle influence in f hi • ? "" ""^^"^ '"w power of a priSt SomS,W ^^"f """"^ '^^^'^ the God What I havfdonerfercit tS'^Si,"' "^ :;?fi^^bSot ?"^ -*"- "- -Kctifi:;;^;- to his smcerity ' Chnstme m no doubt as sheX'e^rStrSo^f ','?.^ -''y' »" -"y. l^aa their being mstanOy eSS*. H *"' fP'' ^' ">'* °* the most intimate Lcf^s ™? ^'''''f^'° "'"'ide to her but of their inner sZs? ™'^ "' *** °'*"»0' We CHAPTER XI THE BIRD OF PASSAGE At dinner Christine mentioned that she had met Mrs. Ovenden at the Rectory that afternoon. ' Why was she calling there ? ' inquired Miss Amory sharply. ' Had she business with the Rector ? ' ' I don't think so. Her call was for Miss Prentice.' * Indeed. What reason did she give ? She is not even in our parish.' ' I rather think from what she said that Mr. Prentice had asked her to call, Aunt Letty.' ' I don't think that for a moment. He has never spoken as if he wished any closer acquaintance with her. She is a pushing person, I am sure. Did you not feel that about her ? ' 'She was delightful, I thought,' replied Christine quietly, not heeding the signalling of Aunt Grace's eyes. ' Delightful was she ? But you have not very much experience of the world, Christine, and would naturally be impressed by the superficial. Why do you smile ? It is rude to smile in that aggravating manner when a person older than yourself speaks to you. It is a sign of ill-breeding.' 'Oh Letty, Christine did not mean anything of that sort,' put in Miss Grace deprecatingly. She had often to intervene to prevent misunderstanding when little skir- mishes threatened to rise between her sister and niece, who were evidently antagonistic to each other. 148 -44 THE ONE WHO rAn»r. t «».... ...."° ""^"^ AFTER 'Wh ♦ K ^^mjc AFTER - we!°.L- %r .Un rJ:? .-i-» I am sorry if j ^nr^, o^a-iashioned foJk ' »^J#; SB: ?*£?;-£ You do not know her 1 , ^ frankly.' "** ^d Miss Amory • Ti^f °/ f "=' " can go no turth ■ .^"'Sar in that iuce and ^' 'f ~»k ther/is^o m "i^ M ordinary sauce r !k '^' "•« "^1 not have ?„■ * when she c^a:^e „ jf .**°"«'>* ^ told her o vI^T'Sf .. ' fa won't take no ^S' T'" ^"^ "-' goT "^^ ^-s respectfully hut-S^r ' rwS^e'^i' .^P^ed 'Well, remind main the • «« '<> ave about Mrs. Ovenden-what .CT^ *^"'°"t 'aU. Well ■ She only stayed abont tK ^''^ '^"^ about ? • ^^ She also invited me, ' ^^ ">" ''^^ with her on Fridav ,. Me asked you i T i,„ isappointed or anyth n^?h' /°" *'<' "»' look eaeer „. f' go to PolekenUh LV"^' ^"<=^hristine wi'l - -- on the wom\n-nrtI1- h^-^S R was over- ersonality THE BIRD OF PASSAGE US visitor from our house shows how underbred she is. I hope you refused.' ' I did not, Aunt Letty. I said I would come if I were still in Medwyn, which was doubtful.' ' Why doubtful ? I suppose we are too quiet for you. We built a good many expectations on this visit, hoping that perhaps you would be more hke your mother than you apparently are.' ' I agree that the method of invitation is a little unusual, but then Mrs. Ovenden is noted for doing unusual things,' observed Aunt Grace as she saw Christine's face change. ' But couldn't we stretch a point and let her go up to Polesden with Lucy Prentice ? After all it would not commit us to anything, and I suppose that sooner or later we shall have to know Mrs. Ovenden.' ' Grace,' answered Miss Letty in a tone mournfully resigned, * I observe that you have changed a good deal since our niece arrived and that you seem inclined to league yourself with her against me. So be it. Perhaps it is no more than I deserve. I have long ceased to expect anything but trouble. As the Rector says, we are bom to it as the sparks fiy upward.' ' I will not go to Polesden, Aunt Letty. It would be very rude indeed of me to accept any invitation directly against your wishes so long as I am in your house. I suppose that I may write to Mrs. Ovenden to say I cannot come and that I may tell the reason why.' Miss Amory fidgeted in her chair. ' Really you are a most uncomfortable person, Christine. I suppose we must remember that you have never been used to polite society. But it is hard to understand how you have grown up without any idea of the unwritten laws which govern the behaviour of really nice, well-bred people. You will write to Mrs. Ovenden, of course, and say you regret very much that, as other engagements have been made for you, you cannot accept her kind hospitality.' ■ r.-zJiisaggmfcu-sB «46 THE ONE WHO TAiwr- . 'But ,u . ^- ^^TER Christine X St""' "^ ^'' Aunt Utty, ^, Even you'cra'^ Tm^Zif'^"'" "'' '^"">"* *sas..r -ntrue to say that we hti' !?.'""'=''■ «"* can ft ""Sht have several Zl^tZ.^f ^angements ? v^ know nothing about." ^^""'"'' ''"■ *">« weelt that you you prefer that I should no?a™e;i:' r^'^-^ Hear her, Grace I She wonlH „, ,5 '""'' 'nvitation.' woman for us for life | CouH "i^ ^''' *" -"^ny of the farther ? / wiU write to wl^n ""^"f "<* stupidity i how diplomatic and at tlJf '""'^'" »<> show you <™thfo, a gentlewoman'ca* LX T% """ ?-'«% •It WiU b™a"sLS; to^'L'li'^ ^""^ <5"« spiritedlv Aft^aU it commitst^*°nXt^^° '° ^°"^- I-et^.' *-nnstine rose anri i»** xi. ""e- Indeed the inZs'Syofl:^!j^^:^ ''^. ^^^ ^^^ -g^ ^ad been totally unused t/h!^ '""^"'^'^ ^^^^elf. S exercised over her ho!? , ^^"^"^ authority of anv 1.7 I ^oing a3 3,e?ket;nd1he^^^^^^ ^erMTg^d ^h^ch her aunts-lbut esneS T^ ^^ ^^^ movements practised so freely and JS^n^'" ^""* ^etty-Sid speaes of rebellion The t^rf ^^ awakened in her a spend the rest of her hfe ZZ7?1''''' *'^^ '^^ ^^^ atmosphere filled her with sueh^ir^°" u^ '^' ^" ^^^h an aJoud. And yet even while shp? t^^^ *^^* ^he laughed -<'-lindsuchfre^ras^---t--;.£ PER ^etty.' said lout disaster, w can it be nents ? We ik that you IthatChris- Pjy say that 'vitation.' emy of the tupidity go show you perfectly > do some- nd I must spiritedly, n, Letty. ■y angry. ^li- She my kind 'ing and vements ty— had 1 her a ! should mch an aughed >m that strange world grown THE BIRD OF PASSAGE 147 up for five-and-twenty years? Everywhere she would meet with people to whom she owed some obligation, who required consideration— possibly sacrifice— at her hands. Was this the inexorable law of life ? She asked herself the question almost in terror, xl >.v. , how httle was her undisciplined heart prepared lor it. ^his certainly was what her father meant when hf h.' I deplf ed the many mis- takes he had made in connection vvith ? sr— especially the initial mistake of her upbringing iu his last letter which she had re-read only that morning. Each day ome new light was thrown on that perplexing document which had been so uncharacteristic of her father that she had found it difficult to believe that it had actually come from his hand. She sat down by the open window unheeding of the cold wind that blew across the open plain. It was very dark outside, and the wind had a wailing note. Some few lights flickered through the naked branches of the trees— the light from the windows of houses inside of which were people living out the drama of their lives. Had they difficulties as colossal as hers? Did problems vex and torment them at every turn ? It was all so small and petty that she ahnost stamped her foot because it had such power to ruffle her. Poor Christine had yet to learn —she had indeed begun to learn— that the day of the infinitely little is more powerful 10 harass than the day of calamity and stress, that life is largely made up of nothings, and that— with some few exceptions— human beings lay down their armour all battered at the last through conflict, not with giants, but with gnats. Out of the stillness and the dark sane thought returned to her and a fresh resolve. She rose quickly, smoothed her hair, and walked downstairs to the drawing-room where, as usual, coffee and the evening paper had been taken in. Nothing could alter the routine of that well-ordered house- hold. To be five minutes late for anything destroyed the s^Tiiimetrj,' of their day beyond possibility of restoration. I J mi m 11 'IB' ' '§1 ! / /[ "I /"^ ^'^^ WHO CAME AFTER ' Amok's ruVtl^dS^a mi rV'll "^ *" «^ "^at paler than usual. "'* '"«''' *« face some- you, a"ni I Mght Jot to K som^ , -Good child, thie is to,?"?' "^'■■""tation? I have kept on saying rGracrt''L<'!f T**^^ at last I niustn'twe,Grrce? A„dt/"""« °' '°'^-^ ^nd for vou - little longer h"e yoSlfcl'M -"- you ha^^ b^™" •But I think I vriU nofst^ ^L^u""* '^°"" "^^^fre' I can say to Mis. Ovenden S I ?^ T"' ^»"t Lefty. Polesden because I S k "■ *""h that I can't so fn ^hfU W on njj^^ "^^ «'"»«' to Scotod 1 been "nfyZ'^^Jek'nihXseT 7?^ ^°" ^ »-« she can't leave us like that S!m '^ ''*'■' ^^'^^s- that home. Where, pray wonM ., ^^ 5'°" ''^™ »<> proper you not tell us the L™t^7 f '° '" Scotland Twd Y^- Butlha^aLfA"^"^''*^'*"' north-the White Cottl "t jh ,°rf °' ^^ °™ « the ray uncle is there and «dU be n,,? ?u°" °^ *he Ford-and ' And would on nnrT . °'* *'"*" glad to see me ' there ? • '" ' '" ""^^^ to spend the rest of yo^life be a ht'e f^r:e.X':rr"'^ ^' -* « ^^^ ^iways buried.' " »' the place where my fathli iP to Miss face some- ■ rudely to sappointed inden—not had been ? any one. at. I will 31 sorry it :ation.' ■ at last ! strain in ^ smiling ^g pat. for you, ave been lesire.' t Utty. 't go to and. I ill have :e, that proper ? Did in the 1— and 3ie.' urlife Iways her is THE BIRD OF PASSAGE 149 Christine turned away her head, and at the moment observed that Aunt Grace was crying quietly behind the newspaper. ' Well, well, if you are determined. But I don't think Xpu show a nice spirit, leaving us like this just because you have not had your own way about going to that Polesden woman. I will see the Rector to-morrow and ask his advice. Perhaps he may even disapprove of Lucy going. I think it more than probable.' ' She will go, I assure you, Aunt Letty, whether her father disapproves or not,' Christine could not help say- ing, but she refrained from looking at Aunt Grace surrep- titiously wiping her eyes behind the paper. The sight of these rare tears was more disturbing to her than all the tantrums of Aunt Letty that she had witnessed since coming to Medwyn. ' Please go on reading, Grace,' said Miss Letty tartly. ' It will be better to leave any further discussion till to-morrow.' Next morning a little note dispatched to the Rectory brought Mr. Prentice round to South Plain, where he was closeted with Miss Amory in her boudoir for quite an hour. When he left Timbs was sent to fetch Christine. This was the first time she had been asked into that delightful room. Two large apartments on the first floor had been apportioned to Miss Amory when her health failed — a long, wide, luxuriously furnished sitting-room having a south aspect communicating with her bedroom which looked upon the garden. All the appurtenances of a rich and idle woman were to be found there together with certain suggestions of invalidism, such as numerous screens, foot-rests, small tables, etc., comprising the acme of comfort. Miss Amory was most becomingly attired in a negligee of soft pink adorned with lace and many bows. An expression of deep self-content was on her face as she bade her niece good-morning. "° ™^ °^^ ^HO CAME AFTER *ad a l»r»d t.S K"^' t° 'f you that I have he thinks we should cert^^v Sl^^"' ^""*«' ^-d thit He « permitting Lucyto go C ^°? *° S" '» Potede" a certam latitude must be SowM , "*'''*='"'^= <"% 'Hat he reminded me that w^l.° ^J° y°'"V^^ mpk and young shouldere. So r ta„t "°' "^P^-^' old head^^n »ore. Christine, seeing tha^vo.f^,,™^ ^ Peasant once She smiled a little archi/]"J^.^«* y"" °wn way ' sOf was in high good h^o^; ""^ ^''"^""e observed ^iiat posted VfettlrTo^te' o™ 'i-'"^' ""* ' »ave already Uncle David in Scotland' t?i7 ?' """^ ^» one to mv ? ^ travel to ESu-hli^f.^"/''™ *° «pect "/ 'n he house of some SlT. Thursday, sleep the S artist friend of my fatter W„'H'~'*"**^yNoble'ran Glen of the Ford.' ""^'^^^ next day go on to the yet. °i'^«^"- hours at her disposal beC t^nlth 5 '''' ^ «h«« tie north. ^^ '^"S the afternoon train for A strong impulse drew her t^ r word or two 4h Mre Prenti '° ?7"^ ^'"-^t to have a « she did not know when she 1h?'' '5' ''=" ^-^don, was fortunate in findteg her at h„i ""' ^ "^ain. She doubt about the warmth Mdfrip'T'' ^"<' there was no : I suppc,3 you ^up for tJ^ H "'^, °' her greeting, get on at Medwyn ? ' ^ ""^ "^^ ' Well, how do you •So'Son. '^Why\TI,Tu° ^~"^"^ ""w." * Only a week.' '°"^ ''^^^ y™ heen at Medwyn > ■ 'I^oSd'„'„T"'^'*^^*''^ trouble?- h^. I^^p^el ?^' °" '^"' -y ^-t Letty. You know Oh yes, well.' ■wi;thouM?rTt'-^--^"g' ^trike you differently I JJ"'' P°«ibie that she might tion of selfishness masouer^rj T'^ ^^' ">« McarSa- I could not stand her T^^t"f ?*■■ the cloak of piSv South Plain.' ■ ^^"^'■'y I did not visit at K ioo|^ke»;Tc'hrll':-^ '°™-<' ■•" <>« Chair and daughtar^bSffetlS", '"■*»<' « o^ -' -ught tLr ^e:^:^^.s:;\:^Xn^, ER er back on ne was glad >sphere had ith her sur- ong them. ' had three n train for to have a t London, ain. She e was no greeting. IV do you dwyn? u know might icarna- Piety. all at r and f ITfT I hi- r shs your lay.' THE BIRD OF PASSAGE 153 ./ ' You did ? • She sat back again, and her face paled a little, while shadows gathered in her eyes. ' How did it all strike you — the whole life and atmo- sphere of the place ? Was it deadening to your soul as it was to mine ? ' * It could not affect me in the same way, because I was only a bird of passage, but I can understand what you have told me.' ' And sympathise witb me ? ' ' Yes, very deeply.' She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes for a moment. ' I am grateful to you, and a little surprised that you should have grasped the whole situation so quickly. I was only seventeen when they married me to Mr. Prentice. It was my mother who did it. She knew me as a difficult girl, and her idea was that a good strong man would mould me into the desired shape. Unfortunately he did not set about the mouldinj_ Process in the right way. Mr. Prentice has a very low ideal of women — of their intellects and capabilities. He treated me like a child, or a chattel, and did not give me sufficient affection. I knew nothing when I went first to Medwyn Rectory, my heart was a blank page on which any fair message could have been written. I left it after seventeen years of misery, an embittered woman, without belief or ope of any kind. I have only now recovered and grasped the true meaning of Hfe. Their formalities killed in me every vestige of reUgion and even the desire for it. '' had proved it so often to be the mask for selfishness and unkindness. But they rendered me an unconscious ser- vice, since by that complete disillusionment I found fuller light. But there ! I am talking too much about myself.' ' That is impossible ! ' cried Christine impulsively. ' You interest me deeply.' 1 til in i\ •54 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ^n, but your affaire -^ Portance. Wherv^ or! "'"^ "leantime of tiie fir«t • o^t of her life-she had nnV ' ^'^"^ P'^ "^^d conu>iot.?v ^- was to then, in iX"^ ' 1"^^"'"^^ ^^^ ^-' ^3; the 2. 20 train. ' • ^ am returning m Scotland ^ -But wh^f- to do ? ' 'I want to Dp QvUt f sfength, only they ™,st „^, 1°''*"* mdoabtedly f,,ter we shaU ™et ag^n mIT ^ ""^uly prolonged pl^ »?methi„g tells ^r'we^U'?' *'' «™^ °« *° you, ^1 You will let „e hear fra^™,t T"' *? '"'='' "th^r ^t above aU, do nothing Svv"" *'"" *" *™e. »d ?o be particularly car! f„?S J. ^ "' ^-^ "tractive t^atSt-Crthe^nri'^*-- ^^^^^^ are irremediable.' "^^^'^^nces to herself and othS Chnstine made no reply. to«'Tandt; V:tZrT' '"^ P-^-'an of Man«>gate,voluntfereiapwLJ° ">' "'"^ter at the ^ners^Pulses thriU and .KlXret^™a,? ^r;-^nln. ChStoe'.'"""" ^''-^ *° «nd j^u'l^stouW S^^L'^--'^-'^"-:^"^^^^^ =" ^°-. Mr. snail have company,- * ' ^^"'"S my tea. Now I I will sit down „r...-.,.. . you, CWst1'„'e''Tl''r""y- I •»'■=' : Perfectly well °??r"fA,^^'.'°Wr go on looking at me how you are ? • ; Perfectly well, i felt ;7tUe7,reT "! """ >""■ «e ?"'" ^-sarHat^^~/y.;orIdid o'clock in the mo" i".' r.^^. "■'« •^^••V vvexi. |ti^»tt^o-rck k«r '^°°^^'^'' We ISe icic X snali ever feel fmiTr ^4. l -^t is the onlv , I understand hn,,r / ! ^ ^* ^on^e.' ^ • yC'ht^^ - unintresti'ng." " ^°" -<^ hard^'i?": 8~dmanyasagreea5fe'pS;ki.d"'h:"d, ' "^^^ »»' » Also I have discovered what » ,, ^""^^ »y «« ones <=an be myself "'■^* * ^^y disagreeable person I ings of his -n he told en resolve iemess. I not stay ope your wet and me how I should wn, Mr. Now I king at I are ? ' rldid e were how I i only to go dead thing aiety side, it-^ Ihe t a les. nl THE LAST REFUGE 157 He smiled indulgently as one would smile at the vagaries of a child. To him, with his grave, serious out- look upon life, his ignorance of a woman's heart, she seemed only a child to be petted and cared for, but not taken seriously. ' I was afraid you would not be very happy at your Uncle Hedderwick's.' ' Oh, but I was fairly so at the end. He is mu' h better than one has any idea of when one gets to know him thoroughly. Latterly I have been at Medwyn, visiting my mother's sisters.' ' Oh ! ' said Grier in great surprise. ' I did not know you had ever been in communication with them.' ' The correspondence began only after I went to London. They wrote asking me to visit them, and I accepted their invitation, but I don't want to talk about them just yet. I was not very happy there. You can't think what a joy it was to me to arrive at the Glen yesterday. Even the blinding rain did not damp my enthusiasm.' ' But you can't ^tay here — it is quite impossible,' said Grier decidedly. You must have noticed the change in your uncle.' ' He certainly seems queerer than ever. I don't think he has spoken six words to me since I came, and I haven't seen him at all to-day. I heard him get up about six o'clock and go out. He has not yet returned home.' Grier hesitated a moment, not sure how the common gossip of the place might affect Christine, and yet feeling it his duty to warn her. ' He really is not safe, dear,' he said gently, and with a quiet air of prctv cting tenderness which she found very sweet. * He Ii .^ all sorts of hallucinations, and delusional insanity is the worst sort. Doctor Macfadyen told me no later than yesterday that he ought to be certified.' 'Oh. that's all nonsense— he's as gentle as a lamb. HI i.'i il '!' ™^ ^^^ WHO CAME AFTER I m not afraid Mr r • -^^liiK one^noth.^^' ""'' ^-- ^-le Davie and I understand peace of U^Za^ut you' Itme' f^ ""^^ ^ ~t's ^k you to come up to the Manse r^"^j^^ '"^ther to with the cart for your lng^Jetr>\. ''"^ ^°"a]d down ^he looked a* him in "^^^^® to-morrow.' ^ ' Whv 'K« 1 ' !^ ^" surprise. yvn> ohouJa I do that ? tL , I '-viU siay here rr i i ^^^^^ you verv m„oh u hat "? ''^r^ 'i^"wt,y',it";z Jll^"- -" Wm H..« J"^*" '0 have thought of th T '*'>"• ''« "«<1 "Jra- He'll be all right aftJ i ^ "'at and written tn of niy being here." ^" ^*" "' "as , ot used to thefdia Gner stood still i«o • "ig her intentiv st T^ *^^'''* "le drcwer anH do and Jmed'h,d po'nfc'-'r -"^^ Se'v^shfd t •or the reahsation of hi. k„ "'* ^^o^d aumred w.ii betrayed any emotfon^t ^^f T^- """"Sh ^hfhad^ot , "« helped her Dresen •■ * ■Hf at him for his'lwCard h^X' IV'^-^y' '^^ '-'^gb- THE LAST REFUGE 159 ill ! ti in peace is my study, and that only under protest, and because once in the tid5dng-up process my sermon was lost, and I had to preach an old one. It took her a long time to get over that.' ' As if it mattered — one sermon more or less ! ' said Christine merrily. I think it would be a better world without sermons.' She could think of no reason why she should not make a r^'mark of that kind if she felt inclined, and Grier, in spite of the fact that he was very much in love, visibly winced. ' They must mean something to somebody, Christine, seeing that they have been in demand for generations, ?.nd that they are likely to be so for generations to come.' She shook her head, wholly unconvinced. .Vhy don't you set the example and cut the sermon out of the seivice and introduce more music ? It would be f ' so much more attractive. I have attended an Enp ish chT^'-ch once since I have been away, and the musical p; was so delightful that the sermon didn't matter. It LlA it aggravating quality, I mean.' ' What is that ? ' he asked interestedly. ' I didn't know that you had such a poor opinion of sermons.* ' Well, you see, one can't protest. The preacher has it too much his own way, but I am afraid I am very r -'e. Shall we change the subject, and would it be beneath your dignity to toast this bit of bread ? I am afraid it is rather stale, and Willie MeJville, the baker, won't be here for a good hour yet.' Grier took the fork from her hands and, smiling at his own awkwardness, bent his tall figure to the humble task. Could his mother have seen the minister releq;ated to such a position how great would have been her ire ! They enjoyed their meal tof^ ther, and Grier, descending ^rom the pedestal on which otiiers had set him, became a very simple human creature as prone to laughter as Christine herself, who seemed extraordinarilv lisht of i6o THE ON-: WHO CAME AFTER II I Pnsingly to her. It grew dark ,1 T.^^'' ""PP'^^ sur- was no si.„ of David &:ck'sre.u™" """' ^""^ ^''" 'h^" uncle res' not roirbacrJ^'^'f' ^''-«-- "your to the Manse.' '^^^ '°°" ' «''J' insist on taking you «ven°if he shoSd"not'"eton'?" ■":'^* "°^ ^°«W I be to hurt one in the wL?e cTen J?.''*-. ^''"^ '•' "othing of the joy of it all.' ''" °' ">^ Ford-that is part the t,f res u^^r 'dor tt ^™H^' r"' «-^ '» of the returning wanderer ' "^'^ ^""^ ««"« sign Chrijrifo^^tu^*™- O'clock ^ fjen insisted that tested, but, when he would t»T. I ^^"^^ ^he pro- ber hat, took a small bjg mth tl 1^'"'^' ^""^ ?"' °" apeed to walk back with Wm T "J'^^^'V things, and of the White CottagTsho^S beTf *'°" ">^' «>e door David could get in if'L came back Wh"^''.^ so that the Manse gate Grier obse^"d a briUt f\"''y '^^^^^ shinmg through the tre^ and h! ?" ""*" "^"^l "Other was watching for Mm ™ tt ;"™"«^ tl-^t his wondered for the first time iX she wouM°"''P- "^ *''» Her face did not wear a Se artw"""" ""^SU^*- S- - stay the ni^ht^rtf.aVa^S'^t^i an;°p*;i;:?^* "^^"r ;l^,i ' L".^ -^«^ a little stilHy have got back to the GlenT rtl' f" ^'''''= ? So you has kept the minister «,?ate ' ' '"*" ""'^'^S what -otitTow"" I™ ^yori ^w^noT^ \r,'^^ ^'^ you, i was not in the least afraid THE LAST REFUGE i6i of sleeping at the White Cottage alone. Nobody could be afraid in the Glen of the Ford, though I am, I confess, concerned about my Uncle David.' Mrs. Grier looked keenly at her as she stepped across the threshold. Christine was immediately conscious that there was something hostile in that austere look. ' Mother,' said drier quickly, ' take Miss Breck up stairs. Yon understand — don't you ? — that it was im- possible that she could sleep down there alone, and nobody knows how or when David might come back,' he added in a lower voice. ' And if you have anything to give us to eat so much the better.' ' We are not supper folks at the Manse,' she replied primly. ' A bite of bread and cheese and a cup of coffee or cocoa — which would Miss Breck prefer ? ' ' I require nothing, thank you,' replied Christine, a little chilled by her reception and hesitating whether she should even yet go back the road she had come. But Mrs. Grier had already begun to lead the way up the dimly-lighted stair, lifting the small hand-lamp from the staircase window as she ascended, her black skirts trailing ghostly-dim behind her. Christine followed, and was presently ushered into what was called the prophet's chamber — a small room above the kitchen which was kept for ' supply.' ' It's only a little room, but it's warmer than the big spare bedroom because it's above the kitchen fire,' said Mrs. Grier as she set the lamp down on the immaculately starched cover of the chest of dra^- ers. The bareness of the room, its painful cleanliness, the white gloss of the linen pillow-sham lying lace-trimmed at the head of the bed, made a little shiver run through Christine. It was all of a piece with the cold exterior of the minister's mother, who was not glad to see her and who made no pretence about it. ' So you have come back to the Glen,' she repeated as she opened th> door of the hanging cupboaid in the wail, i' [)i '«' THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' ^ 'And you aregoSuvfVh ' ^71"'"^ *° '»■»« home ■ David Breck. if yoi^lt&ra hl''';';\^°«^^<'-«' That IS what I fhink of j„- "°™ • ^he said drily not made any great p am l-S "'"'""''"^. •«■' I haw ■natter much nLaday^lobodv ""■• ^°™"8 ^^^""^ to It was a speech whiM, ,?^ ^^^""^ to care.' and comfortirgtspt'st S'l t^T'^^'' ^°- '^'i- her best Marian Grier CaT, ™°therly woman, but at was hard against aXew"*'"'' '"^ ^" heart feared that her son favou ed her abo'^'Tl ^"^ greatly had ever met. "^' "Oo™ aU the women he , They did not Unger lon» ,•„ *i. aavmg „o„e of the confiSces to ^IrP*'*'* '='>™l«r, a bond between two women whl'^"^! "''^"> "^e even congenial. ImmeSv ri? -T '"^"'^ "' "ho are things they proceede"do™taiS^?:':r ""f '!.''""« "P her certamly a very cheerful 1^ Tf "f ^^ "^'^h was hned round and round the wS sJL""/"" "' '"'"''s, to redeem an ugly room, thoSh the .f"^* "themselves Manse was not that. It Z, , ' '*."^, »' Lochardle other parts of the house an? M^ ^^"'""^ "''J' than apolopse for it. The minfeter L T' '-" °^^^'^ '° from his own chair and dr^wn^t / ' '^''''^ '"i^ Papers 't faced the cheerful fire ^j ^ tT "', '=°"^'- ^ that much to his mother's disguT V *' P'*"'^ Christine, oyer her, nor «d she desiS « . „1!T, '"^<'' ^"'=h fus^ h"S act of courtesy towaSa str»„ '= '''^ '■evented all as if it were no'^more ttn Sfe """"^"' *''° *«"= " ^l'^pnnpTnf„^?-;-7 PER away her few outh for six come home.' Cottage with he said drily, but I have ng seems to some tender nan, but at d her heart she greatly women he i chamber, hich make T who are ng up her which was of books, hemselves Lochardle idy than bhged to s papers [ so that Christine, 'uch fuss resented ) took it ou have u'nister. It do ? ' THE LAST REFUGE 163 I ' Why, of course. We don't wish to make a stranger of Miss Breck, mother,' he answered cheerily, and, when she had closed the door, he turned to Christine with an anxious little smile. ' My mother does not make a fuss, but she means kindly. The Griers are not demonstrative folks. You must not run away with the idea that she is not glad to see you. She's like that with everybody Some of the supply have a hard time of it with her because they don't understand her.' ' Does she ever smile ? ' Christine could not help asking. ' Why, yes, of course — and laugh too, but we don't see very much of each other. I'm always busy here, and she about the house ; we meet only at meals.' ' How dull for her ! And what do you do here all day in this room — make sermons ? ' ' Occasionally.' ' But you have to preach one every Sunday, haven't you ? ' ' Sometimes two.' ' And do you need all these books to help you with the sermons ? I think I could write one without the aid of an} books.' ' Tell me how you would set about it, and what would be your text,' he asked, leaning his arm on the mantel and looking down upon her where she sat in his chair — an alluring vision. His heart beat at the thought of a future when she should be there by right, taking his chair and all the best he could give her in return for herself. ' Oh, I shouldn't have a text,' she answered, leaning back and thrusting out two very small neat feet to the cheerful blaze. ' I should simply get up and tell every- body to be kind to one another and say that there never can be too much loving-kindness in the world. The want of that is what's the matter with us as a race, I have discovered. We relegate all the feelings to " the back of beyond," as father used to say. One night at the Eyrie we had a discussion, led off by Jimmy Grant, on Scotsmen It 'Id '^4 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER though nobody v/om7ve^^Fl% ,"' '' ." 'P'<»"i'd mimic. Her eyes werrsmiii„rh " r I'T '"'' '"Subrious face/ She had suddenly™ om^tnXs'ofh ''^"'^""^ =""»• over the big strong man in S of hi T?™'" P°"^' most womanly and delicious Thrill ' ^^ " «''™ "^^ ^ were other things inThe world Sides Si ," T^' }'''"" « hf hld'alS^ Lth^r^-Xr^fr' '^^" '° ->=^ '"ve of love-mir/S?^, kiSt S^o'Lr;""-;, ? «~^ ^-' entering into her mood fir the m *." ^"' ""^ '^P^^d. which surprised himSt ™™' "^"> ^ "S^'nesi . ^'" suddenly her face grew sraver »r,^ >, g.yen much to have fathom J h?"houghf ' """"' "''' What are you thinking of ? • he asked h.L • . with a soMcitude bom of the j"!„ . .•^"^'"g'owardher ■ I was thinking o™ somethtff '"'"''" °' '^' "«"«• r-ondo„ tt, day /c„ay "^ ' ™'"''" ^=" '° -"^ " May I not hear what it was ? • bhe shook her head If ER 'er heard in -ndid mimic, ibriousface.' ching curve, tiense power : gave her a s big, slow, I that there The desire ill sorts of make love ig bold. good deal he replied, L lightness ould have oward her the heart, to me in ^g about ntice. I 'ice, and ^ forgive r before :ame to THE LAST REFUGE 165 I ' Yes, of course. I ought not to have forgotten, but I can think only of one thing while you are here.' It was a lover's speech which ought to have arrested her, but she continued as if she had not heard it. ' I saw her twice in London, and, strangest of all, I found her husband and her daughter at Medwyn. He is the Rector of a church there.' ' And why doesn't she live there too ? ' ' Well, because she has left him.' ' Why has she left him ? ' Christine hesitated a moment. Called upon thus suddenly to present the case of Mrs. Prentice, she felt that it was certainly difficult of statement and that it required a good deal of explanation. ' I could hardly make you understand, I think. I did not understand myself until I went there to the environ- ment that she found intolerable.' ' But after all, she chose that environment, didn't she ? And none of us have the right to turn our backs on duty even when it has become irksome.' Christine made a little impatient movement. ' I don't think it's any use trying to make you under- stand. Mrs. Prentice is a woman of strong, eager tempera- ment, holding certain definite views. They clashed with her husband's, and he tried to coerce her— to make her fall in with the cold formalities of his creed.' ' He's a minister of the gospel, isn't he ? ' ' The Rector of All Hallows', Medwyn.' ' Then I take it, we may presuppose in him some high spiritual sense — some single-hearted ideal of duty.' ' You may presuppose it, but it i .a't there,' said Christine bluntly. ' I dislike him intensely. I don t even believe him to be sincere.' ' You were doubtless prejudiced against him through his mie. What was her special grievance ? Wasn't he a faithful and kind husband ? ' II 'V '66 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER questions regarding life anrioo^ "^^"^ towards certain had been injudTciLfin brfS^^^ thought she under discussion ""^'"^ ^'^' Prentice's aifairs P«tUr„ft^MrGt X^of the .a,S^ „,„, .,,^ siting on them ■„ 7mlt"y""" ^^' '^W" ^"d concerted Christine "''"^'' considerably dis- «nd he forgets his 4„S to X"', 7°" '^'' i'™' always waited on me. He „ ' , = i ?"''■ ^y '»ther fetch anything-not even afthe ?^Ti "" '° 8^' "P *» tired. It made him ang% "hln , „ « "?!" ''= *=^ °"» 'It is a woman's du^t^to s^e J^"'*^ *° ^"'^ 1>™' answe. Whereat Grier, tCghThtt^^J^onrK andtpt;: Z'r'arS, ^^ ^^ ^^'^^ -, Lodge, it appfars, so we^^^,;!f = ^/^eetheart at .Sonnen ' I remember Annie a^wLt ° ^""^ "" ^''■^ said Christine. ■ m^irtheTad ? ■ """^ '"« ^"^ '>-'".• frord^*':^,^;^ *We was a iond ring at the rose from the table to^re^thelLro^f "'^^ "' -'' f'''««!«ia;sss': ER could guess ards certain thought she tice's affairs botJt it,' she the inot to broke them » ^d at the le into the while they table and 'rably dis- ■s wait on spoil him, ^y father get up to was often 'e him.' lexpected laughed )iled me, id let me '- in yet ? - Sonnen er.' he had/ : at the of evil, THE LAST REFUGE 167 He was a long time gone, and the sound of voices talking very fast and, it seemed, excitedly, broke upon the few sparse sentences that passed between Mrs. Grier arid her guest. At last the minister's mother, whose curiosity, in spite of her stillness of manner, was insatiable, could bear the suspense no longer and rose to leave the table. Left alone, Christine looked round the Uttle dining- room, marvelling at its ugliness, at the taste that could have expressed itself in gathering together so many incongruous articles in one place. While she was study- ing a highly-coloured oleograph above the mantelpiece the door opened and Grier entered. His face was very white, and Christine gathered from its expression that he had bad news for her. ' Something has happened to Uncle Davie,' she said in a clear quiet voice. ' Yes, my dear, troubles are coming thick and fast upon you. They have found him.' ' Where ? ' ' At the Sahnon Pool below Colin's Brig.' ' Drowned ? ' Grier nodded, and then without more ado put his arms round her as if he would shelter her from all other alarms. ' You must belong to me now, Christine. Everything has made you mine.' Christine, momentarily unnerved by the fresh tragedy, suffered him to comfort her, her heart partially re-echoing his words. Surely this was the refuge designed for her by fate— the only one left to her now on the face of the earth. The minister's mother,, in a flutter of trembhng excite- ment burst ill upc ; them and, seeing their attitude, as quickly withdrew. Outside the door - sudden fury shook her, and the sound that broke, in spite of herself, from her quivering lips f«emed like the low cry of a wounded animal at bay. li I i I I n ii k!! CHAPTER XIII WILL IT WORK? was relieved that she dfl rw ^^"'*^"^ *« go to bed. He At the door hftur^ d ,,c\ "S T ^^^^"^P^^ying him to the girl, but s^e Ive hi- "'''*^'' *"* ^' ^^"^ was surprised peXs nor/'"'' T '""'"«'''. '"^ he mother stiU diCS °° "'" P'^'^^"' '» fi"d his Shifty, ^' "C^eTth': .tur^'n' "' ^'^^ ^ '* r«lly no need to wait up' " "^ '^''"•'- There was Da|BXVe^^tP,r;" ^°" "^ »"*■ ^'- «d jn the^ss: "^i -Tw h«: r^td'f -^^ '-""^ .^^raX"p:4i^-^-4°rfopcL:^^ see to it.' ^ ""'^ ™^y s^^^ "P the proprietor to ^;WiU you finish, our supper, I have icept the coiiee upi/afif . '^ ^'^'^ "^ '^^ ~«- Did Miss Breck go soon ' Whenever you hit ' 168 ^ WILL IT WORK? 169 figer back bed. He ying him. > be kind or bad. our door i a more and he find his I a trifle ere was n. Did footing )us the fenced etor to coffee 3 soon ' I hope you were kind to her and made her comfortable, mother. Poor thing, hers is a forlorn and pitiful case.' * I did the best I could, but I'm no hand at making of folks, Alan, you know that.' She did not speak graciously. Never had her mouth seemed so long and thin and unsmiling. ' It's mothering Christine needs. Can't you remember how you used to feel for Effie or for me when we were little bairns ? That's the sort of treatment she is needing now.' ' You'll do all that's needful in that direction, Alan,' she said dully. ' I opened the parlour door and saw you together, though you didn't see me. I suppose it means that you'll marry her.' ' Yes, it does mean that,' he answered, and his face cleared. He had not meant to blurt out the truth so soon, but it was certainly better to clear the ground. ' And I mean to do it as soon as it can possibly be arranged.' * Her father has not been dead three months. You'll have to wait a year at least.' ' We'll never do that, mother. Anything might happen in a year. Why should we wait ? ' ' It would not be decent otherwise. Some respect should be paid to the dead, let them be what they like.' Mrs. Grier invariably spoke of Otto Breck as if he had been a doubtful character, of whom the less said the better. ' Otto Breck was the last man to pay attention to such things, mother ; and, as we are upon this subject, I may tell you that it was of this he wrote in that letter which came to me on the day I went to Edinburgh and which I did not show you.' ' You mean that in it he asked you to marry his daughter ? ' ' Yes.' I ,^ ^70 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER I ^^i^:^:^^}^^^^^^^-^ and you P some day.' ^ '^''' ^^« ^^^^ she would come back halfbtX^t"! l^nJt 7, '^'^ ^^^^ What might can be picked up, Aian ' '^ ^^^ ^ "^^" ^^e you The minister laughed. Such nonsense! I'm a nn^,- have hardly a penny to bless rnvJ/'^lr '^°"^^' ^"^ nearly a hundred a year „ h- f - ^^"'*^"' ^^' bestir myself for her sake an f T."^^^' ^'" "^^^ to Strathardle.' ^^ ^""^ "°* stop much longer in ^^^^^ZZ:^-^-^ ^rier as she fall of all her hones fuIT ^^'""^ Presaged the down- of the well-ordeSife\' Z't^T::fT^ ''^ ^"^^ leavmg it desolated her heart R.' ^f *^' P'^^P^^* ^f overwhehned with the fulness nfWf . "!'°^'^^'' ^^'"^S possibilities spreading before h'i f 1 ^" *^' ^^'^^"^ his mother's pain. Indeed he' h^^^^^ "° ^^^^ ^^ ^ of and bitterness A lit«e lannn . ""^ '^'^ °^ ^*^ ^^Pth to feel, as every moth cmTZ ""'"' '^' ^^^ ^ound son to another woman hnfct P'°'P''* °f losing her tomed to the idTa^d fif hetlMnt'o T "^^ ''' ^--- things. "®^s^^* ^nto the new order of ^o'f^pj^^^:^:^:-^-^^^ -«^^'»t at the tin. destiLy ?olt™L'htseirShf 1: 11" "' ''^ "^^ -' the years of her maSed iifr^'it^e f^"''''"'"' "" those to whom she was bound <:h? h T ^ ""°*''''- to her son, but at the moment she h!^^^T ""S^'" ^^"^t and the thing men caUed ChnstL fots *™*'"' ^'""^ ■ She had often heard her husC"an'dtrr:^r„,to"m ■^. R and you ? she would ome back at might like you »gh, and stine has need to onger in r as she e down- he quiet spect of ", being flowing t all of > depth bound ing her accus- "der of e time !ed or !nt all er, to rainst reck ; irtue from WILL IT WORK? 171 A their respective pulpits — had no place whatever in her heart. ' There will be great changes. She is one who will make them,' she said with a jerk. ' Perhaps you would like me to leave the Manse, Alan.' ' What for would you leave the Manse ? We shall need you here more than ever before — Christine is young.' ' Not so very young,' she put in drily. ' You were lying at my breast before I was five-and-twenty.' ' Well — inexperienced, then.' ' She ought not to be since she kept her father's house so many years.' ' Well, mother, of course if you want to go that will be different,' he said, a little nettled by her persistence. ' But remember it's the last thing either Christine or I would desire. This is your home — you are entitled to it. It will be a bad day for me, mother, if I ever forget all you have been to me and done for me.' A tremor crossed her face, causing its tension to relax, and the misery lessened in her eyes. ' It might not be fair to her. I would do my duty, Alan. We must leave that for discussion afterwards. Perhaps I could get a little house near by, so that I could still be useful.' The words ' still be useful ' touched Grier's heart, and he took a step nearer her. He realised, I believe, in that moment something of the sublime sacrifice of his mother's Ufe — sacrifice that had done no good to any- body, least of all to him. The world is full of such mistaken sacrifice— of unnecessary martyrs who, wearing no crown here, are not even certain of a crown beyond. But just so long as courage is lacking in so many of the relations of life such useless sacrifice will be made and perpetuated. ' Mother, you have worked too hard all your life and denied yourself too much,' he said impni-ively. ' I have I 'I i '72 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER see that you do.' ' ^ '* ^^ ^^ our delight to She smiJed though a httle wintrily the time to speak, and IhenTw h?.' "^'-'"* "°- ^^ done. You know how she Jnrh t ""^ '^^ ^ ^^ ^e M^dless house Otto BTeckkeDt^Mh" w?"^^* "P-^^^* m Edinburgh.' P* ^* ^^^ White Cottage and he ^^t::^^::;^^^^^^^^ «= ->. A.a„, he would not h; ■ , ulhS'^ " V^"^ ordinances, and things godly foil, Zr^^^ZT"- 'i "' *^ "' 'he less by this timp, hi-iJiaker L!!, t" "**'^- *"^ "^^''t- blaming the lassie, is the tree ^f T'' '"™- I'" "<" I am asking ;, whetht she 's fift„ h " "'"" "'• ^hat You will need to instmnt hit ° ^ * minister's wife. outtoheraUinSX'islackinr'- ^""^ ^"^ '^'-t .anltit-lhitdtire "pSr, T.'"°' ^° -«>- lifted from the table Se ,1' j"""" ^^ ''^^ absently instructing Christine ■ i„ Jrace"!i h" P'"""'* "■»««" "• He could almost fed tK' ,, ,^,!' '°°"'^'" expressed 'Mother, we mu rem mber th^ ^ZP'°'^'^i''S eyes. makes different folk ThTr- l *"^'*"' "Pbringing think, in too naSow a^oove'^V '^'. ''""^^ "^^^ ' say that.' ® °™- ^ou have heard Effie «4"^'Ar:t:ir " Sfr'-b'/; ^^^ ^^ -«>- have never been able to learn • ^^""^ ''""* fr""- I up'i" «ru^ ShTkL"" ?*''"^ "- "-" brought «-outwhenVubS:t-k:otTr.°'Cr1S^!! WILL IT WORK? 173 should go to bed. You look clean spent, and remember that the laddie you have brought up never needed you more than he does now.' He bestowed on her one of his rare kiss ad she, partly comforted, but wholly unconvinced, retired to her own room where she spent the next hour upon her knees. The words she had spoken came back to Grier in Edinburgh a month later when, on the eve of his wedding- day, he walked with Christine on the broad road below Salisbury Crags looking down upon Duddingston Loch. ' Why should I wisli your mother to leave the Manse ? The bare thought is horrible. She can go on being mistress there, tell her. I have no wish at all to usurp her place.' ' But my wife must be mistress in her own house. My mother will be content to be your ally in all the household ways. She is never happier than when making jam and bottling fruit and tidying up. She can go on doing all that— can't she, Christine ?— you helping in moderation when you have a mind.' ' There is no reason why she shouldn't,' replied Christine a little absently, her eyes roaming the misty waters of the loch. It was a soft V ch evening with a hint and feeling of spring in the air, tlie earth teei .xug with newness of life. Christine stopped to examine a whin-bush where the tender buds were ready to burst into bloom, touching them softly while the words of an old song were on her lips— ' Love's out of fashion when the whin's out of bloom.' ' Father used to say that if we couldn't find a single whin-bloom luck had indeed left s.' She smiled upon him whimsically, and he caught her hand and held it fast, careless of the fact tha: nvo urchins, bird- nesting among the whins, were watching them from above. ' Alan, your mother doesn't like me,' she said when she I!! n M i I IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /h. V.A m 1.0 I.I 11.25 m I 40 1.4 — 6" lllli£ 12.2 20 1.6 C Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 m f\ ,v \\ LV I %%^^ >5' f/i m THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER had freed herself with a warning dance ' T «,«.^ me weaoing. Her presence wou d make it all .;n m„oh more respectable ' ^° "^"<^*^ ready for us to come home ' ^PP"' ^^"'"S Wm Effle be ake th^P sU'rot^aXhif^nr s^^l^L^t-C^^ S ra. -^mS S %^;t%&ina^s,ix-r?£ what does she know about me anyway " ^^ Alan tT",^' !'"°'' ^ ^^"^' '"^'^y- I ^ike to see you cross ' I have never seen any sign of it ' I am quite serious. I have promised nothins and T m^'eS'^/mistl'a^rtrt^'^^' ^■'*«-<^o«-t :- ■Ha?e:.t^-Ths::!:^,L^:i!^;,-^^^^^ WILL IT WORK? 175 Jimmy Grant hasn't a joke left in him. and I think the farewell supper at the Eyrie to-night wiU be . failure unless vour sister is prepared to enliven us a bit. ' What^s the matter with the Clan is that they want you for themselves.' , +«„jor ' Maclure and Jimmy I ' said Chnstme with a httle tender laugh. ' If only it were not such a hard world to hve in I would be Uving with them now at the Eyne. ard would never marry anybody. That's the kind of wife you re cettine Alan. Aren't you afraid even yet ? 'In mortal terror ! Of course I am. Come back from that precipitous edge, Christine ; it is unsafe.' He took her by the arm. pulled her back from the sheer edge of the steep incUne. and looked down into ner eyes. 'Christine, you don't mean the half of what you are saying. Would it cost you nothing to say good-bye here, for ever ? ' he said passionately. She shivered a Uttle and tried to draw herself away. ' Oh I don't know. Sometimes everything seems wrong and nothing right. I am not like other women. Since I have come to liv3 at Canaan Lane and have seer, the endless toil of Mrs. Noble for her selfish husband and her thankless crew of children I am a^^^^^^^^?, ^^f^ ^,^i^;^ never be possible for me, Alan ; nor should it be asked °^ 'T JiSTever be asked of you, Christine. But I could ahnost take my affidavit that if you were to ask Mrs^ Noble to-night she would say that she was a happy woman and would refuse to change places with the Queen on the ^°Ah that would prove nothing at all,' retorted Christi'ne. ' What o'clock is it ? I wish to go alone to the station to meet Effie, Alan.' ' I will take you.' _ ,„ . „ ' No I want to meet her by myself. We shall come straight to the Eyrie for the supper-party, and mind 1' .' I'i n ■'- '76 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER took for her. Now let „s return •'^" * ^^ "^ ^^ '»' for the time h,ti^\ClT\ ' ^"1 ''" ^^^''«<> '^t Reflectmg, however' tha infwen?y-fo::;'h "T ""»«^- be away together, with none te^Lll ^"""^ "'"^ """Jd his soul in patience He Inv JT ^'"""'"' '»<' P°5s^ssed afraid. But Chr"Sne wl 1 , "■ ^''^''^ and was not awalcened, feared to be a moT .T' ™' ^^^ '"^"^^y ™- ^ It was a Fridty :venfnrand"Lffi:"r "'" "^^ "^^S"'^- her week's work i„ the T ,;?; u \^""' "' "»« (^'ose of earhest train for Ed^'bur. " It '?°°' ^'^ '^■'^ th" seven o'clock at Princes Sw/L::"''''' "''°'-% after looked from the cartage ttadow '^"' ""'^ ^^"^ =he see Christine waiting aS ;?»::• ht "" ^^P"^'" *° ardir?eTf. ^'^" ' "-"■' "e come-down from Strath- wi:h°ed Erne's ^^MX^J' ^^'"^ C"™''-. • I kiss, Effie ? ' ^ ^^"- W""' you give me a arl I:r aT f pr^-L'^l^s^S IT '''■ ^^ ■^- wholesome laugh and' Jt« j^ ^'"^ ""''- *«■• cheery she hugged hefnV^fet^X""*" t^'^^' '"'"^'^ ^ 'Now I hke this. I was afTaM ?hf ^"""'sht. to be angry ,vith me fortritinTthIt Lr Tl«°'"« be written, and even if if JLTa ^*^'- 't had to re^eved my soul r^boundrttr "'^' ''"*"^- " knowitt'^'t™'' "^ ^-^"^ ^' ^«- I "iked it, and I app^aS:f '' ^''^^'y' ''"'■"g '» -e,y detail of Christine's • i i H « if , m; i ;„^ ER Me be kept will be sent ■hait he was ealised that ver things, they would e possessed »d was not ■vhoUy un- ■ thoughts, he close of taken the Ttly after when she fprised to n Strath- itine. ' I ive me a ^y kisses * cheery orthwith ht. re going : had to stine. it , and I ristine's u have er, but WILL IT WORK? 17; you're the prettiest woman I've seen since we met last, and that's the truth. Why, it seems a shame for you to be shut up in Strathardle Manse. Are you sure you know what you're doing ? ' ' Yes— I think so,' replied Christine. ' Let us get mto a cab, and tell the man to drive slowly. I have heaps to say to you, but we must share the same room at Canaan Lane to-night, for every room is fully occupied.' ' Are we going there now ? ' 'No— to the Eyrie first. There's a supper-party by way of good-bye to the old life. The Clan have arranged it. You'll like the Clan.' ' I remember Maclure. I liked him— a big slow man ; and I saw a picture of his at the Glasgow Exhibition which haunts me yet. But it's at Mrs. Noble's house the wedding is to be, isn't it ? ' ' Yes.' ' I see. So you weren't angry because I said your bridegroom would need a lot of breaking in. He knows no more about women than a baby.' ' But he will learn.' ' I dare say,' said Effie with a comical, shrewd smile. * But the learning stage is sometimes a little rough not only on the learner but on the teacher. I know it because, you see, teaching happens to be my daily bread. Do you realise the awful, deadly dulness for three parts of the year at Strathardle ? ' 'Yes.' 'And the inflexible laws of the Medes and Persians that obtain in the Manse ? ' ' I shall not observe these laws, Effie. I'm under no delusion about tue life I'm going to lead. I know Strathardle too well for that.' ' Ah, but hitherto you could always leave it when you liked.' ' So I will yet. I have told Alan to be prepared, for I I' In •78 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER moL™e^"'^ "*' "P »" «° -henever the spirit eternal. You can wf,^^ ^f "^^'^ '^^^°" that it's about my ZheV?^ cL"t rf .f '."^^^ ^^^^ nob4rj;:tap^-?;^-^^ 'Christine, yo'u're noT^'rov"'^ h hrlTno" > not I have never been in love Zself hT/r? ' ?"" "" and read about it. When von r^u ' . ^ ^^""^ ^^^'^ want him and his hoasranrevervlwnrh ^ ' "^^" ^^^ to yourself, and can't thinl\7u^^ belonging to him him even with tifo^^'r^tiol^' ""^ *'^ ^"^"^^'^ ^^^ ^^ But'Vhat n:^^ul^:;^^^^^^^^ ^'^ not. make it a success ' * ""^ future-I'm going to m^nag^^^t^^ ^-'* ^^^ how Alan has thesortofchZwomen^kefn/ '"""'V'' ""' *° ^^^^ be happy to^etherTnT . "'^"- ^"^ ^ hope you'll friend'^^S^I'f be';^^^^^ '^^^ ^^ your outside the family in a lot of ^^ ' 1 ^°" ^^^- ^'"^ suit me, but you'U find ml t "^'' ^ ^ ^^'^ "^^^^ <^on- should ;ver aSe.' '^"^' ^^^ ^^^^^^le if the need Christine did not reply becan^A hor r 'Well, about my^Lher Yo?l'^rrt*''"'^^^"^- worship of Alan a httrtrvL j h ^"^^ ^.'^ ^^^^^h depart from the Manse be oTemv tim. V 'f ^.^^"^^^"y and not in the odour of sanctitT p ^T'""^ '' ^"« just like that with father and^tt.^'^''' "'°*^''' '^' ^^^ lainer, and it has become second nature WILL IT WORK? 179 to her to serve. Have you heard her sum up the whole destiny of woman ? ' ' No, but I can imagine what she would say. Perhaps she will learn something from me, Effie.' Effie shook her head. ' She's too old and too set in her ways to change. I shall be interested to hear how you get on. I haven't got any smart new clothes for the wedding, Christine. I couldn't afford it. I'm saving up for something else.' ' Your clothes will do. It will not be a smart function,' replied Christine absently. Then she turned suddenly to Effie. ' I should like to dress you. You don't make the best of yourself. Some day when we have some money and some time to spare we'll go on a shopping expedition together.' Effie nodded, and a sudden moisture sprang into her eyes. She did not know why, but her heart was very tender and a li* -^ yearning over the girl who in another day would be i brother's wife ; she felt that she could have mothered . . As for Christine a warm, comforted feeling crept over her, such as comes to a child conscious of protection and shelter. That night the bond was forged which was to stand the storm and stress of the days to come. The supper-party at the Eyrie was a failure, and the Clan did not rise to its usual height of glee. There was the sense of something lacking, and even of some shadow overhanging them all. The speech which Jimmy Grant had prepared as a send-off for Christine remained un- delivered, and the party broke up soon after nine, Christine making the first move to return to Canaan Lane. They walked back, and they sorted themselves naturally into pairs, and Maclure fell to Effie. She liked him. There was something solid and comforting about his massive frame and his slow infrequent speech. ' The Clan are not easy about the wedding that's to take place to-morrow, Miss Grier. What do you think of it ? ' H ill i8o THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' I don't know what to think. Christine and my brother don t seem very well suited to each other, do they ? ' sulL ?H " T' ^''''""^- ' ' "^^^^ t^^-ght themless suited than they appeared to-night when you were all talking and my brother had so little to say for himself ' It IS the marriage her father desired for her. and that's the queerest thing of ail. If you had known Otto Breck well you would think the same.' 'I didn't know him well, but doubtless her father's wish would weigh with Christine. I hope the marriage vviU turn out well. My brother is a very'good inTn-yl can see that, can't you ?-and as human as ministers generaUy are But his ways are not her ways, and I ' She won't,' replied Maclure decidedly. ' If there's to be peace he'll have to conform to her ways ' Maclure. who had studied Grier's physiognomy not withou result, shook his head as he spoke , then he suddenly laughed outright. ' What are you laughing at ? ' ; Jimmy. When Christine wrote to us, telling what was going to happen. Jimmy was in an awful state and stuttered violently as he always does when he gets worked up. That s why we didn't have the speech to-night. He .vL aU the evening at the stuttering stage. That morning Christmes let er came he threw up his arms and said It w-w-w-on't w-w-w-ork. If I weren't forty-eight I'd m-m-m-arry her m-m-m-yself." ' ' Perhaps you feel like that too ? ' said Effie shrewdly Im not easy in my mind. We have always known Chnstine and we helped to bring her up-but she will be djfficult to Uve with except among her own kind ' And you don't think my brother is her kind ? ' Maclure tugged at his beard and simply inquired ' Do il ly brother o they ? ' them less were all limself.' ind that's tto Breck r father's marriage lan — ^you ministers s, and I n to the here's to my, not then he i^hat was ituttered ked up. He v/as morning id said, ight I'd •ewdly, ' known she will 1' ed ' Do CHAPTER XIV THE REALITY The minister stood within the Manse porch, closed his umbrella, and shook the drops from it, and carefully removed his mackintosh before he entered his well-kept house. It was a day in the late October, a day which heralded the coming winter. Since the dawning the wet mists had wrapped loch and moor like a shroud and had hidden the higher mountain peaks, while a low wind had whistled down the Glen waiUng the departed summer. Alan Grier's face was grave as he stepped within the house and entered the little parlour where his mother sat before the table plying her needle among a great pile of ousehold mending. ' Where's Christine ? ' he asked abruptly. * ' Gone out more than an hour ago : she said she couldn't stand the house any longer,' repHed Mrs. Grier in her quiet, even voice. ' She has not done a hand's turn to-day, nor, so far as I could see, read a word.' 'Never mind that, mother. Well, I can't get a trap for Cleish. All three are out from the Inn of the Ford, so I'll have to walk to the baptism. You don't happen to know the direction that Christine took ? If she is willing she might as well go with me.' ' To a baptism ? ' queried his mother with brows slightly uplifted. ' She can stop outside if she doesn't care for the service. I won't be long,' said Grier and still hesitated a moment, 181 i82 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER looking down upon his mother's neat spare figure on the thm fingers applying a fresh piece of material in a small hole with all the skill of the practised darner who takes a certain pride in her work. ' You seem to be busier than ever, mother. You should get Chnstme to help you with that mending. Put some of it aside, and I'll ask her when we come back.' Mrs. Grier laughed and gave a little sniff at the end which conveyed unutterable things. ' You don't encourage her much in household ways mother,' he said quickly. ' You let her see too palpably that you think she can do nothing as well as yourself.' 'She doesn't hurt herself with offering,' Mrs Grier answered. ' You had better leave things as they are Alan. I'm quite able— as able as ever I was— to W after the house. If you could get her to take her place outside It would be something worth doing. It's seven Sundays since she was in the kirk. I'm quite tired answenng folk at the door who ask whether she is well j and It's your duty. Alan, to bid her go to the sanctuary.' Chnstme is a child of the wind and the mist, mother She can't be bound.' Mrs. Grier sniffed again. ' A strong young woman nearly six-and-tweuty, that has been badly brought up and had her own way all her life— that's what she is I It's time she was broken in I did not mean to say so much, Alan, but your wife's conduct IS getting too much for me, besides being a public scandal Im whiles thinking I'll hae to leave the Manse I cannot bear it. If it were not that I ken what a pitiful place It would become, left to her and Annie Donald, I would go south to Effie for a month or two.' 'But Christine is very nice to you, mother. I have often admired the courteous deference she pays you ' Sh^ shrugged her shoulders. ' I wadna mind a sharp word now and then, for that's THE REALITY 183 figure, on terial in a arner who 'ou should Put some : the end, old ways, palpably jrself.' [rs. Grier they are, —to look her place "t's seven lite tired J is well ; Lctuary.' , mother. ity. that y all her en in. I 3 conduct scandal, arise. I a pitiful )onald, I I have 5U.' or that's human nature, if I saw her do her duty by you and by the parish. The folk she mostly taks up wi' are the Frees. She's for ever up at Cairn Tewan amang the bairns, and she says Mrs. Farquhar is the salt of the earth— whatever she may mean by that. Maybe she's there now — very Ukely.' ' The Farquhars are very nice folks, mother,' said the minister lamely. ' I'm no sayin' onything about the folks— they're weel enough. It's Christine I'm speaking about. There are folks in our o^vn kirk that the minister's wife should pay attention to, even if the minister's mother doesna. A mother and a wife are different. I think ye have failed in your duty these last six months.' The minister reddened, but he was in no way surprised. He had known for some time that the moment for plain speech must sooner or later come. He leaned against the mantelpiece and stared gloomily before him, totally at a loss. There was sufficient truth in his mother's words to make denial impossible. And his own heart and con- science were by no means easy. He had no fault to find with Christine in the house, where she was always con- siderate and kind, effacing herself as much as possible, and much more than he desired or thought fitting. At times she seemed listless, as if life had disappointed her. As to the kirk, she dropped in there when she had a mind, sitting down at the door or in any handy pew— among bairns for preference— while her mother-in-law occupied the Manse pew in solitary state. It was a small thing, but in these latitudes the infinitely little constitutes life, and tongues were already busy with the affairs of the minister, his wife, and his mother. The usual conclusion had been arrived at that the two latter did not agree. Sympathy was divided in the parish, where a good many had come under Christine's spell. But though some had been rebuked by the elder Mrs. Grier's severe tongue, ■ 4 i84 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER they could not deny that she was ' a good-living woman.' which was their highest term of praise. Christine was in sore need of a wise friend and counsellor just then, and none was at hand. So she made her -iis- K^^f^^u^^^® courageously fighting her own inward battle baffled by its complex problems and in dire dread lest «he should have actually and already made shipwreck of her iiie. It was not her nature to quarrel, therefore she lived at peace with Mrs. Grier by keeping as far as possible beyond the reach of her tongue. She had laughed at Mrs Crier's attempt to set her in her right position, and had con- sented only after much elaborate discussion to take her place at the head, instead of at the side of the table But further than that she interfered not at all in the management of the household, which went on precisely as it had done before she came. True, Annie Donald had become her bond-slave, flying to wait upon her will whereas to her former mistress she had been a slow and sometimes disobliging girl. But as that was a question of temperament Christine did not trouble herself about results. • I don't think I can do much, mother, but I'll speak to Chnstme. If only she would come into the kirk on Sunday I wouldn't mind aU the rest, for we are happy enough in the house.' ' Ye must make her come. When I think of the way your father disciphned his folks, both inside the house and out of it, I'm amazed at you, Alan. It's a good thing he didn't live to see the day.' ^ ' He had not to deal with Christine,' said the minister involuntarily by his admission giving away the key to the situation. His mother sat back in her chair and looked at him fixedly, her eyes glowing in her head, her face set like a piece of marble. That she felt the importance and THE REALITY 185 magnitude of the matter which they discussed was evi- denced by many signs of strain as well as by the tense accents of her voice. ' She has bewitched you, Alan, and when a man permits himself to be bewitched by any woman he does but little more good in the world. How much of your book have you written since you were married ? It can never be ready now to be published in the spring. When I go past the ?tudy door and hear you laughing and talking with her i sometimes shake my fist at the door. And when I shake it I mean it,' she added with the faint flicker of a derisive smile. ' She's an enemy to work, to sober living, to all the ordinances of God. If ye dinna come to some understanding wi' her and if things dinna change, there will be a judgment, Alan, as sure as I sit here.' ' Oh nonsense, you are making mountains out of mole- hiUs ! ' ' No, I am not, and well you know it. But first of all her heart must be changed. It's a heathen heart, Alan, that has never humbled itself to the God that made it. That's what Christine must get— the changed heart which will abase itself in the dust and understand that it is a poor thing and that God is a jealous God who will have His due from the creatures He has made.' From this austere creed Grier had in some measure revolted, but it still had a power over him, and his heart chilled as his mother's warning words fell upon his '^ars. He could not help feeling that she had right upon her side and that Christine failed in many respects, that at present she lived a perfectly useless life except in so far as that she was the light of his own eyes. Could it be his duty to quench that light, to try to repress the happy gaiety which made so many of his hours delightful, to try to mould Christine's free spirit into a pattern his mother could approve ? It was true that he had done littleor 186 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ?he W f ''. ^'' I!?^'"^^"' ^"^ *^^t Christine grudged h.H f P^^J^^PS been too weak. Once or twice lately he to extund t^S "T''""^ "'^*'"' ^^*- ^"' h- ^to 1..^ f ^u Scriptures to a handful of hill and moor- hem ^^17' "°' '"'"l^"^ ^^^"^^' ^h^" ^vhat mS^of o keerthemrtr "^u^ " ^''^*^y' ^^^^"^ ^""^^" ^and ir. T^.u ^ *^^ "^^^ '^'^y ^"d a wise and kind heart to give them advice and help for their daily toil buch was the insidious poison Christine had d .ped InH ^ K A^'f '''^'' '^-^^ h^^s were the stronger will and she should lead him into the careless pastures wh!re among S^^ 7'^^ ''''''' '''^-' ^' '^ '^^' P^^ +i,-7'"/^^? ^ ^°' "'°*^^'' °^ ^ shall never get to Cleish his side of four o'clock. If Christine comes in tell her ?io Ik u ^>^?" "°* ^^ "'^^^ than half-an-hour inside h.!?i' "?ot^er fnswered nothing, but when he had left the view'of tL\t'^ *.' i'^ '"^ ^"^°^^ *^^t commanded a view of the hill road he must take to Cleish. and she saw he" "Ttn Th"^^^' *!;^ "°^^-^°^^^ -^ stop to talk to her Then they turned together to face the mooriand road m the wind and the rain. Christine had a W coat of rough Harris tweed and a bare head. That bare head sTn's":ifr'A'"' ^'/"' ^"^^'^ ^evancelgai'st'^er UA.^h. ^ ""^""^^ w°"^^" and a minister's wife she had told Christine, should be more fittingly att red Bu? ^oJ. tr^^ ^""^^'^ "* ^^^ ^"d roar/ed^he moorland roads with no escort but Tyke, the Scotch terrier who was one of her devotees and who slept outside her dir THE REALITY 187 watching her every movement and even the very expres- sion of her face while she was in the house. ' I'll come,' said Christine, ' but not inside, Alan. I'll wait at the bottom of the Uttle hill till you come out again.' ' We'll see when we get there,' answered Grier as he put his hand through her arm to help her over the rough stones. ' When are you going to wear a hat, Christine ? You look like a wild thing.' ' I feel like one to-day, and if the wind and the rain had not come, I should have had to go out to seek them.' ' Nonsense ! I wish you were a little less of a wild thmg, Christine, and I'm going to lecture you this after- noon.' ' I knew it whenever I saw you. Your mother's been at you about me. She has been very nippy to me all day. It's one of her bad days — the days when she and I are better apart.' ' My mother has been good to you since you came, Christine. There are not many women who would have stood aside as she has done." ' I never asked her to stand aside. I told her on the first night we came home — what ages ago it seems ! — that I hoped she would carry on precisely as if I were not in the house, that I was not to count at all.' ' That was impossible, my dear, and you knew it.' * Well, we have managed it not so badly. Sundays are the worst days. I should be reconciled to my lot if it were not for the Sundays.' ' If you would spend them better, Christine, and try to take an interest in my work you might be a happier woman. Don't you think you might give that way a fair trial, seeing the other has failed ? ' He spoke a little banteringly, for, though they had now lived together six months as man and wife, he was by no means sure of her and never knew just how far he could 188 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER r^^Tu-^""!." is astonishing how a woman of a certain hL.t 1 herself aloof, can keep a strong man in such places ""'^^ ^" ^" '°^*' °^ unexpected As a wife Christine was very aloof and surrounded herself with aU sorts of mystery and glamour, so that the freshness of her husband's passion was not y^t spent nor ^se^ W"bl"""™"' '" " ^^"^ '' '' ^'^"^^ °*^- ' Al^?' I„<^on't believe a word you say in the pubit and ,t IS all so dreary,' she replied calmly. ' I am a fl; better woman when I come in from my walks on the moor or down by the loch than after listening to you In the church on Sunday.' ^ «hlif K* ^^! ""^^""P^^ '' ^^^' Christine, and I am afraid I shall have to msist on your coming to church once a day at least for the example's sake and to shut people's mouths ' It was not a good line of reasoning to take with outfmi '^,^^*^^^ her arm from his and step^ S out a httle rebelhously with her head in the air You have not the right to speak to me like that, Alan I told you what you must expect.' ' I did not take you seriously then.' ' That was your fault— not mine.' •f '-^fu TIu^ ^°" "^^^ '^^ ^°^ y°"^self how incongruous It IS that the minister's wife, being in perfect healtrand SunZT^"^^ 'Ir^^'' ^''' ^^^"^^ ^^''^' herself every Sunday from public worship. It brings dishonour not only on the man who delivers the message but on the message itself.' ^ ^"^ .hi ^"V^ ^^u ""^''^^^ ^^' "° ""^^"^"g ^o"" her, why should she make a hypocrite of herself ? ' ^«1^* ""'^^i ^f f ^ "^^^"i"g one day, Christine. Oh my dear, you don't know what you are talking about. It is a mightier force than any poor human will that you are THE REALITY 189 ' When I have proved it to be mighty I will bow down to it,' she repUed steadily. ' But all the best people I have known have had nothing to do with kirks. Look at my father — he rarely went to church. But nobody would dare to say that he was not a good man or that the world was not a better place because he had lived in it.' ' What is expedient — or even lawful — for one is not so for another. Your father had the right within limits to please himself.' ' And I have not— is that what you would say ? ' she cried rebelliously. ' Well, you have others to consider and you took certain vows upon yourself.' ' I listened to the vows being spoken to me, but I did not subscribe to them. It was only because you insisted that I had that sort of marriage at all— that it was a religious ceremony, I mean.' ' And it will be because I insist that you will attend the church every Sunday, Christine,' he said gently but quite firmly. She stole a glance at him, and in his face she saw for the first time a strong resemblance to his mother. The mobile curve of his mouth was lost in severity, his jaw was set hard, he looked straight ahead of him with the air of a man whose mind was made up. The woman who loved would have gloried secretly in that strength, nor would she have sought too long to pit herself against it, knowing that her strength lay elsewhere. But it only roused in Grier's wife a strong resentment. In this mood they came to the little farmhouse of Cleish— a handful of tumble-down buildings, huddled together in the lee of a hillside, with a drystone dyke about them and a few sparse birch-trees already casting their leaves before the wind. The path to the door was sodden with the rain and the tread of cattle-beasts and sheep who roamed unherded in tne immediate vicinity so ^1 I90 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER that the feet of the minister and his wife sank at everv step. ^ 'I'll stop out here,' said Christine. *I suppose vou won't be long.' *^ ^ ' There's Hamish Duguid at the door, looking out for us. You had better come in. Christine.' 'I don't want to go in. I don't mind seeing the house and the httle bairn another day, but I'd rather take a walk up to yon cairn and be ready for you when vou come out.' ^ ' I wish you to come in,' he made answer steadily = and without more ado she followed him. smoothing her wet hair with rebellious hand as they reached the low door- way where the shock-headed shepherd, dressed in his best awaited them with an awkward smile. The odour of peat reek and of many folks gathered together in a narrow space without ventilation met them as they crossed the low threshold. Christine gave a Uttle gasp and threw open her coat The company were all ready for the simple service A clean cloth was spread on the table whereon were arranged an old-fashioned soup tureen fiUed with water and a Bible on a clean towel, while all the bairns, Ukewise attired m their best, sat in awed silence round the place The wife and mother, a poor frail shadow, rose up from the creepie at the fireplace with the latest addition to her many burdens in her arms. Christine felt a rush of pity for her, and with a very natural and womanly instinct for which Grier blessed her, took the white bundle in her arms, speaking at the same time a word of sympathy and greeting to the pale-faced mother. It was so sweetly and naturally done that he could not help thinking what a tower of strength, what a help she would be to him if only her strange prejudices could be removed. ' Prejudice ' was the word he used in his mind, not being ahve to the fact that it was something far deeper. THE REALITY 191 ' It seems no time since I was here at a baptism before, Hamish,' said the minister with a smile, ' How many olive branches have you now ? ' ' Seevin at hame and Andy and little Moira out at service, whatefer. It iss a handful, but the good Lord sends the bite and sup wi' the lambs, so I'm no mindin'.' Christine could not for the life of her help glancing at the mother's face which, however, remained quite im- passive with that look of dumb endurance that she had seen on many faces since she began to go out and about among the houses in the Glen. The minister began the service by offering up a prayer, to which the shepherd said a very loud ' Amen.' Then, after the necessary reading of Scripture and a few words to the parents enjoining them to bring up the fresh addition to their flock in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, he sprinkled the water on the baby's face, giving to her the name of Mary. Then the children were sent outside while the shepherd's wife brought out a tea-tray for the minister and his wife, setting out her scones and shortbread with pride. Chris- tine with the baby in her arms followed her into the back place. ' You look so weak and spent, Mrs. Duguid. It is a shame that you should wait on us. Aren't you tired, looking after so many little bairns ? ' ' Whiles maype I might feel a little that way, but it iss oor number we hef to have, whatefer, and it is the Lord's wiU.' Christine pondered on these words after they had left the house, and when her husband asked why her face was so serious, she spoke out that which was in her mind with the frankness of a nature which could not long harbour a secret resentment. ' It is the hardness of destiny for the women of this place that eats into my heart, Alan. How I pity these 192 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER poor people with so many children and so little to do with. It is all wrong. That poor woman's face and eyes will always haunt me.' ' But why should they ? Mary Duguid is a very happy woman. She will teU you that if you ask her. Hamish IS a sober man and kind to her too— you could see that even with all his uncouthness.' ' But she says everything is the Lord's will— even those poor httle mites whom nobody wants and who, when they grow up. will want themselves least of all. It is horrible, I think, and wicked as well.' Grier's countenance darkened as he looked down into her passionate face, and all the glow that had warmed his heart on seeing her in what he called her natural element m the shepherd's hut faded quite away. They returned to the Manse gate in a silence which could be felt. to do d eyes happy [amish e that those 1 they rrible, n into armed atural which \ CHAPTER XV AT THE ROUND HOUSE ' How are you going to get to the Round House to-night ? ' asked Mrs. Grier at the breakfast-table next morning. ' In Maclaren's wagonette, of course,' replied the minister a little shortly. ' There's nothing else.' He looked furtively up the table at Christine as he spoke. She was pouring out the tea, her face impassive as usual, and a little pale. ' I suppose we must go ? I don't feel much like a dinner-party,' she said, feeling that some remark was expected of her. ' It's so long since I was at one that I have forgotten how to behave.' ' Lady Hope Farquhar won't expect much,' said Mrs. Grier, intending to be comforting to her daughter-in-law whose disinclination for high society she sympathetically shared. 'And besides she's a Uttle queer herself, isn't she, Alan ? ' A little tremor of laughter quivered for a moment on Christine's sensitive mouth, and, forgetting the shadow that had fallen between her husband and herself, she glanced down the table, wondering whether he saw the little unintended joke. But Grier did not smile or even meet her glance. ' I haven't seen her already, have I ? ' she then inquired with that fine indifference which so exasperated her mother-in-law. ' No. She has only just come back since the shooting N n^ li SW^'T '''""'^''''**" Jl^''" — ' i ' 194 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER tenant left. It was explained to you before that the Round House had been let with the shooting since July, and that the family were abroad before that.' ' Who are they ? Is there a Lord Farquhar ? ' ' A Mr. Hope Farquhar. He married a lord's daughter, but the Farquhars are not needing any titles. They have been Lairds in Cassilis and in the Round House back to the times of Bruce, haven't they, Alan ? ' ' I really don't know the antiquity of the family, mother, but it is pretty considerable,' replied Grier, thus directly appealed to, but he did not speak cordially and seemed anxious to devote himself to his breakfast. ' Why are we asked to dinner ? ' inquired Christine as she buttered for herself a very small piece of toast. She had already been up the moorland road, but the healthy young appetite that usually waited on her in the morning seemed to have desert'^d her. She noticed, how- ever, that Grier seemed to have forgotten to offer her any portion of the loch trout that lay temptingly enough in the dish in front of him. She would not remind him. The small rebellious curve was still lingering about her sensitive mouth. ' Lady Farquhar is always attentive to the Manse, isn't she, Alan ? She asks us once or twice each time she is in residence at the Round House in the autumn. The family generally stop here till Christmas, when they go to Cassilis, and the house is always full of folk ' ' WiU it be full to-night ? ' 'There will be somebody there, no doubt. Haven't you seen any of the Round House machines about with the shooting men and sometimes with the ladies for lunch when you are trapezing about the moors ? ' ' I may have seen them without knowing them,' replied Christine ; and she suddenly stopped eating, she could not tell why. ' Alan, your wife has no fish,' called out his mother ,|^ AT THE ROUND HOUSE 195 sharply, surprised that he paid no attention to her wants, which was unusual enough to cause remark. ' I beg her pardon. Can I give you a bit, Christine ? It is very good.' ' No, thank you. I don't seem to need breakfast this morning.' ' She does, Alan. She was out on the back of seven, and it's nine now. Make her eat a bit — she's only playing with that morsel of toast.' There was a certain solicitude in Mrs. Grier's manner which at another time might have pleased her son, but which he scarcely noticed this morning. ' She dresses very queerly and she has a terrible sharp tongue which they call cleverness. The Laird himself doesna speak much,' went on Mrs. Grier with a garrulity which reheved the tension of an uncomfortable breakfast- table. ' Things get evened out, don't they ? I have often noticed that a speaking woman gets a man that is pleased enough to be quiet — and the reverse. It's a good thing. If there were two in a house with high, squealing voices like Lady Hope Farquhar's, my ! what a house it would be.' Christine laughed then, sitting back irresistibly tickled. ' I begin to feel interested in the Round House. Well, if she dresses queerly she won't notice my plain, shabby frock any more than my other idiosyncrasies. Very probably she won't notice me at all.' Grier pushed back his chair and rose. He knew very well that Christine could not be in any company without attracting attention, and when the invitation to the Round House had come a few days before he had ex- pressed the pride it would be to him to show her off. But something had evidently changed his outlook, and he retired to his study immediately after breakfast and addressed himself by sheer force of will — though without joy — to his long-neglected desk. ifimtspmmmsxmwKxsmitttHtB mH^ 196 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' The minister has turned the key in the lock. That means that he's no to be disturbed till dinner-time. He'll be going to take a spell at his book. It's the first time he has done that since you came, Christine.' ' Is it ? I won't disturb him,' replied Christine languidly. ' But you'll no be vexed with him for it,' said the mother, anxiously peering across the table at her daughter- in-law's grave face. ' It was bound to come sooner or later — ye must ken that. A man canna stop aye newly maiTied. There are other things in the world besides his new wife.' ' A great many,' observed Christine gravely as before. ' And it doesna mean that he feels different, but just that his work has to go on — and the book was promised for the spring. The publishers have been writing about it, I'm sure, for I have seen their envelopes lying about.' ' What is the book about that he is writing ? ' asked Christine not interestedly, but because some answer was expected of her. ' Has he no told you all about it, lassie ? ' ' No. I never heard of it till this moment.' ' Oh well, I can tell ye. It's a history of the Kirk for generations wi' some explanations about doctrines. It's for the young folk, they're so gi'en ower to reading light rubbish that they require something solid. It has needed a terrible lot of reading up. Before you came I have often heard him go to his bed on the back of three o'clock and be up again to it by seven or eight.' ' It doesn't sound very interesting. Will anybody read it, do you think, when it is written ? ' ' Well, it is expected that it will be read, I believe,' replied Mrs. Grier drily. ' That's the reason books are written — isn't it ? — that they should be read.' ' I can't picture any young person poring over such a tome,' she replied lightly. ' But I have never been young. AT THE ROUND HOUSE 197 What are you going to be about to-day ? I want to help you.' ■ It's the bramble jam the clay. There's fifteen pounds. It needs a lot of steerin', and ye canna trust Annie Donald any further than ye can see her. It would be stickin' to the pan in a jiffey.' ' I'll come and " steer " it— as you call it,' said Christine quietly but quite pleasantly. ' Will it take long ? ' ' Depends on the fire,' said Mrs. Grier, rising with a business-like air. ' Well, if you'll stir the jam I can go to the beds wi' Annie. I'm near certain she doesna turn the mattresses every day, though I'm sure I have dinned it well into her ears. Come to the kitchen.' Mrs. Grier trotted off nimbly, happier about the Manse affairs than she had been for some time, and in no doubt that her word in season had begun to bear fruit. Christine dutifully and quite successfully stirred the jam, and was initiated into the mystery of its setting on a plate before it was turned out. Then, having earned her mother-in-law's approval, she was free to go about her own affairs. ' You could rest a wee bit now, Christine, if you like. I doubt you're not very well, as ye didna eat ony break- fast. Can I get ye something ? And the paper has come. Annie Donald has seen to the dining-room fire, and the study door is locked yet.' This to remind Christine that she should not disturb the labours of the minister. But had she seen him sitting with his elbows on the desk, staring moodily in front of him, his manuscript not so much as taken out of the drawer, her high hopes would have been dashed to the ground. He gave a great start presently when about eleven o'clock he heard Christine calling Tyke who, half mad with joy, leaped upon her, almost tearing her down as she walked along the avenue to the gate. He watched her from behind the curtain and saw the red October sun 198 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER glint on her bare head, turning its wealth to gold. His heart hungered I'n- hur- !ie longed to go out after her and crush her m hi., arms and tell her that nothing in the world except iove mattered at all. But he suppressed these impii!.;es and tried to adhere to the stern programme that he nad mapped out for himself. Christine was to be broken in, to be made to understand that, though she herself was idle and useless, she could not be allowed, like ruthless poison, to sap the spring of usefulness in others. It was the hardest task Grier had yet set himself, but something of his mother's dour temper had awakened in him and he was determined not to give in. They met at the early dinner-time again, and Christine, apparently unconscious that anything was wrong, chattered on about what she had seen out of doors and showed the rowans she had picked ripe and red from the tree beside the White Cottage gate. She tucked a bunch of the rowan berries in her black evening gown at her breast just where it bared to show the whiteness of her throat. It was a very simple frock, but it hung about her figure in straight, elegant folds, and she had draped about her shoulders a scarf of Eastern stuff, all red and gold that matched the flame of the rowans. Grier had no evening clothes, and his best clerical ro.il was shabby, though it had been considered good enough for another winter in the Glen. Suddenly, however, he felt himself country-bred and badly dressed, and he became aware that there was a physical gulf as well as a mental one betwixt his wife and himself. He wrapped her up with his accustomed carefulness and piled the rugs about her in Maclaren's open trap from the Glen of the Ford, but she laughed and said she never felt the cold. It was a fine, clear, bracing night with a touch of frost in the air, and the moon the reapers love was high in the starlit heavens. Seasons were tardy in H OQWS^ AT THE ROUND HOUSE 199 these high latitudes, a, id on many hillsides they could still discern the scattered stooks. ' How far is it to the Re nd House, and why is it called that ? ' asked Christii»r as t.iey turned ■' .vay up the moor- land road and left th shimmer of thr ioch behind. ' It's three n lies ju the other side of Cleish, where v/e were yesterday, and it i calif 1 the Round House because it's built round with all the tioors opening on a circular hall. It's a queer-look 'louse outside, but comfortable within. I'm surprised t you have never seen it.' ' We did not come m "ip this way when we lived at the White Cottage, ia jr liked the lower glen best.' Then after a moment she added, looking straight across at him rather (lefiantly, ' '1 she patronise me and talk to me from a pinnacle, t Lady Hope Farquhar ? If she does, I won't promise ti be on my best behaviour.' ' She won't do that — she you never saw such a tribt lis herself democratic. And s she sometimes entertains here. The Laird doesn't L.. it, but he's a very hen- pecked man.' ' Will he take me in to dinnei nd talk about the grouse ar. J the slaughter his tenants Iiave made ? That's what Highland lairds usually talk about, isn't it ? ' ' He won't talk much at all unless you draw him on, anc then there's no saying what might happen,' answered Grier a trifle grimly. Thereafter they were silent. E.ght o'clock rang from the clock tower of the Round House as they drove up the short avenue through the birch and the spruce firs to the house which made a cheerful blaze of light in the darkness. Gner helped his wife out, gave the man directions to be re; dy at half-past ten, and followed her into the house. He C( uld not but admire the grace of her movements, the perfect self-possession of her mien, when they stepped into the big circular hall, where already some guests were gathered about a blazing fire. Lady Hope Farquhar— an 200 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER elderly woman of somewhat imposing appearance, with high cheek-bones and a prominent nose — came forward, her stiff satin gown of royal blue rustling behind her. ' So this is the new wife ? ' she said affably. ' I'm glad to see you, my dear. I have heard of your father. I'm sorry he's dead, poor man. He's the only man that could paint the Glen of the Ford as it really is. You're very welcome to the Round House. Are you looking about for the Laird, Mr. Grier ? He has never been known to be in time since he was born. Will ye go upstairs, Mrs. Grier .? There's a woman on the landing who will take your cloak, and then, perhaps, we shall be all ready.' ' If some one could take it here,' said Christine, as she slipped it unconcernedly from her shoulders, ' I need not go upstairs.' ' That's right. I like a woman that has no nonsense about her hair and what not. Leave it on that chair and they'll take it away. Have you had a cold drive ? This is Captain Cassilis, my husband's cousin, and his sister Lady Pairman, and here's the Laird. What have you done with Mrs. Prentice, Ludovic ? I believe you have been haranguing to her on the landing.' Christine heard the name, and she gave a little start ; but in the rush of the introductions she had hardly time to wonder whether it was merely a coincidence. The Laird was a small, thin man, with a sharp, clear-cut face and grey side-whiskers, his figure too insignificant to set off the kilt, which nevertheless he wore ostentatiously in season and out of season whenever he was in the ncrth. It was a part of his religion. He had a very kindly smile as he shook hands with Christine, and he wished her joy of her new life and said it would be a pleasure to him to take her in to dinner. ' Now we're only waiting for Cariotta. Why can't she be in time, I wonder ? ' said the loud, harsh voice of Lady Farquhar. ' You would think— wouldn't you ?— that a AT THE ROUND HOUSE 201 1* \ woman who has to speak at meetings at a given hour would know the value of punctuality. I can't make it out, and the trouble is that she'll come down smiling presently, as if nothing in the world mattered. Then nobody could scold her. Have you a captivating smile, my dear } ' she asked, suddenly swooping down upon Christine. ' If you haven't cultivated it already, you'll have a chance to-night to study the best model. Here she comes.' Christine involuntarily stood up and looked towards the side staircase which a tall imposing figure in black was descending in a leisurely fashion, as if a few minutes more or less were of no importance in a country house. Christine's face paled, then flushed, and her eyes posi- tively shone. When Mrs. Prentice, smiling in the very manner presaged by her hostess, caught sight of Christine she paused amazed on the lowest step of the stairs. ' You, you ! Is it possible that this is what has become of you, Christine ? ' She pressed forward, took both Christine's hands, and kissed her with a demonstrativeness of affection which surprised the minister and did not please him. ' So you two know one another ? We haven't time to redd it up here,' said Lady Farquhar. ' Will you take Mrs. Grier, Ludovic ? Mr. Grier will take Mrs. Prentice as probably they would like to make one another's acquaintance. The rest of us will sort ourselves out as seems best.' They were ten in all, and Grier found himself at the bottom of the table between Mrs. Prentice and his hostess, who devoted herself to her companion on the left — a very deaf old gentleman to whom she had to bawl to make herself heard. * This is very strange,' said Mrs. Prentice, turning her keen eyes searchingly on Grier's somewhat forbidding 202 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER profile. 'How long, may I ask, has my young friend been your wife, and why did she not let me know what had become of her ? ' ' I'm sure I couldn't answer that, Mrs. Prentice. We were married last March ' ' Last March ! And had you known one another long before that ? ' ' Several years.' Grier spoke jerkily, and with evident effort. Christine, in an agony of unrest, watched her husband's strained expre";,-on and was hard put to it to reply to the well- meaning, innocent observations of her kindly-intentioned host. She had the feeUng that there was something sinister in that meeting, and her nerves became quickly strung to the highest pitch. ' Well, you have won a prize, Mr. Grier. Your wife is a woman in a thousand. I mean she is not cast in the common mould,' she said keenly, unable to make anything of this dour Scotsman who did not seem to have a smile nor a light word in his whole repertoire. ' I'm fully aware of that, Mrs. Prentice,' he answered, and she looked up from her soup-plate, trying to gather from his face what she could not gather from the tones of his voice. ' Don't speak as if it were a matter for condolence,' she said, a trifle maliciously. 'She has great gifts. She's very beautiful to begin with and she has vastly improved.' * I am glad to hear that.' ' But I can't understand this marriage yet. I thought the last time we met and talked together that matrimony was the one theme furthest from her thoughts. That is how women cheat one another, Mr. Grier. As I explained to Christine, they go off at a tangent when you least expect it, and so our ranks are in constant need of replenishing.' V i I AT THE ROUND HOUSE 203 ig friend ow what ice. We :her long 'hristine, strained the well- lentioned inister in trung to ir wife is 3t in the anything i a smile nswered, gather tones of nee,' she 3. She's iproved.' thought itrimony That is xplained ou least need of ' Your ranks ? ' said Grier politely and inquiringly. ' Christine hasn't told you anything about me, then ? I'm one of the leaders of the Woman's Movement, and I thought last time we met that perhaps I should have the satisfaction of enrolling your wife among us. But I suppose that's out of the question now, eh ? ' She smiled upon him with a little archness of expression which he fully understood, but did not respond to, ' My wife's duties lie in another sphere,' he made answer stiffly. ' Oh yes. But it's possible to do one's duty in any sphere and still spare a Uttle sympathy and help for those outside,' she said spiritedly. ' I suppose the primi- tive ideas prevail here, though I have a very good friend and supporter in Lady Farquhar.' ' Eh, what's that. Carlotta ? ' said the old lady shrilly. ' Trying to convert Mr. Grier ? You needn't trouble. He's the bluest of the blue, and he has a mother who would refute all your arguments for the suffrage in a few telling sentences. Wouldn't she now, Mr. Grier ? ' Grier smiled. ' My mother certainly has little S5mipathy with that sort of thing.' ' That sort of thing, Carlotta ! ' repeated Lady Farquhar in evident enjoyment. ' That's how your outrageous views are estimated by the average man. We are in a state of heathen darkness in the Glen of the Ford, Mr. Grier, and Mrs. Prentice has come to convert us all. Do you think we could have the school for a demonstration ? ' ' That's a matter for the School Board entirely, Lady Farquhar,' replied Grier, his gravity unimpaired. ' But I think they are not very particular about the purposes for which they grant it, and a word from you would go a long way.' ' Better than ever ! ' cried Lady Farquhar in glee. • Now you have met your match, Carlotta,' she added, 204 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER I'lTfl"! ^^u^^'^\ '^ "^^'^ "'^^ ^^o l^as no doubts at ffLl *^^^7e.aker sex was predestinated to darn the stockings and bring up the babies I-Predestinated-that's For7 .. ',^/*'°"^ °" ^°^t""^ i" the Glen of the Ford, aren't we, Mr. Grier ? ' v She had a caustic tongue, and she would have her fun even when its indulgence left a sting. Mrs. Prentice had nnr?^!i' *" '^' \"^ '^^ '^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^ubject had bccu pursued far enough. 'My cousin has small reverence for any cause, Mr Gner, she said, flashing her beautiful smile on him like a beam of the sun. ' But tell me about your wife and her connection with the Glen of the Ford. I suppose this is the place she mentioned to me in which she had an interest and a house. Her father painted many of his pictures here, did he not ? ' ^ doubts at darn the ;d— that's en of the e her fun ntice had had been luse, Mr. im like a ! and her se this is had an ly of his CHAPTER XVI THE CANDID FRIEND It was a lengthy dinner of the old-fashioned sort, and when the ladies at last trooped out to the hall-place, Mrs. Prentice immediately claimed Christine, laying a detain- ing hand on her bare arm as they passed unaer the arch of the dining-room door. ' My dear, I can't tell you how surprised and interested I feel to meet you here of all places in the world ! Why, I have been visiting here off and on for the last ten years — very often in the late autumn, however, when I suppose you would have gone from your summer quarters.' ' Are you related to Lady Farquhar, then ? ' asked Christine breathlessly. ' She is my cousin, and we saw a good deal of one another in our younger days. You know she has been married to Mr. Farquhar for only eleven years.' 'I did not know. When I used to come to the Glen wit'- my father, we did not know many people. We always had Edinburgh friends about us,' replied Christine, as she followed Mrs. Prentice to the farther side of the great hall where an inviting settee seemed to lie in wait for them out of reach of listening ears. Christine was looking radiantly beautiful. The flush was high in her cheeks, her eyes shone with a suppressed excitement, but a little jerky movement of her hands as she adjusted her scarf about her shoulders indicated nerves on edge 203 206 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' Come, tell me here and now why I have never heard from you, and why you took the most momentous step m a woman's life without so much as letting me know I somehov- had a very different idea about you I at least was interested.' ' Oh, so was I in you, but things seemed to be forced "R?u "5f' ^°"'* y®" ^"°^'' said Christine feverishly When I came back to the Glen my uncle died suddenly -was drowned in the loch, in fact-and I seemed to be lelt a forlorn creature with no choice left to me.' _ ' This big husband of yours with the deep eyes and the iron will made himself indispensable, I suppose at the time, and you felt you had no alternative. It 'was an unfair advantage to take.' 'Oh no,' rephed Christine quickly with the woman's natural desire to defend her action and her choice ' I was quite wiUing, I assure you, and the marriage is what my father wished.' Mrs. Prentice, with her head slightly on one side, studied the girl s sweet profile attentively and read her soul like an open book. She had a wonderful intuition and a heart so truly kind that it would not wound, even when to wound was the easiest course. 'Well, he's a big, handsome man. and he has character which one always admires in a man. We hate weaklings' A little austere he may be— but I haven't come all these years to Scotland for nothing, and I begin to understand and appreciate the national idiosyncrasies. But tell me how do you order your Ufe in this quiet glen ? What outlet have you for your undoubted powers ? ' 'No outlet,' replied Christine unexpectedly. ' None at all, i ' But you must find one, my dear, and that speedily ' ■ I am seeking it. I have begun to write. I carry my tablets to the moor and try to scribble down my thoughts but all my expression hitherto has been inadequate ' ' THE CANDID FRIEND ver heard itous step me know, ou. I at be forced everishly. suddenly led to be 5 and the 2. at the ; was an woman's 5ice. ' I ! is what , studied soul like 1 and a 2n when taracter, iaklings. ill these lerstand tell me, What 'fone at dily.' rrymy oughts. 207 * Or you think so. Tell me, did you ever know your father satisfied with any picture he painted ? ' ' Oh no. He used to cover each picture up on the easel for days at a time and become a prey to the deepest despondency, when every one else— even the most com- petent judges— assured him it was a fine piece of work.' ' There you are I This divine discontent is the hall- mark of the truly fit,' she said, patting Christine's arm. ' I hope you have a wise counsellor and sympathiser in your husband. One can get so much inspiration from one's immediate environment.' ' I have never told him anything about it. He does not even know that I have the desire to write. I am sure he would not approve of it. He holds the old-fashioned ideas about women, Mrs. Prentice.' ' Ah, but part of your hfe-work must be to imbue him with the new ideas, my dear. I am sure you are making a mistake. He is an intellectual man, Christine, and would appreciate your aspirations. I counsel you to con- fide them to him without delay. Let me give you a word of advice— there is nothing a man resents more than hearing from others about his wife's achievements and desires. He wishes— and that is natural— to be their fountainhead.' ' Oh, but that is impossible ! ' cried Christine. ' I mean, my desire to write has nothing at all to do with him. It has always been there. I used to write little poems for father, and old legends of the hills, and he loved them ; but that was different.' Mrs. Prentice was not in the least puzzled, she gauged the entire situation with unerring correctness, and her soul was filled with a yearning unspeakable over the girl at her side v/ho was predestined to suffering as surely as the sparks «y upward. She would seek to avert part at least of that suffering by counselling her against wil- fully increasing it. I 208 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER i^J^ lltJ°°t?}'''' *° «^k in, Christine. I'l J" »*iicie ana wnen can we mppf ao'^in ♦^ j- this matter ? It is worth talking over and h*r '"'' vulgarly say-but it h iL uti .u "^^self-as they 1 greatly fear from what you tell me hnf m^cf ^* n x her mv dear r„i „ '"' " '" ■"=■■ 'y^'- Never mind SLif"? ?.• ,^*'^'°**a IS a crank and lias alwavs bee." I'm so weli satisiied with l^Z^:^o7o::i'u:i -the tl^eme Carlotta is always hammerinff Tt thft 1 He?S;:rrn\r;:iiTe^^r„r:^^^^^^^^^^ colour still blazed in her cheeks ^^ ''"^""^ mannt ^T^Ph -T^ ^°n>forting and motherly in her srTadrp:iritnrti'':^fhi:rrrpr^i^ any 0, them. These demtn^UirgiS^holT;?: --M.*.*^ fie. I see ting back to discuss 3lieve me, io counsel -as they t thing I all. And f all from 3out you, them. 3arlotta,' ver mind lys beeii. ir half is I talk to ind, and n's lives -that I if neces- 'elieved. fevered ' in her ire and Lady I across of her in the e. -quhar. ad five accept ave no THE CANDID FRIEND 209 ideas on anything in particular, but who know how to do besT A m'an '"* V''' t'""''' ''' *^^ ^^^ men like T' u f^^" "^^^^ ^^^^^ *o be made to feel inferior and Tn'/atolt^- ^1^^ ^^^^"^^^^ '^ ^" thatrn";ded noirfT ' ^l ^'' °'"" '""^y- ^^^ttery is her most powerful weapon. You may take it from me as gospel ^Rnf' ^r ^u^?. ^"^ " S°°^ ^^^' °f experienc^' ^ ' franWv ^.^^^"^^^ '' ^' necessary .p ' asked Christine speak the trutTT"' "'" ""' ^^^^^^ '^ *^^"^-^-^ -^ sect^lnZ.^''\''\^^-' *™*^-t^"e^ ?-an uncomfortable oflllss ? Zf ^''''"^ ^"^ ^" ""^ ^^y '^"^ i'^ ^ palace ot glass ? My dear, you may take it from me-and I'm It IS the last thmg we want to practise. We have to go to thr^Ive' '" '"'*''' '"' ""^'"'"^^ ''^"^ *^^ ^^^dle caSS."^^'^ '^^"^ "* '^^'' ""^ *^^ '""^^^^^ sound caught Grier s ear as he came out of the dining-room in he'looked' '1" 'f • J^'.^" ^^ ^^" -^-^ Chri'stine was he looked reheved. He had fully expected to find her ToZt'^ \J ""''• ^""*^^^- Lady^rquh^r beamed nr tfe^firTafpribr '''^''' '''"^ '^ '^' ^'^^ ^ 'We ought to have a little music now. That bii. vote'L^t":uIit°t " ' '^ ^°"^' ^^"^- ^ ^^^^ ^^ voice m the pulpit-it is so sonorous. Do you sing, Mr. havf ver^f '*T^*'!^' ^'^^ ^"^^"^^'•- I ^ afraid I have very few drawing-room accomplishments.' Will r ^^^''^^^^^^ t° your wife-and very properly too Will you smg for us, then, my dear ? ' ^ Yes, if you desire it. But I have nothing of import- ance-only the old ballads my fath. r loved. He glZred and^eUhl't'o^""" '"" *^ ^^^ ^^^^^^ ^ *' e ^en ana set them to his own music' 210 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' And you sing them ! How altogether delightful ! That is a piano behind the screen. I always have it placed there to be convenient, because we never use the drawing-room in this house. I don't know why. Do you play your own accompaniments ? ' ' Yes.' ' Then, will you sing now ? ' ' If you Uke.' She rose at once with a grace that was sweetly natural, her readiness surprising no one more than Grier, who was not even aware that she could sing. She accorded so perfectly with her luxurious surroundings, and she was so conspicuously at home among the folks of a higher station that the sudden ache at his heart quite overpowered the natural pride he might have felt in a wife so acceptable and so gracious. He stood back, while Captain Cassilis escorted her to the piano and adjusted the stool for her. The hum of talk ceased when she struck the chords, and, after a moment, her voice, trembling a little, but very clear and delicious, filled all the spaces of the hall and laid an immediate spell upon their hearts. It was really an exquisite voice with that wonderful, sympathetic, penetrating quality wWch peculiarly fitted it to interpret the music of her choice. Christine's voice had never been trained. Otto Breck, possessing a fine ear for music, preferred it in its natural state, he himself giving it all the training he deemed necessary. All the folk-songs of the glens and the waters are set in the minor key, and the one Christine had chosen was no exception. She seemed to forget her audience and was for the moment the love-sick maiden bewailing the loss of her lover in battle, and again the crooning mother who sees her sons go forth one by one from her side and knows she will see them no more. Captain Cassilis, standing jlightful ! have it r use the Do you an I THE CANDID FRIEND 211 closely by watching her face, wondered whether a really happy woman could infuse such profound and moving pathos into song. After the first thrill Grier seemed to hold his breath. Music had never had any part in his life, but he was by no means unaffected by it. The thing that surprised and held him most, however, was the fact that his wife possessed such a gift and that he now heard her singing for the first time. A little resentment mingled with his natural pride, and when the chorus of thanks and applause followed the momentary silence as she rose his voice was silent. Christine glanced at him timidly,' seeming to ask whether she had done well. ' ts. Prentice observed the glance and pondered on its significance. ' Why, you are a great acquisition ! I have never heard anything so exquisite,' said Lady Farquhar. ' Arthur Cassilis, you are a judge of music— can you beat that in your London halls ? ' ' We can't. In its way it is perfect, and here it has Its fitting setting,' returned Cassilis heartily enough, and Christine, flushed and a little excited by the unwonted praise, laughed nervously and begged them to sav no more. During the few minutes that remained before their trap was announced she was much made of, and Grier heard Lady Farquhar impressing upon her that she must come often to the Round House while they were there When he came forward to say good-night, she shook a much-beringed finger at him playfully. ' You naughty, clever man, hew did you ever dare to entice such a splendid creature to your Manse of Strath- ardle, and how are you ever going to live up to her ? ' He shook his head. It was the question he had been asking himself in the last half-hour. Lady Hope Farquhar herself helped to arrange the scarf about her young guest's head and gave her a kiss at parting. 212 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER When Christine crossed the hall to say good-night to Mrs. Prentice a hurried word was sufficient to make an appointment for the morrow. A few minutes later, her husband and she were driving down the short avenue once more and ere long came out on the open road whereon the moonlight lay in a white splendour. ' You enjoyed the evening, Christine ? ' Grier asked at length when she seemed in no haste to break the silence. ' Yes, I think so. I am not sure,' she answered a httle unsteadily. 'I did not quite expect it would be like that.' ' You did not know Mrs. Prentice was in this neigh- bourhood ? ' ^ ' Why do you ask me that ? Would I have kept such a thing from you ? ' she said with a wounded note in her voice, ' You have kept many much more precious things from me, Christine,' he answered almost passionately. ' Your gift of song, for instance. You almost stunned me to- night—was I not worthy even to share that ? ' She was silent a full minute. Then she spoke in a low voice but quite clearly—' Alan, I think you don't quite understand. I don't do things on purpose. There simply never was an opportunity for speaking about my singing. Your mother does not like music, and I have seen it bore you in other places. Besides, we have no piano.' ' There will be a piano before I am many hours older,* he said between his teeth. ' Not this year— we can't afford it,' she reminded him. ' What a dear, funny old lady she is— Lady Farquhar, I mean. She was so very kind to me that I feel quite ashamed.' ' And you will go again, I suppose, when we are asked ? ' ' Yes. I could even go to the Round House without being asked, I think.' . * Lady Hope Farquhar might not like that. Big folks THE CANDID FRIEND 213 way. but they don't like pre- are kind in their own sumption.' ' But why would it be presumption ? I am every bit as good as they are, and so are you. I assure you I should not have any feeling of that kind, and I know that she was quite sincere.' ' WeU, I dare say you know better than I. It would be the last thing I should think of doing.' * You make yourself too cheap, Alan. I thought that to-night. You are the minister of the parish, and you are mtellectually superior to all the men who were there. Ihat is the only thing which matters.' Her rare appreciation took the edge off his raw dis- content, but her next words renewed his vexation. ' How did you get on with Mrs. Prentice ? ' ' I prefer not to say,' he answered, and silence again fell between them liki- a shadow of the night. Next day Grier had to attend a Presbytery meeting at the neighbouring town and left the Manse soon after breakfast. At eleven o'clock Christine met Mrs. Prentice on the Ardle Moor just at the cross-roads between Cleish and the Round House shooting. Isn't this a glorious morning ? The heather is quite dry— let us sit down. Did you meet Lady Farquhar ? Her carriage dropped me here and she drove on to Cleish.' ^ ' That was the opposite direction,' replied Christine. I can't beheve it is really you, Mrs. Prentice. You don't seem kin to Lochardle somehow, and I could not sleep for the wonder of it last night.' ' You got home aU right ? How is your husband this morning ? ' ' Quite well. He has gone to Kinellan to a Presbvterv meeting.' *^ ^ ' You do not accompany him to his clerical functions then ? ' ' ' Oh no. It is a meeting of ministers to discuss parish 214 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER and church affairs. Women do not attend, and even if they did, it is the last thing I would think of doing.' Mrs. Prentice sat down on a boulder, planted her shepherd's crook in the heather, and from under the brim of her flop hat regarded the young face before her with a mingling of feelings. ' This life suits you physically. I never saw a more perfect and beautiful embodiment of health than you are at this moment. I hope it indicates a sound mind in a sound body.' ' I hope so. Did you, or do you, see any signs of mental aberration ? ' inquired Christine amusedly as she pushed back a strand of hair blown by the fresh breeze to her eyes. ' I shall not tell you all that I see, but I want you to take a sensible interest in the pursuits of your husband, Christine. It will be worth your while.' * They don't interest me in the least. I have never had any part or lot in churches.' ' But what about duty ? Is he not disappointed ? ' ' If he is he has not said so,' answered Christine, but she turned her head away. ' And I warned him well before- hand. He was willing to take me with all my faults, and I told him that I should always be myself — that even in Strathardle Manse I never could conform.' ' Christine, I perceive what is the most serious thing of all — you don't love the man.' ' Do I not ? What are the signs and symptoms of this love of which I have heard and read and which, it seems, can completely change destiny and even nature ? ' ' We needn't enter into that. I say you don't love the man, or there would be none of this talk. My dear, my dear, how did you come to make the very mistake against which I warned you ? ' ' I told you last night. I have nothing to add to what I then said, and we get on quite well' '^ THE CANDID FRIEND 215 ' That will not suffice now or at any other time, and it will be worth your while to reconsider the situation and see how you are going to mend it.' Christine sat silent a moment, looking down on the brown heather tops. Then she said in a low voice, ' Mrs. Prentice, this is the very last advice I expected you to give me.' Mrs. Prentice nodded. ' I know what you expected. It was that, because you had a little discontent, I should counsel you to take irrevocable steps. You are thinking of my case. That was vastly different. You have married a clever man who needs a woman like you to develop him on the right lines. He has a big heart, and when his eyes are opened, he will take big views. I married a parochial person who made self the pivot of existence and who stifled the soul beside him with a senseless cruelty. There is no parallel between the cases. You hicve a chance to make a success of a marriage whose failure or success is trembling in the balance. I beseech you, pleading as one woman to another, don't throw that chance away.' ' But Alan and his mother are so narrow ! ' cried Chris- tine in a great burst of anguish. ' God in heaven, between them they will stifle my soul — not in cruelty, but in blindness ! I cannot bear it ! You must help me, or I can't be responsible for the future.' *■*»* CHAPTER XVII THE COUNSELLOR Next day happened to be the October Fast, still kept rigidly in the Glen of the Ford. Grier returned from Kinellan accompanied by the Rev. Dr. Logan, one of the fathers of the Church and Moderator of the General Assembly who had promised to assist him at his Com- munion services. To receive this distinguished ornament of the Church stupendous preparations were made in the Manse, the spare bedroom being swept and garnished, though its habitual condition was one of immaculate cleanliness. Every bit of muslin and lace was renewed, and the best that the hnen cupboard could furnish brought forth for its adornment ; towels trimmed with exquisite crochet lace which, Christme learned, Efifie's nimble fingers had wrought, and an embroidered bed-spread of fine linen from the same hand. Mrs. Grier surveyed the finished picture with a conscious and pardonable house- wifely pride. ' Yes, it is lovely,' assented Christine. ' It looks almost too good to sleep in, and I hope the old gentleman will appreciate it. However does Effie find time to do all this lovely work ? It must take ages.' ' She's very clever at it, and she finds time because there isn't a lazy bone in her body. None of the Griers are lazy.' ' Except the foreign importation,' said Christine with a laugh. 'Well, is there anything else I can do this morning ? ' 210 i THE COUNSELLOR 217 'Everything is done but the scones, and that I can leave to Annie Donald,' replied Mrs. Grier. Then she looked at Christine with a sudden wistfulness. ' Christine, surely you will go to the Communion on Sunday, or Dr.' Logan will not know what to make of it, and it will be very humbling for Alan.' ' Don't ask me, dear. It would be much more humbling for him if I went, feeling as I do.' Christine spoke so gently that Mrs. Grier had courage to go on. ' I wisF. ye would let Dr. Logan speak to you. He's a very godly man besides being clever. And he's the chap- lain to the Queen, and they say there is nothing she likes better than r lang crack wi' him when he goes to Balmoral to preach. He was there last Sunday.' Christine shook her head and escaped the subject by running away. She felt interested in the visitor when he arrived, however, an elderly man of noble presence and with fine features on which sat a certain kindliness and majesty which duly impressed her. ^ His greeting was a fine mingling of courtesy and fatherly kindness, and when he blessed her, she was conscious of a curious soft pang at her heart. * I never met your father, my dear, but I knew his work of course. A great artist such as he was belongs to us all' Her face flushed softly, her eyes shone, and her demeanour, which had been slightly distant, instantly altered. Grier had never seen her manner so perfect, or her charm so strikingly displayed as at the table when they sat down to the late dinner that with some travail had been prepared for their coming. Dr. Logan addressed a good many of his remarks to Christine and she responded readily, always finding the fitting word. Mrs. Grier listened with a sort of chastened approval, though it must 4 2l8 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER be said that she thought Christine presumptuous at times and forgetful of the status of the man to whom she spoke with all the freedom of an equal. When Grier and his guest retired to the study for a smoke, which was the one personal indulgence the Doctor permitted himself, he laid his hand on Grier's shoulder with a genial touch. ' I must congratulate you, Grier, on your beautiful and attractive wife. She not only possesses charm, but she has intellect and heart. You are a very fortunate man.' A glow gathered about Grier's heart and some part of the load lifted from it. This man, one of the princes of the Church, possessing many statesmanlike qualities and, moreover, a citizen of the world, could not mistake Christine's character and personality. Perhaps, after all, her faults were only part of the waywardness of youth, which experience would tone down if not utterly eradicate. Dr. Logan possessed the rare gift of being able to enter at once into the life of any house he visited and of making its affairs his own in so far as tact and sympathy permitted, and he now proceeded to question Grier as to his progress with the work which he had been largely instrumental in putting in his way. He was encouraging and stimulating, and when Grier went upstairs that night rather late, it was with a sense of awakened and conscious power. Christine was in bed, sitting up witl" shawl about her shoulders reading a pamphlet, while others were scattered on the bed. He glanced at them, and the frown gathered deep and fast on his brow. With a wave of his hand he swept them to the floor. ' You mustn't read that pernicious rubbish, Christine. What have you to do with free-thought and all its lies ? I will not give such reading house-room ! ' He walked to the fireplace, laid the papers in the empty grate and set them alight with a match. She did THE COUNSELLOR 219 not speak, but she tossed him the leaflet she had in her hand and watched the flame until it died down in a little heap cif charred embers. Grier, after a few uneasy steps across the floor, sat down on the front of the bed. * Wife, why will you rend my heart like this ? Don't you see how sharply you wound me— how keenly I suffer ? ' ' I too suffer,' she answered quietly. ' I suffer more than you know.' ' But why ? I have done my best, dear — have I not ? The fault has been that I have been too indulgent all along.' ' I am not a child — even if you are a schoolmaster,' she answered drily. ' I am a fuU-grown woman entitled to my own opinions and to liberty of action and speech.' ' You take it, Christine,' he responded sadly, ' and without the smallest regard for decencies or the feelings of others. But I will say that I am obliged to you for being so charming to Dr. Logan to-night. It made a great difference, and I was by no means easy in my mind as to the reception you would give him.' ' It was quite easy to entertain him — he is charming, a perfect beau-ideal. But then he has Uved and seen the world. Did you explain to him about this naughty child and ask his advice how to treat her ? ' Grier rose, wounded, and turned aw.y. ' I shall never discuss you with any outsider, Christine, whatever happens. You are too sacred to me for that.' She was rebuked, for she had not observed the same fine reticence. She had spent a whole hour that very morning discussing her husband's shortcomings with another woman. ' What about to-morrow ? I hope you will attend the service or, at least, part of it. I don't want to have the scandal of the house laid bare just yet to the Moderator. It will damage me in every quarter.' 2io THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER oVlL^ r?""'"^ ^° ^""'^ ^* ^^^ R«""d House at one o clock,' she answered quietly. ' Have you been there to-day, then ? ' ; Did Lady Hope Farquhar write and invite you ? ' Ladv HoiT ^'t- ^,''^'''' °^*^^^^' ^"d ^he brought me J-ady Hope Farquhar 's invitation ' all' Sr?^'r ''T ^'•- f^^^ti^^she has incited you to all this? he asked with the storm gathering agk in 9hlVf ^ ?^" ^'''. ^""^ '^^ ^^^'* incite me to anything She lectured me quite properly and ahnost as severely as you or your mother could have done ' ^^^ereiy as th?Jn ^'^T'^' ""^^"y ""convinced. Rightly or wrongly Prentice was entirely responsible for the greater part of hL" S t cot rit" ""^^ -' -^^"^ '-^^^ Pe-^^^^ ' Of course you will not go to the Round House to- TdTend n '"f. ^'''^'''^- ' ' ^^" ^y^^^' wrke a note and send Donald over with it first thing in the morn^nl Lady Farquhar ought not to have asked you ^he wli ^ts^.Jt^ --- ^'^^ ^'^ has^foU'„%rs to ' fh^c '^ ^ ^''K\ ^° *° *^' ^°""^ House I may not go to the service, Alan. I will speak to Dr Loganlhe would understand. Why can't you take large vifwsUke him ? Now, he could win a woman to do anyth nl iust because he is so lovable aud so wise ' ''">^'^"^ng' JUst 'I forbid you to speak to Dr, Logan, Christine Hp will not stay the night here anyway, Ld I^'u^^^^^^ tSl you have no opportunity of speaking to Wm nf Is gomg for the rest of the week to Castle Howard and wiU drive over here for the services on Sunday ' andS^ir sL;! '-'''' '"^ ''' '^-^ - '' -- o^t R ise at one »^ou ? ' rought me ed you to : again in anything, everely as r wrongly ihat Mrs. ;r part of persuade louse to- te a note morning. She will tten that y not go igan — he ews like ing, just ne. He see that He is md will om out THE COUNSELLOR had spent in Strathar^l^ !!! S • ^^^""^ ^^'^^ ^^ She approached to meet him quite ea^erlv Th. fact that he was on the road in fhl , ^' .^^^ ""^'^ toes ™y father used to pa J beforet^St al^d I at^yt 222 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER went with him. Is it not lovely here— so still and peaceful ? ' The old man took his cap from his head and looked round with reverence. ' The heavens and the whole earth declare the glory of the Lord. We shall have a splendid Fast-day, and the country folks will flock in from the hills It is what I like to see. It is a good many years since I was in Strathardle at a Communion season — not indeed since your husband has been minister here. You like the life in the Glen, I hope. The country certainly has many advantages which town-dwellers miss.' ' But there is life in towns ! ' cried Christine so un- expectedly that he paused in the road and glanced at her with a little apprehension. There was a note in her voice that he could not mistake. ' You find it a little dull perhaps ? ' he said anxiously. ' And I can understand that in winter you are very much cut off from— what shall we say ?— the ordinary commerce of life which helps most of us along. But you have compensations surely ? The heart that finds joy in scenes like these can never be wholly without resource.' ' I am never dull in the accepted sense,' she replied. ' But ' ' But what ? Unless you are in a hurry come up the road a little way with me again. I think we've a good half-hour till breakfast. But I know what country manses are,' he added with a smile. ' Perhaps you have to take your part in preparing it.' ' Oh no. I never do anything of that kind. My mother-in-law looks after everything,' she answered and turned with him willingly enough. He noted her reply, and it gave him the key to the situation as he thought. But presently he discovered that the mischief was more deep-seated than any caused by insufficient occupation. THE COUNSELLOR 223 still and id looked e glory of , and the is what I I was in :eed since :e the life tias many tie so un- ced at her her voice anxiously. are very ! ordinary But you nds joy in jsource.' le replied. ne up the ve a good try manses ve to take kind. My wered and cey to the discovered my caused ' I want to tell you what a high opinion I have of your husband. His gifts are of a very special order, and he has never dissipated his powers in that eager haste to get on which has spoiled so many promising careers. Here he is content to nourish his gifts which will yet bring him to the forefront. We had a long talk last night, and I must say that he delighted me.' ' What are his special gifts ? ' asked Christine. ' For- give my ignorance, Dr. Logan, but Mr. Grier does not talk to me very much about his work, though his mother has told me he is writing a book.' ' Is that all the length you have got ? ' he asked with a little twinkle in his eyes. ' Well, perhaps the subject- matter of the book would not interest you very deeply, but it will be a valuable addition to the literature of the Church. We have too little of it. I looked over what he had done last night, and it pleased me very much. But he must make more rapid progress, and you will help him, will you not ? ' ' I ! Oh, I don't know anything about churches ' — ' and care less ' she was about to add, but she restrained herself. Suddenly she stood still in the road and looked frankly at him. ' Has Alan told you what a heathen I am, Dr. Logan — that I do not care for kirk services and never go to them unless I am obliged ? ' ' No. When he spoke of you at all it was in a way that showed me how deep is his regard for you,' was the quiet reply. ' Well, I'll tell you myself then. I am a pagan. I don't believe in anything really, and I don't see why we need all this form^sm and compulsory observance when we can worship as our souls dictate under an open sky, where there is nothing to come between us and God. It does not make me a better woman — it makes me a worse one— to go to church, but I cannot get my husband to 224 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER understand that, nor can I pretend to be other than what I am. What he would like is that I should stifle my feelings and conform for decency's sake. That is how we stand.' Dr. Logan, though he felt surprised, suffered no sign of disapproval or dismay to manifest itself in his de- meanour. He could discern in the woman by his side a strong, difficult nature, a passionate woman's heart ripe for guidance in the right way, and he prayed for wisdom to speak the fitting word. ' My dear,' he said with great gentleness, ' the human soul in its pilgrimage through a world of stress has to pass through many pha^.^s of emotion and experience. The true religion is generally revealed to us in times of deepest need. Tell me, when your father left you was there no uplifting of your heart in the direction whither he had gone ? ' ' But where has he gone. Dr. Logan ? He did not kaow himiself. Does anybody know ? ' ' If he believed in the Lord Jesus Christ he is with Him now in glory, we cannot doubt.' ' But I don't think he believed anything. He never went to church, though he was the best man I ever knew — or ever will know. I feel as he did about these things, though I am far more selfish and stubborn. What I wish to ask is this. Dr. Logan. Has Alan the right to force these church observances on me, and if I refuse to be coerced, am I to be considered outside the pale ? ' ' Let us look at the matter from a lower standpoint. If you love your husband as he loves you, you would wish to be a help to him and not a hindrance. Youi common- sense will teach you that for you to openly flout and despise the ordinances to which his calling pledges him and in which his reverent soul delights must create con- fusion and end in disaster. Married life could not indeed long stand such a strain,' ;:ii.«&i..jii«*JE : »*i»i:feii ^^^^^2 THE COUNSELLOR 225 ' I wish I had not married/ she said gloomily. ' It was a mistake,' 'No. no. You speak in haste, and because you are depressed at present. My counsel to you, my dear, is that you conform as far as in you lies. Possess your soul m patience and wait upon the Lord. We never know whence or when our Pentecost will come. You have taken certain vows upon yourself. You cannot, without detriment to your nature, disregard the letter or spirit of them. And remember that all Ufe is a discipline, and that just m so far as we accept that discipline and L ■:: to It, we shall find happiness. No human heart ever yet found peace in the open road of rebellion against spiritual ' There is my husband coming, Dr. Logan,' said Chris- tine a httle hurriedly. ' You will not mention to him what I have spoken to you ? ' ' Surely not. I would not so poorly interpret mv own function, my child.' 'To-day I had an invitation to lunch at one of the shooting lodges and I want to go.' she went on quickly. Must I stop at home and attend the Fast-day services ? ' 'Most certainly you must. There isn't the shadow of a doubt as to the direction in which your duty lies on this particular day.' Christine had scarcely composed herself when Grier came up with them, pleased to see his wife and their guest apparently on such good terms. Dr. Logan's tranquil manner betrayed nothing, nor gave any hint of the sharp passage that had marked the last ten minutes, and they returned to the Manse together, talking of commonplace things. At the gate they met Donald, the minister's man, on his bicycle, and the minister stopped and purposely spoke in a clear and rather loud voice. 'Make sure that the note is delivered into Lady 336 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Farquhar's own hand, Donald.^ Don't leave the Round House without seeing that it is.' Christine passed into the house with her colour shghtly heightened, and her head in the air. But there was no more said about the Round House, and to Gner s great satisfaction he found Christine dressed at twelve o clock ready to accompany them to church. She even went decorously into the Manse pew, and sat with his mother throughout the entire service. Dr Logan had been invited to give a Communion address by way of preparing the parishioners for the solemn serv-is of the coming Sunday. But his words were winged towards the slight, erect figure in the Manse pew. and to her they were spoken. He went a htUe out of his way to dwell upon the difficulty certain souls found in humble acceptance of the great doctrines of revealed religion, and pointed out that the onlv way to peace was to lay aside all fighting accoutremeats. and simply wait for the voice of God in the evening's cool. It was a wonderful sermon, spoken with an impassioned earnestness which left no doubt in the minds of his hearers that he spoke of the things he knew. Christine drank in every word, but she made no remark and she avoided any further speech of a prvate nature with their guest, who left soon after the afternoon meal for his drive across country to Castle Howard. Before he went, however, he took the opportunity of seeking a private word with Gner. • I am an old man, and I will take an old man's pnvilege, Grier, to meddle with your private affairs,' he said kindly. ' It is against all my principles and habits, but I had a little talk with your wife this morning, and I perceive that things are not so well with you as they might be- as they will yet be, please God.' ' So it is to you I owed the satisfaction of seemg her in the Manse pew to-day ? ' •"•artb'. This i? a crisis which will require all i 4 VTCii, THE COUNSELLOR lie Round iir slightly re was no ier's great ve o'clock iven went lis mother ommunion rs for the his words the Manse a little out jOuIs found 3f revealed peace was imply wait mpassioned his hearers le drank in ivoided any guest, who kive across however, he . with Grier. I's privilege, said kindly. Dut I had a I I perceive might h&— i seeing her I require all 227 your arts and all your grace to master and to engineer. Gner. Your wife's nature is a difficult one. She possesses the artistic temperament developed to a degree She cannot be coerced, but she can be reasoned with, and she can be impressed by the beauty of harmony. You must not be harsh with her. That would be quite fatal I am sure.' 'But what of the scandal, Dr. Logan ? Already mv wife s Sunday vagaries are the talk of the parish.' ' Let them talk meanwhile—it will not harm them or you One other thing-I don'^ think she is fully occu- pied or that she has sufficient, responsibility in the affairs ot the h use. You know what a high respect 1 have for your mother, as every one must who knows her, and I admire your filial discharge of your duty to her • but your first duty is to your wife meanwhile, and I 'think some other arrangement should be made, whereby you would have your home tc yourselves for a time, your wife taking over the full charge of the Manse affairs. That IS a suggested material remedy for a spiritual crisis, but I am very certain it would be a step in the right direction.' ^ Grier listened in sUence, not knowing how to answer, yet in his heart of hearts convinced that the Moderator was nght. ^ But how to alter it ? His mother, now whoUy con- vinced that she was more than ever indispensable to the Manse, and reconciled to Christine's presence, would get ^l^^!i °? "^^""^ ^^® informed that in the interest of all parties she must find another home, if only for a time. A sensitive man and averse to changes. Grier viewed tile situation with dismay. CHAPTER XVIII THE GULF FIXED For the first time in several months Grier sought speech with his mother concerning his wife. Christine mv^ably went to bed early and rose early-an excellent habit, ot which her mother-in-law would doubtless have approved more heartily had she made better use of her time. When Mrs. Grier entered the study as usual to bid her son good-night she was surprised when he asked her to close the door and sit down for a moment. ' Mother, how do you think Christine is getting on here ? ' he inquired without any attempt to disguise his anxiety ' Do you think she is more contented ? ' Yes indeed. I think she is. It was a comfort to see her at the service to-day. I did not feel sure about her yesterday. And at least it kept us right with the ^° U was wholly due to him that she was there.' was the unexpected reply. ' Now you will not misunderstand me mother, when I say that it is absolutely imperative ^hat Christine should take a more active part m the housekeep- ine-in fact that she should take it over altogether now. Did the Moderator say that ? ' inquired Mrs. Gner m some bewilderment. , , No. but he thinks as I do-that she has too little to do.^ Mav be you would like me to leave the Manse. Alan. said his mother, quickly wounded. ' I'm ready to go any day, if I am no longer needed.' 228 THE GULF FIXED 229 .1 ' Mother, don't misunderstand me,' said Grier hastily. * This is a far more important matter than you have any idea of. It affects our whole future — Christine's and mine.' ' And what about mine ? ' she asked jealously. ' I shall never forget what you have done for me. God forbid that I should, but my first duty is to my wife now.' ' Then you wish me to leave,' said Mrs. Grier with dignity. ' I never thought this would come from you, Alan, and I don't believe Christine has any hand in it.' ' You are right as far as she is concerned. To have you leave the Manse is the last thing Christine wants, I beheve. You save her a lot of care and work. But she must not be saved in this way any longer. She must understand that there are certain duties and responsibilities to be realised and performed ; she will never reaUse them so long as you are here.' ' She is improving,' said the old lady eagerly, for her heart quailed at the prospect. ' You would be surprised if you knew how wilhng she is to help now, and she is even quite interested in the cooking, and she allowed Annie Donald to give her a lesson in the making of scones the other day. I think you must have a little longer patience, Alan. I warned you well beforehand, but at the same time I must now be juLt to Christine.' At another time Grier might have smiled at this in- genuous reasoning, but his mind was very full of gloomy forebodings. He therefore only impatiently shook his head. ' You quite miss the point, and in spite of all you say we must make a fresh arrangement for a time at least. Couldn't you go to Effie for three months say — or even till Christmas — that's just two months and a half ? You yourself suggested such an arrangement before Christmas came.* ' What would I do in Effie's lodgings at Lanark ? ' she asked dully. ' We never agree at the best of times, Alan, I :' 230 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER and to be shut up there in two small rooms-it would be terrible I like Christine better than Effie. She never worries me, and her tongue's aye gentle. I am sure I will never leave the Manse wi' her will.' .^ r> ■ 'I know that only too well, mother, said Gner desperately. ' That's why I have spoken to you first. When I tell you that it may be our last— even our only —chance of happiness, will you understand ? Thrire s a battle to be fought and we must fight it out by ourselves. ' Nonsense, Alan, you are spyin' ferUes,' she said sharply. ' And if ye canna live a+ T^e^^.e wi' Christine, it ]ust shows that Effie must be ri' ' ter all and that I have spoiled you. Gie the lassie . 1. , and she'll come all nght. She left the room quite abruptly with that word, as if afraid of further discussion, leaving Grier, of course, wholly unmoved. Strong in his belief that he had m his own power the whole solution of the difticulty he broached the subject to Christine next morning when he found her tying up some branches of a rose-tree that a ".Hnd in the night had blown down. " • Cl^ristine, I think it would do my mother good to go on a lo.^g visit to Effie, and I think she should go soon before tht weather gets too wintry. Then she can come back with Effie at Christmas. I think you said she had promised to come to us then.' . , , , , ' Yes she promised. But Lanark is the last place on earth your mother wants to go to, Alan, and especially at this season of the year and with her rheumatisnil Besides, she and Effie don't get on. I don't beheve she wants to go at all.' ^ . x ' As a matter of fact she doesn't, but I want her to go. and go she shall. Christine. The time has come for you and me to be alone.' ' What do we want to be alone for ? she asked calmly. ' I should hate it mortally. I Uke your mother, and we get on together. We can now bear even the long silences i I ^ r I THE GULF FIXED 231 cheerfully. Why should you want to upset everything just when we are getting along comfortably ? ' It was a strange speech for a bride of a few months standing, and for the moment Grier felt himself at a loss. She continued tying up the rose-tree as if that was the first business of existence, and he could not but admire the contour of the arm bare to the elbow, which held back the refractory branch. ' I think it quite tune that you should occupy your own position as mistress of the Manse, Christine,' he said with that singular lack of tact which many good persons display at critical moments. Christine simply laughed. ' I don't bake and dam and dust enough to please you ! Well, I shall see that your mother rests more and that I do my full share. Go away, Alan, and don't look so horribly glum. It doesn't become you in the least, and there's hardly anything on earth worth pulling such a face about. Now I'm going to get ready for the Round House. I suppose I may keep my engagement to-day as a reward of merit.' Grier's face fell still further at this announcement. 'I don't want you to go there, Christine, and you ought not to want to go,' he cried unreasonably. ' Why, if I was unreasonable yesterday— though I don't admit it, mind— you are much worse to-day. Tell me, pray, why I may not go to the Round House ? Is it on account of Mrs. Prentice ? ' ' Yes.' ' Well, I may tell you quite frankly, Alan, I see as much of her as possible while she is here, remain only a few more days at the Round House, and, I assure you, you are vexing yourself with quite ground- less fears. She is a model adviser. If you could only hear her your one wonder would be that I do not profit more by her good counsel.' want to She will »«—''*>.. 232 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER The softness that had crept in spite of herself over Christine under the genial and delightful influence of the Moderator had wlioUy disappeared and left her apparently harder than ever. ' I don't want you to go, Christine, and that should be sufficient,' he said rather sourly. ' Besides, they will not be expecting you.' 'That doesn't matter. Lady Farquhar gave me an open invitation, so one day is as good as another,' she replied. ' Besides I want to explain to her that I should have come yesterday had I been allowed.' ' Christine, you would never say that ! It was quite sufficient excuse even for Lady Farquhar that it was the Fast-day and that we had Dr. Logan at the Manse.' She smiled, and when Christine smiled in a certain way, she could be very aggravating. Grier coloured a little, understanding that the smile was caused by hir, reluctance to give offence to the hostess of the Round House, though his wife did not express her opinion in words. Hitherto of placid temper, simply because he had had very little to cross or ruffle it, he v/as astonished— even a little dismayed— at the sudden heat that sprang upon him, urging him to hasty speech. ' Christine, understand that I wish you not to go to the Round House to-day.' She dropped the branch that she held in her hand and turned to him, quite undisturbed. ' Why, Alan, nobody has ever spoken to me like that before ! I have always gone where I wished. How would you like if I were to say to you, " You can't go to Kinellan to-day, or you spend too many hours in the study ? Come out and give me the key ? " Would you obey quite cheerfully ? ' 'The cases are not parallel, Christine. A man is different— he may do things a woman may not, I mean.' THE GULF FIXED 233 ' And why may not a woman do things ? ' She looked at him quite straightly as she asked the question, quite conscious of its significance and deciding that perhaps the battle had better be fought n^'v, and the final issue be deteiinined between them. * Your common-sense should tell you. A woman's duty lies at home. Most good women find happiness at home, and are not always seeking outside for some new thing. Don't look at me Uke that, Christine ! I don't want to be harsh with you, God knows. It hurts me far more than it hurts you. But I am afraid lest I fail in my duty and that through that failure our last state may be worse than our first.' She stood straight up on the gravel path on which the sere leaves of autumn had been scattered by the night wind, her hair a little ruffled on her brow, but her eyes perfectly serene. ' I want to understand you quite, Alan. You would deny me the liberty of action you claim for yourself. You want to order my life as well as your own. Don't you see that that is quite impossible ? Moreover it is not honest, for I told you exactly how I felt about things, and warned you how I should behave. I can't change my very self just to suit you. I don't like your way of life. Much of what you do seems to me quite futile and useless, but I have never asked you to alter it— at least, not seriously. And there must be fair play all through— don't you see ?— if we are to get on at all.' 'But I don't see where or how it i ing to end, Christine. Are we to go on all our lives puUmg in opposite directions and never coming any nearer to a solution of our difficulties ? ' ' As to that, I don't know,' she made answer. ' All I know is that I can't conform to your mother's pattern. I admire her, and I think I am beginning to love her, but we are as opposite as the poles. The sooner you compre- in 234 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER hend that your wife and your mother are two different women, the better it will be for you.' She turned back to her rose-trees as if the matter was settled, but though she was outwardly calm her heart was beating a little rebelliously, and hot words burned very near he'' lips. The futility of unconsidered speech, and the danger of unnecessary words had often been forced upon Christine since she had come to StrathardJe Manse, and she had learned a great deal of self-control. It was not very natural to her, however. In the old days at the Eyrie it had been the habit ox each member of the coterie to speak out that which burned in his heart, thus preventing all porsibility of further misunderstanding. Christine, how- ever, had learned that there are different standards of conduct in the world and that the method which had secured harmony in her former condition of life created only confusion in her present one. The prospect of a never-ending succession of years spent in such petty and undignified squabblings certainly appalled her and gave an expression of absolute dismay to her beautiful mouth. ' Then you will go to the Round House to-day to lunch, in spite of me, Christine ? ' ' I will go to the Round House, of course, Alan, not in spite of you — as you express it — but because I don't see '.he shadow of a reason why I shouldn't. If you could give satisfactory reasons why I shouldn't go it would be different ; and I must have something to relieve the grey monotony of my days. I have not been a night out of St^athardle Manse since I came to it, and though I have not grumbled, I begin to feel its limitations irksome.' Though there was a certain measure of truth in her words, she had no idea of the proportions to which Grier's jealous imaginings could swell them. He turned away with a frown as dark as night on his brow, and locked THE GULF FIXED 235 himself in the study, not to work— as his mother fondly imagined— but simply to ^ace the floor and fight with himself regarding what seemed to be the hideous problem of his Ufe. He loved Christine. Never had she seemed more adorable than that very morning when, standing in the path, she had openly defied him. But something of the spirit of the old reformers awoke in him— a stern spirit which forbade him to indulge his natural affections at the expense of his conscience. His wife was in a perilous mc »d. She could not be allowed to become a law to herself in all the relations of her life. It was his absolute duty to guide and direct her to a better frame of mind- yet how ? That was the problem which he had to solve. She would never storm, or rage, or sulk, but she would calmly meet his disapproving gaze and ask him to ex- plain himself, which was not always easy. He would not, even in that moment of supreme misery, face the true reason for the widening gulf between them— that his wife's heart was cold to him. Love indeed is the only worker of miracles we have left ir this mundane sphere, and Christine's heart was not yet in love's thrall. She was a woman who would make unconditional surrender when she gave love admission to her heart. From one of the bedroom windows Mrs. Grier had watched this little colloquy and, when she had heard her son shut himself in the study, she ventured out into the garden for a word with Christine. She found her standing against the gable-end of the house \vith the yellowing branches of the rose-tree about her, her arms hanging listless by her side and her eyes upon the loch, a narrow glimpse of which could just be obtained from where she stood. Her face wore a blank expression, and though she gave a little start when the step sounded on the gravel, she did not smile. Her movement indicated that she resented her solitude being broken in upon at that moment. -xStlSK. •««■; 236 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER It seemed as if nowhere within the limits of her home could she be secure from interruption and interrelation. Mrs. Grier looked at her appealingly, and had Christine been a little less absorbed by her own indignation, she might have been touched by an appearance of perturba- tion visible in her husband's mother. ' Christine,' she said a little eagerly, ' I saw you and Alan talking together very earnestly. Has he said any- thing to you about — about my leaving the Manse ? ' ' Yes,' answered Christine ahnost fiercely, ' and, though I did not say it to him, I say it to you — if you go I go too. I will not stay here without you.' A fluttering spasm crossed the old lady's face. ' Oh my dear, I never thought to hear you say that ! And if you'll let me stop I'll do more and more for you. I couldn't live there at Lanark with Effie.' Christine suddenly became aware of the tragedy and pathos of the life of this woman who had staked her all upon one slender possession. She laid her firm, strong young hands on the frail shoulders, and she looked straight with her sweet, fearless eyes into those which hard work and secret tears had dimmed. ' Dear, I don't want you to go. I will never, never let you go ! I could not live here without you, and I am grateful for your kindness, though sometimes I feel cross and out of sorts. I'll try to be different ; only you must promise not to leave me, whatever Alan may say. If you do, something dreadful will surely happen.' ' No, no, my dear, I winna go,' said Mrs. Grier, trembling with an altogether unwonted emotion which her natural habit of repression tempted her to crush down. Yet even through the emotion there sounded a note of triumph, for surely now Alan would be convinced that she was really wanted at the Manse. "To please the minister we will sort out the work together, you and me \ but I'll take the heavy end of it. THE GULF FIXED 237 Christine, as I have ever done, and we'll all get on fine and be as happy as the day's long.' Like a bird of passage a little wintry smile flitted across Christine's grave mouth, and the episode of unwonted emotion was over. About an hour later Grier, watching from the study window, saw his wife leave the Manse, sending back Tyke with his tail between his legs, and he understood that she was on her way to the Round House. For him the day's work was spoiled. He did not speak a word at the early dinner which he and his mother partook of alone, and she, wise woman, knew when to hold her tongue. Her husband had been a man of dour and passionate temper, though quick and generous to make amends when his anger was past, and thus she had learned the wisdom of silence. She did not mention Christine's name. ' Mother,' he said as he rose from the table, ' I have written to Effie at Lanark this morning to tell her to expect you on Monday.' ' But Christine does not want me to go to Effie, Alan. She told me this morning that she would not stay here without me.' ' Christine is not the judge of what is fitting or best in the Manse, mother, nor can we allow her to be so. I must be the head of the house, or there will be confusion worse confounded. You need not misunderstand me. I don't want you to leave. I intend indeed that you shall end your days with us, but in the meantime something to put an end to the present state of matters must be done.' ' You are making a mistake, Alan. Let me ' ' If it is a mistake I shall take the burden and the consequence of it,' he interrupted with a wave of his hand, ' and I don't want to say another word about it.' Thus overpowered and set aside, it was needless for Mrs. Grier to protest further. 238 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER I How strangely were the tables turned ! The minister's mother was now his wife's chief champion, nor was the motive of her championship altogether a selfish one. The sterling worth of Christine's nature — in spite of its un- disciplined waywardness — had impressed itself upon the heart of her husband's mother, where it lay hidden like sweet leaven to await the fulness of time. In the course of the day, just after darkeninj^ a groom on horseback brought for the minister a note bearing the Farquhar crest. When he read it ^e simply crushed it up in his hand and threw it into the fire. ' They are keeping Christine at the Round House for a few days, Lady Farquhar says, and she wants a bag sent back with some of her things. I have a good mind to refuse. But there is no use proclaiming our sorrows from the house-tops, so please get them ready.' This occurred on the Wednesday evening, and on Friday afternoon between luncheon and tea Christine arrived home, having been driven in the luggage brougham which was conveying Mrs. Prentice to the station to begin her journey south. When she entered the Manse she found it quite empty save for Annie Donald, who came forward to receive her joyfully. ' Where are your master and Mrs. Grier, Annie ? ' she asked. ' Mrs. Grier is away to pay a visit to Miss Effie, and the minister hass gone as far as Aberdeen with her. He will maybe not be back to-night, he said, but would maybe stop at the Manse of Inverarity w' Maister Caldwell. If he wass not back by aicht o'clock I wass to go for my father to sleep in the house.' ' So,' said Christine, and she took a long breath as she crossed the threshold and stood there a moment, watch- ing the receding carriage rolling through the dust of the white road. - I THE GULF FIXED 239 she \ ' Annie ! ' she called, ' Do you know anything about the trains at Linboyne station going either south or north ? ' ' Yes, ma'am, there's one for somewhere at the back of six o'clock, I know.' Christine smiled at the vagueness of the reply, which yet sufficed. ' Somewhere ' was the goal of her hope at present — somewhere that would mark an unbridgable distance between herself and Strathardle Manse. ' Go down to the Inn of the Ford, Annie, and bid them have the wagonette up here by five o'clock, and then get me some tea and a new-laid egg.' ' You will not pe leavin' too, whatefer,' asked Annie wistfully, wholly at a loss to account for all these sudden joumeyings which were convulsing the ordinarilv quiet routine of the Manse life. ' Yes, I am. Go quickly, Annie, and don't ask any questions.' She spoke in a tone which the damsel had never heard her mistress use before and which reduced her to abject silence. Contrary to her expec lion and greatly to her relief, her master arrived home late in the evening, having driven from the Junction station nine miles distant in order to sleep the night under his own roof. Though he did not admit it to himself, it was fear lest Christine should have returned in his absence and be alone in the house that had hastened his home-coming. There was a feeling of strain in the air which sadly disturbed his usual composure and which augured ill for the peace that he hoped for. He tried to brace himself for the coming battle — the scene which was inevitable when Christine learned what he had done. But it would surely be for the best in the end. She loved strength in man or woman, and she would respect him for what he ha .1 done. The blank silence of an empty house met him at the 340 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER door, and when Annie Donald came running out of the kitchen to greet him he perceived that she had been crying. ' Your mistress ? ' he asked eagerly. She nodded as she dashed another tear fror- l^r eyes. ' She hass been pack, sir, but she hass gcie away again, whatefer.' ' Gone away ! Where ? ' ' In the train — maype the train to Linboj i.iid she hass taken a lot of clothes wi' her in a pig trunk, and said that maype most likely she would nefer pe pack.' 'Nonsense, Annie Donald. You are letting your imagination run away with you,' said the minister harshly ' She has only gone to pay a visit in the south and will not be longer than a week or ten days. Go and get me something to eat, and try to be as sensible a girl as you can till she comes back.' He went into the study and shut the door, looking round in frantic eagerness for some message or token of farewell. But there was none. A desolation and a silence as of death settled down upon the Manse of Strathardle, CHAPTER XIX THE OUTSIDE VIEW in London on the evening of the Christine arrived following day. She was very tired, and she simply directed the porter to convey her luggage into the hotel at Euston where a room was immediately made ready for her. She had eaten nothing all day except a sUce of thin bread and butter at her afternoon tea, and was conscious of utter exhaustion which, however, a good dinner quickly dissi- pated. The hotel dining-room was fairly full. There is nothing more amazing and suggestive than the constant stream of the travelling pubUc hurrying hither and thither, one unit disappearing only to be replaced by another. Christine lingered a good while at the table • there being nothing to hasten her departure. She had had a long quiet day in the train, but had found herself cunously disinclined to consider her situation or the cou.',equences likely to result from the hasty, ill-considered Step she had taken. Her uppermost feeling— though that was likely to be an evanescent one— was relief at finding herself free to act and think and speak as she felt inclined She had escaped from bondage— that was her one exultant thought. What she was going to do with her future she had no idea— she supposed something would turn up. The dining-room presently began to thin, many hastening away to spend an hour at some place of am menti by half-oast eieht it was ahnost -past empty. C miz : 1 I 242 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ascended in the lift to her bedroom a«d after a moment's hesitation put on her hat and the long coat of Harris twid Xch covered up her black sUk dres. She l^d changed her gown on entering the hotel hatmg the idea of Se in the tweed skirt and flannel blouse in which 1 hadVlued. Gower Street was but a stone^ *row AM«r,t She decided to take a walk as far as the hotel ' M^: Prentice and inquire whether she had yet arrived from Scotland. She was by no means sure, however, that fe Prentice would approve of her appearance there or "'Z tZ£^XT"^s leisurely fastening her g^v^ but on the bottom step she suddenly paused, ^ t^e m the vestibule in front of her was her <:™5'" Ted Ja^kinf In a man whom she had observed joining the train at PritoT She would have hastened back, for she had no Kust ther to see any of her relatives, but it was 00 fate Ted had seen her and, with an expression of mingled surprise and pleasure, he advanced to greet her_ ■Christine, whatever are you domg here? I cant believe he evidence of my own eyes. But perhaps you re retoing from your honeymoon. Is your husband with ^"christine laughed. The idea was so supremely ridiculous %f rm'quUe'fL'e, and I'm going out just now, "'^e'£tai„'::dnroSra^uLr^^^^^^ whom I had to wTit in town toL to-night, as he's going Zr!\n T vons to-morrow morning, and ran put a bit ol busLsrough^rus. Ihavefinishedwithhim. Justwait Ssav goo/^^ Don't think you're going to escape * ^Jl^P this Why we've simply ached to see you I 'Te s efp dtc7and ha^ a hasty colloquy with the ma^vSo'^somewhat interestedly matched them wonder- man vaiu 'istinguished-looking lady with whom mg e who was the dis ■•'« THE OUTSIDE VIEW 243 young Hedderwick seemed to be on such terms of inti- macy. Then Ted, familiar with the interior of the hotel, drew Christine into the drawing-room and sat down in front of her. He was looking well, bronzed and happy, and had an air of manliness which struck Christine very forcibly. ' Now will you please tell us why you treated us all so beastly badly, Christine ? ' he said in the old boyish fashion. ' Of course I know we're rather a rum show, but we thought you didn't like us so badly on the whole! The mater was awfully cut up when she heard quite accidentally through somebody in Edinburgh that you had actually got married without so much as letting us know. Why did you do it ? ' Christine shook her head. ' I never know why I do things, Ted. I begin to think I got cast into this worid by mistake before I was ripe or ready for it. I'm always doing the wrong thing— I believe I'm doing it now.' Ted regarded her with a sort of tender ruefulness. She was looking very beautiful, though thinner and older, and she had certain curves about her mouth he did not remember to have seen before. ' I've forgotten his name, Christine ; in fact I don't believe we ever heard it. What must we call you now, when we have to be on our best behaviour ? ' 'Mrs. Grier,' she answered in an even monosyllabic tone which conveyed nothing. Christine Grier— not neariy so pretty as Christine Breck. The names don't run well together. And how do you like it up there, summer and winter, eh ? ' • Not at all.' ' Oh, come, it's very nice in summer. Don't speak like that, because after all you needn't have done it, you know, unless you had wanted to, and nobody wished you to leave London. You might have been living at the Laurels yet— the admired of all admirers.' ^ggg I I 244 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' Don't let us talk any more about my affairs, Ted. Tell me about yourself, and Aunt Lizzie, and all the rest. How are they ? ' ' Everybody's ripping,' said Ted enthusiastically. ' I tell you you wouldn't know the place. But say, why don't you come out to-night ? I'll take you. We can drop in at Tulse Hill on the way out and see Edie. That's where I live. Yes— we've got the rippingist little place there, and Edie's very well and the little maid. You never saw such a bouncer as she is! They're simply crazy about her at the Laurels— even the governor con- descends to take notice of the baby.' ' Then it's all right, Ted ? ' said Christine a little wistfully. ' Why, yes. Of course it is— couldn't be better. That was a good turn you did us, Christine, for our happiness all dates back to the time you came to us. There are hardly ever any rows now, and it would do you good to see the governor and the mater. Why, she looks simply years younger, and is far prettier than Betty.' ' Oh, I am glad ! I was always overwhehned with the possibilities everybody neglected. It is delightful to hear that everything is going on so satisfactorily.' ' Well, come on and let me take you out. If you're here alone, it's my duty to take you. The governor and the mater would feel it awfully if they knew you preferred a hotel to their house and that you were here all alone. But er, why— why are you here alone, Christine ? ' ' Because I am.* ' But Where's Mr. Grier ? ' ' At Strathardle.' ' And what have you come up for then ? It seems queer for a woman to be careering about alone withort any object. Have you an object, Christine ? ' ' At present I have no object.' rs, Ted. the rest. lUy. 'I ly, why We can That's tie place d. You i simply nor con- a Uttle T. That lappiness nere are good to :s simply with the il to hear If you're governor ley knew you were ;re alone, It seems e withort THE OUTSIDE VIEW 245 unlillyttt^^^^^ ^"^^^^^' ^"' ^^^^--^ -^ -- ' Of course I know aU right that I shouldn't ask questions ; but, hang it all. I can't help doing so Chris- stn, ^ '' ":^""^ ^°"^ ^^ y°"- W^ -" are.\nd Ediel sunply dymg to get to know you and to thank you I C^JVf ^°" something, dear. We called the baby Chnstme, because we both felt that we owed everything A sudden mist swam before Christine's eyes and she rose humed^y and resumed the fastening of her glove said Ted'ten^'*,- ^ THE OUTSIDE VIEW 249 I Ted stood still and planted his strong young foot on the kerb and squared his shoulders. He was about to say something which Christine might resent— and probably would resent — with all her might. ' Christine, don't get angry, but may I ask you some- thing ? It means an awful lot to you, you know. There isn't another fellow in it, is there ? ' Christine laughed — a laugh so genuinely and spon- taneously merry that his ghastly fears were scattered like the mist before the rising sun. 'No, no, dear; I'm not that sort. Don't you ever forget that your cousin Christine though a fool in many ways will avoid that particular brand of folly.' Ted joined in the laugh, though a Uttle shamefacedly, and, somewhat comforted, suffered her to depart. Chris- tine continued her way along Gower Street until she arrived at the door of Whitefield's Hotel. She pushed the swing-doors open, and seeing no one about, tapped on the glass sliding-door of the little office. A girl, eating her supper from a small table in the background, came forward and pushed back the slide. 'Do you know if Mrs. Prentice has returned from Scotland yet ? ' ' No, miss, not yet ; but we expect her in the morning. What name, please ? She is very particular about getting the names of the people who call to see her.' ' It is of no consequence. I will call again in the morn- ing. You need not even mention that I have been here.' ' Oh, all right, miss, thank you,' replied the clerk and closed the slide. As Christine turned to leave the place some one else came through the swing-doors — a woman whom she recog- nised as one of the guests at the luncheon party, but whose name she could not recall. The recognition was mutual, and the tall, angular Miss Braithwaite lield out her hand, though without much cordiality. 250 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' I remember you, though I have not heard your married name. You are married, I think ? ' ' Yes. I am Mrs. Grier.' ' Are you staying here, then ? I have come to see Mrs. Prentice on important business. Perhaps you can tell me whether she has returned.' ' She has not, but she is expected to-morrow,' replied Christine. ' I have just been inquiring.' ' Ah, then, I may go back the way I have come. These frequent absences of our president are rather trying, as there are always cases arising which require either her advice or decision. But she is not at all strong, though she looks so. She requires to look after her health.' ' I think she is very well now. I saw her in Scotland yesterday.' ' Yesterday ! But you did not travel down with her ? ' ' No. She left before me— on Thursday evening, I think. I have travelled from Edinburgh only to-day.' ' I see — which way do you go ? ' ' I am staying at the Eustor Hotel.' ' I live at Hammersmith id have to go from Gower Street Station, so we can walk together,' said Miss Braithwaite as they descended the steps. ' I suppose you don't take any active interest in the suffrage, now you have married and settled in Scotland ? ' ' Oh yes. I am as interested as ever,' replied Christine vaguely. ' How is the Cause getting on ? ' Looking at Miss Braithwaite's eager face, she remem- bered that Mrs. Prentice had not so much as mentioned the Cause during any of their discussions at Lochardle, the only allusions to it having been in the good-natured chaff of Lady Farquhar ?* the Round House. She could not help wonder'i ' % with one of those sudden intuitions which seldom err, whether Mrs. Prentice used it chiefly as a means wherewith to fill up an otherwise ir married le to see i you can V,' replied le. These trying, as ire either ill strong, after her I Scotland rith her ? ' jvening, I D-day.' om Gower said Miss I suppose Erage, now i Christine he remem- mentioned Lochardle, od-natured )use. She »se sudden mtice used I otherwise THE OUTSIDE VIEW 251 empty life or as a cover to a deeper interest in some- thing else. ' The Cause itself is progressing of course, as it is bound to do. Its triumph is only a question of time, but we are torn by internal strife at present, and the last two meetings of the Executive have been very stormy. We really can do nothing without Mrs. Prentice, who is so calm and wise and who yet is dominating without being offensive. So few women are that. I myself always lose my temper, or I should speak oftener than I do.' ' But to lose one's temper in a good cause might be beneficial to that cause,' suggested Christine. ' Well, I don't know. A certain amount of enthusiasm of course is needed, but a level head and a calm tempera- ment are best. Mrs. Prentice unites all the necessary quaLues in her own personality. That is why she is quite indis: ?nsable, and she has a sense of humour which most woi. i: lack and which places them at such dis- advantage in fighting with men.' Christine inwardly smiled at this matter-of-fact state- ment and at the assumption that • -arfare with the opposite sex was not only inevitable, bu.. at it pertained to the natural order of things. She was glad she had met this odd woman, whose obvious devotion to the Cause was written on her eager, anxious face. ' We had simply chaos at the meeting on Thursday, an':' LJii ih Carteret adjourned it till we could have the prebiaent with us. It was not the regular procedure of course ; but Lillah doesn't card a fig for procedure. She merely said that we were f jols and could do nothing without Mrs. Prentice. Of course it is Lillah's money that counts, and we can't afford ^.o offend her ; otherwise she is of no use. I am feeUng rather anxious because just of late Mrs. Prentice has seemed to be somewhat lukewarm/ ' Are there many rich women interested enough to give funds to the Cause ? ' ^1 1 $ 252 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER * WeU. we have several, but rich women are of course conservative. It is the poor ones who have nothing to lose who provide the enthusiasm. Lady Carteret has a cousm— also a rich woman— whom we all very much want to join us. She is exceedingly clever, and she has most of Mrs. Prentice's qualities plus the riches Her name is Mrs. Ovenden of Polesden Abbey, near Medwyn ' Why, I know Mrs. Ovenden, but I was not aware that she was interested in the Cause.' 'She is— after a fashion, but she says that the time isn t npe for Women's Suffrage and that, when it is its coming will be as irresistible as the roll of a big wave to the shore sweeping everything before it. But she ought to remember that it is the httle cumulative currents which unil- to create the big wave. We represent the little currents, and we can't afford to be idle even for a day.' ' T am very interested to hear about Mrs. Ovenden Does she come ^ ,ch to London to attend meetings ? ' 'She is oftn stayng with LiUah Carteret, and on these occasions she at h our meetings. Sometimes she even speaks, and theix everybody is charmed She doesn't get on very weU, however, with Mrs. Prentice She did not quite approve of her behaWour at Medwyn I beheve. I suppose you know the story of Mrs. Prentice's ufe r ' Yes ; and I have met both her husband and her daughter at Medwyn.' ^ Have you indeed, and what is your opinion then ? ' ' I am wholly in sympathy with Mrs. Prentice.' 'Are you ? Well, 01 course I have never been married and I am not likely ever to be asked in marriage, but it seems to me that there's something wrong somewhere I am not an extremist on every theme, and though it is neces- sary to fight men on the suffrage questi. n till they are educated uj to conceding the vote, I don't beUeve in FER are of course ^e nothing to arteret has a I very much and she has riches. Her ear Medwyn.' 5t aware that ^at the time hen it is, its big wave to it she ought ive currents epresent the He even for s. Ovenden. stings ? ' ret, and on metimes she rmed. She "s. Prentice, at Medwyn, s. Prentice's THE OUTSIDE VIEW 253 attacking the foundations of society of which marriage is the chief. As far as the status of women is concerned, to abolish marriage, or to treat it as anything but a life- contract, would quickly reduce that status to confusion. If a woman makes a vital mistake where marriage is concerned she has to abide by it, just as a man has. Lots of men have got bad matrimoni il bargains, and they have to make the best of them. But here's my station. Good-night, Mrs. Grier. If you s'^e Mrs. Prentice before me to-morrow, pray tell her that she must get a private secreta-y to relieve her of the drudgery of the work and that she must stay in London more than she has hitherto done, or we shall go smash sure as I stand here.' With this laconic deliverance she disappeared into the bowels of the Underground, leaving Christine to ponder on her words. Twice in the space of one hour her action had been condemned by persons occupying totally different points of view. What next ? id and her I then ? ' ce.' en married, iage, but it lewhere. I I it is neces- II they are believe in u'ntmrin'fiainaim CHAPTER XX THE COLD LIGHT OF REASON Christine passed a bad night. A room had been given to her which overlooked the entrance to the station, towards which there seemed to stream an endless suc- cession of traffic all night long, not ceasing even with the dawn of another day. Confused cries, mingled with the hoarse roar of continuous traffic from the outer road and the shrill whistles of arriving and departing trains, filled the air. Towards morning she slept somewhat heavily from utter exhaustion, and she awoke about nine o'clock, unrefreshed. When she turned upon her pillow to face the new day she had to confess herself without much hope. She had taken an irrevocable step ; and what its consequences were likely to be she could not even imagine. She only knew that for the moment she felt herself a forioni and stranded unit on a cold, if not altogether unfriendly, shore, the sense of exultant gladness over her freedom having entirely vanished. Realising, however, that this was a mood which must on no account be indulged, she rose hurriedly and began to dress. A time-table, hanging on a peg at the back of the door, informed her that the Scotch night-express had come in a couple of hours ago. Mrs. Prentice was pro- bably breakfasting in her own rooms by r.ow or engrossed with her correspondence. It was a brighter and better London because she had come back to it. Christine had not realised till now how largely her future had woven itself about Mrs. Prentice. 261 been given le station, idless suc- n with the i with the r road and ains, filled at heavily ne o'clock, •w to face out much 1 what its n imagine, f a forlorn infriendly, r freedom bich must md began e back of press had was pro- engrossed nd better stine had id woven THE COLD LIGHT OF REASON 255 She felt better and stronger as she dressed, and when she went down to breakfast, cheerfulness and courage had wholly returned. Once more life was interesting and full of possibilities. At Strathardle the days had been marked by intolerable monotony, their precious hours being dissi- pated in a thousand unconsidered trifles. At breakfast she was asked whether she gave up her room or would stay another night, and was thus reminded how completely a bird of passage she was. ' Another night certainly ; but is it necessary to answer this question every morning ? ' she asked a little sharply. ' Oh no, madam j but we are likely to be very full up to-night and rooms have to be reserved. It is the week of the Cattle Show.' ' Oh yes. Well, I reserve my room for to-night. A little later in the day I shall be able to tell you about to-morrow.' It was about eleven o'clock when she descended from her room once more, fully dressed, to call on Mrs. Prentice. It was a fine winter morning with an astonishing mild- ness in the air for December. The sun was shining, and a cheerful activity, bom of the pleasant conditions of the weather, seemed to distinguish the throng of the streets. After the silence that could be felt on the Ardle moors Christine was exhilarated by the bustle and the stream of life surrounding her. Her pulses answered to it ; she also would be busy and full of attairs. It was the surest way to content, if not to absolute happiness. Her thoughts were fairly pleasant as she walked the short distance to Whitefield's Hotel where, in answer to her inquiry for Mrs. Prentice, she was at once invited to walk up. ' I can announce myself, thank you,' she said to the German waiter, dismissing him at the bottom of the stairs. She ascended quickly, but hesitated a moment outside 256 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER the door of the sitting-room, her heart beating a little more rapidly. So much would depend on her reception. If by any chance Mrs. Prentice should fail her in this cnsis what would become of her ? It was a thought she dared not dwell upon, and somewhat hastily she tapped at the door, entering before the clear voice within had accorded permission. Mrs. Prentice was already busy with the masses of her correspondence, but she turned her head expectantly as if quite ready to receive callers. At sight of Christine she leaped to her feet. ' You here ! ' she said almost shrilly. ' Why, what does it mean ? ' ' That I have followed you— that is aU,' replied Christine not certain whether to be gratified or repelled by her reception. ' But I don't understand, I thought we agreed that you should continue your quiet life in Strathardle and devote yourself to the work of your pen. What is the meaning of this sudden escapade ? ' Escapade is an undignified word,' said Christine, biting her Up in momentary chagrin. ' Won't you sit down and let me explain r ' 'That is what I am waiting for. Believe me I am seriously dnturbed by this step of yours, which 'cannot be a \Mse one, unless indeed '—and here her eye brightened — ' your husband happens to be with you, in which case this sudden journey can be quite simply explained.' ' Oh no— I came alone. Let me explain.' Mrs. Prentice sat down, wheeling round her desk-chair for the purpose. Christine drew a chair to the middle of the floor just opposite her, and proceeded to talk. But the story she had to tell, viewed in the light of cold day and from another person's standpoint, seemed strangely unconvincing. There was not, indeed, any story to tell. ' So you see, I am neither needed nor wanted there ' she said triumphantly. ' I am an alien element resented IR :ing a little r reception, her in this thought she she tapped within had ready busy she turned re callers. , what does d Christine, led by her Lgreed that hardle and /hat is the tine, biting t down and me, I am ich cannot brightened which case ned.' desk-chair ! middle of talk. But f cold day 1 strangely y to tell, ted there,' it resented i THE COLD LIGHT OF REASON 257 bj' both and it was the greatest kindness to all parties besides bemg the only course open to me, to withdraw myself at once and for ever.' 'At once and for ever,' repeated Mrs. Prentice slowly as she rested her penholder on her lips. ' Child you can have no comprehension of the meaning of the words you 'Oh yes, I have. I made a mistake-that was all- and I am domg my best to rectify it. It was quite wrong for me to marry Mr. Grier, feeling as I did. He had no place m his life for any wife-least of all for me, who am such a disturbing element. The only remedy is for me Mans?^ ^"""^ "^* *^^ ""^^ °^^^' ""^ ^^^ '^*"^" **^ the ' That is impossible, and even while you are saying it Chnstme, you know that it is impossible ' ^ ^ ' hotw'l'J''^ ^' ^^' "u* ^'P* ^° ^'' *^^^S^"'' «he said hotly and her colour began to rise in face of this un- expected opposition. ' He wishes to mould me into a different pattern-to make me a household drudge like his mother. It can't be done, and rather than go on quarreUing about it, I have left him. Life i= made hideous by discord. I will not live where it is ' • Then you will have to leave this world, my dear for discord IS Its chief element. But tell me, is he a con- senting party to this extraordinary arrangement > ' No. I have just told you that when I left he was away with his mother, whom he has driven from whaTls rea^y the home of her heart. It will kill the old lady But he does not care, and that indifference shows him to be a horoughly selfish man and not at all what a preacher or^a leader of the people should be.' preacner 'Let us leave discussion of him out of the aue^tinn altogether for the moment,' said Mrs. Prentfce T«'et ty I ?Zrt >T ''™"V\''y *^' ' '^■'"■t ^Sree with you I tallied with your husband only once, but, in spite of R 258 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER the fact that he took no pains to make himself agreeable to me, I arrived at a very different opinion of him than you seem to have formed. Well, now that you have taken the bit between your teeth, I suppose you have counted the cost.' ' I haven't counted anything,' repUed Christine frankly. * I left because I found my environment intolerable, crippling — even degrading. It seemed the only thing to do.' ' From your point of view perhaps it was. And what was your idea in coming to London ? ' ' Well, to speak quite frankly, you embodied London to me. I should like to be near you always, and I hoped you would help me.' ' The best way in which I could help you — and the thing I should like to do — would be to drive you back to Euston and put you into the Scotch train.' ' I should come out of it again,' said Christine cahnly. * Besides, I have other friends in London.' ' I am sure of that. Wherever you go people will be interested in you, and that is why the problem of your life is so complicated. But now let us go once more over the old, old ground. You remember the words of the marriage service — " for better, for worse " ? ' ' They were not used at my marriage, which took place in a drawing-room and was performed according to the Presbyterian form, which does not include the service.' ' Well, anyhow there must be some fonnula to which you subscribed — you must have taken a vow of some sort.' ' Oh, I suppose so. There was a good deal said, bat I did not listen closely. I was occupied in wondering whether my father could see me and would approve the step I Wc's taking, mainly at his instigation.' ' Poor Ml'. Grier, he deserves pity if ever man did ! I i^TER mself agreeable >n of him than that you have pose you have iristine frankly. !nt intolerable, he only thing as. And what bodied London ^s, and I hoped you — and the ve you back to liristine calmly. people will be roblem of your once more over ; words of the ? ' je, which took med according lot include the rmula to which L vow of some leal said, bat I in wondering lid approve, the m.' sr man did ! I THE COLD LIGHT OF REASON 259 have not treated him honestly or fairly, think you Christine.' ' Oh yes, I have. I explained everything to him and promised nothing. He agreed to take me%vith all my faults, and undertook to alter nothing. So it is he who has been unfair.' • 'I suppose he hoped that there might be a few atoms of comnion-sense stowed about you somewhere, but upon myword, mydear, Idoubtit' "i upon ^ ' You are hard on me 1 ' cried Christine, rising rebelliously I am sorry to have troubled you with my affairs I will go now, and I wiU not come back ' ' Sit down, and don't be silly, child. Don't you see I am overwhelmed-positively overwhelmed-by the magni- ^hl^^nLf""' .^"f 'f x^"^ ^^PPy y°^ ^^^' ^ow free and able to follow the bent of your own will ' Chly"^ neither wholly free nor conspicuously happy S^e It'' ^yJ'^ T\'^ °"' *" y°"' ^y '-'' '' ^"tfrely different. Your husband is a man that any self-respecting woman could look up to even if she did not care or hSf for him. He has everything to win a woman, and you had a great chance of happiness. You have thrown that chance ^ away. What do you propose to put in its ; I did not expect you to talk like that, Mrs. Prentice.' .nH T ^ u ^. "'^'^^^ *^'"*y y^ars older than you and I have been educated in a hard school. I know whS I am talking about. You have done a foolish-I had ^y help.^ ^ ^°''' '^ y°^ ^^'' ""^' ^^ ^* ^o«Jd be J ^r. "°' ^!i^} '' *^^ ''^^ ^^* t^ing I could or would do. It would kiU me with humiliation. If he wishrs me 26o THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER he can seek me. I will never hold myself so cheap as that to any man, even though he is — or has been — my husband.' Mrs. Prentice looked at her perplexedly. How well she understood her point of view, how she could follow her step by step on the thorny way ! ' Well, let us suppose that the step is irrevocable, though I do not take that view, remember. What is it you propose to put in the place of the destiny on which you have turned your back ? ' ' I have turned my back — not on destiny, but merely on an episode,' repUed Christine hghtly, feeling that the worst was over. ' Well, there is surely something I can do here. I could devote myself to the Cause, help you perhaps — without payment, of course. I have still the small income which I told you about before. With strict economy could I not make it do and begin my Ufe on fresh Unes ? ' ' Yes,' replied Mrs. Prentice, ' I suppose you could — at least you must now try, I have said all I wish to say — all indeed that I can say. I think you have been unwise and that very soon — sooner probably than you think — you will regret the step you have taken. But I don't wish to banish you from my side, and just at present, as it happens, you can be of immense help to me. I have no secretary, and look at that huge pile of stuff. What you had better do first is to return to your hotel and bring your luggage here. If you will touch that bell I shall inquire whether you can at once have a room.' She laid aside the grave, pleading, half-tender manner, and once more became a pract ;al voTTian of affairs. The change delighted Christ irit, ".nd hex spirits rose. There was no difficulty about the roor.a. One on the same floor with Mrs. Prentice was offered, and terms were quickly arranged. In view of the fact that Mrs. Prentice had i LL 1 FTER elf so cheap as has been — my How well she ould follow her is irrevocable, er. What is it sstiny on which ny, but merely eeling that the )mething I can ause, help you have still the e. With strict gin my life on you could — at '. wish to say — ve been unwise n you think — , But I don't : at present, as :o me. I have >f stuff. What to your hotel ill touch that : once have a iender manner, )f affairs. The s rose. There the same floor 5 were quickly Prentice had THE COLD LIGHT OF REASON 261 been so long an inmate of the house these were moderate Chnstme saw herself with a margin left when her weekly board should be paid. But, above all, she saw herself once more an mdependent person with definite work to do, some caU to usefulness in the world, in a far more congema sphere than any she had moved in since her father s death. Her dreams were indeed xoseate. As she w f r* *S ^'^"^^ *^^ '^^^^ ^'^ ^^^^^ ^^' l"§eage from the hotel, Mrs. Prentice detained her by a question. I suppose you left a message for your husband before you quitted the Manse ? ' 'No definite message,' she answered with some slight confusion I toid the servant I was going away for a long period— that was all.' y ^^ «* ' ^ou did not give any thought to his anxiety-perhaps you do not even believe that he wiU be anxious ? ' I did not think about that. But he will not be anxious for of course he knows that I am perfectly cap- able of taking care of myself.' ^ ' That is not the point, but there-I will let Mr. Grier know that you are here.' ' You will write to nim ? ' said Christine, looking dis- mayed. I don't know that I particularly wish him to know my address.' fh'J^^'^^ f* /'^'* i'* ^^"^ ^"°^ *^^t yo'^ ^e safe and evil ifT ^«^^<^ng after you. So much is due to the man, even if he were the worst husband in the world instead hL '"^:.i^' ^^T ;'' ^ ""^'y ^^'^^ °"e'' she said good- humouredly. ' I knew M^hat you wish to ask-it is how I behaved m similar circumstances. Once more I have to say the case was totally different. Our arrangement was badm ""T'tu ^^^'' ^'^'' "^ unspeakable misery, ba^y endured. 1 here was neither surprise nor anxiety- hardly even a regret on either side.' .nS'f ^^' 'f- ^'^''^" dismissed and went somewhat soberly downstairs. She had achieved the summit nf .11 "I.v 262 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER her immediate desires, and was now practically under Mrs. Prentice's care, pledged to her service. But the innate conviction that Mrs. Prentice disapproved of her action somewhat took the edge off her satisfaction. The moment she was left alone Mrs. Prentice filled up a telegraph-form, and rang for a messenger to see to its immediate dispatch. It was for the minister of Strath- ardle, and it merely said that Mrs. Grier had arrived at her hotel, and that a letter was on the way. It was a Christian and a womanly act, for which the heart of an agonised — almost despairing — man was deeply grateful, A sentence, added as an afterthought, prevented him from setting out at once for London. That sentence was ' Wait for letter.' He did wait, and it reached him at noon next day. It was not from Christine — as he had half- expected it would be — but it was from the woman whom he had blamed in the first instance for unsettling his wife's mind. Years after, Christine saw that letter and shed some tears over it. But it was long before she even knew that it had been written. The letter ran as follows : — Whitefield's Hotel, London, Decembtr 19—. Dear Mr. Grier, — Long ere this you will have received my telegram relieving your immediate anxiety concerning your wife. I write these few lines to supplement that telegram, though it seems strange that I should interfere. This is so grave a matter, however, that one cannot be guided by the ordinary rules of conduct, which of course forbid interfer- ence between husband and wife. In a crisis much can be forgiven. I was immensely surprised when Mrs. Grier arrived at my rooms this morning; for, when I left Strathardle two days ago it was in the belief that her brief discontent had passed, and that she was going to settle down to a fresh view of life and work. She has told me what has happened in the interval, PER itically under e disapproved r satisfaction, itice filled up to see to its ter of Strath- ad arrived at ly. It was a e heart of an 2ply grateful, ited him from tee was ' Wait him at noon he had half- woman whom msettling his id shed some ^en knew that lOTEL, Decembtr 19 — . have received oncerning your that telegram, e. This is so guided by the forbid interfer- much can be arrived at my irdle two days nt had passed, ;sh view of life in the interval, THE COLD LIGHT OF REASON 263 and though it seems of course all very small to me, I readily understand that it was easily exaggerated by a temperament like Christine's. I have not very much to say, and that I will say quickly. I thmk you should leave her here meanwhile. To rush after her will, I know, be your natural impulse, but it is necessary that she should be made to feel the brunt of what she has done, and that she should realise the value of all she has turned her back upon. Her nature, though fine and capable of great things, is wholly undisciplined, and nothing but an experience which has some bitterness in it will teach her. If you will intrust her to me for a little while I will see that, if possible, she is disillusioned regarding what she calls the in- dependent life. It is not the life for women Uke her— it is only for those who have lost all else. That is the view I take. It is a life in which an unhappy woman may find solace, but not one which will ever fill up the empty spaces of the heart. Christine's heart is not yet awakened. She knows nothing of life or duty or responsibility, and she must be taught. I look forward to the day when she will return to you a better woman. Very probably you have made some mistakes in your dealing with her— the mistakes that would be natural to a man like you, educated in a certain groove and unwilling to accept new conditions. These new conditions, however, have come to stay, and all the relations of life will have to be adjusted to meet them. But the new era will not destroy home life it will make of it a nobler, wider, and more beautiful thing. It is for that 1 and my comrades work. Christine will never stand the life of struggle and stress as it has been known to me and others — she craves too much for beauty and light. She will quickly learn, however, that these are to be found- not in the arena, but by the fireside and in the quiet places from which heaven is more easily approached. I hope that I make myself clear, and that I appear to you something better than a member of a shrieking sisterhood, seeking chaos and selfish advancement, or than a mere vision- ary with her eyes on the clouds. I am a woman who has suffered very much— who in the dearest relations of her life had been cruelly disillusioned ; and it is because I know the limitations of a lot such as mine that I will shield Christine. She shall return to you some day. Try to wait for that day! 264 THE ONE WHO CAMii AFTER Your silence at this juncture will be better for her than any pleading on your part. She must find herself. Forgive the length at which I have written. One other matter, and I have done. Don't send any money. If it is required I will not fail to let you know. She has enough for necessaries, and it is not wise just at present that she should ive in luxury. She must be allowed to know the ugliness of life for those who have little to live upon. That is part of the price she must pay for the freedom after which she is wildly groping with both hands outstretched. Poor child, she has to be convinced that none of us are-or ever can be-free, and that the inexorable law of life is that we should depend one upon the other from the cradle to the grave. I repeat that your wife will be safe here, and that, while I must walk wanly before her, I am wholly on your side, and that whatever service I can render to you shall be rendered as whole-heartedly and faithfully as if you were my brother This requires no thanks. It is no more than part of the daily duty knocking at the door.— Yours sincerely, Carlotta Prentice. Grier, wide-eyed and haggard, read that letter in the garden at the Manse and again in the study with the sheet spread out before him, conning every word as if it had been a living evangel. Such, iuJeed, it was to him m that moment of his desperate need. When the old postman returned with Jess for the Manse bag, he received both a telegram and a- letter In the letter Grier poured out his heart to the woman whom he had misjudged, misunderstood, and despised Mrs. Prentice read it at the breakfast-table that she shared with Christine, smiled a little unsteadily, and shpped it m silence into her pocket. ' That is one difficult matter satisfactorily disposed of my dear. Now we must make haste. We are due sx a meeting at headquarters at half-past ten. It will be a lively one, I promise you, for they have aU been at logger- heads while I have been away.' CHAPTER XXI A WOMAN GROWN The headquarters of the Women's Union were in Essex Street, Strand, whither they drove in a cab. Mrs. Prentice spent her money freely on such small luxuries, realising — what most women are slow to do — that in certain circum- stances small economies prove most expensive. Mrs. Prentice had arrived at an age when she had to husband her strength. ' I want you to listen, observe closely, and take notes where you think it necessary — especially where any facts and figures are concerned,' she said to Christine. ' I can no longer trust my memory. They are going to find fault with me to-day. I have had a hint from Lillah Carteret.' ' Why ? ' ' Well, they think I am too long and too often out of town, but it has become increasingly necessary for me to have respite from these affairs and relief from my com- rades. My soul demands it.' ' Your soul ? ' said Christine hesitatingly. • Well — I get overtired. You saw from our work last night what an immensity of detail one has to grapple with in a Society like ours. And unfortunately not one item can be ignored or postponed.' ' But if you had help — capable help, I mean — the work would not be a burden. I am sure many of the members ■^rould be only too glad to come to the rescue.' 266 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' I know that, but 1 have hitherto preferred to work alone. It is better— if not necessa y indeed— for a woman of my temperament to be a good deal alone. I Uke women. I have given up my life so far to them, but— between ourselves-there are moments when I get very tired of their limitations, their almost parochial outlook ' She spoke with a Uttle twinkle of the eye which almost behed the serious import of her words. At times there was a curious air of detachment about her, as if she were beckoned by otlicr and graver interests and regarded present duties merely as a means of fiUing up time. When they reached Essex Street, however, and the meeting began, her energies seemed to become more alert and she quickly dominated the women who were present.' She and Christine were a few minutes late, and Mrs Prentice with a word of greeting to her comrades imme- diately t jok the chair. When the minutes of the last meeting had been read and approved. Miss Braithwaite rose to move a resolution that a small sub-committee be appointed with absolute powers to deal with any urgent affairs which might arise during the frequent absences of the president. The motion roused a good deal of heated discussion to which Mrs. Prentice listened in perfect silence, leaning back in her chair, her strong, fine proiile thrown into relief against the clear greyness of the winter day. Christine once more observed the air of detachment, but the moment she rose to peak it passed, and . .r languid in^ rest was quickened into life. She touched lightly yet with deft sure less on the weak points of the resolution, while admitting that it was not wholly uncalled-for. 'My faults are those of my character and temperament and I cannot alter them even if I would,' she said frankly. I will not, however, be a figurehead, and if ie sub- committee be appointed by your majority then it will :r ;d to work )r a woman tie. I like lem, but — I get very outlook.' lich almost imes there i she were I regarded ne. , and the nore alert, "e present. and Mrs. des imme- been read resolution 1 absolute light arise int. The to which ? back in ef against tine once ! moment erest was s on the lat it was )erament, I frankly. he sub- n it will A WOMAN GROWN 267 have full powers to conduct the whole work of the Society. I cannot be called to account for every trifling aberration from the set rules of the Society. I was bom a free-lance, and a free-lance I must remrun. I am willing to resign — more than willing indeed — tor of late I have felt myself unable to overtake all the duties which pertain to the office of your president. Hard work — which used to be the wine of life to me — has become something >f a burden. If you accept my resignation you may rest assured of my continued and deep interest iu the affairs of the Women's Union. But in the near future the struggle is Ukely to be severe, and it is probable that a younr^er president — one more amenable to methods anc. trad...ons — would more successfully pilot the barque of progress through difficult waters. I beg to tender my resignation to-day, though I may add that I am perfectly willing to act until a suitable successor can be found.' The announcement, so quietly made, evoked a perfect storm of dismayed protests. It had been totally un- expected. Even the younger set, jealous of Mrs. Prentice's power and resentful of her always arbitrary ways, realised the irreparable loss her withdrawal would be to their Society. In fact the idea of her severance from them was not to be entertained i( - a moment. An indescribable hubbub ensued, excited voices filled the air, and it was some time befor. ti -^ members com- posed themselves to listen to any sane utterance. It came from Helen Braithwaite, who after much travail of soul had moved the resolution which practically amounted to a vote of censure on their president. She was an admirable speaker, who never lost her head or wandered from the point. Christine was filled with admiration for the graceful and effective way in which she handled a difficult situation and evolved order out of chaos. The discussion ended, as was to be expected, in the complete rehabilitation of Mrs. Prentice. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) &^ ^

- ^'' >^' fei f/- 1.0 I.I ■ 50 """^ 11.25 2.5 |22 U III 1.6 I Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 \ m <^.^ "^ # i/.A ^ % i ! 268 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER The business of the SnnVfT/ «.o^ *i, «d disposed of item by uS^ J?he r«*f'H"f ''' "'" the fashionablf the fn-If ^^*^"™^- The weU-dressed. with the do^;; meTZTl ""'"' '''''' ''^' ^y ^'^^ professional ^orkWwolT "" '^^'^^ ^^"°^^«- The looks, and the vo^fnr ;/''"'P^'"°"^ ^y ^^r strenuous the age. werJals^ /St utfT ^^^^f ^"^^^ of intelhgent women. IS verv^tL i^'""^ °^ °'^""^' those who might anvdT! u^ V"" ^PP^^rance from matinde or rconcert^an7rh !''" ^°'^^"^ ^"* ^^^^ a of the freak: Ts o^VLd SX ''- *'' ''^ had already permeated aH hL . Women's Movement apart of itsh^fe ^'''' °^ '°"^*y ^"^ become SevLrof trieadersL:'r. the meeting terminated. Prentice and t "aSe ^^^^ S° 'T''^^'' ^-• able headship could natZ^f ^""^^^ ^^^^^^^ ^^^ whic* she Jeiv-S a^^,:,— li:ar ""»' Cartit Mr^'u*''; '-*"^'' ' ^h^ observed t Ladv cuf rios^'oTt^ir/av^'B^r^""; *?''^ ^°- ^h- you are saying Who k this P ^^ '^°" ' "^''"™ "^^t in a puSm ™icV"" '" '''"^ ^ ' '"'"^^ ^^^y Carteret member she was Miss Breck then p'"^^' °"* y™ ''" Oh yes, of course. WeU, bring her with you to my J_U A WOMAN GROWN 269 reception. I'll send her a card— Mrs. Grier is it? I'll write down the name, as my memory is quite shocking.' When Lady Carteret had bustled away, Mrs. Prentice, who seemed tired, asked Christine to gather their belong- ings together. ' We'll go and lunch somewhere at hand. Then you can go home. I have an engagement in the Regent's Park,' she said as she pushed her fingers through her short hair — a habit of hers when her mind was tired after much strenuous thought. They walked out into the Strand and entered Gatti's restaurant, where Mrs. Prentice seemed to be known and to have a special seat. ' I might have asked Lillah to lunch, but I have had enough of them all for one day. Well, what did you think of it all ? ' ' It interested me immensely, of course. What a wonder- ful power you have over them all ! What a triumph it was for you ! ' ' Did you think so ? Well, I am in doubt myself. I don't suppose I shall be much longer with them. I have other claims upon me. The moment thes? become in- sistent the Society must release me. It is only a question of time.' ' But it would be a shame to leave them after to-day when they were all so loyal to you. They are only anxious to save you — did you not see that ? ' ' Oh yes, that was right enough— but there is a section to whom I am anathema. Jealousy ?— well, I suppose it is. It is a very feminine and forgivable quality. And the younger women must have a chance. It would be quite fatal for any cause to be wholly invested in one person. It could have no real hold on the world in that case, I mean. Granted that one person may inspire the beginnings, that is an honour I have never achieved, though I have kept it alive and made it a power, I believe. 270 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER But you can see for yourself how it is spreading and what a new force womanhood is becoming in the world ' About this election at Borehampton-wiU you really go there t asked Christine quickly. 'Why yes^ That is merely a part of the day's work. We shall go dov/n. probably on Monday, and spend four days there, retummg in time for Lady Carteret's party to the Labour leaders. I won't see the election out. I only wish to take a small part in it-to put the Women's Cause m evidence, as it were. Do you comprehend ? ' ' Yes.' Rr J.i?''T'°ru f *^^ f ^^"' S'^^^^y advocated by Helen Braithwaite-that we should make ourselves a nuisance, demanding consideration at every point. Bv such a aZr.r/^.°"M "^T*1 *^^ ^^^ P«°P^^ ^^^ant to . attract and should put back the clock a good many hours.' Miss Braithwaite seemed to think to-day that every other method had failed.' said Christine, looking somZ what anxiously across the table at her companion's face which seemed unusually pale and tired. ' She's wrong. It's education that wome- -nt on this particular point-the power to realise )onsibility. Then quieter influences will do their work, as" they have done through every crisis in the woild's history The braggart and the sword have undoubtedly done a good deal for England in the past, but who shall write the record of the power that makes no noise ? ' This style of deliverance was so different from that to which Christme had listened Ju Edinburgh a ypir ago that she could not help wondering what had happened in the interval to change Mrs. Prentice's point of view Then the note had been mihtant. if not triumphant-a real trumpet-caU to arms, if women were to obtain the justice and the recognition which they sought in the pohtical sphere. ' I know what you are thinkixig, Christine,' said Mrs. A WOMAN GROWN 271 Prentice quietly. 'And you are right. I am leaving them behird. It is what every soul must do here — go on by stages until the last is reached. I shall. I foresee, soon withdraw myself from the active part I have taken in the Women's Movement and leave its forwarding to others.' ' But why, for surel}- you are still interested ? ' ' Of course, and always will be ; but as I said before, other claims will become insistent. Perhaps you will be able — who knows ? — to take my place.' ' I ! Oh no,' said Christine hastily. ' I could not imagine myself talking Uke Miss Braithwaite. Besides I am too ignorant. I did not comprehend the half that was said to-day.' ' It was a strange tongue to you/ said Mrs. Prentice, leaning her arms on the table and looking across at her. ' Yes, thank you, I have eaten all I want. My material needs seem to be easily satisfied at present. It is so when the soul is in a tumult. I wonder what your destiny will be, and through how many epochs your soul will pass to peace.' Clwiistine looked a little startled. The woman of affairs was once more merged in the visionary, who seemed to gaze into the future with the eyes of a seer. She per- ceived that she knew very little of this strange woman, who travelled in circles totally unfamiUar and undreamed- of by the person of ordinary mind and experience. A sort of awe seemed to creep over Christine, such as one might feel in the presence of a person about to be called to some experience beyond human ken. Seeing that look of bewilderment, Mrs. Prentice recalled herself with an evident effort from the abstraction of her thoughts and tried to induce Christine to eat a good luncheon. A little fish, a morsel of bread, and a glass of water, however, made the sum total of her own meal. Very soon they found themselves in the Strand once more, where Mrs. Prentice called a hansom and gave an .! H' 272 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER address in Avenue Road. It was a long drive, during which Mrs. Prentice did not speak much. When they stopped in the quiet road before a tall house, enclosed within walls which hid it completely from the public gaze. Mrs. Prentice alighted hurriedly and with the air of one who was in haste to enter. 'The cabman will take you right home. I will pay him now,' she said quickly. ' If you have anything you would like to do this afternoon just leave the things in my room and go out. I don't know when I shall return, but probably it will be late.' Christine assented, and she leaned out of the cab as Mrs. Prentice approached the door in the wall. Then she saw two words written above the gateway— Theosophicai Society. She was conscious of a singular feeling of isolation and loneliness as she continued her drive to Gower Street. For the first time a doubt of her wisdom in having thrown herself so entirely on Mrs. Prentice crossed her mind. She had been kind and interested, as an old woman might be in a younger one to whom her personaUty somewhat appealed. But that in itself did not constitute sufficient claim on her. Christine's face flushed a little at the thought that she had made that claim insistent— had presumed too much on what was, after all, a very slight acquaintance. Mrs. Prentice had no real need of her services, but had merely created a post to suffice for the time being. And they were actually far apart— not only in experience, but in outlook and aim. She had that day obtained a gUmpse into a mind whose depths she could neither fathom nor share. Christine had heard of Theosophy. Its tenets had sometimes been alluded to, if not actually discussed, at the gatherings of the Clan ; but beyond the fact that it was a philosophy having for its aim the propagation of some form of the Iiigher thought, some claimed advance on present-day belief, she knew nothing of its doctrines or its devotees. PER drive, during When they •use, enclosed e public gaze, he air of one I will pay anything you the things in shall return, le cab as Mrs. n she saw two icai Society, isolation and ower Street, iving thrown d her mind, raman might ty somewhat ute sufficient little at the isistent — had I very slight need of her iffice for the rt — not only mind whose 5. Christine letimes been atherings of L philosophy form of the present-day ts devotees. A WOMAN GROWN 273 She now surmised, however, what Mrs. Prentice had meant by her allusion to other claims, and she had no doubt that her total absorption by the Theosophists was only a question of time, ^ Cariotta Prentice was a woman outside the sphere of ordinary experience— one who could not even be judged by ordinary standards. Once in a while such minds are created, but what their actual achievement or ultimate destiny may be we are not permitted to know. Though actuated by the highest motives and always prepared for sacnfice, they can never be happy souls. In their flight from pinnacle to pinnacle of experience, searching for truth, they doubtless accomphsh something for the benefit of the race which shall hereafter be revealed. All this was so new and painful to Christine that the feeling of isolation and estrangement grew. As she was whiried through the throng of the streets a species of terror of London seized her. It was so vast so cruel, so unheeding, and sh3 so smaU an atom that surely she must inevitably be crushed. She M'as at the moment hke a small craft without rudder or compass or any means of Q. ♦lermining her ultimate haven. The atmosphere of the residential hotel was not much calcinated to dispel this feeling of loneliness. No one sa^v her enter, but as she was on the stairs the German waiter came out of the dining-room, rubbing a glass with nis towel and stuttering some message for her. ^ ' A gentleman called for me ! ' she exclaimed in surprise Are you sure? I am not expecting any one.' ' Yes, madam. His card is on the table in the sitting- room. He said he would call again after lunch.' She hastened upstairs and grasped the piece of paste- board lying on the edge of the table. Then a smile of genmne reUef and pleasure overspread her face as she read the simple superscription of one of her oldest friends- James Dudley Grant, R.S.A., Edinburgh. i 274 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' Jimmy ! ' she exclaimed joyfully. ' How has he come here or found me, I wonder ? It is unbelievable.' She was joyously excited and, throwing off her jacket, stationed herself at the window to watch for him. She was quickly rewarded. In about ten minutes' time she beheld the small, weird, slouching figure of the artist crossing the road in a slanting direction. A few seconds more and he was in the room. ' Jimmy, how in the world did you find me here ? ' ' Quite easily. I went to Emily Wickham and got Mrs. Prentice's address, guessing she would know where you were.' ' But how did you know I was 'n London at all ? ' ' Why, because Grier ^yired to us to ask whether we knew anything about you.' Christine looked blank as she dropped into a chair. * Why should he wire to you, asking where I was ? ' A slow grin flitted for a moment across Jimmy's face. ' Well, I suppose he wanted to know where you were, and we were one of the mediums. May I smoke here, or is it anath'^ma ? ' He looked round uncomfortably, as if in need of some- thing to enable him to feel at home. ' This is not my room ; but I dare say Mrs. Prentice won't mind, and anyhow she won't be home for ever so long. When did you come up ? ' ' Arrived this morning at seven,' answered Jimmy laconically. ' Didn't sleep and feel beastly tired in con- sequence. Well now, what's the meaning of this ? Maclure would have come with me, but he's doing a por- trait and had his last sittings this week. Man from Melbourne, a Scot, mad on things Scottish — happily for Maclure on Scottish artists too, giving him five hundred for the job. But it's good, you bet it is — the best thing Maclure has done.' Jimmy was undoubtedly nervous — it would not hide. Jed of some- A WOMAN GROWN 275 Christine leaned against the end of the hard settee and looked at him, half delighted, half afraid. She was so glad to see him that she did not know how to express herself, but she was also a little afraid. Another catechist awaited her and she did not know how she was to find answers for the numbers as they came. Grier seems demented, Christine,' said Jimmy with the little catch in his voice which threatened to become a stutter of emotion. ' What did you do it for anyhow ? Hang it all, even the ordinary family jar doesn't end like this.' ' There wasn't any jar,' replied Christine calmly. ' But I had had enough of it, and I thought a change would be good for all parties.' ' Oh— but Christine— it won't wash— work, I mean. And you know it. That's the worst of matrimony— it has to be gone on with. You remember we tried to point that out to you beforehand, but now that you have done it you have got to stick to your guns,' ' But why ? ' ' Why, because it isn't respectable to do anything else,' said poor Jimmy desperately. ' So I have come to take you back.' Christine set her shoulders rebelliously. ' No, you haven't, Jimmy. I didn't remain out in the world long enough, but that was not my fault— it was his. He took a sort of mean advantage of me when Uncle Davie died. I mean he knew I was feeling upset, and he promised that everything should be right. Well, it didn't turn out as he promised, and he wouldn't let me live as I liked.' 'Christine, I don't want details. Besides being un- necessary, they're generally dull. They are apt to shame us when we look back. Avoid them when possible. It's the fact we're concerned with— Maclure and Hately and Jeanie and me. Jeanie's down with pneumonia, or she would have been here instead of me. But we're all of one mind on the point that you have got to go back.* t 276 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' I won't — not till my own time comes } and il he wants me he can come after me.' It was so wholly a woman's speech that Jimmy smiled under cover of his stubbly moustache. ' I don't think he will. He hasn't got that dour jaw for nothing, and besides it isn't his place to make the first advances. You're the aggressor in this case and will have to give in. Can you be ready to-morrow morning, and we'll make a night of it at one of the theatres and have supper afterwards at the Savoy for old time's sake ? ' ' I'd love the theatre and the Savoy, but I don't buy my liberty at the price, Jimmy. It's good and dear of you to come after me like this, and I love you for it. But you might just as well not have come as far as I'm concerned. I have got to fight this thing out myself.' ' But we have the right to have a look in, Christine. Your father left you to us.' ' No, he didn't,' replied Christine promptly. ' He left me to Alan Grier.' Suddenly she put her hands before her face and burst into a passion of tears. ' Why did he do it ? It was to please him I married Alan Grier, Jimmy, and look at me now I Everything's gone wrong, and I'm the most miserable girl in the whole wide world.' Three more days did Jimmy Grant stop in London with the object of persuading Christine to go back. She eluded him on the third by departing to Borehampton with Mrs. Prentice on an electioneering campaign, the excitement of which was sufl&cient to banish her own troubles from her mind for the time being. Jimmy returned to report to the Clan— a sadder,, if not a wiser man. ' She's a woman grown, lads,' was all he said, * and we can't do anything for her now except stand by, and if need be, step in if there should be a desperate chance.' CHAPTER XXII THE FLEETING SHOW * I don't feel equal to Lady Carteret's party this evening, Christine, and you will have to go alone,' said Mrs. Prentice as they were driving from King's Cross to Gower Street on the evening of their return from Borehampton. ' I should not care to go without you. It is of no consequence whether I am there or not. You certainly look frightfully tired. Why will you work so hard? What end was served at Borehampton this week ? ' ' Oh, some good will come of it. We had a good hearing, and I think people are beginning to realise that we are something a little higher than a shrieking sister- hood. How stale the old words are becoming ! Our opponents will have to evolve some new phrases. How did you like the experience on the whole ? ' ' I did not care for it,' t: ^'led Christine with her accus- tomed frankness, ' though I see quite well what fascina- tion it might have for a certain type of mind.' ' You would be a power, Christine, if you joined us. You have striking and winning looks, and I am certain you could speak well. I should like to see you enrolled with Lillah Carteret, Mary Lancing and the rest. If you had a definite post in the Union it would make a great deal of difference to your feeling in the matter.' ' I am not ripe for any such post, Mrs. Prentice, and I fear I never shall be.' * Then I have not imbued you with any enthusiasm ? 277 '■'•! ■IV' 278 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Well, in the circumstances perhaps I am not much sur- prised.' There was a momentary silence. Then Mrs. Prentice spoke of an entirely different matter. ' Did you notice a man on Captain Digby's platform last night j sitting on his right hand— a clean-shaven man with rather a strong face and a peculiar depth of expres- sion in his eyes ? ' ' Yes. I noticed him.' ' I should hke to know his name. I hoped he would have spoken. I don't think much of the average poli- tician, and Digby's supporters were of the conventional type. That man, however, was different. I want to know who he was.' It will be rather difficult to learn anything about him now, I am afraid.' ' Oh no, we shall meet. One always knows these things. He has some part to play either in your destiny or in mine — probably in yours.' Christine turned to look with some incredulity at her companion's face, but she was unrewarded. Its expies- sion was quite impassive. ' How strangely you speak I Do you really believe in the sort of thing you are hinting at ? Have you ever proved that destiny is foreshadowed in that fashion ? ' 'Why, yes. Our own connection, now, is a case in point. That night in Edinburgh after we met at Emily Wickham's house I said to her, " I shall have some power over that child's life." But I assure you I had no desire to exercise it. We can't escape, however— it is destiny.' Once more Christine felt a cold chill repelling her and driving her heart to a quick rebellion. It was freedom she had sought and boldly claimed, but if this woman's experience was worth anything then the quest was abso- lutely futile, since freedom, real and tangible, did not exist. ' You must make yourself smart for Lady Carteret's THE FLEETING SHOW 279 to-night, and you will enjoy yourself. She likes you, and she will pay you some attention. I shall lie down for an hour when we reach home, and then we can dine together. I expect some one to come and see me this evning, and I shall be happier thinking of you at Lillah's than sitting in your own room.' Dominated in every particular by the stronger will of Mrs. Prentice, Christine dressed herself with some care and about nine o'clock drove off in a hansom to Lady Carteret's house in Great Cumberland Place. She had somewhat recovered her spirits, and she looked forward to the new experiences she was about to encounter with the liveliest interest. The last week had been so full of novel happenings that she had not had a moment in which to brood upon her own affairs. She was always conscious of discomfort when the thought of Lochardle Manse obtruded itself, and she was feverishly anxious to have her time and thoughts so fully occupied as to pre- clude such obtrusion. But Jimmy Grant, in spite of the doleful failure of his mission, had implanterl several stings. There was no throng about Lady Carteret's house, such as there is at a great house entertaining in the season. Christine was hardly aware that the London season, as understood of those familiar with the cycle of the months in the fashionable world, had ended with the summer and would not begin again until February. Lady Carteret, who loathed the quiet of the country, lived most of the year at her town house and entertained in the winter all sorts and conditions of persons. She was intensely fond of thus exercising her hospitality, and being rich, had full power to indulge herself in it. She was a dabbler in many arts, wrote a little for the magazines, painted an occasional picture which was never refused admission in whatever quarter she wished it exhibited, and took an interest in politics, speaking now and then on public platforms in aid of the Women's Cause. Her r I 280 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER first husband, Sir Edward Carteret, had been an ambas- abroad. After a few years of widowhood she had marriS sh tveZTTT'^ "r^ ^^"^" Hawke^with Ton. She hved in perfect amity, retaining her title. They were very happy together, interfered not at aU with 7ne another's pursu ts, and presented to the world rpkture ot matrimonial felicity. i^^v-iuic vam^J^'T T *^' y^"d^^vo«s of aU sorts of people- pol ticaJ free-lances, hterary and artistic Bohemians phiianthropists and faddists of different kinds, and was also the social headquarters of the Women's Movement use oTtr^'^'^r^ ""^ ^^"^^°"^ ^"d "^^^^ refused the use of her rooms for any cause that needed assistance. Christine was astonished at the grandeur of the house when she stepped within the marble portico and wL received by a magnificent personage in litery. The lowS ha 1 was crowded, and the beautiful staircase presen ed a kaleidoscope of colour and movement. It was some con! siderable tmie before Christine was able to makeTer way to the upper landing, where Lady Carteret was receiving her guests Mr. Garrett Hawkes-a benevolent-Too5n| elderly gentleman— by her side. ^ooKing fnl^^-"^^' magnificently attired in black velvet with tnmrmngs of costly lace emblazoned with many je^ls. But though her appearance was that of a grandl dame her manners were very cordial and sincere. The moment she saw Christine approaching she smiled her brighTesT Prenti^? '''^ ^^"""'^ '"^ ''' •^°^' ^^* ^^^^^ ^' Mrs. hJ!!^ "^^^ f°'' *i''^ *° '°"'^' We came up from Bore- ha^pton only at six o'clock. She sent her love ^d begged to be excused.' 'I'm disappointed -indeed I am. Garrett let me introduce you to Miss-no. Mrs. Alan Grier. That is t^e name correctly, isn't it? Quite a triumph for me to THE FLEETING SHOW 281 remember it who am a natural idiot at names I Talk to her for a little, Garrett, and don't let her get out of sight. There are heaps of people I want to introduce her to presently when I am released.' Mr. Hawkes smiled and, stepping to Christine's side, asked her a few pleasant questions about her sojourn in London, making himself agreeable with the ease of a man of the world who also possessed a kind heart. While she was talking Christine kept watching ascending guests, fascinated by the scene, and contrary to her expectation, feeling herself quite at home in it She saw one or two familiar faces of women who had it at the Essex Street headquarters and noted how trying to the appearance of some of them were the bright lights and the elegant attire of the majority of the guests. Helen Braithwaite saw her presently, and with a nod made her way to her side. ' How do you do ? We were wondering whether you had come up from Borehampton. What sort of a week have you had ? Is Mrs. Prentice here ? ' 'No, she was too tired. We only came up this evening.' ' Well, she has spoken a good deal as we saw from the papers. What was your reception like— not so hostile as you expected ? ' ' No, it was not hostile at all, except at one or two of t^e open-air meetings. But there is nothing to be hostile about, is there ? ' she asked. ' It is a perfectly reason- able and legitimate thing we are asking.' ' So we think, and to that point of view we are trying to educate the world,' replied Miss Braithwaite. * How did you get on with the candidates ? Did you meet them privately ? ' * Mr. Letchworth only— not Captain Digby.' ' Oh, Letchworth is all right— at least he has promised fairly. It is a pity you didn't get a chance of speaking 'I 282 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER to Captain Digby. I know him a little. He is against us. of course-he has aU the traditions of his race behind him.' At that moment Christine could only give her a half- ^vided attention, for her eye was arrested by a man on the stairs whom she seemed to recognire, though for the moment she was puzzled to recall where she had seen him He had a well-built figure though not very tall, and earned himself with a singular dignity and grace. His face, clean-Ghaven and keen-featured, was redeemed from sternness by a nobility of expression which created an immediate and favourable impression even on those who did not know him or who met him for the first time Attired in ordinary evening-dress, he had two orders pmned on his breast denoting distinguished service of IZ^ r^-^ i"'* .^' ^^ ""^^^"^ ^^ hostess, Christine remembered that he was the man who had accompanied Captam Digby to the platform -..t Borehampton on the previous evening and of whom Mrs. Prentice had spoken Unconsciously she moved a step nearer their hostess! hoping she would be able to catch his name. But she was disappointed, for Lady Carteret, receiving him with evident pleasure, merely addressed him as John. ' Now I call this good of you. Your mother dined here I suppose you know, and she said she had not heard from you and feared you were too much engrossed with your electioneenng. How is Digby getting on ? ' ' Not so well last night. Lady Carteret,' replied the stranger. I think Letchworth will get in ' ' Ah, that's a pity. Well, don't get lost, for I've heaps to sf y to you. Ah, here is somebody I think you would hke to meet, and she has just come up from Borehampton train"^^"^ ^^^"^"g- Probably you travelled by the same She stepped towards Christine, beckoning her. ' Mrs. Grier, permit me to introduce Sir John Amory to you. He is the son of one of my oldest friends. I THE FLEETING SHOW 283 just missed being his mother, I may tell you, for his father and I were sweethearts when we were in petticoats. You must get to know one another. I think you would be friends,' Amory bowed low towards Christine and smiled into her face a frank, cordial smile which chased away the gravity from his face. Her heart beat a little more quickly, for it was to her o\^'n kin she spoke, and in his grave face she could trace a likeness to the sweet childish Hneaments of a pastel portrait which hung in an alcove of the drawing-room at South Plain. She felt pleased for the moment that he had no clue to her identity. It would be deUghtful to get to know him quite in the ordinary way and without prejudice. ' He's worth knowing, I promise you, Mrs. Grier,' said Lady Carteret, delightedly tapping his arm with her fan. ' He has just been knighted for some enormous service rendered to the Government in China. Make him tell you about it. Men are always most interesting — at their best, in fact — when they are on their own ground, talking about themselves. But he's too modest by half. I really believe, John, that you're blushing now.' Amory laughed outright, and Christine's eyes smiled back. She felt immediately and comfortably at home with him and looked forward to the next minutes with intense pleasure. How interesting life had suddenly become — each hour instinct with possibility and actual experience ; how dull looked the grey life of the far Scottish glen in comparison. ' Let us get a little out of the throng. I see an open room yonder not so crowded as the corridors and stair- cases. Where have we met before ? ' ' I don't think we have met,' said Christine frankly, * though I have seen you' ' Where ? ' ' At Eorehampton.' 4 284 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER 1 1^\ ^ political meeting I But I did not see you there I am sure,' he said in a puzzled voice ^ ' ioo^^^onio^,''^''Li::jV'''^'^''^ °^' ^"* y-- *»,-,+ 1- ■ moments at an open-air ffathprin., her T^^^ '^'^r^^ ''y ""'■ P^»«^« TwS beSf ner. i am her private secretary ' Yon I ■ '• ■^Whv T °° ''°"''* ^'^"* '^^ =«P™« in his voice kolced friendly even thougl Sw yl' JerT^'Urt uig Captam Digby, wlio opposes women in poUfe"'^'""" J^r:^ fi?a:"4sssVa5er - r iS^^S^i^e^J^^SiSS Side, and I promised to e.o down and «pp +h^ 7 "^omer s out of English politics myself ' *^' ^""' ^ ^ ' You Hve abroad ? ' said Christine interestedlv ^n fis I sM ii: Sfira" ' ™' ''°"' " «™«''°"S' »d I ^oppose :Kd::^arLrr,:inT- '-^^^^ they felt hke -h.t ' Til aa T^ ^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^ imagined .?.^?^LtoT^e7iiS--t-^^ THE FLEETING SHOW 285 ness which was one of her greatest charms. Up till now Amory, paying his first visit to England since he became a man, had been disappointed in the women he had met. The majority of them seemed to him artificial, conven- tional, and uninteresting, though he had not ventured to express himself to such effect. ' Then you like China ? ' ' I love it, and the Chinese are a great people. There is no doubt that they will become more and more one of the dominant races.' ' You think so ? How very interesting, and how ignorant we here are about them ! I have always thought of them as savages.' It was on the tip of her tongue to add that she marvelled at his high opinion of them after their base ingratitude to his own father, who had given his life to their service. But she restrained herself. It was a delicious excitement thus to play about on the surface of things and to re- serve as long as possible the announcement that she was his cousin. ' You have spent all your Hfe in China, then,' she said— not interrogatively but rather musingly, as if the idea puzzled and drew her. ' Yes. And this is my first visit to England.' ' And how does it all strike you ? Do you feel at home here ? ' ' Yes, that is one of the privileges of being an English- man, I suppose. I felt at home the moment I set foot on her shores. But I owe much to my mother, who has brought me up in the nurture and admonition of love for the mother country. I should like to introduce you to my mother presently, when you have told me something about yourself. Won't you tell me something ? ' His manner was irresistibly winning. Christine began to feel the spell of it, and a sudden unaccountable joyous- ness seemed to pervade her whole being. ^1 < Jj ^: 4 286 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER hereon sufeanct ''"' "''°'^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^ P-vincial private secretary to f ^"o^, how you come to be a extraordinarfpTrson on7TT. ^^' ^''- ^^^ntice^an a little aboutTer She HpI "T ^ -^^^P^" *° ^^^^ least spent part of her^ai^^n"^^^^ to-or at father'^ people ltd M^ L Vckf "L'T "^ strong, fine face, full of traeedv H.ri-; ^^^^^^^ ^ tragedy, I believe. T^o yoThL^fl^!^ ^^l ^''" ^ mately ? ' ^ nappen to know her inti- ; Yes-fairly so, though I have not known her lon^ ' Do you live in London yourself ? ' ^"^ ^^' ^°"^- youI:UeU Sty alL'Zr^ ''T'' ^^^^ ^- ' Is that wh^r^Tif. " ^* ^ ^"^ ^ Scotswoman ? ' more. But you must not r, ^f ^'. "°'' "^^ ^^^^ ^^ek the Chinese womaTis Zlh^^ 'T^ "^^^ *^^ ^^^^ ^^^t own sphere Wh o ^ ^ influence or status in her the hght^nkroVchinte rdl'LT^ ''''''''' '^ and that power is increas^ga^ Western Id^^^^ ^'"u ?°^^^' to permeate the masses ' ^deas are beginning thlt^^yo: rap';;ot:'^oT te W^^^'^.^ ^r ^^^ *- England.' ^^ * *^^ Women's Movement in Why. freedom and justice for women, of course' THE FLEETING SHOW 287 ere provincial 'But woman by reason of her womanhood is already entitled to these and wins them wherever she goes.' ' Oh no,' said Christine quickly. ' She suffers from all sorts of disabilities— legal, poUtical, and social.' ' Social ! ' repeated Amory, looking meaningly round. ' I should say from my experience of social life in England —though that of course has been necessarily limited by the short time I have spent in the country— that woman is the centre of the whole social system. You would not call Lady Carteret a slave, for instance.' he added with a little humorous curve of the lips which made his face almost merry. ' Mr. Hawkes looks as if he existed merrily to do her will.' 'Oh, the case of Lady Carteret and others like her doesn't prove anything. They are leaders of society to whom every gateway is open. It is for the great mass of working women we fight in order that their lives may be uplifted, and all the injustice under which they work and suffer removed.' She spoke rather warmly and with a heightened colour. Amory, watching her intently, felt himself becoming every moment more deeply interest ^d. 'You speak with some passion, Mrs. Grier. May I express the hope that you have not in your own experience suffered from the injustice of which you speak ? ' Christine lifted her eyes suddenly to his face with a half-frightened gleam in them. Then they fell in confusion. What could she say in reply to such a home question ? It was impossible to lay bare to this man of all men in the world the half-tragedy of her life. She felt intuitively that he would disapprove, t lat it would not be to her that his full and warm sympathy would go forth. And she wanted to stand well with him, though why, she could not have told. 'Oh, I am nobody,' she repeated a little confusedly. 288 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER 'I have not even the right to pass an opinion. I am merely a learner, a looker-on. Mrs. Prentice has been good enough to give me a Uttle secretarial work at^ in th^w" ^ ^'1f ''■ ^^' ^ ^ ^"^"^^"^^ly interested in the Women's Movement, and though I can't express rnysdf very weU, I do wish I could convince you th^t the Movement has been born of actual need. It is not a thZ. n'- "°' '•' l\ ^ P^''^"^ '"^^^ °" th« surface of sortfnf i '' ^ ""f^*^ ""''""* *^^* i^ S^^S to sweep aU sorts of changes mto our social order ' fn'I°"-T "^"'t^ ^^°^"'"^- ^ *°° ^"^ a looker-on open to conviction. I suppose I am opposed by hereditL Z^ f*^^^^ tendencies to changes of such a drastic kin^ hpr vnL ^ '^r^^^ '^^^ *? "^ee* ^^'' replied Christine, but her voice was low and a little faint. Amory looked down at her black dress, wondering remark the answer to which would either prove or dis- ^'?M.v ? TTi?" '"^^'■'^"^ ^"' P°^i*i°n in the world. I,. ^^y\^k whether you are a widow, like my mother ? ' he asked hesitatingly. ' T'il°'' T'^^^f S^stine clearly, even a little hardly. I am not a widow. ^ CHAPTER XXIII THE REAL THING Christine's heart was beating, her bosom heaving, when Amory with a word of apology left her to try to find his mother. Several persons, seeking a quiet nook, had dis- covered the room where she sat, but she took no heed of them. So far as she was concerned they did not exist. She was eager, yet reluctant, to see Amory's mother. She remembered every word that had been spoken about her by Grace Amory in her mother's room at Medwyn. Her son had spo..en of her as we speak of that which is sacred, embodying all the best towards which our con- sciousness reaches ; but in the same breath he had called her an old-fashioned woman. Christine now belonged by choice to the new order, and she wondered whether allegiance to its ranks carried with it forfeiture of the old privileges. There is no shrine in the open where the fighting goes on. Something new and disturbing, almost painful, stirred in Christine's heart. It must be sweet to be worshipped, to have voices lowered in tender accents of humility when one's name is mentioned, to kindle such light as she had seen in Amory's eyes when he spoke of his mother. She felt that she would like to shock him, to argue the question, to show him that she did not care. Upon this strange tumult of conflicting thought Amory's voice broke again across a narrow distance, expressing his pleasure in finding her where he had left her. His mother was with him. Christine stood up to receive her. She ; i \ ml 290 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER was a smaU. slight woman, gowned in black, soft and trailing, which gave a fictitious height to her few inches A widow's cap. very small and soft and white, rested on her beautiful hair which had not a thread of grey in it Her face was Madonna-like with large, soft eyes an exquisite colour, a sweet, smiling mouth. She was the daintiest thing Christine had ever seen, and she made a picture as she leaned on the arm of her son. whose figure seemed to have acquired height and dignity bv contrast For the first time in her hfe an unaccountable shyness seized upon Christine, and she could not find words with which to reply to Mrs. Amory's expression of pleasure at meetmg her. She murmured the conventional common- place while she stood aside to give her new acquaintance her chair. Amory stood by for a second only, and then with an intuition which rarely misled him, left them together, ni\fU^V^'L^^^^ ?"''^^''^' ^^'^""Sers in a gathering of this kmd, said Mrs. Amory as she put up her lorgnette to glance mterestedly round the pretty room. ' I suppose he has told you that to him at least England is something of a foreign country.' ° ; Yes but he speaks appreciatively of China. He has enjoyed his hfe there.' 'It is the only life he has known, and for me-I should not care to live in England now. My heart has become too deeply rooted in China, though I have had many sorrows there. Do you know that I have been the mother of five children and that my son is the only survivor ? ' How terrible for you! And how can you speak so kindly of a land that has robbed you of so much ? ' cried Chnstme hotly. ' Sit down, and let us talk.' said Mrs. Amory with her sweet, compelling smile, as she made room for Christine on her settee. ' I perceive that some friendship between us will be possible. It has saddened me that I have ina. He has that I have THE REAL THING 291 found so few with whom my heart feels at home. I understand of course that I have become wholly detached from Enghsh ways, ahnost from English thought, and there seem to me to be great changes going on here.' ' I suppose there is bound to be progress/ said Christine — but hstlessly, for it was of her own intimate experiences that she wished to hear Amory's mother talk — not of the trend of passing events. ' Won't you tell me how you have become reconciled to a place which robbed you of so much ? ' ' I have not been robbed, my dear — only denied for a little while the sight of my beloved. Three of my children died in infancy before they had time to entwine themselves about my heart. The other — my one girl — lived till she was fifteen. Her death was the greatest sorrow of my life.' Her face assumed an indescribable expression of pathos, of yearning which would not be crushed. ' She was a lovely child with grace and knowledge fer beyond her years, and of course she was very much to me, for we English women in China do not have many women-friends. She was at once my darUng, my pride, and my heart's joy, and she gave promise of a lovely womanhood. Her father and I had just decided that in her own interest she must be sent home to her aunts in Medwyn when she was taken. It was a crushing blow to him ; indeed I may truly say that his heart never fully recovered from it. Men do not have our buoyancy of spirit. I dare say you have noticed that, and the greater part of the mission of every true woman is to supply that need in those she loves.' Christine listened breathlessly, longing to make her repeat these words which embodied an altogether new point of view, an undreamed-of litany of life. ' But you suffered too,' she said in a low voice. ' Surely you also needed comforting, and it would be the place of the stronger to give you that comfort.' 11 292 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Something in Christiiu 3 tone touched a deep chord in the elder woman's heart, and she bent her sweetTave eyes, now a little dimmed by recent tears upon her earnest face Something whispered that in the hot young heart of the girl beside her there was need as%reat as any she had met and tried to relieve among the loo women in the land of her adoption. ^ ^ 'Suffering is part of destiny, and women by reason of i{f ;k ? ti * T^^^ *''^'" '*''°"g' ^o'- when God made us Ike that He also ordained for us unseen and neveT-faHing sources of mspiration which make the heaviest burden a! nothmg because of the joy of serving Him ' "'"''" ^^ Christine spoke no word, but sat leaning forward a Me, her elbows on her knees, looking intently S the face of the woman before her. She had entirelv for gotten that they were in -.e heart of a pa^ "f p L^^^^^^^ -among people who gave little thought to the morrow or the true meaning of life. i"urrow or 'You look perplexed.' said Mrs. Amory quietly and kmdly. ' Have I said anything unusual > ' ^ 'I never heard any one speak like you. and I have to confess that to me it is a strange ton^el-tSat so fir S understanding it is concerned, you might be taking ^ Chinese,' she said bluntly. ' You have suffered hSy yet all your hfe you have been good. I have heard aS you from people who know-yet you are na Zf^ IS a great injustice— that i;- what I think ' Mrs. Amory was quiet for a moment or two. ponaering these unexpected words. f^^i^^uug gentV"^^""'' ^'''' ^"'''' ^^'* ^ ^ ^ '^^°'''' '^' '^'^ o -r'pT>^rl-^"T ^?u *^^* y^"' ^'^^'^^"d was killed T n V. > ; r?^ J f ^^ ""^'y P"°P^^ *° whom he gave up . . vv ...le life. Yet you speak kindly of them you ha.e 01: turned y. ,r back on them. Yet I am suTe that I r i ^J■I^.^ ,HySL#*tri„ TER deep chord in sweet, grave trs, upon her in the hot, need as great long the poor by reason of ■ger share to God made us never-failing !st burden as g forward a itly into the entirely for- r of pleasure e morrow or quietly and d I have to at so far as J talking in ed horribly, heard about :?xej"iipf- It , ponaering ',' she said was killed m he gave them, you 1 sure that (»;: THE REAL THING 293 must have been the most terrible sorrow of all— to lose him, I mean,' ' It was. You are very young, my dear, and you will only le.im day by day how possible it is for hearts to be cO knit together that they are one. Part of me died that cay when I looked on my husband's body stabbed with a hundred traitorous wounds. It has never lived again. I'm only a shadow now, waiting for the fuller light But even in that awful moment I had my compensations. He was killed— not by his friends, but by his secret enemies, who hated him because he had done so much for the people that they were beginning to take higher views of life and to abandon many evil practices in which there was great gain for them. They killed him, but they could not kill the seed he had planted and watered with hi;, blood. It IS growing and flourishing out there in the wilds of China, and by the blessing of God and because of Its being His seed there will grow up a new China which shaU be consecrated to the service of the one God of all the races and nations of the earth.' 'You believe all that 1 ' said Christine with difficulty. How wonderful it must be to feel and think Uke that i ' Mrs. Amory glanced round at the increasing throng and observed, though Christine did not, that they were be- coming the objects of some remark. She laid her hand on Christine's arm with a little caressing touch. 'My dear, we have only met to-night for the first time, but I think it was destined that we should meet, and we are going to help one another. This is no place— as you can see— for such talk as ours. TeU rne where and when we can meet again.' 'Anywhere. I am living just now at Whitefield's Hotel m Gower Street, but I only share a sitting-room wth my friend, and she is a very busy woman. I am atraid I could not ask you there— we could not have any pnvacy.' ' Ui I \i ;i ::V 294 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER 'Then come to ^is. We have rooms in Manchosler Square in the house of an old friend who has been left rather badly off. We have taken the drawing-room floor for two or three months, and while we shall not be there the whole of the time we feel that it is a place where we can leave our belongings and be at home. Will you come there to luncheon with me to-morrow at two o'clock ? ' ' Yes,' replied Christine, ' I shall be glad to come.' ' Then I think we must be moving on. 28 Manchester Square— to-morrow at half-past one. Good-night, Mrs. Grier. I need not say I am pleased that we have met. That is a conventional phrase which does not express much. My heart has gone out to you, and I should greatly like to know you better.' Christine did not reply in words, but her eloquent eyes spoke. As Mrs. Amory, with the smile still lingering in her eyes, moved away, Helen Braithwaite once more claimed Christine's attention. ' What a lovely face that woman has ! Who is she ? ' she inquired, looking after Mrs. Amory with interest. ' Her name is Amory,' replied Christine with a little difficulty, wishing she could move away from Helen Braithwaite without appearing rude. ' Amory ? Oh, she must be the mother of one of Lady Carteret's most distinguished guests to-night. Have you seen him— Sir John Amory ? He is something in China, and has just been knighted for some big thing he has done out there— a very handsome man and much in request this evening of course.' ' Yes, I have seen him,' replied Christine so listlessly that Miss Braithwaite, adjusting her gold pince-nez straightly on her somewhat aggressive nose, took a second glance at Christine. ' You seem horribly tired. If you would like to go now let us share the same hansom. But we might have something to eat first. There's a refre-shment room down- THE REAL THING 295 stairs, and Lady Carteret always does us well when we come here. There will be champagne ; a glass would do you ever so much good. Will you come and forage with me ? ' Christine shook her head. ' No. I think I'll go right home. I am feeUng a little anxious about Mrs. Prentice anyhow. She was very tired when I left her.' Miss Braithwaite looked disappointed, but did not offer to accompany Christine downstairs. Lady Carteret had now left off receiving, and it was some time before Chris- tine was able to make her adieux. She found her in one of the rooms, the centre of a very lively throng, and she felt thankful that Amory was not among them. 'What, going already? Nonsense! Have you had anything to eat? No— well, you must have something before you go. Come here, and let me find somebody to take you down,' said her hostess in the frank, breezy way which had always the effect of putting the most uncomfortable at ease. 'Let me get Mr. Hawkes— he isn't doing anything just at present.' ' No, thank you, Lady Carteret. I don't want anything, and I feel I must be getting back to Mrs. Prentice.' ' Ah well, of course you have to look after her. I know what she is. Tell her I was very vexed with her for not coming to-night and that she missed seeing some- body whom she was very anxious to meet. She can try to guess his identity as a punishment. Tell me, how did you get on with Sir John Amory ? Quite charming, isn't he ? ' ' Oh quite.' ' And he was immensely interested in you. He came back and asked me all sort of questions about you which I couldn't answer. By the bye, who are you after all ? It isn't enough to say you are Mrs. Prentice's secretary, for of course that isn't your chief role in life.' * It is at present,' replied Christine truthfully enough. 296 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER milled lTh,-n?P ^w. ^"''' "''"'* y°"' ^"^ ^^^«"«y man-ied, I think ? Where is your husband ? ' In Scotland.' Lady Carteret elevated her brows In Scotland ! Well, it is no business of mine I'm sorry though, for Sir John is not only charming iuth^ IS one of the most eligible partis of the youTger set hat we at present have, and he r.as interested^ cSd-nYght ' Chnstme escaped gladly-even hurriedly-so afraid was accelrtr''""^''' ^'"^^^ ^^'^- She hadTea^y accepted the mvitation to luncheon, but on fuller con- sideration she decided that it was an engagement whkh she would not fulfil. It would be better fo%he tho^t greatT^aCtrrr.'^^ ^'^ '''^'' ^^^ ^^^ l>-« she knew T^/^ "^^^ ^""""'^ ^"^ ^^ "^^t^^^' but ft^ri !. ^* '^^ '^''"^^ "°* "^^et tbem in their own temporary home without revealing her identity, which sh^ subie'cttT ''' ''^/°* ^^^'° ^« becau'iet wouM subject her to a great deal of cross-examination that she Thf m'^:^i'''''T ''""''f' ^° "^-^ '^^^^-'°^^^^^ i,«o i. J ! ^" ^^^*^y moved-the very core of her she' ouS"Lf r' '^ ? *'°"^^^ ^^^^ ySrnings whS:h She could not have put mto words. She was friehtfuUv unhappy, her life was chaos, and something ?olf her S Lonln ? rf ^^""^ '^' ^'^ "^^* "^^'^ she c^e to kev to hw ^"^°^/"^ ^is "mother alone possessed the which she could possess herself because, as she knew they would tell her that such possession nvolved re- nunciation, self-sacrifice, surrender of her will She was not ready for that, but a fierce unrest shook her, and for the first time there arose in her heart a strange slow rebelhon against those who had been responsTble f'; her m her young years when her heart was fresh and impr^sionable. There had been none aiTng them to shovv her the better way. ^ ° ^TER , and recently of mine. I'm irming, but he unger set that Good-night,' -so afraid was le had readily on fuller con- gement which , she thought. She had been > mother, but in their own ity, which she luse it would tion that she satisfactorily. ' core of her miings which as frightfully told her that she came to possessed the lot a key of s she knew, involved re- mrest shook rt a strange, sponsible for s fresh and ig them to THE REAL THING 297 She did not know how she reached Gower Street. The drive seemed at once too brief and yet interminable. She had no desire to meet Mrs. Prentice again, to hear her talk of the Cause, of all the matters of which her life was made up, but which possessed no interest whatever for Christine. She was merely a woman, conscious of the desperate need of her own nature, both spiritual and intellectual, crying out for the right to live. This was not hfe— this driving from pillar to post after elusive chimeras, even though their goal was the uplifting of humanity in the mass. As Mrs. Prentice had truly said, it was work for the woman who had been disappointed and cheated out of her own heritage. She paid the cabman twice his fare without a murmur, handing up the coins in her purse hke one in a dream, then ran up the steps and pushed open the swing-doors. Twelve o'clock rang out as she entered the hall, and a sleepy porter, looking aggrieved, immediately closed and locked the doors behind her. The lights were low in the sitting-room. She turned them out altogether, and ascended the next stairs to the landing, where her own and Mrs. Prentice's bedrooms — which communicated with one another — were situated. She entered her own first, and, throwing off her cloak, tapped lightly at the communicating door. Mrs. Prentice immediately bade her enter. She had a fire in her room, and the hghts were turned fully up. She was not in bed — as Christine had expected — but was sitting in front of the fire attired in a dressing-gown and apparently deep in thought. She looked very tired, her face being quite pale and deep shadows under her eyes. ' I hope you have not waited up for me,' said Christine solicitously. ' I am sorry to be so late.' ' I have only just come up. I had visitors this evening — three in succession. The last only left after eleven. Did vou have a nleasant evening ? ' I 298 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' I don't know— there was a large crowd.' ' An3'body interesting ? ' ' I think so. Lady Carteret was very kind in intro- ducing me to her friends. But I do not think I care ve^ much for London society. I could not help asking myself what It was all for. It seems so futile to collect cfoXo people merely to look at one another and speak a word m passing. Mrs. Prentice smiled. }JJ''u ^""l'* *^^^ f^'^ ^ y°""^ P^^^°"' "^y dear. You have been too quickly disillusioned. When I was your age I should have thoroughly enjoyed every moment of Td^nVrdyt'- Y-^-^^^^--^' I am sure many Christine replied only by a swift shake of her head bed not r ^'" "^''^ ^'""^ • ^"" ^ ^'^P y^" *^ ^^* t« niVh^"^" u \^''^'^ ^''^ ^^^ '^""P- ^ ^^^^ ^^d a" exhausting ? A^ .1^ '' P^^'^*'' "°^ ^ ^^^e made my choice/ ^ What choice ? ' asked Christine, struck by the words I warned you. I think, some time ago that a change was impending m my life. I have reached another mile- f.i?^ '".uT ^-^P^"^"^^' a»d in a few weeks' time I shall have withdrawn myself finally from my present position.' v^Hhf , ^ ^^"^ P^* ^" '^^ P^^^^ ? ' asked Christine with a quick intensity. 'It is too late for us to enter into matters fully to-night but I a^ required elsewhere. The caU has come.' ' ^ And you will leave us all-you wiU leave me behind ! ' fhn= / ^u ^ ^'*u' '^^"^- ^"^ '^ '^ ^ways open for those to follow who will.' repHed Mrs. Prentice as she rose from her chair. ' I have been seeking peace for many weary years. Christine. I have sought it in the beaten track and in the byways. I have fought endless rnnfiw ^"A""^ fo^ spirit bears the marks of many a conflict. I have found it at last.' THE REAL THING 299 * Where ? ' asked Christine intensely. ' Peace is what we all want — what I want most of all. I am frightfully unhappy ! I don't know what is the matter v/ith me.' ' You have had something said to you to-night which has disturbed you. Tell me, child.' ' I have met a woman who not only beUeves in God, but who lives for His active service, who by reason of her faith can not only bear fearful sorrows but rejoice in them. She has the key to everything worth living for. I want to find that key ! ' Mrs. Prentice gravely shook her head. ' You are too tired and excited to talk more to-night, dear child. Go to bed and quietly sleep. You will find proportion come with the morning. We will talk of this matter again, but you have a long, long way to travel yet before you reach the gateway of peace. Such glimpse of the eternal is only vouchsafed to those who have bought their heritage as I have bought mine. Be content to wait till experience has done its work.' CHAPTER XXIV THE PLAIN TRUTH Next morning Mrs. Prentice was unable to rise, after a Sleepless night following upon great nervous strain. Chris- tine was thus furnished with a substantial excuse for non-fulfilment of her engagement at Manchester Square bhe sent a note by special messenger, explaining the circumstances and expressing her regret. She had a very busy morning, attending to Mrs. Prentice s correspondence and seeing persons who caUed. About eleven o'clock Mrs. Prentice fell asleep, and Chris- tme. quite conscious of relief, went down to the sitting- room to have a little time to herself. She was not long left in peace, however. Just as she sat down to look at the morning paper. Mr. Ferradghi was announced. The German waiter made sad havoc of the name, but Christine who had already seen him in Mrs. Prentice's company rose to receive him without surprise. ' I had an appointment with Mrs. Prentice this fore- noon at twelve,' he said in his musical, perfectly-modulr.ted voice, bowing with that pecuhar, ahnost serpentine grace belonging to the East, ^ ' Mrs. Prentice mentioned it, and a message has been sent to the Avenue Road explaining that she is too tired tms morning to receive any one.' said Christine. ' She is asleep now— I have only just left her.' f„ii^?i-! f?^'°^^- She jeemed so strong last night, so inter^t "murmured, looking at Christine with deep 800 THE PLAIN TRUTH 301 He was an elderly man with a grave aspect and a singular benignity of expression. The inscrutability of the East seemed to dwell in his eyes, and there was a caressing softness and mystery about him which im- pressed Christine with a strange sense of discomfort. In a world of tumult he seemed to walk serene, immune from all that could disturb or dismay. * I have been in the heart of London since sunrise, which explains how I did not receive the message. Will you make my regrets to our friend and tell her we hope to be ready, with all the arrangements made, by the fifteenth of January.' ' I will put it down,' said Christine, as she moved to- wards the writing-table between the windows. ' I have received so many messages this morning that I am afraid I may make a mistake unless I take a note of them.' ' Mrs. Prentice has dwelt in this uproar too long,' he observed, and his choice of a word caused Christine to smile suddenly. It was not that he did not command the English tongue perfectly, but he seemed to choose the word deUberately as most fitting to the case. It certainly described — if a Uttle harshly — the constant whirl in which she had lived. Even Christine's restlessness had been so fully sated that she had begun to feel an insistent need of some quiet spot where she could possess her soul. ' She certainly works much too hard. I wished to send for the doctor to-day, but she would not allow me. She has not seen a doctor, she says, for over five years— she does not believe in doctors.' ' Say more correctly, that she does not believe in the existence of pain,' said Ferradghi with a half smile. ' Oh, but pain does exist whatever she may say — horrible pain of mind and body ! ' cried Christine in a voice whose tone admitted of no contradiction. The Hindoo looked at her with a singular mingling of interest and sadness in his gaze. ' Submit yourself to be guided by her, my daughter. 302 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER She has chosen the path of wisdom, which compasses the ultimate solution of all the problems that baffle us Submit yourself to her.' With these words he left her abruptly, and Christine, not at all bewildered, but merely a little scornful and amused returned to the contemplation of her newspaper. iler attention wandered, however, as she went back in thought, recalling the strange medley of persons she had met since she had come to share Mrs. Prentice's life Cranks of every sort seemed to be welcomed in her rooms." and the Sunday afternoons had invariably brought a motley crew who discussed Christian Science. Re-incama- wSi. u i'?u I^^°s0Phy-every cult, new and old. which allured the human mind from the beaten track of experience and promised new worids to conquer. She had felt herself entirely, and even antagonistically, outside of It all finding nothing in her nature responsive to the after all. and, m spite of her slight aberration from the beaten crack, sound in mind and heart. She knew it by the quick response of all her being, as it leaped up to meet the reasonable theory of life presented to her by Mrs. Amory. She hoped to meet the Amorys again to have further speech with them, but was glad that cir- cumstances had intervened to prevent that meeting at so short an interval. She needed time to think over what had passed, to ponder on the greatness of the discovery she had made. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounding of the gong for the luncheon in the public dining-room. She went down to it and spent about half an hour at a little table by the window, where she was assiduously waited on by a pretty Scotch giri who had been attracted to her by her voice the first day she had spoken to her. ^ Ui!.^f' 'l?1 u'^ ^^? ^^"^"^ °"' J^^^i^?' she asked Kindly. Not homesick vet. ph ? ' ^ THE PLAIN TRUTH 303 passes the baffle us. Christine, rnful and ewspaper. t back in s she had :ice's life, er rooms, rought a i-incarna- and old, track of She had utside of e to the )rganised from the ew it by id up to > her by igain, to that cir- ng at so er what iscovery by the 5 public t about lere she firl who day she J asked ' No, mum, but I'm to get hame for the New Year, me and anither lassie that's in a boarding-hoose in Tavistock Square. An auld mistress o' hers is treatin' us baith wi' tickets for the week-end. We leave on next Friday week, till the Tuesday efter. It's a nuisance, though, that New Year fa's on the Sunday. There'll be less fun gaun, though they'll keep it on the Monday.' Christine smiled and nodded, and Jessie passed on, her joy shining in her face. Suddenly reminded of the near approach of Christmas she pondered on what manner of Christmas she was likely to spend. It was the season for family reunion, for the clasping of friendly hands, for meetings which would bridge the gulf of years and of distance. But for her, outcast and forlorn as bhe was, there could be none of these things — no warm family house yearned to receive her, the gulf she had created by her own act yawned menacingly and dividingly between. It was not a train of thought in which it was wise to indulge ; she therefore brought her luncheon to an abrupt conclusion, and retired upstairs to see how Mrs. Prentice fared. She was still asleep, apparently a dreamless sleep of perfect peace. Her face looked singularly beautiful in its repose, the harsher elements softened, the more gentle and winning brought into prominence. The loose, short hair, so soft and wajrward, gave a strikingly child- like aspect to the face from which the years of stress and sorrow seemed to have passed. What deeps of experience were hers, who had stood so long in Life's fighting line that the white dove of peace had long since folded her wings and departed in sorrowful affright ? What would — what could be the end for that stormy soul at war with all existing things? Hers was not a destiny any sane mind could crave. Even in these few weeks, during which Christine had been harried on the tide of Mrs. Prentice's restlessness, she had proved the futility of it II' I «!| 304 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER all, its absolute inability to give ease even for a moment's pam A constant whirl of activity can never satisfy the heart which, in order to fulfil its heaven-ordained destiny must at times be ^' * at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathise.' Christine withdrew softly, conscious of a great an,i increasing sadness. She had respect-even a species oi affection-for the woman who had not refused her thr hand of comradeship in her need, even though franklv disapproving ; but disUlusionment had already come Daily, hourly companionship, which brought httie to reheve the strain of the dual hfe, had revealed all the weaknesses which are to be found even in the finest natures, and which only love can cover up and count as "2*^1"^- 9)"'*^"^ °^ ^^"^■s® ^ass what to : upon her. lould come Dnal plead- ets in the tied to life ry occupa- THE PLAIN TRUTH 30$ tions, and was even conscious of a physical languor most depressing. She walked through the crowded streets, feeling herself singularly detached from their hurrying tide of life. She had just then none of the womanly interest in shop windows, which at another time might have helped to Uft her mind momentarily above morbid thoughts. Dress, and all the dainty unconsidered trifles which make up the sum of the happy woman's life, had no place within the environment to which Christine had voluntarily surrendered herself. She walked briskly, like one with a set purpose in view, returning to the hotel a little refreshed by her contact with the outer air. Meeting Jessie on the stairs, she was informed that Mrs. Prentice was awake and had been asking for her. ' I've just ta'en in her tea. Will I bring some for you to her room ? ' Christine thanked her and said 'Yes.' She ran up quickly and entered the room, bringing a fresh and a cooler air with her from out-of-doors. Mrs. Prentice was sitting up in bed with a shawl round her shoulders, enjoying her tea. ' I am glad you went out, dear,' she said \vith her peculiarly pleasant smile. ' How soundly I have slept since morning ! I felt very tired, and now when every- thing is off my mind I suppose nature reasserted herself, and commanded the sur to stand still.' Christine threw off her hat and sat down on the front of the bed to give Ferradghi's message. Mrs. Prentice received it in silence, merely inclining her head. She did not speak at all until the little housemaid had brought in the second tray and set it noiselessly down. ' I suppose you guessed from that message — or perhaps Ferradghi told you — that I am contemplating an imme- diate change in the order of my life ? ' ' I understood, of course, that something was in the ail, rtpiicvt v-.iinsunc. 1; 306 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' You are quite right. It is the most momentous step I have yet taken. I hope it will be the final one. so far as my temporal affairs are concerned. I shall sail for the East on the fifteenth of January.' • What todo there?— teach thewomen of India concerning their disabilities ? ' asked Christine with a small, cold smile. Mrs. Prentice shook her head, ' No, I have doi^e my day's work so far as the women of my race in this country or any other are concerned. I shall henceforth be wholly engaged in acquiring learning myself. I go to sit at the feet of the wisest of the earth, from whom the secrets of the universe are not hid. It is the opportunity for which I have longed, and I consider myself most fortunate in having secured it so many months earlier than I expected.' ' You sail for India, do you say, on the fifteenth of January ? ' Yes, for Bombay ; and early next week I shall pro- bably go to the Avenue Road to spend the remaining days of my sojourn in England. I have many things to discuss with our head who has honoured me with her trust, far beyond my expectation.' She spoke in a low, subdued voice with the reference one accords to some power far above the ordinary status of human affairs. Christine perceived that the brea). with the old life was complete. ^' You do not expect to come back to England ? ' ' I don't know. I know nothing— and glory in that. The time comes when we cease our questioning and sunply wait for the hght. Until we reach that stage all our groping is in vain.' ' I don't beheve that sentient human beings were sent into the world for any such thing,' asserted Christine coldly. My heart revolts against it. I want to hve and to exercise my own ego It is the right and heritage of every one of us.' ER [lentous step I one, so far I sail for the a concerning 1, cold smile. le women of )ncemed. I ing learning )f the earth, t hid. It is 1 I consider it so many fifteenth of I shall pro- ; remaining iy things to le with her le reference nary status the break d?' ry in that, ioning and at stage all 5 were sent >tine coldly. ive and to ige of every THE PLAIN TRUTH k 307 I prefer to call it truth.' l)articularly invested in it is. We are further ' You are very young, my child, and youth has the hot, restless heart. Doubtless the time will come when you too will be glad to lay your armour down.' ' What is it that you are going to India to study— by what name is it called ? ' ' It is called Theosophy here. ' But why should truth be India ? I can't believe that advanced here.' ' That is where you are wrong. All the wisdom of all the ages has its home in the East, where there is a great undisturbed calm. But it is too large a question to discuss here and now, and it would serve no useful end to do so. I must set my house in order before this change takes place. We shall have to part, Christine, in a few days' time ; but first I must have my heart set at rest concern- ing you. Tell me what is in your mind now about your- self and your future ? I have purposely abstained from asking any questions, or from even in the remotest degree alluding to it, preferring that you should have a fair chance to test the life in the open— as you expressed it to me on the occasion of our first meeting. Are you in- clined to go on with it ? ' ' It would have very little attraction for me apart from you,' Christine answered with unhesitating frankness. ' I am not surprised. You are not the stuff of which reformers is made.' ' Am I not ? Where do I lack ? ' ' Ever3rwhere,' replied Mrs. Prentice with a slight smile. * But my first indictment is your capacity for being bored, and you don't make the smallest attempt to hide it when you are — and that, believe me, is the unpardonable sin.' ' Oh, Mrs. Prentice ! ' cried Christine, colouring quickly —all too conscious that the indictment was true. ' My dear, ineffable boredom has been so often expressed ♦hat I have ceased to wonder at it. The m vQiir face 308 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Women's Cause doesn't interest you in the least. You haven't even yet grasped what it is aU about. You must seek fulfilment of yourself elsewhere.' Christine sat still for a moment with her head resting on her hand, almost terrified by the depth and keenness of this woman's observation. How seldom she erred in her estimate of men or things ! How swift she was to lay her finger on the vital spot ! ^ ' I wish I knew why I had been born,' she said lamely. There does not exist a more wholly useless and futile person than I am in the whole world.' ' At the present moment I agree with you. But pre- sently you will step out and find your niche. What about Scotland ? What is your point of view regarding the old life now ? ' ' I will never return there.' said Christine with harden- ing face. ' Nobody could expect it— he least of all, since he has never so much as moved a Uttle finger to discover what has become of me.' ' You have not been gone so many weeks after all.' said Mrs. Prentice quietly. ' Surely long enough to have made my absence felt, and It has not been felt, which proves that I was right in saying that there was no place for me in Strathardle Manse.' * Of course he has known all along where you are and just how you have been occupied,' said Mrs. Prentice quietly. ' But for that he would not have suffered you to go your own way unchallenged.' ' That proves nothing except that he does not care,' Christine maintained. Mrs. Prentice put up her hand to hide the smile which leapt to the corners of her mouth, 'Well, it is needless to discuss it further. We must arrive at some arrangement between novv^ and next week when we shall have to say good-bye. Would you not THE PLAIN TRUTH 309 care to go on working for a time with Helen Braithwaite and Mary Lancing at Essex Street ? There is plenty to do there if you are at all interested ; and they both Uke you and would be glad to have you pledged to actual service.' * I don't think I should care for it,' replied Christine doubtfully. ' But, as you say, we can think over it and arrange something. Don't suffer my small affairs to disturb you. I can easily take care of myself.' Before Mrs. Prentice could reply there was a knock at the door, and the German waiter announced a caller in the sitting-room for Mrs. Grier. ' What name did he give ? ' she asked, a sudden fear clutching her heart that it might be her husband come to exercise his authority and take her back to Strathardle Manse. ' No name, madam,' rer^Ued the German waiter. ' He said it was of no consequence.' ' Go and get the name before I see him,' she answered a little haughtily. She excused herself hastily to Mrs. Prentice, and closing the door, waited on the landing. She heard the man put the question and a voice she recognised answer immedi- ately, ' Sir John Amory.' Her face flushed and she ran lightly downstairs. She still wore the coat which she had worn out of doors, but her hat had been discarded, leaving her hair in a somewhat loose tangle on her brow. The wintry sun caught its gleam as she appeared in the doorway, smiling a little tremulously at sight of Amory's grave face. She was so glad to see him that she did not know how to express herself. He looked none the less pleased, and they shook hands with a warmth of greeting which both felt, ' I am here by request of my mother to make another appointment. She would have come herself, but she caught a slight cold at Lady Carteret's last night and 310 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER was afraid to venture out. She was very disappointed you could not come to lunch to-day.' ' I could not leave Mrs. Prentice, and afterwards there was a great deal to do for her. She is not up yet, and I have to receive her callers and attend to all the messages that come. She is a very busy woman,' ' I understand that, but surely you must be considered too. My mother sent her kind regards and would like if you could lunch or dine with us to-morrow before we go out of town for Christmas.' Christine shook her head. ' Please tell Mrs. Amory how sorry I am. But I can't make any appointments just at present. Mrs. Prentice needs every moment of my time. She will leave England next week, however, and then I shall be quite free.' ' I don't know when we shall return to London. We ha.ve a great many family visits to pay, going first to Clievdon in Somerset to my mother's people. Are you sure you could not spare us an hour to-morrow ? ' He spoke with an eagerness which left Christine in no doubt that he himself greatly desired her acceptance of the invitation. ' I will see what can be done, and if I find that I have leisure to-morrow, may I come to Manchester Square and take my chance of finding your mother at home ? ' ' You may, of course, but I also should like to meet you. We left many things unspoken last night.' 'Oh, life is largely made up of unspoken things, of unfinished episodes,' she said, trying to speak lightly, but unable to veil the pathos of her eyes. She was at a loss to comprehend or classify the feeling of well-being and happiness which seem -d to envelop her in this man's presence. What sweetnr.s was in her heart when his deep, kind eyes dwelt on ler face ; how safe and strong and good she felt in his presence I She told herself it must be due to the inner tie of blood, of which Li appointed ards there ^^et, and I messages ;onsidered iild like if are we go it I can't Prentice 5 England ;e.' ion. We g first to Are you ine in no ptance of at I have [uare and to meet hings, of ;htly, but le feeling velop her her heart how safe She told of which THE PLAIN TRUTH 3" he was yet in ignorance, though he was evidently conscious of a like feeling of kinship in his own heart. Yet she did not tell him of this tie of blood. Some- thing continued to restrain her. He did not linger long, because obviously there was no reason for prolonging what could not be regarded as other than a formal call. When he left the room, bidding her farewell regret- fully, as a man parts from one who interests him and with whom his heart would hold further converse, she walked to the window and, pressing her cheek to the pane, watched him leave the house. When she stepped back after he was out of sight she was surprised to find that cheek wet with tears. CHAPTER XXV CLOSING IN So'the'^Hf^n'^f "^ '?'^ ^T ^^'^'^y ^^"s*"^as entered into the ]ife of people south of the Border, nor what a complete standstill of public business was auLd by it Most of those with whom she came in contact had made anrangements to go out of town, and the premises oT?he Women's Union were closed. A meeting had been held on the 22nd of December to consider a letter which had been received from Mrs Prentice embodying her resignation and conye^L the mfonnatjon that she was leaving immediately ^f of the East. It came as a great surprise to most of the member? though one or two in the inner circle who TarhTdTn opportunity of meeting her often at close quarters haS antKipated something of the sort, but perhaps a a later date Christine, by request of Mrs. Prentice, was present at that meetmo:, and conveyed a faithful report of the proceedings to her. A vote of regret and gra^t^ ude was passed ; she was spoken of with deep respectSid appreda tion Christine on the whole was pleased with the tone of he meeting, though she reflected as shTwent horn' S?, r!.yi^''^°""^ *^^* ^^*^^ ^" the strongest personah^y did httle beyond ruffling the stream of pasfing events Mrs. Prentice listened in silence while Christine gave re^ar^di^Th^^^^^^^^ ''' ^^"^^^^"^^' ^ ^'^ -^ ^ ' So^that episode is closed. Christine, as many another CLC^ING IN 313 IS entered or what a sed by it. had made ses of the :ember to rom Mrs. sying the ' for the members, i had an •ters had it a later 5 present •t of the ude was ipprecia- the tone it home sonality mts. ne gave ne time another has been and will be. I have, I trust, done with episodes, and will soon be merged in the larger life which has stripped itself of all extraneous things.' To Christine these were mere words, and she showed by her expression that they conveyed little except sound to her consciousness. Mrs. Prentice feeling her unsympathetic, immediately descended to mundane things. ' I am going to Scotland to-morrow to bid good-bye to my cousin, Lady Farquhar. The family is at Cassilis at present, but it is not so many miles from your old home. Will you come back with me ? It is what I should hke, Christine, before I go — to see you reinstated there. Believe me, it is the only, as well as the best, solution of your diffirulties.' ' No,' said Christine firmly. ' I will not go back, and I do not wish you to see Mr. Grier, or to tell him anything about my movements.' The resolute tone caused Mrs. Prentice to smile. It was a new experience for her to be commanded. Hitherto in her relations with Christine it had been her privilege to say, and it was done. ' My dear, you cannot forbid me the liberty of action and speech you have so strenuously claimed for yourself,' she said good-humouredly. ' I shall certainly make a point of seeing Mr. Grier and telUng him all I know. But may I ask whether you are going to spend a dreary Christmas here, in this boarding-house ? You can have no conception of what an unspeakably dreary, ghastly experience that can be.' * I will not do that. I will go to my cousin Ted, who is married, and lives at Tulse Hill, or to my Uncle Hedder- wick at Sydenham. I am not totally without fiiends, and any of them will, I think, be glad to receive me.' ' Ah, that will be better. I could not well go away and leave you here over Christmas. Yet go north I must. i fi 314 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER I can, however, spare because I owe it to my cousin, only a long week-end.' Christine longed to ask whether she included Medwvn n her scheme of farewells, but she did not dare dS twJn .h '"^ ^T^ ^''^' '^'^^ ^^^ seemed to drop be? tween them, and there was less of that infirm.* ^ Which Christine had so much » l^^^'i " ',? LiSJ™- of their acquaintanceship. Also she resents /il f and manner Mr,, Prentic'e now Ln\V adopted towfrS: elirL, /'^ 77 " '=™ °' » in«ble pei^rwho required to be ta]« Christmas arrauKements Sr under tht ''" ""• ^'^""^^ "« ^^ Euston' Sg su" JL'L?da7""°" "'' '"' "" «°'"« ™* *° «>' noSlo trTvLt"? '° Whiteiield's and wrote a short cr£ r " -----S :^d tcS Dre«;pnrrin ? T^' ^® ^^^® "° explanations of her s^ w" nX" :^:tih: z^^ssiz '^:^ Srfpr ^ ""^^' ^^* throughr 'htt ou? tL'^^'t'/''' "?* "'" ''y ^"^ *° Tulse HiU to seek lifto p^.:-ai^i«^-i-^^ str-^i C wtr Jr:„':?e."^^ '''"'^ °' «"<""« ^^'^ ^'-« af of m^H'°Ti ""? '!,'""' ''^ly-one of a monotonous row pod. There was a certain daintiness about number^, which pleased her eye as she walked up the naraw m?^ of coloured tUes and knocked at the imnfacX" d™n C TER lowever, spare uded Medwyn dare. During i to drop be- nate converse e earlier part ted the tone pted towards e person who >gether Chris- illy at a loss rrangements, ston, leaving ? out to the Tote a short lat she was )u]d include ving no time 'ions of her 5uming that ions of her ?h her little Hill to seek eeming her 3se an hour himself at tonous row s peas in a number 37 arrow path door. The CLOSING IN 315 exterior of the house proclaimed the careful, fastidious housewife whom no questions concerning destiny or rights troubled, but who realised that the first duty incumbent upon her was to make his home an attractive place to the husband she had won. A small maid-servant, as neat and dainty as the house, answered the knock, and in response to her request to see Mrs. Hedderwick, ushered her in with a pleasant smile and an air of welcome. The dining-room was at the front of the house, and into this room Christine was shown. It was empty save for a baby's cot — a dainty thing, all pink silk and muslin and lace, which stood at one side of the fireplace, carefully placed so as to be immune from draughts and out of reach of the fire. The room was small, but a pretty, pleasant place. On the table, the centre of which was graced by a great bunch of chrysanthemums, lay a piece of dainty sewing — a baby's frock indeed — half-finished, with the silver thimble and the scissors above it, and all was so pretty and homelike that to Christine it seemed more like a picture than a real place. She had spent the last few weeks in a very different place — one which possessed few indeed of the attributes of home. She stepped softly, across the floor, drew aside the muslin curtain, and looked down upon the baby enjo5dng her afternoon sleep. She was a beautiful creature, the child of two who loved each other dearly and who re- garded her as the crown of their happiness. Plump, rosy, exquisitely coloured, with soft golden hair and a lovely dimpled face, she looked the most beautiful live thing that Christine had ever seen in her life. The picture fascinated her, and the fat, dimpled hand, lying outside the pink coverlet, seenicd a very poem. Something stirred vaguely in her heart — a wild and impossible thrill of envy which horrified her. She had never wished for a child- she had often felt that she would not know what to do l 316 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER S clXr^ s^ome magnet drew her to this baby-the gratltSe sT; >° J^TJ^^^ ^^^ given her name out 0I gratitude. She had not done much for others in her life and It was hardly meet that so small a service sho"lH have been so quickly and gratefully reco^i eT in. nf *r;j^t"ous thoughts were disturbed by the open rpl *S' ^°°'- ^^' *^"^^d quickly, smiling a mtrto But though her manner was timid as shf» r^a^vA^A *u ^I Lt;^f ?r "''?' '^""'""^ ^^"^"y admired n»n,.^h ^^ ^'" "y "*"^ '"='id did not bring vour name, she said, in a sweet, refined voice ' ^hTl ^ am o'n,Xsr:^^'cJS,?^'^«- ^^«' ^ smile. ■ I „n2,\"^^?' How glad I am to see you ! ■ Slie ran ^r" ^, /^'^^aps she will come to-dav." Ted will Come S'^'^.^'^" ^^ ^^"^^^ ^°"^« -"d finds you heTe Come nght upstairs, and take off your things.' But It IS very disappointing. Ted said he thought ER 3 baby— the name out of 5 in her life, vice should I. y the open- a little, to and dainty, ot conceive still less as igarded the 2 showed a admired, bring your 'he is very the names smile. ' I She lan the most alk about Ted will you here. hich sur- iufferance elcome a 1 I came ome and sit down ne a cup o come.' thought CLOSING IN 317 you would stay when you came, and my spare bedroom is so very pretty. We have only had it furnished a few weeks. It is white and blue. Won't you stay ? ' ' Not to-day.' ' Then I'll tell Cynthia to get tea. Yes, isn't it a ridiculous name, but she's a good little giil, and so fond of baby. I can quite trust her to take her out and even to bath her sometimes. You see, Ted begins to v/ant me to go out with him of an evening now, and of course I must consider him first.' She spoke quite naturally, yet with a pride and dignity which filled Christine with increasing amazement. The advent of wifehood and motherhood had made a new creature of the little household drudge, and she was so pretty that she was a delight to the eyes. Christine began to think that Ted had done very well for himself. Edie did not seem in the least afraid of her new relative, but hovered about her with affectionate solici- tude, anxious to show her every attention and to convince her of the warmth of her welcome. ' You look so happy,' said Christine as they sat down together at the table after tea had been brought in. ' It does one good to see you.' ' Oh, I am happy ! Sometimes I can't sleep for think- ing about it all. It is so wonderful that I should have so much — a husband like Ted and a dariing baby. And they are all so sweet to me at Sydenham. I do love Granny — don't you ? ' ' Granny ! ' repeated Christine wonderingly. ' I mean Ted's mother. She's so kind to me that I have never really missed having my own mother. We are dining there to-night. I forgot that when I asked you to stay. If only you would come with us how glad they would all be — wouldn't they ? They're all so fond of you.' Here the blue eyes suddenly filled with tears. ' I shall never never forget all you have done for us, and that 3i8 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER day when Mr. Hedderwick and Granny came in a cab to Brixton to fetch me back to Sydenham I shall never forget— It was like a story-book, only a thousand times better I ' Christine could not keep back the answering tear which sprang to her own eyes at the moment. ' It is a very pretty story,' she said as she dashed it away. 'You are ^^ery happy, you say? There isn't even a single crumpled lose-leaf in jour lot ? ' ' Not one. I have everything in the world I want, and far. far more than I deserve. I lie awake at nights some- times, thinking how I can make home brighter and better for Ted. And oh, I must tell >ou something,' she added gleefully. ' Mr. Hedderwick gave me ten pounds on my birthday to buy what I liked with, and I spent it nearly all on cooking-lessons. I have had two lots, and all this month I have been going to a chef, and Ted keeps on wondering how I can get him such lovoly dinners. On Christmas Day Granny and Mr. Heddeiwick are coming to late dinner with us, and I'm going to give them r.uch ? surprise. Won't it be nice when I tell them I have cooked every Uttle bit of it myself ? And Ted knows that when he gets to be the head of the business and we are in a big house, I shall know exactly what to do to make him proud of me and of his home. Won't that be dehghtful } ' Christine said she was sure it would. The prattle of the proud little housewife fascinated her. Her own life, her aims, and her uncertain future, seemed suddenlv erev by contrast. ^ ^ ^ While they were chatting over their tea the baby woke up and Christine took her in her arms. The soft touch of the child's hands, its lovely smile and air of joyous contentment filled her with astonishment. ' I thought all babies were cross and cried a lot ' she said. ' 'ER e in a cab to shall never 3usand times ig tear which he dashed it There isn't I want, and nights some- T and better '„' she added unds on my jnt it nearly and all this ;d keeps on iinners. On are coming i them ruch lem I have knows that and we are do to make I't that be ! prattle of ;r own life, idenly grey baby woke soft touch of joyous a lot,' she CLOSING IN 319 ' They don't when they are well and well cared for,' said the little mother with an air of great experience. ' When a baby is cross you may be sure there's something quite wrong. Isn't she a darling, and don't you wish you had one Uke her ? Oh, I do hope you will have soon — it maker such a difference.' Then Edie remembered and blushed furiously, and took the baby from Christine's arms to hide her confusion. ' Do forgive me. It was horrid of me. I quite forgot. But it's going to come all right — isn't it ? Ted and I speak about it sometimes, and now I have seen you I know it's goiag to be all right. You're so beautiful, but you want to be happy — don't you ? I'm sure you are going to be some day soon.' Christine made no reply, but she made the little woman understand that she had said nothing to offend her, and that the visit had been a great success. She promised to come again soon, and after she had left the house she turned back to wave a last greeting towards the window where Edie stood with the child in her arms, nodding and smiling good-bye. Christine returned to the empty boarding-house with an ache at her heart. Next morning she spent at the shops, buying some little Christmas gifts for her aunts, and packing up the necessary things, she left London by the two o'cIock train. It was little more than a year since she had made the same journey, which then partook of the nature of a voyage of discovery. How much had happened in that time, how much older she felt, how life had changed I Her eyes, looking out upon the wintry landscape, had a somewhat weary, listless expression in them, and the two hours spent in the train seemed interminable. When she was nearing Medwyn, she gathered her things together, wondering with a half smile whether Aunt Grace would be at the station, or whether to Sophia Timbs had been ■t t i 320 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER relegated the duty of meeting her. She did not much mind— perhaps, even, they would not be glad to see her at all ; in which case she would cut short her visit. The train was quite full of eager folks hurrying towards their various destinations, anticipating the holiday festival and the reunion with relations and friends. Christine had got a little tired of the very name of Christmas, which seemed to dominate everything and to be entirely made for happy folks. She did not hurry from the train. She had no large boxes as on her former visit, but merely a small dress- case which she could lift herself. She stepped out of the compartment with it in her hand and, setting it down on the platform, took a swift glance round in search of some one from the house at South Plain. It was a moment or two before she was satisfied that no one had come. Then a trifle chilled, as the arriving guest is apt to be on missing such a token of welcome, she prepared to step out in search of a fly. At that moment a figure came forward out of the throng, and she gave a start which nearly caused her to drop her valise. A .man advanced, a hat was raised, and a voice, vibrating with the liveliest satis^ "-tion, addressed her ' Mrs. Grier, is i us possible ? What a happy coincidence that you should come to Medwyn to-day I I arrived myself only last night.' ' I have some relatives here, Sir John,' said Christine a trifle confusedly. ' I was looking round, expecting that some one had come to meet me, but there does not seem to be any one.' Her face paled after the flush, and she compressed her lips a little, knowing that now there could be no escape. ' I have been sent to meet a relative— a cousin, who is a stranger to me. I am afraid I must leave you just for a moment, and keep a sharper look-out for her. As we have never met before it is rather awkward,' ER d not much d to see her r visit. The owards their festival and tine had got 'hich seemed y made for lad no large small dress- d out of the ; it down on 1 search of It was a no one had guest is apt he prepared ent a figure ave a start se, A man )rating with coincidence I arrived Christine a )ecting that es not seem pressed her 10 escape, isin, who is ^ou just for ler. As we CLOSING IN 321 Christine gave a httle embarrassed laugh. ' Don't go away ! ' she said abruptly. ' I am the cousin I How is it that you don't know ? Did my aunts not even tell you my name ? ' Amory stood still, staring at her with a certain blankness. ' You are my cousin I Were you Christine Breck before you became Mrs. Grier ? It was Christine Breck I was sent to meet. They did not even tell me your married name.' * Yes,' replied Christine, ' I am Christine Breck.' ' Why did you not tell me before ? Think how pleased .iiy mother would have been. That explains everything — how she was drawn to you from the beginning. There is something after all in the call of the blood.' ' Do you think so ? ' asked Christine Ustlessly, ' Yes. But you have not y«^ told me why you did not proclaim your relat" . jhip. You must have known —if you knew anything at all about the Amorys — that we were the same family.* ' Oh yes. Of course I knew from the beginning.' ' Then why ' ' I did not think I was a desirable relation, or one that you would be very anxious to claim after you knew the circumstances.' Amory looked surprised and a little embarrassed. ' Perhaps we had better be getting back home,' he said a little less cordially. ' Is this all the luggage you have ? ' ' Yes.' ' The carriage is outside.' * The carriage ! ' repeated Christine with a little smile. ' It was a fly last time and Sophia Timbs standing at the booking-office.' ' Your aunts — our aunts, I should say — are very pleased at the prospect of seeing you — Aunt Grace especially. I suppose you know that she loves you very much ? ' \\ 322 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Christine did not reply, but walked with him in silence to the outside of the booking-office, where the carriage was in waiting. Amory carefully handed her in, but did not offer to get in beside her. ' I shall walk back, I think. It is a very short distance.' * No, please get in,' said Christine a little imperiously. ' I have something I must say to you.' Amory hid his surprise, which scarcely veiled his satis- faction, and obeyed her without a word. The moment the door was closed and the horses started forward she turned to him her face, somewhat white and desperate. ' I would not have come had I known you were here. You told me you were going into Somerset.' * I took my mother there, but something drew me back to Medwyn, and the aunts were very anxious that one of us should spend Christmas with them. I return on Monday of course.' ' But it complicates everything. Now I must tell you things I would greatly have preferred not to have spoken about to you. My aunts know very little about my marriage.' * Too httle. They think you treated them badly over it,' he replied gravely. ' What was wrong that they could not be told about it ? ' ' Nothing then. It was hurried — that was all, and I did not think that anybody was sufficiently interested in me to care,' replied Christine truthfully enough. ' But it has all gone wrong since. I left my husband some little time ago, only I did not wish my aunts to know. It would horrify them — you know it would — and I should have a terrible time. I thought I might just get through this brief visit till Monday without letting them know anything about it.' ' It will place you in a very false position,' Amory re- minded her. ' Not necessarily, and I needn't be untruthful. It is R n in silence he carriage in, but did t distance.' mperiously. :d his satis- he moment brward she jsperate. were here. ;w me back is that one ; return on jst tell you lave spoken about my badly over t they could ', all, and I nterested in h. ' But it . some little > know. It id I should get through them know CLOSING IN 323 possible to parry questions, but I can't of course unless you help me.' ' I don't see how I am to help you.' ' You can best do it by saying nothing. Can't you do that for two days for a woman who is in straits ? It commits you to nothing.' Amory did not immediately reply. ' If you can't I must stop the carriage now and go back to the station,' she said quietly, but with a kind of desperate note in her voice. ' I am not really able to stand the ordeal I see in front of me if I have to explain things to my aunts. They can't be explained — it would simply kill me.' ' Why did you think of coming to Medwyn at all if they have that effect on you ? ' ' I was a fool, but all this Christmas talk got on my nerves, and I wanted to have a home to go to like other people, I suppose. I ought to have gone to my Uncle Hedderwick's where they really wanted me.' ' I am glad you came here,' was Amory 's reply, and at that moment the horses took the curve at South Plain and dashed up to the door. ' You haven't promised,' said Christine feverishly. ' You poor child ! ' he said with a strange deep note of tenderness in his voice. * Can't you see — don't you know that I am your friend ? ' ' Amory re- ;hful. It is CHAPTER XXVI THE CLEAR CALL Medwyn Vale is watered by one deep, wide river into which flow many tributary streams. At the bottom of the delectable gardens of South Plain there is a shallow stream which in summer gives a special charm to their green lawns and cool recesses. A path, shaded by fine trees, makes a pleasant walk much frequented on summer evenings, but practically deserted in winter, except when the stream freezes over and provides amusement for the skaters, who then fly over miles of uninterrupted country. In mild winter weather, however, there is often a chill mist l5dng about the banks so that it is avoided by persons who have a care for their health. The following afternoon — the day before Christmas — Amory and Christine left the garden of the old Amory House, crossed the stream by a foot-bridge a little lower down, and turned their faces to the open country. It was about an hour before sunset, and already the sky was showing signs of the exquisite colouring so often observed at the close of a fine winter day. The frost imparted such clearness to the atmosphere that the land- scape for miles was set before them like a sharp cameo. It had a certain beauty of its own, though there was nothing grand or awe-inspiring in the level breadths with the faint outline of distant undulations which could hardly be called hills. A suggestion of peace, however, Oi plenty and of prosperity, seemed to brood over what 824 river into Dottom of a shallow 1 to their d by fine n summer :ept when it for the 1 country, en a chill 'oided by iristmas — Id Amory ttle lower mtry. It 7 the sky so often The frost the land- rp cameo, there was dths with ich could however, iver THE CLEAR CALL 325 was a very typical English scene. Amory remarked upon its beauty as they passed from the shadow of the tall old trees whose thick tracery of branches even in winter made considerable shade. ' The sky is lovely.' said Christine, ' but I cannot see much beauty in these flat fields. When you have spent years of your life as I have done in the heart of the Highlands, you'll never be satisfied with this.' Amory stepped aside for a moment in order that she might avoid broken bit of the path. She smiled upon him, ac ^■ ng this little attention, and once more he was strucl; *. tiie exceeding sweetness of her face. It was in many respects a striking face, and it interested him more than that of any woman he had yet seen. During the few hours they had been under one roof he had taken much sharp counsel with himself, perfectly aware of the emotions that were beginning to do battle in his heart. The evening and the morning had passed without cata- strophe. The aunts had been cordial and not too curious ; Christine had been able without much difficulty to parry the questions she could not answer satisfactorily. The break with her married life had been so recent that she was able without effort to furnish them with details con- cerning its routine, which was al! they asked. Christine was unaware, however, how much she really owed to Amory, and might have been surprised had she overheard a few words that passed between him and Aunt Grace after she went upstairs to bed. He was delightful in a household of women— simple, sincere, deferential, yet always strong. One never lost tbe sense that his was a mind of force and greatness, yet not disdainful of those simple things which help to make up the smn of life. Christine was charmed and found herself leaning upon him, anxious to win and keep his good opinion, and determined to justify herself in his eyes. She had welcomed his suggestion that they should 326 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER take a long walk in the country, though she knew per- fectly well it was impossible they should return without some words of import having been spoken. Amory, accustomed to deal with difficult matters and a bom diplomat, could not suffer a situation like Chris- tine's to continue without some effort on his part to better it. The kinship between them, he considered, fully justified his desire as well as his right to interfere. He wondered, as he looked at the clear strong outline of her face, just how far he might go without fear of giving offence. ' They talked of ordinary matters during the early part of their walk, Christine asking many questions concerning his life in the East. She even seemed to have a certain feverish shrinking from silence which might be broken by questions she could not answer. Amory, however, ex- hibited no signs of a desire to pry into her affairs, but discoursed interestingly concerning his varied experi- ences, giving Christine much insight not only into his worl-:, but into his own outlook upon hfe. The ideal was so high, the outlook was so clear and definite that a growing wonder filled her soul. ' I have never met any one quite like you and your mother. I have not had very much experience of men in public life, of course, but is it not unusual for the servants of the State to be so avowedly religious ? ' she said, hesitating a little over the last words, ' I hope it is not so rare as you think/ he answered gravely. ' There is no doubt that religion is an immense help to a man in his conduct and attitude towards public affairs. It gives him the right sense of proportion and solves for him a thousand problems. For myseW, life in China would be impossible without it.' ' What happens to the person who, like me, has no such guiding force ? ' she murmured, then immediately added, ' Do you make it a milde for conduct ? If it would :r knew per- irn without latters and like Chris- lis part to iered, fully jrfere. He tline of her • of giving early part concerning e a certain broken by wever, ex- iffairs, but ed experi- y into his 3 ideal was ite that a ani your ice of men lal for the ious ? ' she i answered n immense irds public ortion and seM, life in le, has no nmediately If it would THE CLEAR CALL 327 not tire or bore you. will you tell me how this strange belief in the unknown and the unknowable mfluences your Ufe, for I can see that it does— that you do nothing way\vardly, but always pause to consider what, I sup- pose, must be cause and effect ? ' , • 4. • Not always, I came to Medwyn the other day against my better judgment and somewhat to my mother's dis- appointment. I acted merely on impulse.' ' You had to ccme and see me. I needed you, was Christine's unexpected reply. 'I too was drawn ^o Medwyn— I felt that something awaited me here. I think I am a fataHst, and my blind acceptance of the events of Ufe has been fostered during my companionship with Mrs. Prentice.' . , ' She is an extraordinary woman,' said Amory musingly. ' I have heard of her from Lady Carteret, and our aunts have told me part of her history. I cannot conceive of any common meeting-ground between you and her. ' Oh, but she was most kind to me, though I have never understood her deep-rooted interest in public hfe for women, which does not appeal to me in the least. Apart from that she was most interesting, and her know- ledge of the human heart was a Uttle disconcerting at times. She seemed to know what one thought before one knew oneself.' ^ ' She is going abroad, I think you said ? ' Yes, on the fifteenth of January— for the study of the occult in the East. I think she is dead, so far as mterest in the Women's Cause in England is concerned. I cannot help wondering what will be her ultimate end. I have even wondered whether she might ulthnately find rest in the bosom of the Romish Church.' Amory stole a side-glance at her, wondering whether the same fold might appeal to her. ' You take some interest in the Romish Church your- self, perhaps, that you speak like that ? ' 11 328 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER 'Oh, none. I have very little interest in churches which seem to nie a relic of barbarism-of symbolism if you do not like the other word. They have really v;ry httle relation to actual life.' ^ 'But public worihip, ordained and sanctioned by our divine Master remains the only form of religious expres- sion that we have,' said Amory quickly. ^ 'Oh no' rejoined Christine. 'There is the life which IS mspired and dominated by religion as yours is, and which IS more eloquent than the formalism of church services. I can't, conceive of you acting meanly or treacherously or selfishly. I am therefore compelled to respect-even to acknowledge-wl .t I don't understand ' Amory did not reply for a moment, and Christine looked at hrni to see whether her words had made any impres- sion. Then she continued— 'I have met a great many so-called rehgious people who are quite without the hght of which your niother spoke to me, and which I see that you also cherish. Take our aunts, for instance. Aunt Lettice affects piety, and she IS an ardent supporter of all the ordinances of AH Ha^ows , but she is at heart a selfish, worldly woman, and IS even a httle cruel. Aunt Grace is better, but she would be just as much of a dear without going to church bhe IS as pleasant on week-days as on Sundays ' Amory smiled a little. He wished her to talk-to express all the views she cherished in order that he might arrive at a clearer conception of her character and out- look upon hfe. He had set out upon this walk with a definite purpose-rto talk to her about her own private hfe, cO ask about her husband, and if possible, try to discover where the difficulty of their relationship lav It was a course most unusual for a man of his temperament being rather shy by nature and disinclined to expres^ himself with freedom in the presence of strangers He could not feel, however, as if this cousin who had so R churches, nbolism, if really very ed by our us expres- life which rs is, and of church leanly or ipelled to derstand.' ne looked y impres- is people r mother h. Take iety, and es of All woman, . but she ) church. talk— to le might ind out- : with a private , try to lay. It srament, express rs. He had so THE CLEAR CALL 329 strangely crossed his path belonged to that category, as he had felt famiUar and happy with her from the first moment of meeting. He had accidentally discovered how completely isolated she was at the present crisis in hei affairs, and realising to the full the dangers of such a position for a young and attractive woman, he had deter- mined to use all the powers he possessed to bring about some reconciliation between her and her husband. But first he must get a more clear and definite idea of the lions ir the path. It was a rather strained and unusual situation, but he had had some considerable experience in dealing with difficult situations, and he did not shrink from it. ' Do you mi'./d if I talk about myself ? ' she asked presently when he made no comment on her words. ' It is what I wish to hear more than anything else,' he answered so swiftly and with such a look of quick apprecia- tion that she was left in no doubt of his interest in her. The feeling that he was deeply interested in her com- forted her, and though he might disapprove of her actions in certain circumstances, his sjmipathy and understanding would never fail. ' I warn you, I am horribly selfish,' she said with her sweet smile which had once been the joy of Otto Breck's life, but which, of late, had been so rare and fleeting. ' I am prepared for that,' he answered, smiling too. ' It is so common and dear a failing that we ought all to have sympathy with one another because of it.' ' Ah, I thought you would reprove me for that, and show me wherein I had failed in my Christian duty,' she said banteringly. ' Who am I to judge ? ' he made answer. ' But I am a man and you are a woman. It is just possible that between us we may arrive at some solution of the par- ticular problem which vexes your soul. Life is at once so complicated and so simple that we cannot afford to > L 330 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER disdain any help which will bring us nearer any realisa- tion of its meaning.' ' I have always been proud,' answered Christine. ' And I have lived very much to myself. That is partly due to temperament and partly to training. Now I will tell you about myself, beginning at the beginning, and I warn you it will be a tedious story.' ' I shall not find it so. I am honoured and touched by your confidence.* ' It will be the first I have given, and the only reason I offer it to you must be because we come of the same people. My mother died wht.i I was bom, my father brought me up—' She talked on then, giving a full, though brief, sketch of her childhood and of the perfect relation that had existed between her father and herself. It was a moving and beautiful story, and as Amory listened to her vibrating voice and witnessed the moving tenderness of her face, he realised what depths and possi- bilities were enshrined in her nature for good, what womanly capacity for happiness on the right lines. She told the story consecutively and, when she came to the incident of her father death, she stood still in the path, opened the bodice of her dress, and took out a letter wrapped in a soft handkerchief. ' This is the message he left to me— the last letter, I think, except one which he penned the night before he died. I was selfishly sleeping, not knowing how his heart was riven because of me. It is in keeping with the whole ' ' You wish me to read this ? ' asked Amory in a low voice. ' Yes, it will help you to understand what came after.' She turned away from him while he read it, and walked a little restlessly to and fro on the path. A low wind had risen and was ruffling the bosom of the quiet stream and giving a chill to the air, which they must have felt 'ER any realisa- itine. ' And )artly due to will tell you \ I warn you I touched by only reason of the same , my father Lving a full, I the perfect and herself, d as Amory the moving IS and possi- good, what t lines. She came to the in the path, out a letter ast letter, I it before he ow his heart ig with the ry in a low ;ame after.' and walked A low wind juiet stream ist have felt THE CLEAR CALL 331 had they not been deeply engrossed. The sun had gone down, and the grey shadows of the night, creeping across the landscape, narrowed and dwindled it till the per- spective was wholly obliterated. Amory quickly read the closely written sheets which Otto Breck had penned in the night-watches ; and when he had come to the last page he turned back and read certain passages again. Then he folded the letter, and Christine stretched out her hand. ' Don't say a word about it yet. Let me go on.' She related all that had passed at the Glen of the Ford on the day of the funeral, and she drew a portrait of her Uncle Hedderwick and— incidentally— of Alan Grier with- out so much as mentioning his name. She passed over lightly the record of her London experiences and her visit to Medwyn, then hastened on to tell of her visit to Lochardle and her hurried marriage to Grier. From that moment forward her voice seemed to harden, and though she tried to be just while describing her hfe at the Manse, Amory could read between the lines and made no mistake in his estiraate of the actual state of the household and the elements of which it was composed. When she came to explain the reasons which had led her to decide on the drastic step of turning her back on it all, she was not so clear. Time adjusts so much in our human experience that occasionally, after some lapse of time, we are at a loss how to account rationally for certain actions that previously seemed perfectly reasonable, if not unavoidable. Chris- tine became suddenly ashamed of her fight with fate and felt that she had not behaved with dignity and that it was more difficult to present a clear case than she had imagined. She felt irritated by this discovery, unaware that the whole change was in herself. Her little excursion into life— as she had expressed it— had not altogether failed of its purpose after all, and she was now beginning 332 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER in spite of herself to behold the true proportion t f things. Her voice grew a little eary, and she lost the quick descriptive speech and the picturesqueness of touch which had held Amory spellbound at the beginning of the recital. ' I think you need not go any further,' he said with a great gentleness. ' It is becoming quite painful for you, and it is unnecessary. I think I understand. I should be very obtuse if I did not after what you have told me. Let us leave what is past and go on now to what is to come.' ' I don't see what is to come,' said Christine listlessly. ' I feel as if everything was over.' ' At five-and-twenty ? ' said Amory with a smile. ' Well, if you prefer it, we shall talk of the present.' ' Buc are you not going to pass any remark on what I have told you, or let me know your opinion of my con- duct ? I felt certain from the beginning that, though you might understand what I have done, you would not approve of it.' ' I am only concerned with it so far as it affects your happiness and welfare. You have not at least found happiness in the vuy you have taken. That, I think, needs no telling. It was written on your face that night I first saw you in London— it is written on it now.' ' Oh, surely not,' said Christine, putting up her hand with an involuntary gesture as if to chide a face so betraying. ' I have had very good spirits, I think, and of course I have been intensely interested in most of my experiences.' 'Granted— an intelligent woman is always interested in the novel and hitherto untrodden paths, but could you contemplate a lifetime of such occupation as you have had lately ? ' 'No,' replied Christine cahnly. ' I have had enough, if you are talking of the public life which Mrs. Prentice rER THE CLEAR CALL 333 ion cf things. >st the quick f touch which ming of the 2 said with a nful for you, id. I should lave told me. what is to ine listlessly, nile. 'Well, k on what I 1 of my con- :hat, though u would not affects your least found at, I think, e that night low.' p her hand J a face so think, and most of my 5 interested t could you 3 you have ad enough, "s. Prentice liked and to which she introduced me. I have no call to it, and very little sympathy with its aims. I don't apologise for my lack of public spirit, or comradeship with those who are actuated by the sincerest motives, and who believe in all they are striving after. I simply say it does not interest me — why, ^ can't explain.' ' You have music in your soul, I could almost take my affidavit,' said Amory quickly. ' I love music, but not enough to constitute a career — I mean I have no outstanding gift for music, but I can write. I know I can. I have done some writing since I have been with Mrs. Prentice, and everything I have written has been accepted. I have even been asked to attempt something more ambitious, and to send it to the same publisher. So, you see, my future is not altogether without hope,' ' Have you any plan for the immediate future, then ? ' ' I had none when I came here, but this morning I was very early awake, and an idea came to me. I thought I might go to a little village on the Brittany coast which I visited with my father one year. There is an old convent there, and the sisters board a few ladies. It is very restful and delightful, and certainly there would be few distractions if I wished to write.' ' That sounds well,' said Amory quietly. At the moment they came to another foot-bridge over the little river, and there both involuntarily stood still. The light was becoming a little grey, but there was sufficient for them to see one another's faces clearly. ' What about the home you have deserted ? ' asked Amory deliberately, ' and what about all the broken vows and neglected responsibiUties ? What place have they in the scheme of things you have just sketched out ? ' Christine started violently. These were the last words she had expected to hear, Amory having been so con- * gentle and sympathetic throughout. 334 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' Oh, I thought you understood that I could not have any more to do with them,' she said confusedly. ' Not at all. I understood that a certain irksomeness of detail and narrowness of outlook fretted your spirit, and I can perfectly comprehend the step vou took in a blind desire to obtain a better perspective oi them. But in all that you have told me there is not a single happen- ing which justified, even afar off. your conduct toward your husband and your husband's mother. May I ask whether you have ever given a thought to their suffering ? ' ' They will not suffer,' she said coldly. ' At least not much, except in their pride.' That I don't believe. But even if it were true, what right have you to hurt even their pride ? It was a very serious thing for a man in your husband's position to have his wife leave him like that. This often is a bitter and censorious worid. Probably while going so near to wrecking your own life, you have done him an irreparable injury, and that totally without just cause.' ' Oh, you don't understand ! ' she cried desperately. ' I suffered so much— every day was like an eternity.' ' You magnified small things because your tempera- ment goaded you to it ; but tell me, have you ever in all your life tried to realise what is the actual destiny of a human soul, what the purpose for which it is sent into this world ? ' ' We have no choice ! ' she cried rebelliously. ' And . things should not be so hard for us.' ' We are each one of us units of the whole creation, part of the Great Plan, and our Maker demands and expects the fulfihnent of certain conditions at our hands. Just contemplate for a moment what a worid it would be if all men and women, seeking for selfish ease, should act as you did, in every crisis life presents. The result would be chaos and misery unfathomable.' ' But I had so little chance of happiness/ she pleaded PER )uld not have ily. n irksomeness i your spirit, *ou took in a •i them. But iingle happen- nduct toward May I ask ir suffering ? ' ' At least not re true, what [t was a very s position to en is a bitter ig so near to in irreparable perately. ' I •nity.' 3ur tempera- Du ever in all destiny of a : is sent into 3usly. ' And lole creation, lemands and it our hands. >rld it would ease, should The result she pleaded THE CLEAR CALL 335 wistfully. ' And a woman wants happiness first of all — surely she is entitled to it.' ' You had the chance of it,' h" ur^L-rered quietly. ' What you have missed in your U e is Un guiding principle, Christine. How I wish I C( uld inspi j you with it, get you to understand the joy c^ .orvicp of surrender, the satisfaction of giving up ! ' Christine looked at him with awe and wonder, ' I suppose it is your religion,' she said ialteringly. ' You talk just like your mother when she told me about the little children she had lost. I suppose you too have had to do without things in that strange, even horrible country. But you have compensations — where are mine ? ' ' The same way is open, Christine. The mercy and the tenderness of God are for all. You need something to rest your soul upon. You will find it only in the service of the Lord. Cease fighting. Ask Him to order your life for you. Wait and He will guide you.' Christine shook her head. ' You are speaking in an unknown tongue, I don't believe anything. I don't say I refuse to believe— only it seems impossible to me.' ' It is because you are fighting against it— because you can't surrender. Tell me, when your father lived, had you not implicit faith in him ? Your father said " Go ! " and you obeyed without asking any questions.' ' Yes, it was like that.' ' It is the same trust and love that God requires, Christine. It may be that your father was taken from you that you, through your very need, might find the only rock within whose shadow the God-created spirit can rest.' She was silent as she walked on by his side, the wind ruffling her hair, and she seemed to shiver with a sudden sense of cold. After a moment she turned to him, with 336 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER an expression of great wistfulness, such £is a child might have shown on being commanded to follow a difficult and unwelcome path. ' What does your religion bid me do with myself and my life ? ' He was silent a moment, more moved than he could have expressed. But when he spoke there was neither hesitation nor doubt in the tones of his voice. ' It bids you go back.' CHAPTER XXVII THE WIND FROM THE NORTH They walked back to South Plain almost in silence. As they re-crossed the little foot-bridge close to the garden of the Amory House, Christine turned to Amory with a somewhat piteous smile. ' If there is a God, how is it He did not permit us to meet before it was too late ? * ' It is not too late,' returned Amory frankly. ' It is as you said — you had to seek for your experience in the wilderness.' ' The wilderness,' she repeated slowly. ' Yes, it is that ; but the wilderness is not only behind me — it is in front.' Without speaking a word he stood aside for her to pass across the bridge. Something told him that they had come to the end of speech. The house was Ut up when they entered the famihar door, it being now about an hour past tea-time, Chris- tine, unwiUing to meet her aunts just at once, was about to go upstairs when the drawing-room door opened and the voice of her Aunt Grace summoned her. ' How late you are, dear ; there is some one here wait- ing for you. Come.' A sudden terror shook her, and for the moment she felt she must flee. But immediately another figure fiUed the doorway behind Aunt Grace, and a joyous voice called her by name. Y i I 338 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER I! ' Effie ! ' The word fell in a great cry from Christine's lips, and the next moment she was clinging to her, and they had forgotten their surroundings. Amory a Uttle awkwardly sought to enter the drawing- room, and when Aunt Grace saw the two girls go together upstairs, she followed him in without a word and closed the drawing-room door. ' Why did you keep Christine out so long, John ? She must be famished for her tea.' ' We did not think about tea, I am afraid, but perhaps you could send some up to her. Who is the lady ? ' ' Her husband's sister, come to spend a brief Christmas holiday in London with Christine. There seems to have been some misunderstanding about the visit. I am afraid Christine is still a very casual person.' Amory pondered the thing, certain that there were wheels within wheels. But there could be no doubt that to Christine the new-comer was more than welcome. ' Where did you go, John ? ' asked Aunt Letty. ' I am sure it was not a very fine afternoon for a walk.' ' We were talking. Aunt Lettice, and, I am afra I, did not much notice either the weather or the direction.' ' But surely you must know which direction you took ! ' ' Oh ye We crossed the river and walked west — at least we were all the time facing the sunset, which was fine.' ' Did you walk as far as the little church at Threefold Cross ? ' ' I don't think so. At least I don't remember seeing any church.' ' And what did you talk about ? I am so glad to think you can make Christine talk. She has been so very silent since she came. Either her husband must be a great talker or a very silent man to have changed her so.' ' Oh Lettice, Christine never was a talker,' said Miss I at Threefold nember seeing THE WIND FROM THE NORTH 339 so frank and outspoken. We quite took to her. She left her bag at the Golden Fleece Hotel. We have sent Tirnbs up for it. A most extraordinary muddle it seems to have been. But Miss Grier merely laughs over it. Some sisters-in-law would not take it so pleasantly.' Amory concluded that the new arrival must be a person of tact and discernment, and a load lifted from his mhid. He had done his part. It might remain with the new- comer to guide the story to its fit conclusion. ' What do you think of your cousin, John ? ' asked Miss Lettice's sweet, somewhat querulous voice. ' She seems to us greatly changed since last year. No one, seeing her then, could have imagined matrimony could have such an effect on her ; she is so subdued.' ' Tell me more exphcitly in what way she is changed. Aunt Lettice,' said Amory interestedly, as he helped him- self to a cup of tea. He could not keep his thoughts from wandering to the room overhead. Was a poignant scene being enacted there, he wondered ? But had he been permitted to look into the pleasant room which Sophia Timbs loved to make homely and inviting for Miss Alice's daughter, he would not have seen anything to suggest tragedy. Effie stood by the table, smoothing her reindeer gloves in her hand, her bright face very serious, but perfectly calm. 'Don't glower at me, Christine,' she said with a little smile. ' I have just come to find out for ?.r.yself what is the matter. You gave me the right in the cab that day before the wedding, and I'll never give up that right.' Christine looked as if smitten with sudden cold. She shivered a little and sat down, conscious Oi an increasing weakness of body and lethargy of mind. No longer a free agent, she felt helpless and incompetent to give any account of herself. Efiie's question was very straight and clear, but the answer must be less so. In a word, Chris- tine did not know what to say. HI 340 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER I ' I haiily thought you would need to ask that question, Effie. I have heard you criticise the life at Strathardle before now.' * Yes, and I may criticise it again, dear. But that does not help us here. What was the matter ? ' ' I was not needed or wanted,' said Christine dully. ' They must have been glad when I went away.' Effie put down her gloves and began to unbutton her coat. 'We got our hoUdays at Lanark on Monday because ib^ve had been' a case of suspected scarlet fever. I went up to Strathardle on the Tuesday ' * Not expecting to find me there, I suppose,' interrupted Christine. ' Oh no. I knew that you had gone, tor the moment my mother had Alan's telegram she went back tc the Manse.' ' I told you it would please her,' said Christine with a sort of quiet triumph. ' As to that, I don't know. She hardly ate or slept when she came to me, and when I saw her this week she looked to me hke a woman not long for this world. She'll never get over it, Christine. It was far worse for her than a death at the Manse.' 'Why? I thought she would just slip into the old ways and that everything would go on just as before.' 'We are apt to think that, but nothing can be the same after the deluge. It alters the face of the whole world. And, unfortunately, my mother, you see, hd got to be very fond of you. That was where it h. «• ' Christine's mouth shut with a httle snap. ' I never did anything to make her ford Oi. me. I didn't want her to feel like that,' she said hardiy, ' Perhaps not, but that's the fact ; and because of it she's hard on Alan — blaming him entirely.' ' I hope he's quite well,' Christine forced herself to say. ' His hair is greyer than my mother's, and he looks like an old man, but we never spoke your name, Christine. When THE WIND FROM THE NORTH 341 I saw how it was with them I just rose up and came away. You have destroyed Ufe for these two folk that never harmed you, and you went there of your own free will.' * I never wished to go,' she said defiantly. ' Still you went as a free agent. Don't tell me anybody coerced you mto it. You are not that kind of woman.' ' But I hated it all ! If I had remain d I should have done something dreadful.' ' I get up at Lanark some days, feeling fit to murder the whole school,' repUed Effie calmly. ' But I don't do It. These are the days when I get on best with those about me, because I fight myself. Don't think nobody has a battle except you, Christine. Do you think any sane woman, feeUng herself capable of higher things would choose such a life as mine ? When I walked in London yesterday and felt the throb and beat of its myriad life I knew what T wanted, but I didn't telegraph to the Clerk of the Schooi joard, resigning my situation. We're not bairns, Christine, with the bairns' right to throw away the broken toy. When it happens to be broken we have got to mend it— that's all, and hold up the brave face, even, if necessary, trying to convince ourselves that it is not broken at all.' 'Marriage is diffe-^nt,' said Christine. 'You never seem to get away from it.' ' I understand that, but it has compensations.' Christine was silent a moment with her head on bvr hands. I Did Alan say anything about me, Effie } ' ' Not a word, but my mother knows that I am here— at least that I have gone to London for the purpose of seeing you. I have a letter for you from her in the bag. Shall I give it to you now ? ' I No, no ! I don't think I want to see it.' ' You wiU have to. The writing of a letter is an event m my mother's Ufe. I have had only two from her in mv life. Yes. rnmi» in » : \ 342 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER This invitation wa.^ in answer to a knock at the door which, as Effie perceived, Christine had aot heard. Sophia Timl'S appeared, bringing in a dainty tea-tray. and mth a glance of affection set it down before Christine on 1/''; table. 'Mi^v Ail cry's orders, ma'am, and I made the toast myself.' It was .{..tie vvh> thanked her, and who, vhen the door war, closed again, poured out a cup and touched Chris- tine's arm. ' Here, dear, drink this, and eat a bit of t.^se toast that hard-faced woman made for love of you. See what power you have over other people's lives ! I, a harmless, un- necessary unit, envy you, though I think, dear, that if God gave to me the capacity to win so much love, I should better know how to appreciate it.' Christine sat up with a little start and began to drink her tea in feverish haste. . ^ ' What do they say about me in Strathardle ? Have they put me outside the plea yet ? ' ' There has been talk, of course, and plenty of it, but my mother has lied bravely for you, Christine, and talks to everybody as if it were some sickness or other pressing cause that keeps you so long among your own people.' ' Your mother has lied for me ! ' repeated Christine vaguely. ' Why should she ? ' ' It is her idea of being loyal, I suppose,' replied Effie calmly. ' But why should anybody lie about the se of my absence ? I don't mind though everybody ' - )VvS.' 'You ha\' -othing to lose, perhai v" lerved Effie drily. 'My ;, ther has centuries ol ride and decent feeling behind her. What you have dore , 'eans disgrace to the Griers. There isn't any use miicj- • he matter. She told me thlt Dr. Elder had been up tx i.g- to rouse Alan, and that probably after ihe New Ye: ve will leave i ' 1 .L ' kd J M iW tt WI I I W Mt rER i at the door hoard. ir«ty tea-tray. ;rore Christine ide the toast .'hen the door 3uched Chris- ;}ie toast that e what power hai inless, un- dear, that if nuch love, I ;gan to drink irdle ? Have ity of it, but ne, and talks )ther pressing n people.' ted Christine replied Effie ' 3e of my r ms.' served Eifie ! and decent ''ans disgrace ^^e matter. viiig to rouse lie will leave THE WIND FROM THE NORTH 343 Strathardle and take up some post in Edinburgh in con- nection with the headquarters of the Church. It might even be a travelling secretaryship or a mission of inquiry abroad. I beUeve that Dr. Elder will create such a post for him. My mother said as much.' Christine emptied her cup and filled out another. Her tongue seemed parched in her throat. ' Are there trains back to London to-night yet ? ' inquired Effie. ' These dear old ladies asked me to stop over to-morrow, and they expatiated at great length on the horrors of Christmas Day in a hotel. I had hoped to find you at your hotel, of course, but they couldn't tell me when you would be back.' ' Effie, I'll go back with you to-night to Whitefield's. I should like to show you London.' ' I'd rather stop here over Sunday,' replied Effie, ' if the old ladies meant it— and I think they did. What a splendid-looking man your cousin is. I have been hearing of his achievements. How proud they are of him and all belonging to him. Is he a good man ? ' ' Good ? Oh yes, he's horribly good, Effie. Don't let us talk about him, I tell you, he's impossible. Shall we go down and see what they say in the drawing-room ? I don't look forward with any pleasure to spending to- morrow here, I can tell you. I would much rather go to London to-night.' * Well, but it doesn't do to make conveniences of people* and throw them over at a moment's notice,' said Effie. ' Heavens ! if we all behaved in such an irresponsible way what a world this would be ! I am not very con- ventional myself, but I acknowledge the use of the con- ventions. They're a sort of daur ower us. Do they dress for dinner here ? I have nothing in my bag but a white blouse.' ' It will do,' answered Christine. ' Everybody wears high frocks, of course.' 0- iM' 344 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER A little later, when a message from the drawing-room took them down, Christine was surprised to find it all so easy and pleasant. The atmosphere which she had found impossible Effie seemed to revel in. She set herself down by Miss Lettice's couch and proceeded to talk cheerily to her, telhng her little stories to make her laugh rnd de- fernng to her in a hundred little ways which delighted tne invahd, and created a sunny atmosphere about her. Remembering that Effie had not been much of a success at Lochardle, Christine was more and more amazed, i'erhaps she too had learned in the hard school of Ufe if S2 "°* ?"'*^ P^^^^® ^^'' however, to observe how well Effie and John Amory seemed to understand one another, and her brows went down when on the Sunday afternoon they went off for a walk together without so much as suggestmg that she might like to accompany them What a perfectly charming girl your sister-in-law is ! ' ex- claimed Aunt Grace as from the French window she w .'itched them crossing the lawn towards the river path ' if your husband is at all like her, you must be a happy woman.' They are not at all ahke, Aunt Grace ' ' Had you a letter this morning ? It seems hard for you to be parted at Christmas time,' pursued Aunt Grace vaguely conscious that there was something not altogethe^ satisfactory about Christine. ^ ' I didn't have any letter.' 'Well, I suppose you will be getting home soon. Miss Grier says she must go up to London to-morrow, that it is her first visit and she must make the most of it But you won't go too ? ' 'I must. Aunt Grace. Effie came to see me without sendmg me any notice or I should not have left her to amve as she did. It was very sensible of her to come on down here, and I am certainly very much obliged to you for being so kind to her.' ' It is easy to be kind to such a delightful creature. ER rawing-room find it all so e had found tierself down : cheerily to gh, r.nd de- ;h delighted : about her. of a success re amazed. 1 of life, bserve how irstand one the Sunday 3ut so much 7 them, law is ! ' ex- ihewutched . ' If your )y woman.' s hard for unt Grace, altogether 3on. Miss , that it is f it. But e without eft her to ■ to come obliged to creature. THE WIND FROM THE NORTH 345 She is so fresh and cheerful it quite does us good. I have never seen your Aunt Lettice take so quickly to any one. John feels just the same. By the bye, do you like John ? ' ' Is he not a little bit priggish ? ' asked Christine some- what maliciously. ' We don't think so, and his manner to old ..omen like us is charming. I must say his mother has brought him up well. We are in great luck to have such an interesting houseful for Christmas.' Christine made no reply. ' Why didn't you go to early communion this morning, Christine ? It was lovely, and your sister enjoyed every moment of it. We were all there and missed you very much. I was in hopes that you would take more interest in the services now that you are a clergyman's wife. They are a great comfort and a help as well.' Christine made no response. Her thoughts were with the pair on the iver path, where it wound down to the church of the mreefold Cross. Doubtless they talked of her. Her heart swelled rebelliously at the thought. If they had, Effie made no allusion to the fact, nor did Amory. Both avoided any, even the most distant, allusion to the under-currents of feeling which occupied their thoughts. When Christine came downstairs rather earlier than usual next morning she was surprised to learn that Sir John Amory had already left Medwyn by a train at half- past seven. ' He had an important connection to catch in London, ma'am,' said S:.phia Timbs. ' He said good-bye to Miss Lettice and '.'^bi Grace last night.' Gone — ana he had not so much as thought it worth while to speak another word to h^r, or to leave her a message ! Christine's mouth took an unusually bitter curve. At break! .st they all discussed the trains that reached London lat--;' in the day, and finall''' were f^ennitted to .«^ 346 THE ONE WHO CAMr AFTER fix upon one which left Medwyn about four o'clock Christine, feverishly restless as usual, was eager to be gone. A new turn had been given to her life and she dKl not know what she should do next. She knew that tihe hoped— if indeed she was not determined— that thev should travel back to Scotland together. Effie. however, had not actually suggested this, but had simply remarked tiiat her ticket would expire on Friday, and that she ciu u . T *° ^"^^""^^ ^^^'^ *° Edinburgh on that day. bhe had also deUvered over Mrs. Grier's letter to Christine but was unaware whethei she iiad read it. As a m- . ^er of fact she had not, for she was afraid That night after they had returned to London, how- ever, ana Effie had gone to her own room at Whitefield's Hotel, Chnstine, seated before her bedroom fire in her dressing-gown and slippers, prepared herself for the ordea! The envelope was addressed in Effie's handwriti ig the sheet within was covered witb cramped, somewhat' un- even characters not ?o much the work of uneducated hngers as of ti -a stii. at an unusual task. Christine was surprised and touched by the words at the top where the letter began abruptly. T P^fJ" Lassie,— .is Effie is in hopes of seeing yc-., thou-h I don t myself feel so certain about \ I take this opportS of writing a few Imes to you myse;;. It will not be eas> for me to say what I want to so heca^ ,e I have littl skill with wdte^abouT ""'^ '' '' ^'- ^''''^^ '"''"^' ^ ^^""^ *° I am not seeking to inquire as to why you w .t'away, Christine; that must be between yourself and your Maker who ef ated you a responsible being. What I want to say is that If I did anything to vex or humble you while you were here, I am sorry for it: I never meant ill, lassie, though I confess that I had a sore heart over your first coding to the Manse. In the years that are coming, Christine, may be after you have sons of your own, which God grant you may have you will understand what I suffered. But vou «.o"ld n--? 'ER four o'clock, eager to be life and she le knew that d— that they fie, however, )ly remarked nd that she n that day. to Christine, As a n>' . ter Dndon, how- Whitefield's 1 fire in her r the ordeal. Iwritiig, the mewhat un- uneducated le words at yon, though 5 opporti^ lity : be eas) for :tl' skill with jr 1 have to went" away, your M.tker ant to say is ile you were e, though I jming to the may be after u may have, vould ne-'er THE WIND FROM THE NORTH 347 make the mistake I did and sinned in the doing, making an idol of my son and shutting his sister out, and living for him as if the world held none other. I have been punished for that likewise, for it is written 'Thou shalt have no other gods ' fore Me.' But after you came, and your sweet ways wound themselves about my heart, I found that there were other joys in the v^orld besides that of motherhood of one son, and the place grew bonnier and brighter because you were there. And just when the sun was shining at its brightest and I had got to love you like my own, you rose up and wenl away, and the darkness shut down upon my life and my son's. I say nothing about my pain, for that, maybe, I have .leserved, but my son did nothing to deserve that you should tear his heart to pieces with your bonnie fingers; and my wVi le prayer to you is for him. For sure unless you come I ack to him, his whole life is over, and he will do no more good ir is world — shame that I should have to write such a word ai it my own son — nor will he be ready for the next. I am an old woman, whose days will be few. I have not had much happiness in my life, chiefly because I have feared to be happy, thinking I had not the right to it. But I say here, that when you come back, I will go down on my knees to serve you, to try and wipe out the hard thoughts I overt had of you, not only for my son's sake, but because you are as dear to me as he is. That I should live to say this to another woman's child, I could never have believed. But we never get to the end of the mysterie^ of life. I am an old woman, my dear, and you are a young one. I long for you, I need you, and this empty, empty house is crying for you as the plover are ^^rying over the desolate spaces of the Ardle Moor. So come to her that is fain to mother you, and that here signs herself wiin truth and affec- tion your loving mother, Marian Grier. Christine bowed her head till her lips rested on the paper where a tear had blotted it, and \\'hen she slept it lay upoii her breast. . Nevertheless EflGie on the appointed day travelled to the north alone. CHAPTER XXVIIl ■I MAN TO MAN vet hi.Tri''' '"'^^^' ^ ^"^^ "^°^^ '^^r^^orn than before he was satisfied with his performX oTih. fil 5°['' Sv^tsti^^^^^^^^ iti't:.^Ln^- ctxr::v:?ir/„ ttu^ site i^^^:-x:s^^t:^ 348 " MAN TO MAN 349 At the moment a trap drove up to the gate, aiid a stranger nimbly sprang from it, spoke a word to the driver, and opening the gate approached the house. He wore a fur-trimmed overcoat, and his soft hat was well drawn over his brows, so that very little of his face could be seen. Grier hastily put on his boots and had just risen from his chair when Annie Donald, without preamble, announced ' A gentleman for ye, sir.' The stranger entered with the ease of a man never at a loss in any circumstances — an ease acquired through much dealing with difficult problems among all sorts and conditions of men. He smiled slightly as he bowed, and laid his hat on the table, placing in it the gloves which he drew off. ' My name is Amory. Is it at all familiar to you, Mr. Grier ? ' he asked, and the tones of his voice, ringing true, relieved Grier of a strange embarrassment. ' Yes, I have heard it. I know it to be the family name of my wife's mother.' ' Right. I have come from your wife, though not of her knowledge or with her consent. First of all, am I welcome ? ' ' Certainly ; and before we go further, what about your conveyance ? I suppose you have driven from the Junction, since there is no train due at our local station at this time.' ' Yes, and I find I cannot pet back to Aberdeen to-night. If you are so kind as to offer me your hospitality I shall be glad to accept it.' ' Most certainly. Let me tell them to give the man some tea before he goes back, and to bring in your bag.' * Thank you — that will be very kind. It is what I hoped for.' While Grier left the room for a moment to inform his mother t at an unexpected guest had arrived, Amory looked round with a conscious quickening of interest upon i f 350 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER the surroundings which his kinswoman had found in- bfelThed aJ^'i ""'7 "'""^^^ '"' ^^^"^^' ^"^ the house breathed of a homely comfort. Also, as he had been rt.n "m"' *^''"/f "°thing weak or repellent about the man His fine looks, indeed, had come upon Amory as a great surprise. He was warming his hands oveHhe cheer ul blaze of the study fire, when Grier, w1 h a slightly heightened colour, returned to the room My mother and the servant will see to the man, and afterwards to your comfort. You will be glad of a cup nJ%J r' ^^'"^^"^ ^^ °"" "^y^^lf before I should go at welct^?"" ^^ '''''''' '"^ '^ -^-^ ^t -tains yll .l^^I"^^ that when I entered, or I should not have asked for your hospitality. I should simply have made my call and gone away.' ^ ^ ^ J^^^u^^"" "^"t stopping at any of the great hou«;es in the neighbourhood, then ? ' 'No I left London yesterday afternoon at 220 slept the night at Edinburgh, and here I am. I come from a tropical country, so I was afraid to risk the night Sble.?"^' ' "^"^^ '^y ^-^ ^-elling is v^^ ' Yes, it is. There have been great changes in that yZlS'''' '"' ''" ^^"^- ^^^ "^^ ^^^p y^^ «" ^ .,• j^l?""' ^^^^r^ *° ^^' "^^'^t^"'^ ^^^^ to give the proffered tfe' J:Z ^1 ^^T^^t into contrast and comparison. n the matter of mches Grier certainly had the advantage his figure being altogether on a larger scale. His fSe' too, had a more rugged strength, but it lacked the mobile curves which made Amory's such an arresting one Gner diew an arm-chair close to the fire and Amnrv took it, but he did not himself offer to sit 'do^ ^ J wardly perfectly calm, both were conscious of the un- doubted strain of the moment. MAN TO MAN 351 ' I spent the week-end at Medwyn in Bucks, and left your wife there, Mr, Grier.' Grier made no remark. Amory, watching him keenly, observed the sensitiveness of his face and the signs of a pride that had been hurt. But he did not discover any of the repellent traits for which he had been prepared. Christine's behaviour more and more perplexed him. ' I am somewhat at a loss to explain or justify my intrusion upon you at this time,' he continued in his pleasant voice which had been known to smooth the angles off many a sharp comer in his experience. ' Your wife is my cousin, and though I only met her for the first time in the course of the last week, I feel in a measure responsible — at least, I could not pass on without trying whether something could not be done ' ' She is well, I hope ? ' said Grier in the same con- strained voice. ' She is quite well, and so also is your sister who is at Medwyn with her — a charming woman. I was glad to see that so perfect an understanding seemed to exist betv/een your wife and her,' ' Effie at Medwyn ! ' cried Grier in amazement. * How did she get there ? ' ' She arrived in London with the intention of visiting Christine, and hearing that she had gone to Medwyn, simply followed her. She made such an impression on the old ladies there that they insisted on keeping her over Christmas, and as I say, I left them both there.' ' Yes,' was all that Grier said. ' I have had a long talk with Christine. I did not force her confidence, but, observing her unhappy and puzzling over the obviously unusual circumstances of her lot, I ventured to ask her a few questions, presuming perhaps a little on our newly estaohshed relationship. She did not resent it. But I must say I d'd not make much headway. The most I can say is that I awakened i 352 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER some new thoughts in her mind, and that she has begun to realise what she has done ' ^ ; Is she unhappy ? ' asked Grier a trifle wistfuUy. T /l° n 'I'"- ^"* '^ '^ ^ ^*^P i" the right direction I don t hke what she has done, Grier-to he qui e Irlnk with you-but she is a woman above the common and perhaps cannot be judged by the ordinary sTanda^ds Then she has not had much chance of getting a pTope; perspective of hfe. We must remember how she vvas brought up when we are tempted to be hard on her ' with TZ^^""^ ^'^^ ^^'^ °" ^^'' G°d knows.' said Grier with a sudden passion. ' I have cared, and do care for her too much for that. I have done nothing to Induce her to return because I was simply stunned and felt that my intervention might be worse than useless. H Christbe ever comes back she must come of her own accord ' Precise y. and that she wiU do some day. but we must do somethmg to hasten the happy issue. Perhaps S out knowing it. you took the very best course possibrfn the circumstances. She fully expected you would msh after her, and believe me, she ha^ resented y^rslle^ce A woman only resents what a man does when he Ts interested m him.' ^^ Pr.ll7'^^^ "7' °^ ^'' ^" ^°"^' °f ^«"^se. from Mrs. Prentice who, unknown to Christine, has been my friend I have had a letter from her only to-day. She is in th^ very county at present, visiting a relative, but I shlu not be able to see her as she is laid aside with illness ' Her connection with Mrs. Prentice is at an end She IS simply drifting now. On Saturday, when we had a Briftaw tr a 'f '"''fT'f^' '^^'-^ of goingTcrt to iinttany to a convent to do some hterary work Mv advice to you is to let her go there.' ^ ' But that takes her farther away ' ^'Only to the solitude where she will come to herself Already I discern in her attitude the seeds of a dTvfne FTER : she has begun Adstfully. right direction. be quite frank '■ common, and ary standards, itting a proper how she was d on her.' >ws,' said Grier id do care for ling to induce i and felt that '■ If Christine accord.' , but we must Perhaps with- fse possible in a would rush your silence. when she is se, from Mrs. m my friend. She is in this iit I shall not ness.' an end. She ■n we had a ing across to ' work. My e to herself, of a divine MAN TO MAN 353 discontent. I believe I am right m saying that if you leave her alone she will come back of her own accord.' ' Would you advise me to write to her ? ' •Yes.' ' What sort of a letter ? ' The words were forced from Grier's unwilling lips, and Amory's eyes expressed his sympathy as he listened. He observed how love had softened a naturally hard man, and destroyed the citadel of liis pride. ' You should write what your heart dictates.' Grier turned from him for a moment and gazed intentiv into the fire. ^ Amory saw that he was forgotten. When Grier spoke again there was a different note in his voice. ' How am I to thank you for this brotherly and Christian act ? ' was all he said. ' By not thanking me at all.' replied Amory genially. 'We are servants of the same Lord and Master, and surely the least we can do is to hold out the hand of com- radeship as opportunity offers— even to create that oppor- tunity on occasion.' ' As you have done,' put in Grier quickly. ' WeU, frankly I felt that I could not understand my cousin's strange case until I had seen you. Now I confess I understand it less than ever. Hers is a very complex nature, however, and even when she comes home your happiness will never be of the restful order— you will have the price to pay.' 'I am ready to pay it,' replied Grier without a moment's hesitation. ' But do not be too humble with her. A woman like C?iristine respects strength in a man, and she would despise weakness.' Grier merely smiled, and Amory fully understood that smile, which implied that he sought to legislate in a region wholly unfamiliar. 354 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER Both men laughed spontaneously, and Amory drew out his cigarette case. ' Do you smoke, and may I ? ' ' I do, but I am afraid mine is stronger meat,' observed Grier as he reached for his old black pipe. Then they sat down together and smoked th^ pipe of peace, and talked no more of Christine. Before they had got to the end of their talk Annie Donald's knock summoned them to tea. Mrs. Grier stood at the door of the dining-room, eagerly expecting the guest, hungering for news of Christine. ' Mother, this is Sir John Amory, a cousin of Christine's and he has come to tell us about her,' said Grier, desirous of relieving his mother's anxiety. Of late they had come much nearer together in heart, anxiety about Christine making a common bond between them. But he was unprepared for the sudden quiver that crossed his mother's lined face as she stepped forward quickly and laid her hand on Amory's arm. ' Oh sir, tell me about my lassie ! When is she coming back ? When did you see— her ? ' ' On Sunday, and I think she is coming soon,' said Amory, more moved by the eager love expressed in the old woman's face than he had been by Grier's manly bearing. And in his heart his anger grew against the woman who had despised the pure gold of these true hearts and had heaped such pain upon them. The questions Grier had not asked were put without hesitation by his mother. How did Christine look ? Was she tired, was she sad ? Where had she been Uving ? When would she come back ? Amory tried to reassure and comfort her, at the same tmie taking a fresh vow within his heart. He would go straight back to Christine, and if any power of his could persuade her, she should never cross the sea to the Brittany convent. The book, if it ever was written, TER Qory drew out eat,' observed d tbr pipe of ir talk Annie room, eagerly hristine. of Christine's, rrier, desirous :her in heart, )ond between idden quiver pped forward is she coming ' said Amory, in the old anly bearing, woman who arts and had put without look ? Was been living ? at the same de would go of his could sea to the v^as written. MAN TO MAN 355 should be written here in the Manse of Strathardle. And its basis would be the new life that she should begin after her experience in the wilderness. It was Saturday, however, before Amory reached London and, though he called at Whitefield's Hotel it was only to learn that Mrs. Grier had quitted it the day before. The hotel people did not know where she had gone, and she had taken away all her belongings, leaving no address. She had not left at the same time as the other lady, but after her departure. Amory was bitterly disappointed, but realising that in the meantime nothing more could be done, he returned to Clievdon to his mother to acquaint her fully with the extraordinary story in which he had taken a small part. The Manse of Strathardle was a very empty place for its inmates when Amory had left it. There is a kinship of the soul which takes no account of time or circumstance or distance, and which forges the bonds of a friendship that is eternal. Amory had completely won the confi- dence of Alan Grier, and their talk had been brothers' talk. .Mrs. Grier, watching them together, had thanked God for His intervention in the darkest hour of their lives. ' Mother,* said the minister, when he had returned from seeing Amory off at the Junction, / we will stop here at least another year. I will write to Dr. Elder and refuse the foreign appointment. Then I will finish the book. It would not do for Christine to come back and find a closed door.' ' I would never lo^wc tLe Glen till she came, Alan, even if I had to go to live in the White Cottage itself,' replied Mrs. Grier, and ir; :"vitc of hunself a mist dimmed for a moment the clear grey of the minister's eyes. ^ You like Ainory, mother ? He's one of the princes whom God sends to the v/orld from time to time just to keep the balance true.' 356 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER ' I could have loved and mothered him, Alan, in spite of his title and his grand doings. And when 1 heard him speak about those cruel heathen who killed his father he minded me on Stephen. His heart is a bairn's heart, but it serves the Lord wi' a man's strength.' Thus they spoke of him who had gone out of his way to do a ChristUke deed, at what cost to himself they did not know. It is certain that had Amory and Christine met earlier her story never would have been written. Mrs. Grier went about her tasks blithely for the next day or two, getting the Manse ready for the return of its mistress, her eyes often wandering to the white road that followed the dark windings of the Loch to the Ford. Night and day she dreamed of the home-coming of Christine, and at last one day the dream came true. The minister was absent at the usual monthly Presby- tery meeting at Kinellan, the day of which Christine had not forgotten. She had chosen the time of her arrival well, reaching the Inn of the Ford about two of the after- noon, where she dismissed the man and left her things saying that she would send down for them later on. Her demeanour and speech were so natural that the man from the Junction and Mrs. Maclaren of the Inn as weU were satisfied that all the stories which had been nfe concerning the affairs of the Manse were Ues. Young Mrs. Grier behaved exactly like a person who had been absent on family affairs, and who was returning at the earUest convenient moment. After she had inquired for the welfare of the Inn folks and again impressed upon them the fact that she would send down for her things, she stepped through the sparse wood to tne kirkyard and made her way to the grave under the rowans. And when she reached it and saw it so freshly cared for, and a httle glass filled with some newly-blown snowdrops under the stone, her br^th came ■J MAN TO MAN 357 e met earlier in a quick gasp that was wholly shame. She knew whose hand had placed them there, she herself having often filled that glass on the study mantelpiece at the Manse. She came— unobserved, as she thought— to the Manse gate, the bitter wind of the north blowing against her face, and the snow touching her hair in a sort of rude welcome. But when she got there the door was open and the tall, spare figure of her husband's mother stood — as she had often stood before — ready to welcome her. It was not enough, however, to stand at the door. An eager heart gives speed to loving feet, and Mrs. Grier ran out and caught her in the lee of the big thorn-tree and held her very close. ' My bairn, my bairn, my bonnie doo ! Yes, yes— but dinna greet, an' if ye maun greet, this is the place— on your mother's hert.' ' It is for you I have come home,' murmured Christine, and would have knelt at her feet. ' It was your letter that brought me — mother.' • • • • . Grier came home in the grey gloaming, and though no man told him that his wife had returned, he knew it in his heart even before his mother met him at the door. ' She's away ower the moor, Alan,' said the old voice tremblingly. ' You will not be hard upon her, lad, for her heart is broken and her face has a weary look. God Himself has judged and led her. We shall keep her only by our love. Dinna stint her of it as I have stinted you. I will to my knees for you and her. It's our only safe- guard and refuge at a time like this.' • •••••» Amory had spoken truly when he surmised that Grier's happiness in his married life could never be of the restful order. It must suffice here to say that Christine after her return from her flight into the wilderness strove to do her best. At times it was a sorry best, yet she never 3S8 THE ONE WHO CAME AFTER forgot the tender mercy shown to her by the people whose hearts she had wrung. In her famUy life sorrow followed hard upon sorrow. It is across stormy seas that some souls are driven to port. She probed at once the joy and deep pain of motherhood, and understood to the uttermost the story which Amory's mother had told her that night in Great Cumberland Place. But she never reached such perfect self-surrender as that saintly woman— she will fight more or less to the end. Some success she has achieved in the literary life, but; as she possesses none of the popular gifts her writing must always be for the few. Her chief aim— sometimes obscured by the foam and the wind-drift —is to be a helpmeet to her husband in the higher sphere to which his gifts have called and entitled him. They two have achieved a certain happiness together, but there are many who declare that they do not under- stand the wife of Professor Grier. The one person who understands— because she loves to the uttermost— is a very old woman whom the children call granny, and who is no longer able to leave the big sunny room that has been set apart for her in her son's house. There Christine finds sanctuary, and the prayer of her passionate heart is that that room may be long occupied. • Of the other persons who in their own time and way influenced the one who came after, we need perhaps, mention only two. Effie is to be found a leader of society in that mysterious city of the East which is the cradle of a great race and in which her husband. Sir John Amory, pursues his honourable and distinguished career, fully trusted by his own Government and also by the Power to whom he is accredited. No problems disttirb her happy heart { she is frankly devoted to the man who has given her not only a great position but a singularly happy life. Childless herself, she dedicates her time and PER people whose upon sorrow, ire driven to ieep pain of Dst the story ght in Great such perfect ill fight more liieved in the the popular ^ Her chief he wind-drift ligher sphere 1. ess together, not under- person who ;rmost — is a tiy, and who Dm that has ere Christine late heart is MAN TO MAN 359 means to the aUeviation of the sufferings of child-life in the country of her adoption. With her brother's wife she maintains a continuous and affectionate correspon- dence, but Amory and Christine have never again met. Mrs. Prentice is still hidden in the dim mysterious regions where she sought the final solution of life's problems. Whether she will ever emerge again, bearing with her the torch of the fuller light, it is not in my power to predict. Her name is forgotten save by one or two who for a bnef space came under the speU of her versatile personality. The quest for happiness and peace— how alluring it is yet how often missed, while 'A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet.' ne and way ed perhaps, a leader of vhich is the id. Sir John shed career, ilso by the 2ms disturb le man who 1 singularly jr time and Printed by T, and A. Constable, Printers to U. Majesty at the Edinburgh University Pras^