Evelyn and I sat watching him. I tried to go on with my breakfast, but I felt as if the food would choke me, for Sir William looked more and more agitated as he went on reading.
When he had finished he tossed the letter on the table, saying angrily, "He is a good-for-nothing rogue!"
I looked up quickly, and Evelyn asked in a trembling voice, "Who is, papa -- not Mr. Stanley?"
"No, not Mr. Stanley," he said. "At least, he may be. I do not know if he is, but that cousin of yours, Donald Trafford -- the letter is from him. An idle good-for-nothing rogue, that is what he is. And I shall tell his father so when I see him!"
"Let me have the letter, papa," said Evelyn. She was as white as a sheet, and trembling.
"Well, don't trouble about it, darling," said Sir William, in quite a different tone from that in which he had spoken before. "He is not worth troubling about; he really is not. If I could only get you to see that. Here, take the letter. I suppose I shall have to let you see it, but don't make yourself ill again, for my sake."
Evelyn took the letter and read it slowly. As she read, a deep crimson flush came into her pale face, but this faded away and left her pale when she had finished reading. Then she rose from the table, and without speaking a word she left the letter lying beside her plate and went out of the room.
I was rising to follow her when Sir William said, "Wait a little, Miss Lindsay. Perhaps she will get over it better alone. If she has a good cry it will do her good. Poor child, what a pity she ever took a fancy to that worthless fellow. Read his letter, Miss Lindsay, and tell me what you think of it."
I took it up, and read as follows:
My Dear Uncle,
I have no doubt you believe that I am in Port Said, though I did contrive to keep out of your way during your short stay in that delightful place.
But I am not there now, but have moved to a town many miles distant, which I will not name lest you should feel it your duty to report me in England.
I should not have troubled you with a letter, but I want to ask you to lend me some money to start me in business in the town in which I am now living. I have had the offer of a first-rate partnership, which will enable me soon to become a rich man, but it is necessary that I should advance something in the shape of capital.
I am sure, dear uncle, you will not refuse to grant this request, when I tell you that I have a wife depending on me, and that unless I can avail myself of this opening (which is really a splendid one), there is nothing but starvation before us both.
As I am now a married man, there is no chance of my again being an annoyance to you, so I feel sure you will not deny me this final favour.
Please address to "Monsieur Junot, Post Office, Alexandria." M. Junot is my wife's brother. She is a French girl, and he will call for the letter, and forward whatever remittance you feel it in your heart to send.
With love to Evelyn and yourself,
Believe me, dear uncle,
Your affectionate nephew,
Donald Trafford.
P.S. -- You will wonder how I knew you were in Jerusalem. I met a guide the other day who was onboard the same steamer with you, and he heard that you were to spend a long time in Jerusalem.
"Did you ever hear anything like that!" said Sir William, as I folded up the letter. "Is not that a piece of cool impertinence?"
"He does not seem much ashamed of himself," I could not help saying.
"Ashamed of himself? No, indeed! There is not a word about his running off with that money, or wanting to repay it. He is an idle, selfish, good-for-nothing fellow. And he was always the same. It was always a mystery to me what Evelyn could see to like in him. Poor child, I hope it will not make her ill again."
"Oh no, I think not," I said. "I think she sees now what his real character is."
"I hope so," he said anxiously. "Perhaps if you went upstairs now you could say a word or two to comfort her. You know best. Do you think we should leave her alone or not?"
"I think I will just go upstairs and see," I said.
To my astonishment I found Evelyn sitting in her room busily at work, looking calm and cheerful. I fancied she had been crying a little, but she welcomed me with a smile and asked me if I had read Donald's letter. I told her that Sir William had wished me to do so, and then she asked me what I thought of it. I did not answer her directly, for I did not like to say what I really thought.
"I will tell you what I think of it," she said, "and I shall tell papa when I go downstairs. I think it is a shocking letter. I cannot think how Donald could ever write it. But, May," she said, "please don't think I am troubled about it. I had given up loving Donald some time ago -- ever since I found out that he was so different to what I always thought he was. But I pitied him dreadfully. I thought he would be so miserable and wretched, and feel so guilty and ashamed when he thought about his having taken that money. I always pictured him wishing, oh, so much, that he had never done it, and trying hard to save his money so that he would be able to pay it all back. But now, May, I can neither love him nor pity him. He doesn't deserve either love or pity, does he?"
"No, he does not," I said. "The only thing for which we can pity him is his wickedness."
"Just think of his marrying a French girl," she said. "I wonder if it's the one who waited on us in the shop in Port Said. Well, I'm glad he wrote that letter. It is far better to know what he really is. I cannot think how I could have been so much deceived by him. I am afraid I cannot read people's characters very well. But don't let's talk about him anymore today, May. The trouble has completely gone, but I don't like to talk about it. Let's speak of something else."
Sir William was relieved to find that Evelyn was in good spirits, and that she shared his view of Donald Trafford's conduct. He was still ruffled and annoyed by the letter, and was in consequence fidgety and impatient with the world in general all day. Not liking to speak about his nephew for fear of distressing Evelyn, he gave vent, instead, to his feelings about Mr. Stanley's disappearance.
"Mr. Stanley evidently does not intend to write now!" he said forcibly. "It is one of the strangest things I ever knew, his going off in that way. It just proves what I have always heard, that it does not do to make friends with people that you meet while travelling. It is impossible to tell what they are, and you may be imposed on to a great extent."
"Oh, papa," said Evelyn, "what do you mean? Surely you do not mean that Mr. Stanley imposed on us?"
"Well, I don't say that he did," said Sir William, "but I say that we don't know that he did not. You must confess that it was an odd thing his disappearing so suddenly, and never giving us a hint as to where he was going. I don't like it at all."
I longed to speak, but I felt as if I could hardly trust myself to do so, for I might say more than I intended if I opened my lips. So I left the defence to Evelyn, and she took it up indignantly.
"It is really too bad, papa," she said, "to speak of Mr. Stanley in that way. I think he is one of the nicest and best men I have ever seen."
"So he seemed to be, I grant," said Sir William. "But how do we know who he is, or what he is? We only know it from what he told us himself. Yes, that may be true -- I hope it is -- or it may be false. That is why it is foolish ever to be too friendly with people you meet when travelling. They may be all they profess to be, or they may not."
"But Mr. Stanley is a great friend of Lord Moreton, papa," said Evelyn. "I know he is. He told me he was, on the day Claude and Alice were here."
"Yes, I know he told you so," said Sir William. "But I never heard Lord Moreton mention him."
"Will you not write and ask Lord Moreton, papa? Then we shall know one way or the other."
"Yes, perhaps I will write," said Sir William. "That will settle the matter. Perhaps Lord Moreton will be able to clear up the mystery."
The next day was the mail day, and Sir William gave me his letters to take to the man who was going to post them. I looked through the addresses as I went downstairs, but t
here was none to Lord Moreton. He had forgotten it.
* * *
We did not much enjoy our time in Jerusalem after Mr. Stanley left us. We had cold and cheerless weather, and the bare stone floors and covered stones were poor substitutes for the richly-carpeted rooms and bright blazing fires in Alliston Hall. Then during the cold weather it rained incessantly the whole day, and the rain was far heavier than we ever see it in England.
We were obliged to keep indoors in the hotel, listening to the sound of water rushing down the spouts of the house into the cisterns, in which it was carefully preserved for use during the following summer, and trying to amuse ourselves as best we could with our work and the few books to be found in the hotel. Sir William became increasingly impatient, and a great longing came over him to go home. He said he was tired of foreign travelling, and foreign places, and foreign hotels, and Evelyn seemed so well and strong that he thought there could be no risk in her returning to England.
Evelyn and I assented cordially to the proposal, so it was decided to leave Jaffa by the next steamer.
We visited many places in Italy and Germany, and spent a long time on the return journey; for Sir William was afraid, for Evelyn's sake, of arriving in England before the spring.
I was interested in a great deal that we saw, and yet I did not enjoy it nearly so much as I had always imagined I would enjoy a tour of the Continent. I felt unsettled and restless, and longed to be back in England.
We stayed for some weeks in London before going on to Alliston, for Sir William had some business that he was anxious to transact before returning home. London was bright and busy just then, and we enjoyed our visit very much. But what gave me more pleasure than anything else was meeting Miss Lilla Irvine again. Her home in London was in the next street to the one in which we were staying, and we saw her every day.
We were interested in hearing of the work for God that Miss Irvine was doing in one of the poorest of the London parishes. She spoke little of it herself, but we found out by degrees that during the last few months a most wonderful work, of which she was at the centre, had been going on among the people who were crowded together in the alleys and courts of that part of London.
While we were there, a tea was to be given to the women who attended her mothers' meeting. Their husbands were also invited, for Miss Irvine hoped by this means to be able to reach many whom it was impossible to see or speak with in any other way.
She asked us, the day before the tea took place, whether we would like to be present. Evelyn accepted her invitation joyfully, but Sir William demurred a little when he heard of it.
"I don't like your going into those parts of the city, my dear," he said to Evelyn. "In your state of health you ought to be careful. There are sure to be people there just recovering from fever or smallpox, and it can't be good for you to go through those dirty, close streets."
Evelyn looked disappointed. "I want so very much to see Lilla's poor people, papa," she said.
He was going to answer her, when Miss Irvine said, "Perhaps if Evelyn does not come, you will look in for a few minutes, Sir William? Lord Moreton is going to give them a little talk after tea, and he would like to meet you."
Sir William fell into the snare she had laid for him.
"Lord Moreton?" he exclaimed. "How did you get him to come? Why, is he in town now?"
"No, but he is coming up for my tea party," said Miss Irvine, laughing. "He takes a great interest in my mission work. Indeed, if it had not been for Lord Moreton I could not have carried it on. He supplies the means, while I try to find the workers. He hires the room for me in which I have all my meetings, and in which the tea will be given tomorrow night."
"Indeed," said Sir William, "I had no idea of that. And you say he is going to give a talk?"
"He has promised to say a few words to the mothers. He has spoken to them before, and interested them very much. He puts the way of salvation so simply before them that it seems to go straight to their hearts."
"Well, I really think we must go and hear him. Evelyn, my dear, I don't think it will hurt you if you do not dress too warmly. Those places are always so close. We will drive there and keep the carriage windows closed, so that the foul air of the streets will not come in. What time shall we be ready, Lilla?"
All arrangements were made, and Evelyn and I both looked forward with real pleasure to the following evening.
Chapter Eighteen
MISS IRVINE'S mission room was a bright, cheerful place, decorated for the festive occasion. The walls were ornamented with texts cut out in red and white paper and wreaths of greenery. Long tables had been covered with white cloths and spread with a most beautiful food which was arranged as carefully and tastefully as if it had been set out for a wedding breakfast.
The guests had all arrived when we went in, and were already sitting at the tables: tired mothers, many of them with babies in their arms; husbands whose faces bore marks of care and toil, and many of whom showed plainly the signs of drink that was ruining their homes; and children with pinched and unchildlike faces. Most of the men were in working clothes, for Miss Lilla said they possessed no others in which to come, but they had all made themselves as clean and tidy as they could.
They began to seem more at their ease when a blessing was asked, the tea poured out, and we all sat down together. Then the tongues began to be busy, and their careworn faces looked glad and happy.
Lord Moreton was there, looking after the wants of every one of the people, and talking amiably with them. He was a tall man with dark hair. I thought him handsome indeed, in spite of the slight cast in his eye of which Evelyn had complained so much. But it was so slight that it was not at all displeasing, and I wondered why she had considered it such a drawback.
He came up to us as soon as we entered the room, and seemed pleased to meet Sir William and Evelyn. But we had little time for conversation until the work of the evening was over.
After tea came Lord Moreton's address. It was simple and very much to the point, and I could see that the people were paying great attention to every word. He spoke to them of the love of Jesus, and how He was longing and yearning for them to come to Him; how He was following them like the shepherd after the lost sheep, seeking them by night, seeking them by day, seeking them in sickness, seeking them in health, seeking them in their sin and trouble and misery, ever seeking them, ever longing for them to turn round and let Him find them.
And then Lord Moreton begged them to turn round to Him that night, to leave drink behind, to leave sin behind, to leave shame behind, to turn their back on Satan and all his ways, and turn to the Good Shepherd and to say to Him, "Lord Jesus, save me!"
There were few dry eyes when Lord Moreton had finished. He did not show his nervousness at all when he was speaking. I fancied that his hand trembled a little, but his voice was clear and steady, and he spoke so naturally and unaffectedly that you forgot the man altogether and became engrossed only with what he was saying. There was something in his quiet, persuasive, pleading manner which would require a hard heart to withstand. I could see that Evelyn was moved, though she made no remark on it afterwards.
When the people had left, and only the helpers remained in the room, we had more time for conversation. Then for the first time I saw that Lord Moreton was indeed a nervous man. He was so shy and reserved when he first came up to us that I could hardly believe he was the man who had spoken so easily and naturally to the assembled people.
But Sir William soon set him at ease by telling him of our journey to the Near East, and some of our adventures while we were there.
"You met a friend of mine in Jerusalem, I think," Lord Moreton said.
"Oh yes, you mean Mr. Stanley," said Sir William, as if he had never doubted for a moment Mr. Stanley's friendship with Lord Moreton. "He proved a capital guide to us. We were sorry he had to leave so abruptly."
"Yes, poor fellow," said Lord Moreton. "It was a great shock to him."
"What was
a great shock to him?" asked Sir William. "We never heard why he left Jerusalem so suddenly."
"Oh, did you not?" said Lord Moreton in surprise. "Howard told me that he had written to you, and I think he was a little disappointed that he did not get an answer. It was on account of his father's illness. I sent him a telegram to tell him how dangerously ill his father was, and he left Jerusalem immediately he received it. But he was too late. His father had been dead some days when he arrived. Poor fellow, it was a terrible time for him."
"I am really sorry," said Sir William. "I had no idea that he was in such trouble. It seemed strange to us, as you may imagine, his disappearing so suddenly and without any reason so far as we knew."
"Yes, of course it would," said Lord Moreton. "Howard will be extremely vexed when he finds his letter did not reach you. He is such a nice fellow. He is just like a brother to me. The Stanleys' place is close to ours, so we see a great deal of each other. And of course we shall be more than ever together now that Howard has come into his father's property."
"I am sorry to hear of his father's death," said Sir William again.
"Yes," answered Lord Moreton, "and you would have felt it if you had seen his grief when he arrived and I had to tell him that his father was gone. His mother died a few years ago, and there were no other children, so he and his father had been all in all to each other. Howard was unwilling to go abroad this year, for he fancied his father was failing a little. But the old man insisted on his going, for Howard had a severe illness just this time last year and the doctors said he would not be strong again until he had had a complete change."
"Poor fellow," said Sir William. "Can you give me his address? I would like to write to him and express my sympathy, and explain why I did not write before."
Lord Moreton took a leaf from his pocketbook, wrote the address, and handed it to Sir William. "Howard is busy now, of course, settling his affairs, but in a month's time I have persuaded him to go with me for a holiday in the Highlands. I am sure it will do him good."
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