Christina

by L. G. Moberly

  CHAPTER XXI.

  "IF YOU GO ACROSS THE SEA!"

  "Such money as Margaret had she has left to you, Christina, and intelling you this, I should like to make a final protest against yourremaining in Lady Cicely's household, in a subordinate and dependentposition."

  "How dear of Aunt Margaret--how very, very dear of her, to give me hermoney," Christina said; "and with that money I shouldn't be dependentany more, should I?" and she looked into Sir Arthur's grim face, with asmile whose inner meaning that worthy did not feel quite able tofathom. Was it merely the smile of guileless simplicity, or was she,in a mild way, presuming to chaff him?

  "In the stricter sense of the word, no, you would not be dependent.But that is a mere shuffling of words. You would still be in asubordinate position here, and the position is a false one."

  Christina, standing by the window in Cicely's great Londondrawing-room, devoutly wished that somebody would come in, or thatsomething would happen, to end this interview with her uncle, who neverfailed to have one of two disastrous effects upon her: either he madeher feel angry--really viciously angry, as she expressed it--or he madeher hopelessly inclined to giggle.

  "And to-day I want to giggle," she said to herself, "and if I do, hewill never forgive me or forget."

  Aloud she said, with a gravity she was far from feeling--

  "I don't want to be rude and contradict you, Uncle Arthur, but I cannotfeel I am in a false position here. Cicely really needs me, forherself, as well as for Baba; this is a very happy home for me, and,because I still take care of Baba just as I did before, I don't feel Iam doing anything beneath my dignity, or--subordinate."

  "I wish I could make you understand the fitness of things," Sir Arthuranswered, with a grieved air, which never failed to amuse his niece."Your Aunt Ellen and I would gladly offer you a home, but--I fear that,at the bottom of your heart, this Babylon, this Vanity Fair, makes anappeal to you."

  "I do like London," was the frank response, "and though it is very goodof you to ask me to come to your house, I think I am really wantedhere. Cicely would miss me, Baba would miss me, and--I like doing allI can for them. Cicely has been so good to me all through."

  "Wilful woman," Sir Arthur said, with a shrug of the shoulders; "youoften remind me of your poor Aunt Margaret. You have her set obstinacyof character. She was never able to see any other point of view buther own, and you are very like her."

  "I--should like to be like Aunt Margaret," the girl answered; "and ifshe did like her own points of view, I think they were always verybeautiful views. I have never met anybody like her."

  "She was a good woman," Sir Arthur said, smitten with suddencompunction. "I had no business to say a word against her; she was agood woman, but the thought of her wasted life hurts me."

  "Not wasted," Christina said; "I don't think her life was wasted. Herinfluence can't die away, even now. It was such a wonderfulinfluence--like herself, so beautiful."

  "Yes," he repeated, "poor Margaret. She was a good woman, and it hurtsme to think of all the trouble of her life. You are like her in manyways. God grant that your life may not hold the sorrows her life held."

  Uncle and niece were silent for a few moments after thosesolemnly-uttered words, and Christina stood looking out across thesquare, where the trees waved delicate green leaves against abackground of May sky, her thoughts full of the beautiful woman who hadentered so strangely into her life, through whose instrumentality sovast a change had come to her.

  From first to last, Margaret's personality had made a great appeal toChristina, and looking out now into the May sunshine, across thefragrant window-boxes of geranium and mignonette, a vivid recollectioncame to her of that December afternoon, when Margaret had stood in thelane, pleading with her to fetch a doctor. What apparent inconsequencehad led her to drive past that lonely house in the lane, and howstrange had been the outcome of that inconsequent drive.

  What big results had rested upon such a seemingly small event! Herrelationship to Sir Arthur and his sister Margaret, would probablynever have been discovered, but for that meeting in the lane; and noone but Margaret would ever have been able to elucidate the mysteryabout the emerald pendant. It was strange, so strange as to be likesome story-book happening, instead of an event in real, everyday life!

  Sir Arthur's voice brought her back from her thoughts of the past.

  "I am sorry, my dear Christina, that you have made up your mind to stayhere, in the very anomalous position you now occupy. But, I quite seethat it is useless to argue further with you. If, however, you should,at some future date, see things differently, your Aunt Ellen and I willstill be willing to offer you a home under our roof."

  Christina's thanks were none the less warm, because, in her heart ofhearts, she decided that no power on earth would ever induce her tomake a home with her uncle and aunt.

  "But I couldn't live with them, could I?" she said to Cicely an hourlater, when the two sat together in the rose-coloured boudoir, which,at Christina's first visit to the house, had aroused her deepadmiration. "Uncle Arthur is so--so very kind, but----"

  "But, he moves along like a horse in blinkers, and he cannot seeanything on either side of him, and not much in front."

  "He says I am like Aunt Margaret, and that she only saw one point ofview," Christina answered demurely.

  "Then, my dear, it is evidently a family failing," Cicely retorted;"but never mind what Cousin Arthur says. You are to stay with me, andbe as happy as you can, and because you are sweet enough still to lookafter Baba, that does not lower you in anyone's eyes."

  "One argument Uncle Arthur used to try and induce me not to stay here,was, that you might marry again, and then, he said, I should bestranded."

  The colour flew into Cicely's face, but she answered collectedly--

  "Why should Cousin Arthur think absurdities of that kind? I----"

  "He said you were very young, and--very attractive"--Christina laughed,a low, mischievous laugh, as the colour deepened on the other'sface--"and he would have it, too, that people would want to marry youfor your money and position."

  "I have no intention of marrying again," Cicely said firmly, "and, if Idid, I hope I should have sense enough to know whether I was wanted formy stupid position, or for myself."

  "There are some people," Christina said, the words coming from her lipsalmost involuntarily "who would be afraid to ask you to marry them,just because of your money and position."

  "I don't see why a man's silly pride should stand in the way of hislove," Cicely retorted; but Christina shook her head sagely.

  "Ah! but men do let their pride spoil their love," she said, "and theylet their pride spoil other people's lives too," she added, with awisdom beyond her years. "A man might easily think it would bedishonourable to ask you to marry him--a man who was not rich, ordistinguished." She spoke very slowly; in some odd way it seemed, evento herself, as though the words were put into her mouth to speak, andas she uttered them she was looking so intently out of the window, thatshe did not observe the varying expressions of emotions that flittedover Cicely's face.

  "One would not know how to beat down the sort of pride you describe,"she answered, after a pause, during which Christina's eyes fixedthemselves upon a flock of pigeons, wheeling about the plane-trees inthe square. "A woman is so tied, so handicapped; she can only possessher soul in patience, and wait."

  "I don't believe I should wait," again it seemed to Christina, asthough the words were being forced from her. "If I knew that onlypride, silly, ridiculous pride, was holding a man back, a man who lovedme and I him--well, I don't believe I would wait. I think--there's alimit to possessing one's soul in patience."

  "But Christina--surely!"--Cicely's blue eyes opened wide, she lookedinto the girl's animated face, with wondering incredulity.

  "Surely--yes," Christina answered with an audacious little laugh. "Ifthe man cared for me, and I knew it, I--would not let his pride spoilhis life and mine. If he was too pro
ud to ask me--why, then, I shouldask him--that is all." With the laughing words, she turned and leftthe room, murmuring that it was time she attended to Baba's tea; butafter she had gone, Cicely sat very still, her mind haunted by thewords the other had just spoken.

  "I would not let his pride spoil his life and mine. If he was tooproud to ask me--why, then, I should ask him, that is all."

  "But such a big 'all,'" Cicely reflected, her eyes, like Christina's,following the wheeling flight of the wood-pigeons about theplane-trees' tops; "it is such an impossible thing even to contemplatedoing, and yet----"

  And yet! Sitting there alone, she reviewed the past happy years, whenJohn had been her safeguard, her protector, the shadow of a great rockin her life, shielding her from everything that could hurt or vex her.And after those years of full content had come the lean years ofsorrow--the blank desolation of her widowhood, the loneliness, theoverpowering loneliness, which no kindly friends nor kindred couldreally lessen or assuage. And now, new possibilities of happinessseemed to be opening before her, if--but again it was such a big "if."How could she put out her hand to snatch at what had not been offeredto her, what might never be offered to her, but which, nevertheless,she knew with a woman's sure knowledge was hers?

  "I don't think it is being unfaithful to John," she thought; "it doesnot make me love John less, because I know--that other--could bring mea measure of joy again."

  For a few moments she gave free rein to her thoughts, letting themrange over the past few months, allowing her memory to bring back DenisFergusson's kindly, shrewd face, with the brown eyes that held so muchboth of tenderness and humour, and the mouth that could smile socheerily, and set itself into lines of such strength and steadfastness.During those anxious days of Baba's illness at Graystone, she had ofnecessity seen Fergusson constantly, and perhaps it had been borne inupon her then, that he, too, was of the nature of a great rock, strongto lean upon, and very steadfast; and perhaps she had been drawn tohim, in that mysterious drawing together of one particular man to oneparticular woman, which must always be a wonder of the universe.

  Whenever she and Fergusson had met, she had been conscious of her ownpower over him, conscious also that something was holding him back.And now, as it seemed to her, Christina had given her the clue, to whathad often sorely puzzled her. Her own outlook upon life was aneminently simple one, and she had never dreamed that her rank or wealthcould make a bar to the friendship, and the something deeper thanfriendship, of such a man as Denis Fergusson. Christina's words hadgiven her food for thought, and they had also brought her face to facewith the knowledge of herself, and of all that Denis was beginning tomean to her. He possessed that same steadfast quality which had beenone of her husband's noblest characteristics, and the one perhaps thathad made the chief appeal to her more yielding nature. And Fergusson'scheery strength and unfailing optimism, had gone far also towardsdrawing her to him. But instinctively she had been aware of a barrierbetween them, of something which he was rearing up against her, andthough the instinctive knowledge of the barrier had wounded and puzzledher, it was only now, with Christina's words ringing in her ears, thatshe understood the meaning of all the puzzle. The doctor was a poorman, or at any rate comparatively poor, whilst she had more than enoughand to spare of this world's goods, and a title into the bargain; andbecause the man was proud as well as poor, he had erected that barrier,of which she had been confusedly conscious.

  Well! Christina--straightforward Christina, with her almost boyishlove for all that was most natural, most frank and simple--had said, "Iwould not let his pride spoil his life, and mine. If he was too proudto ask me, then I should ask him!"

  "But"--Cicely rose from her chair, and crossed the room to thewindow--"but, of course, any such step as that was out of the questionfor her--impossible and out of the question. She could never overcomeher pride, to such an extent as that--never!"

  "Dr. Fergusson has called, my lady, and desired me to say that if youwere disengaged, he would be very glad if he could see you for a fewminutes." James, the footman, stood in the doorway, and even uponJames's slow intelligence, it dawned that his mistress looked unusuallylovely, and unusually young. But his dense mind did not especiallyconnect the youth or loveliness with anything or anybody; he only dimlysaw and wondered, whilst for the fraction of a second Cicely hesitated.Should she order James to bring the doctor up to the boudoir--to thisdainty room in which she made a point of only receiving those who wereher most intimate friends? Or should she go down to the drawing-room,and receive him as she received acquaintances? The two questionsrevolved in her mind, and they were quickly answered.

  "I will come down to the drawing-room," she said, scarcely knowingherself why she came to this decision; coming to it more by instinct,than by any power of reasoning. She paused yet another moment tocollect her forces, then went slowly down the great staircase, andopened the drawing-room door, without lingering on the threshold, asshe was more than half inclined to do.

  Fergusson came forward quickly to greet her, and she saw that, thoughhe smiled, and spoke in his customary, cheery manner, his eyes held atroubled look, and there was a worn expression on his face, which shehad never seen there before. His manner, too, had a nervousness veryforeign to it, and he talked rapidly, as though he were afraid ofsilence, and must continue speaking at all costs.

  "I must apologise for troubling you," he said, and Cicely noted theformality of his speech, "but I felt I should like to come and askabout my little friend Baba, before I go away."

  "Go away?" Cicely could frame no other words than those two bare ones,because for a second her heart seemed to stop beating, then raced onagain at headlong speed.

  "Yes"--Fergusson still spoke fast and nervously,--"I have come torather a sudden decision, but I feel it is a wise one. I have made upmy mind to go abroad, to begin life in a new country. The old one isover-crowded--we are all finding that fact out more and more, and I amproposing to go to the Far West. It has always appealed to me--thatfree life in a big, new country."

  "But your poor people--your people in South London," Cicelyinterrupted, a sick pain gnawing at her heart; "surely they want you?"

  He shrugged his shoulders a little, and smiled.

  "I am not indispensable to them, or to anyone"--the last words he spokeunder his breath--"and I believe there is plenty of work waiting forme, on the other side of the world. I have not made up my mind to thishurriedly, but it seems the best and wisest thing to do."

  "I wonder why?" Cicely began slowly, her blue eyes looking full intothose troubled brown ones. "It seems"--she broke off, leaving hersentence unfinished, her eyes dropping suddenly, because of what sheread in those other eyes.

  "Does it seem to you a mad idea?--an act of impulse?" he asked, hisglance travelling hungrily over her down-bent face. "I have not cometo the decision impulsively. It is the best--the only thing to do."The last part of the speech dropped hurriedly from his lips, he drew inhis breath sharply, almost as if he were being tried to the limits ofhis strength. "I--could not--go away without coming to say good-bye toyou--and Miss Moore--and Baba," he added jerkily.

  "We should have been very angry with you if you had done such a horridthing," Cicely answered lightly, so lightly, that a hurt look creptinto the brown eyes watching her. He had not dared to hope she couldby any remote possibility care for him, so he said to himself. He hadnever dreamt such wildly improbable dreams, but he had thought shewould be a little sorry to lose a friend for ever; and when he leftEngland, he intended to leave it for ever, to cut adrift from all oldfriendships, all old ties. And yet she looked up at him with laughterin her eyes, and talked brightly of being angry with him, if he hadgone without a farewell! He felt oddly hurt and ruffled, and Cicely,as keenly aware of the hurt, as she had been a moment before of thesignificant look in his eyes, only knew that her own heart was beatingwith an excess of joy that frightened her--only realised that the gamelay in her own small hands, if only--she could play the game
as itshould be played.

  "You--have not given up your house and practice--yet?" she questioned,and her tone was still brisk, almost business-like, and there was ahurt note in his voice as he answered--

  "My house is in an agent's hands for letting, and I am only going onwith the work, until I can find someone to take it over; as soon aseverything is settled here, I shall be off. To tell you the honesttruth, I shall be glad to go." Cicely's heart leapt in an insane way,because of the sudden ring of bitterness in his accents, she moved astep nearer to him (they had both remained standing since herentrance), she had even uttered the words, "I wish"--when the door wasflung wide open, and James announced, "Mrs. Deane."

  Cicely was not quite sure whether she most wished to laugh or cry, whenthis very ordinary little acquaintance, a walking mass of platitudes,propriety, and dullness, walked into the room. Too well she knew thatMrs. Deane, once established in her drawing-room, would not be quicklydislodged, and, with an inward sigh, she resigned herself to her fate,whilst Fergusson held out his hand in farewell.

  "I must be getting on my way," he said; "perhaps I might just go up tothe nursery, to say good-bye to Miss Moore and Miss Baba?"

  "Of course," Cicely answered with her pretty smile. "Baba wouldbitterly resent it, if her dear doctor went across the sea, withoutsaying good-bye to her."

  "_If_--you go across the sea," she mentally ejaculated, as the doorclosed behind his tall form, and she settled herself down to listen toMrs. Deane's totally uninteresting conversation."_If_--you--go--across--the sea!"