CHAPTER IX
FELICIA FINDS HAPPINESS
Give me that peak of cloud which fills The sunset with its gorgeous form, Instead of these familiar hills That shield me from the storm.
After having been weighed in Elisabeth's balance and found wanting, AlanTremaine went abroad for a season, and Sedgehill knew him no more untilthe following spring. During that time Elisabeth possessed her soul andgrew into a true woman--a woman with no smallness or meanness in hernature, but with certain feminine weaknesses which made her all the morelovable to those people who understood her, and all the more incongruousand irritating to those who did not. Christopher, too, rested in anoasis of happiness just then. He was an adept in the study of Elisabeth,and he knew perfectly well what had passed between her and Alan,although she flattered herself that she had kept him completely in thedark on the subject. But Christopher was always ready to dance toElisabeth's piping, except when it happened to be on red-hot iron; eventhen he tried to obey her bidding, and it was hardly his fault if hefailed.
Christopher Thornley was one of those people whose temperament andsurroundings are at war with each other. Such people are not few in thisworld, though they themselves are frequently quite unaware of the fact;nevertheless, there is always an element of tragedy in their lot. Bynature he was romantic and passionate and chivalrous, endowed with anenthusiastic admiration for beauty and an ardent longing for all formsof joyousness; and he had been trained in a school of thought where allmerely human joys and attractions are counted as unimportant if notsinful, and where wisdom and righteousness are held to be the two onlyends of life. Perhaps in a former existence--or in the person of someremote ancestor--Christopher had been a knightly and devoted cavalier,ready to lay down his life for Church and king, and in the meantimespending his days in writing odes to his mistress's eyebrow; and now hehad been born into a strict Puritan atmosphere, where principles ratherthan persons commanded men's loyalty, and where romance was held to be atemptation of the flesh if not a snare of the devil. He possessed agreat capacity for happiness, and for enjoyment of all kinds;consequently the dull routine of business was more distasteful to himthan to a man of coarser fibre and less fastidious tastes. Christopherwas one of the people who are specially fitted by nature to appreciateto the full all the refinements and accessories of wealth and culture;therefore his position at the Osierfield was more trying to him than itwould have been to nine men out of every ten.
When spring came back again, Alan Tremaine came with it to the MoatHouse; and at the same time Felicia Herbert arrived on a visit to theWillows. Alan had enough of the woman in his nature to decidethat--Elisabeth not being meant for him--Elisabeth was not worth thehaving; but, although she had not filled his life so completely as tomake it unendurable without her, she had occupied his thoughtssufficiently to make feminine society and sympathy thenceforth anecessity of his being. So it came to pass that when he met Felicia andsaw that she was fair, he straightway elected her to the office whichElisabeth had created and then declined to fill; and because humannature--and especially young human nature--is stronger even than earlytraining or old associations, Felicia fell in love with him in return,in spite of (possibly because of) her former violent prejudice againsthim. To expect a person to be a monster and then to find he is a man,has very much the same effect as expecting a person to be a man andfinding him a fairy prince; we accord him our admiration for being somuch better than our fancy painted him, and we crave his forgiveness forhaving allowed it to paint him in such false colours. Then we long tomake some reparation to him for our unjust judgment; and--if we happento be women--this reparation frequently takes the form of ordering hisdinner for the rest of his dining days, and of giving him the right topay our dressmakers' bills until such time as we cease to be troubledwith them.
Consequently that particular year the spring seemed to have comespecially for the benefit of Alan and Felicia. For them the woods werecarpeted with daffodils, and the meadows were decked in living green;for them the mountains and hills broke forth into singing, and the treesof the field clapped their hands. Most men and women have known onespring-time such as this in their lives, whereof all the otherspring-times were but images and types; and, maybe, even that onespring-time was but an image and a type of the great New Year's Daywhich shall be Time's to-morrow.
But while these two were wandering together in fairyland, Elisabeth feltdistinctly left out in the cold. Felicia was her friend--Alan had beenher lover; and now they had drifted off into a strange new country, andhad shut the door in her face. There was no place for her in thisfairyland of theirs; they did not want her any longer; and although shewas too large-hearted for petty jealousies, she could not stifle thatpang of soreness with which most of us are acquainted, when ourfellow-travellers slip off by pairs into Eden, and leave us to walkalone upon the dusty highway.
Elisabeth could no more help flirting than some people can helpstammering. It was a pity, no doubt; but it would have been absurd toblame her for it. She had not the slightest intention of breakinganybody's heart; she did not take herself seriously enough to imaginesuch a contingency possible; but the desire to charm was so strongwithin her that she could not resist it; and she took as much trouble towin the admiration of women as of men. Therefore, Alan and Feliciahaving done with her, for the time being, she turned her attention toChristopher; and although he fully comprehended the cause, he none theless enjoyed the effect. He cherished no illusions concerning Elisabeth,for the which he was perhaps to be pitied; since from love which isfounded upon an illusion, there may be an awakening; but for love whichsees its objects as they are, and still goes on loving them, there is noconceivable cure either in this world or the world to come.
"I'm not jealous by nature, and I think it is horrid to bedog-in-the-mangerish," she remarked to him one sunny afternoon, whenAlan and Felicia had gone off together to Badgering Woods and left herall alone, until Christopher happened to drop in about tea-time. He hada way of appearing upon the scene when Elisabeth needed him, and ofeffacing himself when she did not. He also had a way of smoothing downall the little faults and trials and difficulties which beset her path,and of making for her the rough places plain. "But I can't help feelingit is rather dull when a man who has been in love with you suddenlybegins to be in love with another girl."
"I can imagine that the situation has its drawbacks."
"Not that there is any reason why he shouldn't, when you haven't been inlove with him yourself."
"Not the slightest. Even I, whom you consider an epitome of all that isstiff-necked and strait-laced, can see no harm in that. It seems to me athing that a man might do on a Sunday afternoon without in any wayjeopardizing his claim to universal respect."
"Still it is dull for the woman; you must see that."
"I saw it the moment I came in; nevertheless I am not prepared to statethat the dulness of the woman is a consummation so devoutly to be prayedagainst. And, besides, it isn't at all dull for the other woman--the newwoman--you know."
"And of course the other woman has to be considered."
"I suppose she has," Christopher replied; "but I can't for the life ofme see why," he added under his breath.
"Let's go into the garden," Elisabeth said, rising from her chair;"nobody is in but me, and it is so stuffy to stay in the house now wehave finished tea. Cousin Maria is busy succouring the poor, and----"
"And Miss Herbert is equally busy consoling the rich. Is that it?"
"That is about what it comes to."
So they went into the garden where they had played as children, and satdown upon the rustic seat where they had sat together scores of times;and Elisabeth thought about the great mystery of love, and Christopherthought about the length of Elisabeth's eyelashes.
"Do you think that Alan is in love with Felicia?" the girl asked atlast.
"Appearances favour the supposition," replied Christopher.
"You once said he wasn't capable of loving any woman."<
br />
"I know I did; but that didn't in the least mean that he wasn't capableof loving Miss Herbert."
"She is very attractive; even you like her better than you like me,"Elisabeth remarked, looking at him through the very eyelashes aboutwhich he was thinking. "I wonder at it, but nevertheless you do."
"One never can explain these things. At least I never can, though youseem to possess strange gifts of divination. I remember that you onceexpounded to me that either affinity or infinity was at the root ofthese matters--I forget which."
"She is certainly good-looking," Elisabeth went on.
"She is; her dearest friend couldn't deny that."
"And she has sweet manners."
"Distinctly sweet. She is the sort of girl that people call restful."
"And a lovely temper."
Christopher still refused to be drawn. "So I conclude. I have neverruffled it--nor tried to ruffle it--nor even desired to ruffle it."
"Do you like ruffling people's tempers?"
"Some people's tempers, extremely."
"What sort of people's?"
"I don't know. I never schedule people into 'sorts,' as you do. Thepeople I care about can not be counted by 'sorts': there is one made ofeach, and then the mould is broken."
"You do like Felicia better than me, don't you?" Elisabeth asked, aftera moment's silence.
"So you say, and as you are a specialist in these matters I think itwise to take your statements on faith without attempting to disputethem."
"Chris, you are a goose!"
"I know that--far better than you do." And Christopher sighed.
"But I like you all the same."
"That is highly satisfactory."
"I believe I always liked you better than Alan," Elisabeth continued,"only his way of talking about things dazzled me somehow. But after atime I found out that he always said more than he meant, while youalways mean more than you say."
"Oh! Tremaine isn't half a bad fellow: his talk is, as you say, a littlehigh-flown; but he takes himself in more than he takes in other people,and he really means well." Christopher could afford to be magnanimoustoward Alan, now that Elisabeth was the reverse.
"I remember that day at Pembruge Castle, while he was talking to meabout the troubles of the poor you were rowing Johnnie Stubbs about onthe mere. That was just the difference between you and him."
"Oh! there wasn't much in that," replied Christopher; "if you had beenkind to me that day, and had let me talk to you, I am afraid that poorJohnnie Stubbs would have had to remain on dry land. I merely took theadvice of the great man who said, 'If you can not do what you like, dogood.' But I'd rather have done what I liked, all the same."
"That is just like you, Chris! You never own up to your good points."
"Yes, I do; but I don't own up to my good points that exist solely inyour imagination."
"You reckon up your virtues just as Cousin Maria reckons up her luggageon a journey; she always says she has so many packages, and so many thatdon't count. And your virtues seem to be added up in the same style."
Christopher was too shy to enjoy talking about himself; nevertheless, hewas immensely pleased when Elisabeth was pleased with him. "Let uswander back to our muttons," he said, "which, being interpreted, meansMiss Herbert and Tremaine. What sort of people are the Herberts, by theway? Is Mrs. Herbert a lady?"
Elisabeth thought for a moment. "She is the sort of person whopronounces the 't' in often."
"I know exactly; I believe 'genteel' is the most correct adjective forthat type. Is she good-looking?"
"Very; she was the pencil sketch for Felicia."
"About how old?"
"It is difficult to tell. She is one of the women who are sixty in thesun and thirty in the shade, like the thermometer in spring. I shouldthink she is really an easy five-and-forty, accelerated by limited meansand an exacting conscience. She is always bothering about sins anddraughts and things of that kind. I believe she thinks that everythingyou do will either make your soul too hot or your body too cold."
"You are severe on the excellent lady."
"I try not to be, because I think she is really good in her way; but herreligion is such a dreadfully fussy kind of religion it makes me angry.It seems to caricature the whole thing. She appears to think thatChristianity is a sort of menu of moral fancy-dishes, which one is boundto swallow in a certain prescribed order."
"Poor dear woman!"
"When people like Mrs. Herbert talk about religion," Elisabeth went on,"it is as bad as reducing the number of the fixed stars to pounds,shillings, and pence; just as it is when people talk about love who knownothing at all about it."
Christopher manfully repressed a smile. "Still, I have known quiteintelligent persons do that. They make mistakes, I admit, but they don'tknow that they do; and so their ignorance is of the brand which the poetdescribes as bliss."
"People who have never been in love should never talk about it,"Elisabeth sagely remarked.
"But, on the other hand, those who have been, as a rule, can't; so whois to conduct authorized conversations on this most interesting andinstructive subject?"
"The people who have been through it, and so know all about it," repliedElisabeth.
"Allow me to point out that your wisdom for once is at fault. In thefirst place, I doubt if the man who is suffering from a specific diseaseis the suitable person to read a paper on the same before the Collegeof Surgeons; and, in the second, I should say--for the sake ofargument--that the man who has been through eternity and come out wholeat the other end, knows as much about what eternity really meansas--well, as you do. But tell me more about Mrs. Herbert and herpeculiarities."
"She is always bothering about what she calls the 'correct thing.' Shehas no peace in her life on account of her anxiety as to the etiquetteof this world and the next--first to know it and then to be guided byit. I am sure that she wishes that the Bible had been written on theprinciple of that dreadful little book called Don't, which gives you alist of the solecisms you should avoid; she would have understood it somuch better than the present system."
"But you would call Miss Herbert a lady, wouldn't you?" Christopherasked.
"Oh, yes; a perfect lady. She is even well-bred when she talks about herlove affairs; and if a woman is a lady when she talks about her loveaffairs, she will be a lady in any circumstances. It is the most crucialtest out."
"Yes; I should have called Miss Herbert a perfect lady myself."'
"That is the effect of Fox How; it always turned out ladies, whateverelse it failed in."
"But I thought you maintained that it failed in nothing!"
"No more it did; but I threw that in as a sop to what's-his-name,because you are so horribly argumentative."
Christopher was amused. Elisabeth was a perfect _chef_ in the preparingof such sops, as he was well aware; and although he laughed at himselffor doing it (knowing that her present graciousness to him merely meantthat she was dull, and wanted somebody to play with, and he was betterthan nobody), he made these sops the principal articles of his heart'sdiet, and cared for no other fare.
"What is Mr. Herbert like?" he inquired.
"Oh! he is a good man in his way, but a back-boneless, sweet-syrupy kindof a Christian; one of the sort that seems to regard the Almighty as ablindly indulgent and easily-hoodwinked Father, and Satan himself asnothing worse than a rather crusty old bachelor uncle. You know thetype."
"Perfectly; they always drawl, and use the adjective 'dear' in and outof season. I quite think that among themselves they talk of 'the deardevil.' And yet 'dear' is really quite a nice word, if only people likethat hadn't spoiled it."
"You shouldn't let people spoil things for you in that way. That is oneof your greatest faults, Christopher; whenever you have seen a funnyside to anything you never see any other. You have too much humour andtoo little tenderness; that's what's the matter with you."
"Permit me to tender you a sincere vote of thanks for your exhaustiveand grat
uitous spiritual diagnosis. To cure my faults is my duty--todiscover them, your delight."
"Well, I'm right; and you'll find it out some day, although you make funof me now."
"I say, how will Mrs. Herbert fit in Tremaine's religious views--orrather absence of religious views--with her code of the next world'setiquette?" asked Christopher, wisely changing the subject.
"Oh! she'll simply decline to see them. Although, as I told you, she isdriven about entirely by her conscience, it is a well-harnessedconscience and always wears blinkers. It shies a good deal at gnats, Iown; but it can run in double-harness with a camel, if worldlyconsiderations render such a course desirable. It is like a horse weonce had, which always shied violently at every puddle, but went past asteamroller without turning a hair."
"'By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband if thou be soshrewd of thy tongue,'" quoted Christopher.
"I don't want to be too severe, but Mrs. Herbert does make me so mad.When people put religious things in a horrid light, it makes you feel asif they were telling unkind and untrue tales about your dearestfriends."
"What does the good woman say that makes 'my lady Tongue' so furious?"
"Well, she is always saying one must give up this and give up that, anddeny one's self here and deny one's self there, for the sake ofreligion; and I don't believe that religion means that sort of giving upat all. Of course, God is pleased when we do what He wishes us to do,because He knows it is the best for us; but I don't believe He wants usto do things when we hate doing them, just to please Him."
"Perhaps not. Still, if one does a thing one doesn't like doing, toplease another person, one often ends by enjoying the doing of thething. And even if one never enjoys it, the thing has still to be done."
"Well, if you were awfully fond of anybody, should you want them tospend their time with you, and do what you were doing, when you knew allthe time that they didn't like being with you, but were dying to be withsome one else?"
"Certainly not." Christopher might not know much about theology, but heknew exactly how people felt when they were, as Elisabeth said,"awfully fond of anybody."
"Of course you wouldn't," the girl went on; "you would wish the personyou loved to be happy with you, and to want to be with you as much asyou wanted to be with them; and if they didn't really care to be withyou, you wouldn't thank them for unselfishness in the matter. So if anordinary man like you doesn't care for mere unselfishness from thepeople you are really fond of, do you think that what isn't good enoughfor you is good enough for God?"
"No. But I still might want the people I was fond of to be unselfish,not for my own sake but for theirs. The more one loves a person, themore one wishes that person to be worthy of love; and though we don'tlove people because they are perfect, we want them to be perfect becausewe love them, don't you see?"
"You aren't a very good instance, Chris, because, you see, you arerather a reserved, cold-hearted person, and not at all affectionate; butstill you are fond of people in your own way."
"Yes; I am fond of one or two people--but in my own way, as you say,"Christopher replied quietly.
"And even you understand that forced and artificial devotion isn't worthhaving."
"Yes; even I understand as much as that."
"So you will see that unselfishness and renunciation and things of thatsort are only second-best things after all, and that there is nothing ofthe kind between people who really love each other, because their twowills are merged in one, and each finds his own happiness in thehappiness of the other. And I don't believe that God wants us to give upour wills to His in a 'Thy way not mine' kind of way; I believe Hewants the same mind to be in us that was in Christ Jesus, so that He andwe shall be wishing for the same things."
"Wise Elisabeth, I believe that you are right."
"And you'll see how right I am, when you really care very much forsomebody yourself. I don't mean in the jolly, comfortable way in whichyou care for Mr. Smallwood and Cousin Maria and me. That's a very nicefriendly sort of caring, I admit, and keeps the world warm and homelike,just as having a fire in the room keeps the room warm and homelike; butit doesn't teach one much."
Christopher smiled sadly. "Doesn't it? I should have thought that ittaught one a good deal."
"Oh! but not as much as a lovely romantic attachment would teachone--not as much as Alan and Felicia are teaching each other now."
"Don't you think so?"
"Of course I don't. Why, you've never taught me anything, Chris, thoughwe've always been fond of each other in the comfortable, easy fashion."
"Then the fault has been in me, for you have taught me a great manythings, Elisabeth."
"Because I've taken the trouble to do so. But the worst of it is that bythe time I've taught you anything, I have changed my mind about itmyself, and find I've been teaching you all wrong. And it is a bother tobegin to unteach you."
"I wonder why. I don't think I should find it at all a bother to unteachyou certain things."
"And it is a greater bother still to teach you all over again, and teachyou different." Elisabeth added, without attending to the last remark.
"Thank you, I think I won't trespass on your forbearance to that extent.Some lessons are so hard to master that life would be unbearable if onehad to learn them twice over." Christopher spoke somewhat bitterly.
Elisabeth attended then. "What a funny thing to say! But I know what itis--you've got a headache; I can see it in your face, and that makes youtake things so contrariwise."
"Possibly."
"Poor old boy! Does it hurt?"
"Pretty considerably."
"And have you had it long?"
"Yes," replied Christopher with truth, and he added to himself, "eversince I can remember, and it isn't in my head at all."
Elisabeth stroked his sleeve affectionately. "I am so sorry."
Christopher winced; it was when Elisabeth was affectionate that he foundhis enforced silence most hard to bear. How he could have made her lovehim if he had tried, he thought; and how could he find the heart to makeher love him as long as he and she were alike dependent upon MissFarringdon's bounty, and they had neither anything of their own? Herejoiced that Alan Tremaine had failed to win her love; but he scornedhim as a fool for not having succeeded in doing so when he had thechance. Had Christopher been master of the Moat House he felt he wouldhave managed things differently; for the most modest of men cherish aprofound contempt for the man who can not succeed in making a woman lovehim when he sets about it.
"By Jove!" he said to himself, looking into the gray eyes that were sofull of sympathy just then, "what an ass the man was to talk to such awoman as this about art and philosophy and high-falutin' of that sort!If I had only the means to make her happy, I would talk to her aboutherself and me until she was tired of the subject--and that wouldn't bethis side Doomsday. And she thinks that I am cold-hearted!" But what hesaid to Elisabeth was, "There isn't much the matter with myhead--nothing for you to worry about, I can assure you. Let us talkabout something more interesting than my unworthy self--Tremaine, forinstance."
"I used to believe in Alan," Elisabeth confessed; "but I don't so muchnow. I wonder if that is because he has left off making love to me, orbecause I have seen that his ideas are so much in advance of hisactions."
"He never did make love to me, so I always had an inkling of the truththat his sentiments were a little over his own head. As a matter offact, I believe I mentioned this conviction to you more than once; butyou invariably treated it with the scorn that it doubtless deserved."
"And yet you were right. It seems to me that you are always right,Chris."
"No--not always; but more often than you are, perhaps," repliedChristopher, in rather a husky voice, but with a very kindly smile. "Iam older, you see, for one thing; and I have had a harder time of it foranother, and some of the idealism has been knocked out of me."
"But the nice thing about you is that though you always know when I amwrong or foolish, yo
u never seem to despise me for it."
Despise her? Christopher laughed at the word; and yet women weresupposed to have such keen perceptions.
"I don't care whether you are wise or foolish," he said, "as long asyou are you. That is all that matters to me."
"And you really think I am nice?"
"I don't see how you could well be nicer."
"Oh! you don't know what I could do if I tried. You underrate my powers;you always did. But you are a very restful person, Chris; when my mindgets tired with worrying over things and trying to understand them, Ifind it a perfect holiday to talk to you. You seem to take things asthey are."
"Well, I have to, you see; and what must be must."
"Simple natures like yours are very soothing to complex natures likemine. When I've lived my life and worn myself out with trying to get theutmost I can out of everything, I shall spend the first three thousandyears of eternity sitting quite still upon a fixed star withoutspeaking, with my legs dangling into space, and looking at you. It willbe such a nice rest, before beginning life over again."
"Say two thousand years; you'd never be able to sit still withoutspeaking for more than two thousand years at the outside. By that timeyou'd have pulled yourself together, and be wanting to set aboutteaching the angels a thing or two. I know your ways."
"I should enjoy that," laughed Elisabeth.
"So would the angels, if they were anything like me."
Elisabeth laughed again, and looked through the trees to the fieldsbeyond. Friends were much more comfortable than lovers, she said toherself; Alan in his palmiest days had never been half so soothing toher as Christopher was now. She wondered why poets and people of thatkind made so much of love and so little of friendship, since the latterwas obviously the more lasting and satisfactory of the two. Somehow themere presence of Christopher had quite cured the sore feeling that Alanand Felicia had left behind them when they started for their walkwithout even asking her to go with them; and she was once more sure ofthe fact that she was necessary to somebody--a certainty without whichElisabeth could not live. So her imagination took heart of grace again,and began drawing plans for extensive castles in Spain, and arrangingsocial campaigns wherein she herself should be crowned with triumph. Shedecided that half the delight of winning life's prizes and meeting itsfairy princes would be the telling Christopher all about them afterward;for her belief in his exhaustless sympathy was boundless.
"A penny for your thoughts," he said, after she had been silent for somemoments.
"I was looking at Mrs. Bateson feeding her fowls," said Elisabethevasively; "and, I say, have you ever noticed that hens are just liketea-pots, and cocks like coffee-pots? Look at them now! It seems as ifan army of breakfast services had suddenly come to life _a la_ Galatea,and were pouring libations at Mrs. Bateson's feet."
"It does look rather like that, I admit. But here are Miss Herbert andTremaine returning from their walk; let's go and meet them."
And Elisabeth went to meet the lovers with no longer any little cobwebsof jealousy hiding in the dark corners of her heart, Christopher's handhaving swept them all away; he had a wonderful power of exterminatingthe little foxes which would otherwise have spoiled Elisabeth's vines;and again she said to herself how much better a thing was friendshipthan love, since Alan had always expected her to be interested in hisconcerns, while Christopher, on the contrary, was always interested inhers.
It was not long after this that Elisabeth was told by Felicia of thelatter's engagement to Alan Tremaine; and Elisabeth was amazed at therapidity with which Felicia had assimilated her lover's views on allsubjects. Elisabeth had expected that her friend would finally sacrificeher opinions on the altar of her feelings; she was already old enough tobe prepared for that; but she had anticipated a fierce warfare in thesoul of Felicia between the directly opposing principles of this younglady's mother and lover. To Elisabeth's surprise, this civil war nevertook place. Felicia accepted Alan's doubts as unquestioningly as she hadformerly accepted Mrs. Herbert's beliefs; and as she loved the formermore devotedly than she had ever loved the latter, she was more devoutand fervid in her agnosticism than she had ever been in her faith. Shehad believed, because her mother ordered her to believe; she doubted,because Alan desired her to doubt; her belief and unbelief being equallythe outcome of her affections rather than of her convictions.
Mrs. Herbert likewise looked leniently upon Alan's want of orthodoxy,and at this Elisabeth was not surprised. Possibly there are not many ofus who do not--in the private and confidential depths of our evilhearts--regard earth in the hand as worth more than heaven in the bush,so to speak; at any rate, Felicia's mother was not one of the brightexceptions; and--from a purely commercial point of view--a saving faithdoes not go so far as a spending income, and it is no use pretendingthat it does. So Mrs. Herbert smiled upon her daughter's engagement; butcompromised with that accommodating conscience of hers by alwaysspeaking of her prospective son-in-law as "poor Alan," just as if shereally believed, as she professed she did, that the death of the bodyand the death of the soul are conditions equally to be deplored.
"You see, my dear," she said to Elisabeth, who came to stay at Wood Glenfor Felicia's marriage, which took place in the early summer, "it issuch a comfort to Mr. Herbert and myself to know that our dear child isso comfortably provided for. And then--although I can not altogethercountenance his opinions--poor Alan has such a good heart."
Elisabeth, remembering that she had once been fascinated by the masterof the Moat House, was merciful. "He is an extremely interesting man totalk to," she said; "he has thought out so many things."
"He has, my love. And if we are tempted to rebuke him too severely forhis non-acceptance of revealed truth, we must remember that he wasdeprived comparatively early in life of both his parents, and so oughtrather to be pitied than blamed," agreed Mrs. Herbert, who wouldcheerfully have poured out all the vials of the Book of Revelation uponany impecunious doubter who had dared to add the mortal sin of povertyto the venial one of unbelief.
"And he is really very philanthropic," Elisabeth continued; "he has doneno end of things for the work-people at the Osierfield. It is a pitythat his faith is second-rate, considering that his works arefirst-class."
"Ah! my dear, we must judge not, lest in turn we too should be judged.Who are we, that we should say who is or who is not of the elect? It isoften those who seem to be the farthest from the kingdom that are intruth the nearest to it." Mrs. Herbert had dismissed a kitchen-maid,only the week before, for declining to attend her Bible-class, andwalking out with a young man instead.
"Still, I am sorry that Alan has all those queer views," Elisabethpersisted; "he really would be a splendid sort of person if he were onlya Christian; and it seems such a pity that--with all his learning--hehasn't learned the one thing that really matters."
"My love, I am ashamed to find you so censorious; it is a sad fault,especially in the young. I would advise you to turn to the thirteenth ofFirst Corinthians, and see for yourself how excellent a gift ischarity--the greatest of all, according to our dear Saint Paul."
Elisabeth sighed. She had long ago become acquainted with Mrs. Herbert'scustom of keeping religion as a thing apart, and of treating it from an"in-another-department-if-you-please" point of view; and she felt thatTremaine's open agnosticism was almost better--and certainly moresincere--than this.
But Mrs. Herbert was utterly unconscious of any secret fault on her ownpart, and continued to purr contentedly to herself. "Felicia, dearchild! will certainly take an excellent position. She will be in countysociety, the very thing which I have always desired for her; and shewill enter it, not on sufferance, but as one of themselves. I can nottell you what a pleasure it is to Mr. Herbert and myself to think of ourbeloved daughter as a regular county lady; it quite makes up for all thelittle self-denials that we suffered in order to give her a goodeducation and to render her fit to take her place in society. Ishouldn't be surprised if she were even presented at Court." And themo
ther's cup of happiness ran over at the mere thought of such honourand glory.
Felicia, too, was radiantly happy. In the first place, she was very muchin love; in the second, her world was praising her for doing well toherself. "I can not think how a clever man like Alan ever fell in lovewith such a stupid creature as me," she said to Elisabeth, not longbefore the wedding.
"Can't you? Well, I can. I don't wonder at any man's falling in lovewith you, darling, you are so dear and pretty and altogether adorable."
"But then Alan is so different from other men."
Elisabeth was too well-mannered to smile at this; but she made a note ofit to report to Christopher afterward. She knew that he would understandhow funny it was.
"I am simply amazed at my own happiness," Felicia continued; "and I amso dreadfully afraid that he will be disappointed in me when he gets toknow me better, and will find out that I am not half good enough forhim--which I am not."
"What nonsense! Why, there isn't a man living that would really be goodenough for you, Felicia."
"Elisabeth! When I hear Alan talking, I wonder how he can put up withsilly little me at all. You see, I never was clever--not even as cleveras you are; and you, of course, aren't a millionth part as clever asAlan. And then he has such grand thoughts, too; he is always wanting tohelp other people, and to make them happier. I feel that as long as Ilive I never can be half grateful enough to him for the honour he hasdone me in wanting me for his wife."
Elisabeth shrugged her shoulders; the honours that have been within ourreach are never quite so wonderful as those that have not.
So Alan and Felicia were married with much rejoicing and ringing ofbells; and Elisabeth found it very pleasant to have her old schoolfellowsettled at the Moat House. In fact so thoroughly did she throw herselfinto the interests of Felicia's new home, that she ceased to feel herneed of Christopher, and consequently neglected him somewhat. It wasonly when others failed her that he was at a premium; when she found shecould do without him, she did. As for him, he loyally refrained fromblaming Elisabeth, even in his heart, and cursed Fate instead; whichreally was unfair of him, considering that in this matter Elisabeth, andnot Fate, was entirely to blame. But Christopher was always ready tofind excuses for Elisabeth, whatever she might do; and this, it must beconfessed, required no mean order of ingenuity just then. Elisabeth wasas yet young enough to think lightly of the gifts that were bestowedupon her freely and with no trouble on her part, such as bread and airand sunshine and the like; it was reserved for her to learn later thatthe things one takes for granted are the best thing life has to offer.
It must also be remembered, for her justification, that Christopher hadnever told her that he loved her "more than reason"; and it is difficultfor women to believe that any man loves them until he has told them so,just as it is difficult for them to believe that a train is going directto the place appointed to it in Bradshaw, until they have been verballyassured upon the point by two guards, six porters, and a newspaper boy.Nevertheless, Elisabeth's ignorance--though perhaps excusable,considering her sex--was anything but bliss to poor Christopher, andher good-natured carelessness hurt him none the less for her not knowingthat it hurt him.
When Felicia had been married about three months her mother came to staywith her at the Moat House; and Elisabeth smiled to herself--and toChristopher--as she pictured the worthy woman's delight in herdaughter's new surroundings.
"She'll extol all Felicia's belongings as exhaustively as if she werethe Benedicite," Elisabeth said, "and she'll enumerate them as carefullyas if she were sending them to the wash. You'll find there won't be asingle one omitted--not even the second footman or the soft-watercistern. Mrs. Herbert is one who battens on details, and she neverspares her hearers a single item."
"It is distinctly naughty of you," Christopher replied, with the smilethat was always ready for Elisabeth's feeblest sallies, "to draw thegood soul out for the express purpose of laughing at her. I am ashamedof you, Miss Farringdon."
"Draw her out, my dear boy! You don't know what you are talking about.The most elementary knowledge of Mrs. Herbert would teach you that sherequires nothing in the shape of drawing out. You have but to mentionthe word 'dinner,' and the secret sins of her cook are retailed to youin chronological order; you have but to whisper the word 'clothes,' andthe iniquities of her dressmaker's bill are laid bare before your eyes.Should the conversation glance upon Mr. Herbert, his complete biographybecomes your own possession; and should the passing thought of childhoodappear above her mental horizon, she tells you all about her ownchildren as graphically as if she were editing a new edition of ThePillars of the House. And yet you talk of drawing her out! I am afraidyou have no perceptions, Christopher."
"Possibly not; everybody doesn't have perceptions. I am frequentlystruck with clever people's lack of them."
"Well, I'm off," replied Elisabeth, whipping up her pony, "to hear Mrs.Herbert's outpourings on Felicia's happiness; when I come back I expectI shall be able to write another poem on 'How does the water come downat Lodore'--with a difference."
And Christopher--who had met her in the High Street--smiled after theretreating figure in sheer delight at her. How fresh and bright andspontaneous she was, he thought, and how charmingly ignorant of thethings which she prided herself upon understanding so profoundly! Helaughed aloud as he recalled how very wise Elisabeth considered herself.And then he wondered if life would teach her to be less sure of her ownbuoyant strength, and less certain of her ultimate success in everythingshe undertook; and, if it did, he felt that he should have an uglyaccount to settle with life. He was willing for Fate to knock him aboutas much and as hardly as she pleased, provided she would let Elisabethalone, and allow the girl to go on believing in herself and enjoyingherself as she was so abundantly capable of doing. By this timeChristopher was enough of a philosopher to think that it did not reallymatter much in the long run whether he were happy or unhappy; but he wasnot yet able to regard the thought of Elisabeth's unhappiness asanything but a catastrophe of the most insupportable magnitude; whichshowed that he had not yet sufficient philosophy to go round.
When Elisabeth arrived at the Moat House she found Mrs. Herbert alone,Felicia having gone out driving with her husband; and, to Elisabeth'ssurprise, there was no sign of the jubilation which she had anticipated.On the contrary, Mrs. Herbert was subdued and tired-looking.
"I am so glad to see you, my dear," she said, kissing Elisabeth; "it islonely in this big house all by myself."
"It is always rather lonely to be in state," Elisabeth replied,returning her salute. "I wonder if kings find it lonely all bythemselves in pleasures and palaces. I expect they do, but they put upwith the loneliness for the sake of the stateliness; and you couldhardly find a statelier house than this to be lonely in, if you tried."
"Yes; it is a beautiful place," agreed Mrs. Herbert listlessly.
Elisabeth wondered what was wrong, but she did not ask; she knew thatMrs. Herbert would confide in her very soon. People very rarely werereserved with Elisabeth; she was often amazed at the rapidity with whichthey opened their inmost hearts to her. Probably this accounted in somemeasure for her slowness in understanding Christopher, who had made it apoint of honour not to open his inmost heart to her.
"Don't the woods look lovely?" she said cheerfully, pretending not tonotice anything. "I can't help seeing that the trees are beautiful withtheir gilt leaves, but it goes against my principles to own it, becauseI do so hate the autumn. I wish we could change our four seasons for twosprings and two summers. I am so happy in the summer, and still happierin the spring looking forward to it; but I am wretched in the winterbecause I am cold, and still wretcheder in the autumn thinking that I'mgoing to be even colder."
"Yes; the woods are pretty--very pretty indeed."
"I am so glad you have come while the leaves are still on. I wanted youto see Felicia's home at its very best; and, at its best, it is a homethat any woman might be proud of."
Mrs. Herbert's li
p trembled. "It is indeed a most beautiful home, and Iam sure Felicia has everything to make her happy."
"And she is happy, Mrs. Herbert; I don't think I ever saw anybody soperfectly happy as Felicia is now. I'm afraid I could never be quite assatisfied with any impossible ideal of a husband as she is with Alan; Ishould want to quarrel with him just for the fun of the thing, and tofind out his faults for the pleasure of correcting them. A man asfaultless as Alan--I mean as faultless as Felicia considers Alan--wouldbore me; but he suits her down to the ground."
But even then Mrs. Herbert did not smile; instead of that her light blueeyes filled with tears. "Oh! my dear," she said, with a sob in hervoice, "Felicia is ashamed of me."
For all her high spirits, Elisabeth generally recognised tragedy whenshe met it face to face; and she knew that she was meeting it now. Soshe spoke very gently--
"My dear Mrs. Herbert, whatever do you mean? I am sure you are not verystrong, and so your nerves are out of joint, and make you imaginethings."
"No, my love; it is no imagination on my part. I only wish it were. Whocan know Felicia as well as her mother knows her--her mother who hasworshipped her and toiled for her ever since she was a little baby? AndI, who can read her through and through, feel that she is ashamed ofme." And the tears overflowed, and rolled down Mrs. Herbert's fadedcheeks.
Elisabeth's heart swelled with an immense pity, for her quick insighttold her that Mrs. Herbert was not mistaken; but all she said was--
"I think you are making mountains out of molehills. Lots of girls losetheir heads a bit when first they are married, and seem to regardmarriage as a special invention and prerogative of their own, whichentitles them to give themselves air _ad libitum_; but they soon growout of it."
Mrs. Herbert shook her head sorrowfully; her tongue was loosed and shespake plain. "Oh! it isn't like that with Felicia; I should thinknothing of that. I remember when first I was married I thought that nounmarried woman knew anything, and that no married woman knew anythingbut myself; but, as you say, I soon grew out of that. Why, I was quiteready, after I had been married a couple of months, to teach my dearmother all about housekeeping; and finely she laughed at me for it. ButFelicia doesn't trouble to teach me anything; she thinks it isn't worthwhile."
"Oh! I can not believe that Felicia is like that. You must be mistaken."
"Mistaken in my own child, whom I carried in my arms as a little baby?No, my dear; there are some things about which mothers can never bemistaken, God help them! Do you think I did not understand when thecarriage came round to-day to take her and Alan to return LadyPatchingham's visit, and Felicia said, 'Mamma won't go with us to-day,Alan dear, because the wind is in the east, and it always gives her acold to drive in an open carriage when the wind is in the east'? Oh! Isaw plain enough that she didn't want me to go with them to LadyPatchingham's; but I only thanked her and said I would rather stayindoors, as it would be safer for me. When they had started I went outand looked at the weather-cock for myself; it pointed southwest." Andthe big tears rolled down faster than ever.
Elisabeth did not know what to say; so she wisely said nothing, but tookMrs. Herbert's hand in hers and stroked it.
"Perhaps, my dear, I did wrong in allowing Felicia to marry a man who isnot a true believer, and this is my punishment."
"Oh! no, no, Mrs. Herbert; I don't believe that God ever punishes forthe sake of punishing. He has to train us, and the training hurtssometimes; but when it does, I think He minds even more than we do."
"Well, my love, I can not say; it is not for us to inquire into thecounsels of the Almighty. But I did it for the best; I did, indeed. Idid so want Felicia to be happy."
"I am sure you did."
"You see, all my life I had taken an inferior position socially, and theiron of it had entered into my soul. I daresay it was sinful of me, butI used to mind so dreadfully when my husband and I were always asked tosecond-rate parties, and introduced to second-rate people; and I longedand prayed that my darling Felicia should be spared the misery and thehumiliation which I had had to undergo. You won't understand it,Elisabeth. People in a good position never do; but to be alternatelysnubbed and patronized all one's life, as I have been, makes socialintercourse one long-drawn-out agony to a sensitive woman. So Iprayed--how I prayed!--that my beautiful daughter should never suffer asI have done."
Elisabeth's eyes filled with tears; and Mrs. Herbert, encouraged by herunspoken sympathy, proceeded--
"Grand people are so cruel, my dear. I daresay they don't mean to be;but they are. And though I had borne it for myself, I felt I could notbear it for Felicia. I thought it would kill me to see fine ladiesoverlook her as they had so often overlooked me. So when Alan wanted tomarry her, and make her into a fine lady herself, I was overwhelmed withjoy; and I felt I no longer minded what I had gone through, now that Iknew no one would ever dare to be rude to my beautiful daughter. Now Isee I was wrong to set earthly blessings before spiritual ones; but Ithink you understand how I felt, Elisabeth."
"Yes, I understand; and God understands too."
"Then don't you think He is punishing me, my dear?"
"No; I think He is training Felicia--and perhaps you too, dear Mrs.Herbert."
"Oh! I wish I could think so. But you don't know what Felicia has beento her father and me. She was such a beautiful baby that the people inthe street used to stop the nurse to ask whose child she was; and whenshe grew older she never gave us a moment's trouble or anxiety. Then wepinched and pared in order to be able to afford to send her to Fox How;and when her education was finished there wasn't a more perfect lady inthe land than our Felicia. Oh! I was proud of her, I can tell you. Andnow she is ashamed of me, her own mother! I can not help seeing thatthis is God's punishment to me for letting her marry an unbeliever." AndMrs. Herbert covered her face with her hands and burst out into bittersobs.
Elisabeth took the weeping form into her strong young arms. "My poordear, you are doing Him an injustice, you are, indeed. I am sure Heminds even more than you do that Felicia is still so ignorant andfoolish, and He is training her in His own way. But He isn't doing it topunish you, dear; believe me, He isn't. Why, even the ordinary humanbeings who are fond of us want to cure our faults and not to punishthem," she continued, as the memory of Christopher's unfailing patiencewith her suddenly came into her mind, and she recalled how often she hadhurt him, and how readily he had always forgiven her; "they are sorrywhen we do wrong, but they are even sorrier when we suffer for it. Anddo you think God loves us less than they do, and is quicker to punishand slower to forgive?"
So does the love of the brother whom we have seen help us in somemeasure to understand the love of the God Whom we have not seen; forwhich we owe the brother eternal thanks.
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