The Three Brides

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  "It was only the Lesson."

  "Why can't you read the Lesson like a sensible man in its native English? Don't laugh, children, you know what I mean. There's no good in this fellow working his brain. He can't go up again before September, and according to the Bishop's letter to my father, he is safe to pass, if he could not construe a line, after what he did at Wil'sbro'. The Bishop and Co. found they had made considerable donkeys of themselves. Yes, 'tis the ticket for you to be shocked; but it is just like badgering a fellow for his commission by asking him how many facets go to a dragon-fly's eye, instead of how he can stand up to a battery."

  "So I thought," said Herbert; "but I know now what it is to be in the teeth of the battery without having done my best to get my weapons about me."

  "Come now! Would any of those poor creatures have been the better for your knowing

  "How many notes a sackbut has, Or whether shawms have strings,"

  or the Greek particles, which I believe were what sacked you?"

  "They would have been the better if I had ever learnt to think what men's souls are, or my own either," said Herbert, with a heavy sigh.

  "Ah! well, you have had a sharp campaign," said Phil; "but you'll soon get the better of it when you are at Nice with the old folks. Jolly place-lots of nice girls-something always going on. I'll try and get leave to take you out; but you'll cut us all out! Ladies won't look at a fellow when there's an interesting young parson to the fore."

  Herbert made an action of negation, and his sister said-

  "The doctors say Nice will not do after such an illness as this. Papa asked the doctor there, and he said he could not advise it."

  "Indeed! Then I'll tell you what, Herbs, you shall come into lodgings at York, and I'll look after you there. You shall ride Pimento, and dine at the mess."

  "Thank you, Phil," said Herbert, to whom a few months ago this proposal would have been most seducing, "but I am going home, and that's all the change I shall want."

  "Home! Yes, Ellen is getting ready for you. Not your room-oh, no! but the state bedroom! When will you come? My leave is only till Tuesday."

  "Oh! I don't know how to think of the drive," sighed Herbert wearily.

  "We must wait for a fine day, when he feels strong enough," said Jenny.

  "All right," said Phil; "but ten days or a fortnight there will be quite enough, and then you'll come. There are some friends of yours, that only looked at me, I can tell you, for the sake of your name-eh, Master Herbs?"

  Herbert did not rise to the bait; but Jenny said, "The Miss Strangeways?"

  "Yes. Wouldn't he be flattered to hear of the stunning excitement when they heard of Captain Bowater, and how the old lady, their mother, talked by the yard about him? You'll get a welcome indeed when you come, old fellow. When shall it be?"

  "No, thank you, Phil," said Herbert, gravely. "I shall come back here as soon as I am well enough. But there is one thing I wish you would do for me."

  "Well, what? I'll speak about having any horse you please taken up for you to ride; I came over on Brown Ben, but he would shake you too much."

  "No, no, it's about a young fellow. If you could take him back to York to enlist-"

  "My dear Herbert, I ain't a recruiting-sergeant."

  "No, but it might be the saving of him," said Herbert, raising himself and speaking with more animation. "It is Harry Hornblower."

  "Why, that's the chap that bagged your athletic prizes! Whew! Rather strong, ain't it, Joan!"

  "He did no such thing," said Herbert, rather petulantly; "never dreamt of it. He only was rather a fool in talking of them- vaunting of me, I believe, as not such a bad fellow for a parson; so his friends got out of him where to find them. But they knew better than to take him with them. Tell him, Jenny; he won't believe me."

  "It is quite true, Phil," said Jenny, "the poor fellow did get into bad company at the races, but that was all. He did not come home that night, but he was stupefied with drink and the beginning of the fever, and it was proved-perfectly proved-that he was fast asleep at a house at Backsworth when the robbery was committed, and he was as much shocked about it as any one-more, I am sure, than Herbert, who was so relieved on finding him clear of it, that he troubled himself very little about the things. And now he has had the fever- not very badly-and he is quite well now, but he can't get anything to do. Truelove turned him off before the races for hanging about at the Three Pigeons, and nobody will employ him. I do think it is true what they say-his mother, and Julius, and Herbert, and all- that he has had a lesson, and wants to turn over a new leaf, but the people here won't let him. Julius and Herbert want him to enlist, and I believe he would, but his mother-as they all do-thinks that the last degradation; but she might listen if Captain Bowater came and told her about his own regiment-cavalry too-and the style of men in it-and it is the only chance for him."

  Philip made a wry face.

  "You see I took him up and let him down," said Herbert, sadly and earnestly.

  "I really do believe," said Jenny, clenching the matter, "that Herbert would get well much faster if Harry Hornblower were off his mind."

  Phil growled, and his younger brother and sister knew that they would do their cause no good by another word. There was an odd shyness about them all. The elder brother had not yet said anything about Jenny's prospects, and only asked after the party at the Hall.

  "All nearly well, except Frank's deafness," said Jenny. "In a day or two he is going up to London to consult an aurist, and see whether he can keep his clerkship. Miles is going with him, and Rosamond takes Terry up to see his brother in London, and then, I believe, she is going on to get rooms at Rockpier, while Miles comes home to fetch his mother there."

  "Mrs. Poynsett!" with infinite wonder.

  "Oh yes, all this has really brought out much more power of activity in her. You know it was said that there was more damage to the nervous system than anything else, and the shock has done her good. Besides, Miles is so much less timid about her than dear Raymond, who always handled her like a cracked teapot, and never having known much of any other woman, did not understand what was good for her."

  "Miles has more pith in him than ever poor old Raymond had," said Phil. "Poor old Poynsett, I used to think he wanted to be spoony on you, Joan, if he had only known his own mind. If he had, I suppose he would have been alive now!"

  "What a pleasing situation for Jenny!" Herbert could not help muttering.

  "Much better than running after ostriches in the wilderness," quoth Philip. "You ride them double, don't you?"

  "Two little negro boys at a time," replied Jenny, "according to the nursery-book. Will you come and try, Phil?"

  "You don't mean to go out?"

  "I don't know," said Jenny; "it depends on how mamma is, and how Edith gets on."

  Philip gave a long whistle of dismay. Herbert looked at him wistfully, longing to hear him utter some word of congratulation or sympathy with his sister; but none was forthcoming. Philip had disliked the engagement originally-never had cared for Archie Douglas, and was not melted now that Jenny was more valuable than ever. She knew him too well to expect it of him, and did not want to leave him to vex Herbert by any expression of his opinion on the matter, and on this account, as well as on that of the fatigue she saw on her patient's features, she refused his kind offer of keeping guard while she went in the afternoon to church, adding that Herbert must rest, as Mrs. Duncombe was coming afterwards to take leave of him.

  Philip shrugged his shoulders in horror, and declared that he should not return again till that was over; but he should look in again before he went home to settle about Herbert's coming to York.

  "York!" said Herbert, with a gasp, as Jenny brought his jelly, and arranged his pillows for a rest, while the dragoon's boots resounded on the stairs. "Please tell him to say no more about it. I want them all to understand that I'm not going in for that sort of thing any more."

  "My dear, I think you had better not say things hotly an
d rashly; you may feel so very differently by and by."

  "I know that," said Herbert; "but after all it is only what my ordination vows mean, though I did not see it then. And this year must be a penance year; I had made up my mind to that before I fell ill."

  "Only you must get well," said Jenny.

  "That takes care of itself when one is sound to begin with," said Herbert. "And now that I have been brought back again, and had my eyes opened, and have got another trial given me, it would be double shame to throw it away."

  "I don't think you will do that."

  "I only pray that all that seems burnt out of me by what I have seen, and heard, and felt, may not come back with my strength."

  "I could hardly pray that for you, Herbert," said Jenny. "Spirits are wanted to bear a clergyman through his work, and though you are quite right not to go in for those things, I should be sorry if you never enjoyed what came in your way."

  "If I never was tempted."

  "It need not be temptation. It would not be if your mind were full of your work-it would only be refreshment. I don't want my boy to turn stern, and dry, and ungenial. That would not be like your Rector."

  "My Rector did not make such a bad start, and can trust himself better," said Herbert. "Come, Jenny, don't look at me in that way. You can't wish me to go to York, and meet those rattling girls again?"

  "No, certainly not, though Sister Margaret told Rosamond they had never had such a sobering lesson in their lives as their share in the mischief to you."

  "It was not their fault," said Herbert. "It was deeper down than that. And they were good girls after all, if one only had had sense."

  "Oh!-"

  "Nonsense, Jenny," with a little smile, as he read her face, "I'm not bitten-no-but they, and poor Lady Tyrrell, and all are proof enough that it is easy to turn my head, and that I am one who ought to keep out of that style of thing for the future. So do silence Phil, for you know when he gets a thing into his head how he goes on, and I do not think I can bear it now."

  "I am sure you can't," said Jenny, emphatically, "and I'll do my best. Only, Herbie, dear, do one thing for me, don't bind yourself by any regular renunciations of moderate things now your mind is excited, and you are weak. I am sure Julius or Dr. Easterby would say so."

  "I'll think," said Herbert. "But if I am forgiven for this year, nothing seems to me too much to give up to the Great Shepherd to show my sorrow. 'Feed My sheep' was the way He bade St. Peter prove his love."

  Jenny longed to say it was feeding the sheep rather than self-privation, but she was not sure of her ground, and Herbert's low, quiet, soft voice went to her heart. There were two great tears on his cheeks, he shut his eyes as if to keep back any more, and turned his face inwards on the sofa, his lips still murmuring over 'Feed My sheep.' She looked at him, feeling as if, while her heart had wakened to new glad hopes of earth, her brother, in her fulfilled prayer, had soared beyond her. They were both quite still till Mrs. Duncombe came to the door.

  She was at the Rectory, her house being dismantled, and she, having stayed till the last case of fever was convalescent, and the Sisters recalled, was to go the next day to her mother-in-law's. She was almost as much altered as Herbert himself. Her jaunty air had given way to something equally energetic, but she looked wiry and worn, and her gold pheasant's crest had become little more than a sandy wisp, as she came quietly in and took the hand that Herbert held out to her, saying how glad she was to see him on the mend.

  He asked after some of the people whom they had attended together, and listened to the details, asking specially after one or two families, where one or both parents had been taken away. "Poor Cecil Poynsett is undertaking them," was the answer in each case. Some had been already sent to orphanages; others were boarded out till places could be found for them; and the Sisters had taken charge of two.

  Then one widow was to 'do for' the Vicar, who had taken solitary possession of the Vicarage, but would soon be joined there by one or more curates. He had been inducted into the ruinous chancel of the poor old church, had paid the architect of the Rat-house fifty pounds (a sum just equalling the proceeds of the bazaar) to be rid of his plans; had brought down a first-rate architect; and in the meantime was working the little iron church vigorously.

  "Everything seems to be beginning there just as I go into exile!" said Mrs. Duncombe. "It seems odd that I should have to go from what I have only just learnt to prize. But you have taught mo a good deal-"

  "Every one must have learnt a good deal," said Herbert wearily. "If one only has!"

  "I meant you yourself, and that is what I came to thank you for. Yes, I did; even if you don't like to hear it, your sister does, and I must have it out. I shall recollect you again and again standing over all those beds, and shrinking from nothing, and I shall hold up the example to my boys."

  "Do hold up something better!"

  "Can you write?" she said abruptly.

  "I have written a few lines to my mother."

  "Do you remember what you said that night, when you had to hold that poor man in his delirium, and his wife was so wild with fright that she could not help?"

  "I am not sure what you mean."

  "You said it three or four times. It was only-"

  "I remember," said Herbert, as she paused; "it was the only thing I could recollect in the turmoil."

  "Would it tire you very much to write it for me in the flyleaf of this Prayer-Book that Mr. Charnock has given me?"

  Herbert pulled himself into a sitting posture, and signed to his sister to give him the ink.

  "I shall spoil your book," he said, as his hand shook.

  "Never mind," she said, eagerly, "the words come back to me whenever I think of the life I have to face, and I want them written; they soothe me, as they soothed that frightened woman and raving man."

  And Herbert wrote. It was only-'The Lord is a very present help in trouble.'

  "Yes," she said; "thank you. Put your initials, pray. There-thank you. No, you can never tell what it was to me to hear those words, so quietly, and gravely, and strongly, in that deadly struggle. It seemed to me, for the first time in all my life, that God is a real Presence and an actual Help. There! I see Miss Bowater wants me gone; so I am off. I shall hear of you."

  Herbert was exhausted with the exertion, and only exchanged a close pressure of the hand, and when Jenny came back, after seeing the lady to the door, she thought there were tears on his cheek, and bent down to kiss him.

  "That was just the way, Jenny," his low, tired voice said. "I never could recollect what I wanted to say. Only just those few Psalms that you did manage to teach me before I went to school, they came back and back."

  Jenny had no time to answer, for the feet of Philip were on the stairs. He had been visiting Mrs. Hornblower, and persuading her that to make a dragoon of her son was the very best thing for him- great promotion, and quite removed from the ordinary vulgar enlistment in the line-till he had wiled consent out of her. And though Philip declared it was blarney, and was inclined to think it infra dig. to have thus exerted his eloquence, it was certain that Mrs. Hornblower would console herself by mentioning to her neighbours that her son was gone in compliment to Captain Bowater, who had taken a fancy to him.

  The relief to Herbert was infinite; but he was by this time too much tired to do anything but murmur his thanks, and wish himself safe back in his bed, and Philip's strong-armed aid in reaching that haven was not a little appreciated.

  Julius looked in with his mother's entreaty that Philip, and if possible his sister, should come up to eat their Christmas dinner at the Hall; and Herbert, wearily declaring that sleep was all he needed, and that Cranky would be more than sufficient for him, insisted on their accepting the invitation; and Jenny was not sorry, for she did not want a tete-a-tete with Philip so close to her patient's room, that whatever he chose to hear, he might.

  She had quite enough of it in the walk to the Hall. Phil, with the persistency of a person bent
on doing a kind thing, returned to his York plan, viewing it as excellent relaxation for a depressed, over-worked man, and certain it would be a great treat to 'little Herb.' He still looked on the tall young man as the small brother to be patronized, and protected, and dragged out of home-petting; so he pooh-poohed all Jenny's gentler hints as to Herbert's need of care and desire to return to his work, until she was obliged to say plainly that he had entreated her to beg it might not be argued with him again, as he was resolved against amusement for the present.

  Then Phil grew very angry both with Herbert and Jenny.

  "Did they suppose he wanted the boy to do anything unclerical?"

  "No; but you know it was by nothing positively unclerical that he was led aside before."

  Phil broke out into a tirade against the folly of Jenny's speech. In his view, Herbert's conduct at Wil'sbro' had confuted the Bishop's censure, and for his own part, he only wished to amuse the boy, and give him rest, and if he did take him to a ball, or even out with the hounds, he would be on leave, and in another diocese, where the Bishop had nothing to do with him.

  Jenny tried to make him understand that dread of the Bishop was the last thing in Herbert's mind. It was rather that he did not think it right to dissipate away a serious impression.

  That was worse than before. She was threatened with the most serious displeasure of her father and mother, if she encouraged Herbert in the morbid ascetic notions ascribed to Dr. Easterby.

  "It was always the way with the women-they never knew where to stop."

  "No," said Jenny, "I did not know there was anywhere to stop in the way of Heaven."

  "As if there were no way to Heaven without making a fool of oneself."

  This answer made Jenny sorry for her own, as needlessly vexatious, and yet she recollected St. Paul's Christian paradoxes, and felt that poor Herbert might have laid hold of the true theory of the ministry. At any rate, she was glad that they were at that moment hailed and overtaken by the party from the Rectory, and that Phil pounced at once on Julius, to obtain his sanction to giving Herbert a little diversion at York.