Jill had not more religion than many other girls, but she wanted to be true; the inconsistency of human nature baffled and perplexed her; she was not more ready to renounce the world than Sara was, but she wished to know the inner meaning of things, and in this I longed to help her.
I could not help thinking of her tenderly and pitifully as I walked down the road leading to the little Norman church. I was early, and the building was nearly empty when I entered the porch; but it was quiet and restful to sit there and review the past week, and watch the sunshine lighting up the red brick walls and touching the rood-screen, while a faint purple gleam fell on the chancel pavement.
Two ladies entered the seat before me, and I looked at them a little curiously.
They were both very handsomely dressed, but it was not their fashionable appearance that attracted me. I had caught sight of a most beautiful and striking face belonging to one of them that somehow riveted my attention.
The lady was apparently very young, and had a tall graceful figure, and strange colourless hair that looked as though it ought to have been golden, only the gloss had faded out of it; but it was lovely hair, fine and soft as a baby"s.
As she rose she slightly turned round, and our eyes met for a moment; they were large, melancholy eyes, and the face, beautiful as it was, was very worn and thin, and absolutely without colour. I could see her profile plainly all through the service, but the dull impa.s.sive expression of the countenance that she had turned upon me gave me a sensation of pain; she looked like a person who had experienced some great trouble or undergone some terrible illness. I could not make up my mind which it could be.
The other lady was much older, and had no claims to beauty. I could see her face plainly, for she looked round once or twice as though she were expecting some one.
She must have been over thirty, and had rather a singular face; it was thin, dark-complexioned, and very sallow; she was a stylish-looking woman, but her appearance did not interest me. To my surprise, just as the service commenced, Mr. Hamilton came in and joined them. So these must be the ladies from Gladwyn, I thought. That beautiful pale girl must be his sister Gladys, and the other one Miss Darrell.
I tried to keep my attention to my own devotions, but every now and then my eyes would stray to the lovely face before me. Mr. Hamilton"s behaviour was irreproachable. I could hear his voice following all the responses, and he sang the hymns very heartily.
I think he knew I was behind him, for he handed me a hymn-book, with a slight smile, when I was offering to share mine with a young woman. Miss Darrell gave me a curiously penetrating look when she came out that did not quite please me, but the girl who followed her did not seem to notice my presence. I sat still in my place for a minute, as I did not wish to encounter them in the porch. I had lingered so long that the congregation had quite dispersed when I got out, but, to my surprise, I could see the three walking very slowly down the road. Could they have been waiting for me? I wondered; but I dismissed this idea as absurd.
But I could not forget the face that had so interested me; and when I encountered Uncle Max on his way to the children"s service I questioned him at once about the two ladies.
"Yes, you are right, Ursula," he said, a little absently. "The one with fair hair was Miss Gladys: her cousin, Miss Darrell, sat by Hamilton."
"But you never told me how beautiful she was," I replied, in rather an injured voice. "She has a perfect face, only it is so worn and unhappy-looking."
"You must not keep me," observed Max hurriedly; "Miss Darrell wants to speak to me before service." And he rushed off, leaving me standing in the middle of the path rather wondering at his abruptness, for the bell had not commenced.
A little farther on, I came face to face with Miss Darrell; she was walking with Mr. Tudor, and seemed talking to him with much animation.
She bowed slightly, as he took off his hat to me, in a graceful well-bred manner, but her face prepossessed me even less than it had done in the morning. She had keen, dark eyes like Mr. Hamilton"s, only they somehow repelled me. I was somewhat quick with my likes and dislikes, as I had proved by the dislike I had taken to Mr. Hamilton. This feeling was wearing off, and I was no longer so strongly prejudiced against him. I might even find Miss Darrell less repelling when I spoke to her. She was evidently a gentlewoman; her movements were quiet and graceful, and she had a good carriage.
I was somewhat surprised on reaching the cottage to find Mr. Hamilton sitting by my patient. He had Janie on his knee, and seemed as though he had been there for some time, but he rose at once when he saw me.
"I was waiting for you, Miss Garston," he said quietly. "I wanted to give you some directions about Mrs. Marshall"; and when he had finished, he said, a little abruptly--
"What made you so long coming out of church this morning? I was waiting to introduce my sister and cousin to you, but you were determined to disappoint me."
I was a little confused by this.
"Did you recognise me?" I asked, rather tamely.
"No,--not in that smart bonnet," was the unexpected reply. "I did not identify the wearer with the village nurse until I heard your voice in the Te Deum: you can hardly disguise your voice, Miss Garston: my cousin Etta p.r.i.c.ked up her ears when she heard it." And then, as I made no answer, he picked up his hat with rather an amused air and wished me good-bye.
I was rather offended at the mention of my bonnet; the little gray wing that relieved its sombre black tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs could hardly be called smart,--a word I abhorred,--but he probably said it to tease me.
"Ay, the doctor has been telling us you have a voice like a skylark,"
observed Elspeth, "but I have been thinking it must be more like an angel"s voice, my bairn, since you mostly use it to sing the Lord"s praises, and to cheer the sick folk round you: that is more than a skylark does."
So he had been praising my voice. What an odd man!
I stayed at the cottage about two hours, and read a little to the children and Elspeth, and then I started for the Lockes".
Kitty clapped her hands when she heard she was to go to church with her aunt Susan. I found out afterwards the child had always gone alone.
Phoebe was evidently expecting me, for her eyes were fixed on the door as I entered, and the same shadowy smile I had seen once before swept over her wan features when she saw me. She seemed ready and eager to talk, but I adhered to my usual programme. I was rather afraid that our conversation would excite her, so I wanted to quiet her first. I sang a few of my favourite hymns, and then read the evening psalms. She heard me somewhat reluctantly, but when I had finished her face cleared, and without any preamble she commenced her story.
I never remember that recital without pain. It positively wrung my heart to listen to her. I had heard the outline of her sad story from her sister"s lips, but it had lacked colour; it had been a simple statement of facts, and no more.
But now Phoebe"s pa.s.sionate words seemed to clothe it with power; the very sight of the ghastly and almost distracted face on the pillow gave a miserable pathos to the story. It was in vain to check excitement while the unhappy creature poured out the history of her wrongs: the old old story, of a credulous woman"s heart being trampled upon and tortured by an unworthy lover, was enacted again before me.
"I just worshipped the ground he walked on, and he threw me aside like a broken toy," she said over and over again. "And the worst of it is that, villain as he is, I cannot unlove him, though I am that mad with him sometimes that I could almost murder him."
"Love is strong as death, and jealousy is cruel as the grave," I muttered, half to myself, but she overheard me.
"Ay, that is just true," she returned eagerly: "there are times when I hate Robert and Nancy and would like to haunt them. Did I not tell you, Miss Garston, that h.e.l.l had begun with me already? I was never a good woman,--never, not even when I was happy and Robert loved me. I was just full of him, and wanted nothing else in heaven and earth; and when the trouble came, and father and mother died, and I lay here like a log,--only a log has not got a living heart in it,--I seemed to go mad with the anger and unhappiness, and I felt "the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched.""
I stooped over and wiped her poor lips and poor head, for she was fearfully exhausted, and then in a perfect pa.s.sion of pity closed her face between my hands and bade G.o.d bless her.
"What do you mean?" she said, staring at me; but her voice trembled.
"Haven"t I been telling you how wicked I am? Do you think that is a reason for His blessing me?"
"I think His blessing has always been with you, my poor Phoebe, like the sunlight that you try to shut out from your windows. You hide yourself in your own darkness, and pretend that the all-embracing love is not for you. Well may you call your present existence a tomb; but you must not wrong your Almighty Father. Not He, but you yourself have walled yourself up with your own sinful hands, and then you wonder at the weight that lies upon your heart."
"Can I forget my trouble when I am not able to move?" she said bitterly.
And it was sad to see how her hands beat upon the bedclothes. But I held them in mine. They were icy cold. The action seemed to calm her frenzy.
"You cannot forget," I returned quietly; "but all this time, all these weary years, you might have learned to forgive Robert."
"Nay, I will have nothing to do with forgiving," was the hard answer.
"And yet you say you love him, Phoebe. Why, the very devils would laugh at such a notion of love."
"Didn"t I say I both loved and hated him?" very fiercely.
"Speak the truth, and say you hate him, and G.o.d forgive you your sin. But it is a greater one than Robert has committed against you."
"How dare you say such things to me, Miss Garston?" trying to free her hands; but still I held them fast. "You will make me hate you next. I am not a pleasant-tempered woman."
"If you do, I will promise you forgiveness beforehand. Why, you poor creature, do you think I could ever be hard on you?"
The fierce light in her eyes softened. "Nay, I did not mean what I said; but you excite me with your talk. How can you know what I feel about these things? You cannot put yourself in my place."
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness, Phoebe; and it may be that in your place I should fail utterly in patience; but if we will not lie still under His hand, and learn the lesson He would fain teach us, it may be that fresh trials may be sent to humble us."
"Do you think things could be much worse with me?" becoming excited again; but I stroked her hand, and begged her gently to let me finish my speech.
"Phoebe, as you lie there on your cross, the whole Church throughout the world is praying for you Sunday after Sunday when the prayer goes up for those who are desolate and oppressed. And who so desolate and oppressed as you?"
"True, most true," she murmured.