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Title: Luke's wife
Author: Evelyn R. Garratt
Illustrator: Francis M. Parsons
Release date: September 4, 2023 [eBook #71564]
Language: English
Original publication: Ipswich: Smiths, Publishers, Suitall, 1926
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LUKE'S WIFE ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "SING," SAID LUKE GREVILLE, AS HE LEANT ON HIS OARS.]
LUKE'S WIFE
BY
EVELYN R. GARRATT.
Author of "Meg of the Heather," "The Cry,"
"Millicent's Freedom," "The Radiant City,"
"A Diamond in the Rough," etc.
Illustrations by FRANCIS M. PARSONS.
IPSWICH: SMITHS, PUBLISHERS, SUITALL.
AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.
1926.
(Copyright.)
SMITHS,
PRINTERS, BOOKBINDERS, AND PUBLISHERS,
SUITALL, IPSWICH.
"Love is not blind, it is an extra eye, which
shows us what is most worthy of regard."
J. M. Barrie.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA
II. THE HOME COMING
III. LUKE'S MOTHER
IV. AN INCAPABLE HOUSEKEEPER
V. TWO POINTS OF VIEW
VI. THE STUDY
VII. RACHEL CONFIDES IN THE BISHOP
VIII. THE BISHOP COMES TO LUNCH
IX. GWEN
X. THE TRAINING BEGINS
XI. THE CHOIR THREATEN TO STRIKE
XII. RACHEL MAKES A MISTAKE
XIII. A BOX OF VIOLETS
XIV. DISAPPOINTMENT
XV. RACHEL'S PEARLS
XVI. THE CHURCH COUNCIL
XVII. LUKE IS DISCOURAGED
XVIII. GAS STOVES VERSUS MOUNTAINS
XIX. GWEN WRITES TO THE BISHOP
XX. NO LADY HEAD OF THE PARISH
XXI. THE BISHOP LOOKS INTO THE KITCHEN
XXII. THE DREAM OF HIS LIFE
XXIII. LUKE SEES HIMSELF
XXIV. FOR LUKE'S SAKE
XXV. THE DISTURBING ELEMENT
XXVI. LUKE TELLS RACHEL ABOUT HIS DREAM
XXVII. RACHEL'S GARDEN PARTY
XXVIII. "THINK OF RACHEL"
XXIX. IN THE LIGHT OF THE MOON
[Illustration]
LUKE'S WIFE.
CHAPTER I.
MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA.
"Sing," said Luke Greville, as he leant on his oars and looked at his
wife sitting in the stern of the boat.
And Rachel sang.
The boat lay almost still in the silver pathway flung by the moon
across the sea. There was scarcely a ripple.
Rachel's voice trembled a little when she began to sing, as a sense of
mystery and wonder enveloped her. The dark sea beyond them; the earnest
face of her husband lit up by the moonlight; the fact that they were
quite alone on the vast waste of water, combined to fill her with awe
and to make her voice a little unsteady for a moment.
Her singing thrilled her husband as he sat listening. His dream had
come true; and this last evening of their honeymoon they were alone on
the sea; in quiet; with God.
Rachel sang; and these were the words that she sang:—
"And love is God, and God is love,
And earth beneath and Heaven above
Are swathed in it and bathed in it;
For every flower of tender grace
Hath God and Love writ on its face,
And silver shining stars on high
Spell Love and God across the sky."
When the last note of her song trembled away across the waters, there
was silence between them while they looked at one another as only those
who love and trust can look. Words were not needed between them. They
were so absolutely united in spirit that outward expression of their
love was unnecessary.
Then Luke took up his oars and rowed vigorously towards land.
"All things must have an end," he said, "even the happiest honeymoon
that was ever spent. I suppose we must go back to our rooms."
"Must we yet? Let us stay out till the last minute. Perhaps we shall
never have such an evening again together, with the moonlight on the
sea."
"We'll come here next year," he answered laughing, "and after a year of
happiness it ought to be better still. Why are you pessimistic?"
Rachel was silent for a moment, then she said, "I'm afraid of your
work."
"Afraid? Why?" He leant towards her in surprise.
"Because I have a feeling that it will take you from me," she answered.
She knew perfectly well by this time that his work was his passion.
The thought of it had at times absorbed him even during their days
of bliss. They had been so happy together, almost like light-hearted
children, but Rachel had noticed the last few days that his parish and
his people were engaging many of his thoughts and that he was getting
a little restless. If his work weighed on his heart even during his
wedding tour, thought Rachel, was there not a fear that it would be
pre-eminent in his thoughts when in the midst of it, to the exclusion
of her?
Luke laughed at her fears, and after a few moments remarked, "There
is only one thing I regret and that is that I am not taking you to a
comfortable Vicarage. I don't mind a small house myself nor did my
mother, but I'm afraid you will feel cramped."
"But they are going to build a vicarage soon," said Rachel.
"They will be a good time about it, I fear. You see the Parish has only
just been divided, so it is not in proper working order yet; besides
which, I think it may be as well for us to live in a small house,
anyway at first. A Vicarage means a certain amount of expenditure not
to mention dilapidations. Nevertheless I am sorry that the home I am
taking you to is not larger. But after all we don't want to live in the
lap of luxury. We are out to fight the great enemy of souls, you and I,
and we can do that as well in a small house as in a large one. Perhaps
better."
"How I wish I were more capable," sighed Rachel; "I don't know anything
at all about Parish work. You ought to have married someone very
different."
Luke laughed.
"It's too late to give me that advice. And let me tell you that I
prefer a wife who comes to the work fresh, rather than one who is
already tired and perhaps discouraged. I said so to my mother."
"I am afraid that your mother would not agree. Did she feel leaving you
very much? And are her rooms close by?" Rachel listened for the answer
rather anxiously.
"She was wonderfully unselfish about leaving the coast clear for you;
but her rooms are not far off. You will soon love her."
"I am sure I shall make no end of mistakes," sighed Rachel, a little
depressed at his answer.
"Don't you know that it has been said that a person who makes no
mistakes makes nothing else?"
"Yes; but—" she paused, then she suddenly changed her mind, saying—
"Let us forget everything for a moment but the moonlight on the sea,
and that we have one another."
Luke rested on his oars and the moon shone down upon their faces alive
with love, as if it blessed them.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
THE HOME COMING.
Rachel leant back in the railway carriage and watched the fields and
hedges rapidly passing. But her thoughts were far away. She was going
home, but not to the old familiar place she had hitherto called by that
name. It was to her new home, and the life that she was to spend there
was all untried.
She could not but remember the welcoming smile that her mother always
gave her even when she had returned only from a walk among the hills.
She knew that whatever new interest might come into her mother's life
that she would never cease to think first of her children. She had
always made everything subservient to their interests and welfare.
Before she became an invalid she had never allowed social or any other
claims to interfere with theirs, and since she had had to lead a
semi-invalid life their interests had still been hers, their joys and
sorrows were felt to be her own.
And now, Rachel would have to make her own way in her new world; and
have no mother to fly to in any of her difficulties. Her mother-in-law
would certainly not take her place, although Luke had talked of her
with complete satisfaction and the greatest love. His mother, in his
eyes, was everything a man could wish for. She was apparently perfect.
But Rachel had not liked what she had seen of her at the wedding, and
felt intuitively that she was not approved of by Luke's mother. Luke
was evidently her idol, and no-one could be good enough for him. The
few remarks she had exchanged with Mrs. Greville had convinced Rachel
that Luke's mother had hoped for another kind of wife for her son; one
who was used to Parish work, and capable of managing people. Rachel
had told her at once that Parish work would be a new experience and
had said a little wistfully that she wished she had done more than she
had for their home parish. "But I had mother to take care of," she had
added.
"Yes," Mrs. Greville had answered, "it is rather a pity that you have
had no experience in that line. I am afraid you will find it difficult."
And Rachel had added almost against her will, "And unfortunate, I am
afraid, for Luke. However, I can always learn, I suppose."
Mrs. Greville had looked at her with cold critical eyes, saying,
"We can learn anything if we put our mind into it," and thought as
she uttered the words, "I only hope she will be useful as well as
ornamental." The unspoken thought was so evident in the glance that
Mrs. Greville gave her, that for a moment, even though Rachel had just
been married to the man who was all the world to her, and for whom she
was forsaking her mother and her home, she turned away feeling hurt,
and vexed.
It was the thought of the mother-in-law who she would have to meet when
she arrived in her new home, that was the cause of the slight feeling
of depression and fear of which she was conscious as the train neared
its destination. Then she glanced across at her husband.
He was deep in the "Times" and apparently utterly unconscious at
the moment of her presence. But the expression of great content and
interest on his face, and the sudden laugh that escaped him as he
handed the paper across to her to enjoy with him something that had
tickled his fancy, drove all depression away. After all she had him—for
ever—that is to say till death should part them. What could she want
more? And she had not promised to like, and adopt, his mother as hers!
It rained during their railway journey, but as they reached the
manufacturing town in which was Luke's Parish, the sun shone out, and
it was a happy pair that at last drew up at the door of the little
house that was to be henceforth home.
"Here we are," exclaimed Luke as he handed out his wife. At the same
moment the door was opened by a minute person with a short frock and
white apron and with a little cap perched on her head. She looked at
them with a broad smile.
"Who is the child?" asked Rachel.
"Why it's Polly Green! My mother promised me that she would get us a
really nice little maid; and I know Polly well. She is a thoroughly
nice girl. She then, is to be our factotum."
"Well Polly and how are you?" he said heartily, as he gave the bundle
of umbrellas into her hands. "This is your Mistress, and you are a
lucky girl to have her. Now be sharp, my girl, and put the umbrellas in
the hall and then come back for another parcel."
Rachel laughed almost hysterically as she watched Polly running about
with her cap on one side and then opening the door of the sitting room
with an important air. She had never contemplated for a moment having
such a small factotum!
As she stepped into the little room, the door of which had been opened
by Polly, she laughed again. It was so very small! Luke had given her
no idea at all of its dimensions. He had merely said he could trust his
mother to see after the house and to make them comfortable. His joyous
laugh as he followed her into the room mingled with hers.
"I'm glad my mother has secured Polly for our maid," he said. "She is
a first-rate little woman and always answers the Scripture Questions
better at school than any other girl. She'll do well for us."
Rachel did not quite see how answering Scripture questions at school
made her fit to be a little maid of all work! But it was all so
surprising that she looked around merrily.
"It's almost like a fairy tale," she said, and the thought flashed
across her mind, "like a doll's house." Then it was that as Luke
suddenly glanced at his wife a feeling of apprehension seized him.
Rachel was standing looking at the pictures on the walls, and her
radiant beauty and lovely clothes struck a cold chill into his heart.
She looked out of place! And he felt his home must appear to be dull
and uninteresting.
"I am afraid," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, and his tone
of voice was tinged with regret, "I am afraid that it must strike you
as very different from what you have been used to. The house is so
small."
"I like it small," she answered cheerfully, "for even when you write
your sermons you will not be able to get away from me. I like it to be
different."
She had seen at a glance that the wall paper was ugly, the furniture
badly arranged, and was not surprised to hear that both had been his
mother's choice. It was exactly the kind of paper and furniture that
she would expect her to choose. All good, but nothing dainty. But what
did it signify? She could have the room papered by-and-bye, and get rid
of some of the furniture, and would soon be able to make it homelike
and pretty. And after all it did not matter having to live with hideous
furniture and drab wall paper if by so doing she had Luke to herself,
and was able to help him in his work.
Somewhat assured by her answer and bright smile, Luke led her into the
drawing-room, a still smaller and duller room at the back of the house,
looking on what, by courtesy, we will call a garden, but was nothing
more than a yard containing a few sad looking bushes and a sickly
flower or two. Polly appeared asking with a broad grin when she might
"serve tea."
"What have you got for tea?" enquired Luke, thinking of Rachel.
"Mrs. Greville brought round some eggs, Sir," answered Polly.
"Good, we'll have them. And I suppose there is jam?"
"There's a pot of plum jam, Sir."
"Bring that then and be as quick as you can Polly as I have to go out
in half an hour."
"Go out!" exclaimed Rachel.
"Yes, I'm sorry to have to leave you your first evening," he answered,
"but it's the Church Council and I must be there. I got it postponed
till to-day as it should have been last Thursday. I am sorry dear."
Rachel smiled. She would not let him see her keen disappointment, nor
know that the fear she had expressed to him the evening before gained
ground by his words.
"I suppose," she said laughing, "that this is what I must expect,
having married a clergyman."
"I am afraid it is! But we shall soon be working side by side and going
about together. I shall want you with me. My only fear is that you will
work too hard."
The picture he had drawn of them working together had cheered her.
It was at tea that Rachel asked if his mother was on the Church Council.
"No," he answered, "but she is on everything else. She is as good as
a Curate. I can't tell you what she has done for me since I have been
here. It has made all the difference to me having her. You will get to
love her I know."
"I shall never love her," thought Rachel, "but I must try, I must for
his sake, and he shall not find out if I can't."
Luke looked at his watch, and rose quickly. "I must be going," he said.
Left alone, Rachel tried to check a slight feeling of homesickness
that attacked her. The room was so small and rather dark and yet it
was scarcely time to light up. She flung the window open and stood
by it looking out into the little yard with the sad looking bushes.
Should she ever get used to her surroundings, she wondered, or would
she always have the feeling, almost of suffocation, that she was
experiencing this evening? It was all so different to her home in the
country. From the drawing-room window at Heathland she could see a
wide expanse of country and could even feel the wind that blew from
the moors. It was not a large house but a thoroughly comfortable one,
standing in four or five acres of land. They had lived in a much larger
place, in Rachel's childhood, but her father dying, they had moved
about ten years ago into what was called Heathland cottage.
Rachel had lived a life of perfect freedom, her only definite duty
being that of taking care of her invalid mother. She knew nothing of
housekeeping, her elder sister was the housekeeper, and as for cooking!
She scarcely knew how to boil a potato.
She forgot that tea was still on the table, and was startled by Polly's
voice asking her if she might take the tea things away, as she thought
Mrs. Greville would be coming in by-and-bye, and would not be pleased
to see them not washed up. Might she take them?
Rachel gasped at the remark. Was she then to be under Mrs. Greville's
eye, or rather, was her mother-in-law to instruct Polly as to what to
do?
Polly's words had the effect of arousing her from her dreams, and she
set to work to help the girl to clear away, leaving her to wash up
while she began to unpack. She earnestly hoped that her mother-in-law
would not pay her a visit, but determined that she should find her
ready to receive her should she appear.
It was rather late when Rachel made her way downstairs. The house was
in darkness. But she heard Polly moving about in the kitchen.
"Why Polly, you are in the dark! You had better light up. You can't see
to do your work."
Polly rather eagerly turned up the electric light.
"I didn't like to do it before Ma'am," she said, "as Mrs. Greville
told me that I must be very careful not to waste the light as it is so
expensive, and I thought if she came along and found it she might be
angry."
"Well I'm your Mistress now," said Rachel, "and whenever it gets dark,
I give you leave to light up. I'm sure you will be careful."
Rachel turned away and recklessly lit the three lights in the tiny
drawing-room. She felt angry. Mrs. Greville should find that she had
no authority whatever over Polly from henceforth. But the anger soon
subsided, and apprehension took its place. Was her mother-in-law
going to be a source of unhappiness in their home? But no, it was
unthinkable, she must learn to like her.
She must not give place to the feeling of resentment which already was
getting a hold on her. The day that Luke found out that she did not
love his mother would, Rachel felt sure, be the beginning of an altered
feeling in him about herself. It would disappoint him so terribly, and
would be a continual source of worry. And she determined that she would
never worry him.
And after all was it not very small of her to be so angry about such a
little matter? It was much too small a matter for Luke to understand.
She must try and take a broader outlook on life and not let little
things affect her.
While these thoughts were engrossing her, the front door opened and
Rachel heard a firm footstep which was not Luke's crossing the hall.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
LUKE'S MOTHER.
Mrs. Greville blinked as she opened the drawing-room door and faced the
bright light. Her economical soul saw at a glance that all three lights
were lighted, but she refrained from making a remark.
Loving her son as she did, she had come determined to make friends
with his probably incapable wife, and knew that to remark at the very
beginning on the reckless extravagance displayed, would not help her
resolve. So she merely blinked, and for a moment shaded her eyes with
her hand, saying, "My eyes are not used to such brilliance."
Rachel also had suddenly come to a determination on hearing her
husband's mother's footstep. She recognised the fact that the future
might depend on her present attitude towards Mrs. Greville, and was
resolved for the sake of her love for Luke to make the best of it. She
there-fore met her mother-in-law with a smile and outstretched hand.
She was not quite prepared for the hearty kiss that was given, but
she was pleased, as it seemed to put her in the right position of a
daughter-in-law rather than as her son's unsatisfactory wife.
"How kind of you to come," she said.
"I promised Luke that I would do everything in my power to make his
wife feel at home," answered Mrs. Greville, taking Rachel's hand and
drawing her on to the sofa, "and when I found that he was going out
to-night I was afraid you might be feeling a little forlorn; so I made
up my mind to run round. I think he ought to have arranged better than
to have a meeting the first evening."
The fact that Rachel had been conscious herself of a feeling of
disappointment and of surprise that he should leave her so soon, made
her wince at the words, and colour. Her pride was touched.
"But of course," she said, "he could not shirk his duty. He knew that
I should have objected to him doing so." And as she made this remark,
she imagined that she was saying the truth. So easy is it to deceive
ourselves, particularly when our enemy pride is to the front.
"I'm glad to hear you are so sensible," said Mrs. Greville, "or I am
afraid you would have to suffer continual disappointment. Luke's work
is the first thing with him, and always will be. Neither mother nor
wife will be allowed to come in its way. He is the hardest worker that
I know. But just because of this he has to be looked after well."
"How do you mean?"
"Creature comforts are nothing to him. If he lived by himself I really
don't know when he would think of food. If ever I went away for a week
or two I found him looking shockingly ill on my return and generally
discovered that he had not been punctual at his meals, and would have
been quite happy to have gone without them altogether. You will have to
look after him Rachel. By-the-bye, what did he have for his meal before
going out?"
"You kindly sent round some eggs."
"Ah yes. Of course there was no time to cook anything else. But you
will have to be careful about the eggs. They are 4d each at present.
And," she added warily, "if I were you, my dear, I should not burn
more than one light in this small room. Three are quite unnecessary.
Electric light is extremely expensive unless you are careful. Of course
you know that you ought to put it out every time you leave the room,
even though it may be only for a minute or two."
"No," said Rachel, "I don't know anything about electric light. We used
lamps at home. Is it really necessary to be so careful? I don't want to
be always thinking of money." She gave a little laugh, but happily Mrs.
Greville did not recognise the scorn in the tone of voice or in the
laugh.
"Yes indeed, it is necessary, that is to say if you don't want to pay a
big bill. My son is not a rich man."
To Rachel who had never had to think of these matters, the restrictions
that were being laid down seemed absurd. She scarcely knew whether she
felt more inclined to be angry or to laugh. She turned the conversation
by asking if Polly could cook.
"No," said Mrs. Greville. "You will have to teach her. She is a very
quick little girl and will easily learn."
"I am afraid she will learn nothing from me," said Rachel, "Could we
not have had some older servant under the circumstances? I think I
shall have to go to a registry office to-morrow. Which is the best one?"
"Servants are very difficult to get and I don't suppose that you and
Luke could afford a really good one. No, your wisest plan is to keep on
little Polly, and I will come round and teach you both. I will bring a
cookery book with me and mark the most economical dishes for you."
"Thank you," said Rachel, faintly. The prospect was not exhilarating,
but she knew the proposal was made in kindness, and after all both she
and Luke must have food, specially Luke apparently! Her spirits were
sinking to zero.
"And now I shall leave you," said Mrs. Greville rising. She glanced at
Rachel, and noticed that she was looking tired and not particularly
bright, so she added kindly, "Don't worry. It seems strange at first,
no doubt, but you will soon get into our ways. You look as if you
needed a night's rest after your journey. I hope Luke will not keep you
sitting up for him to a late hour. He forgets everything when he is
interested in his work. I shall have to give him a hint that he must go
slowly for a time, and consider his wife."
Rachel flushed. The idea of his mother telling him of his duty to his
wife was repugnant in the extreme. She could not endure the thought. It
hurt her pride.
"Please do nothing of the sort," she exclaimed. "I don't wish Luke to
come home a minute earlier for my sake. His work must come first."
Mrs. Greville not knowing how her words had stung her daughter-in-law,
and being quite unconscious of the storm that she had raised in her
heart, gave her a warm kiss as she left, saying, "That's right. That
is the way to keep Luke's love. I am glad to hear you give out your
views like that. I was a little afraid you might not see things in that
light, but be somewhat exigent. Goodnight. I know you will do all you
can to help my dear boy in his work. And be sure you feed him well."
Rachel turned away, and put her hands up to her hot face. "I can't, I
can't love her," she murmured. "I never shall. I've never met that type
of person before. Oh! I hope she won't spoil it all!"
Rachel indulged in a few tears, and then set to work to think what she
could give her husband on his return from the meeting. She went to look
in the larder and found a good sized piece of cheese and some macaroni.
Evidently Mrs. Greville had thought of macaroni and cheese for their
supper, but Rachel had no idea how to make it.
"We must have the cheese for supper Polly," she said. "Lay the table in
good time and then if Mr. Greville is late you can go to bed. I'm going
to finish my unpacking."
About half an hour later Polly knocked at her door saying, with a broad
smile, "Mrs. Greville has just been and left two meat pies, Ma'am, and
said I was to be sure to ask you to see that the master eats them both
as he'll be mighty hungry; but I think you ought to have one of 'em."
Rachel laughed—how queer and surprising everything was—particularly
Polly.
Polly went to bed at nine, and Rachel sat down to read and to wait. It
was past ten o'clock before she heard her husband's footstep.
She ran to meet him at the door. He put his arm round her as after
hanging up his hat they made their way into the dining-room.
"How did the meeting go off?" she asked.
"Excellently. And I had congratulations from all sorts of people on my
marriage. They are arranging a large At Home in the Parish Room in your
honour, at which I am told their congratulations are to take a more
tangible form. They are wonderfully hearty people, and I'm impatient
for you to know them."
They sat down to supper and Rachel found that she had no difficulty
in persuading her husband to eat both pies. He was so engrossed with
the account of the meeting that he never noticed what he was eating or
that his wife had to content herself with bread and cheese. Neither
did he question as to where the pies came from. In fact he was hardly
conscious that he was eating pies at all! Rachel felt sure that it
would have made no difference to him if he had had only bread and
cheese like herself to eat. His enthusiasm for his work was as good as
food to him. She loved him for it, but she wondered at the same time
if he had forgotten that this was the first evening they had spent in
their home, and she was conscious of a little pain at her heart to
which she would pay no attention.
But suddenly he looked across at her as if he had just awakened to the
fact of her presence, saying, "What could I want more! God—work—and
you! It is all more wonderful than I even anticipated."
And Rachel registered a vow in her heart; "I will never worry him with
my stupid fears and littlenesses, and I will pray night and morning to
be made more worthy of him;" but her sensitive spirit did not fail to
notice that "you" came last.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IV.
AN INCAPABLE HOUSEKEEPER.
Rachel stood looking down at the sirloin of beef she had ordered from
the butcher and which now lay on the kitchen table. She was rather
dismayed at the size of it and wondered how it ought to be cooked. She
was determined that Luke should be well fed so that his mother should
have no excuse to accuse her of not taking proper care of her son.
Polly was upstairs doing the bedrooms, and Rachel was thankful that
she was not near to see her perplexity. Then the front door opened and
she heard Mrs. Greville calling her. Vexed at being taken by surprise,
Rachel resolved to lock the front door in future. She went into the
hall to meet her mother-in-law, closing the kitchen door behind her.
Mrs. Greville gave her a hearty kiss.
"I thought I would just look round," she said, "to know if you would
like any advice about dinner or would care for me to give you a lesson
in cooking this morning. I am due at Mrs. Stone's at twelve to help her
to cut out for the working party, but I can spare you an hour or so if
you like. What have you got for dinner?"
"A sirloin of beef; and I thought of having a rice pudding, that is to
say if Luke likes milky puddings. I see you have provided us with rice
and tapioca."
"A sirloin! That will never do; it must be changed at once," said Mrs.
Greville, making her way to the kitchen. "It is the most expensive
part of beef that you can have. You and Luke won't be able to indulge
in that kind of thing. You must remember that you are a poor parson's
wife, and must cut your coat according to your cloth."
Rachel flushed and wondered if she would ever be able to call her house
and her food her own.
"I'll take it round to the butcher;" said Mrs. Greville as she surveyed
the sirloin. "He's very obliging, and I know he will change it for a
piece of the rump or a little liver. Wrap it up in several pieces of
paper and put it in a basket and I will take it round at once."
"But it's too heavy for you and it's raining."
"Never mind the rain. It must be done or Luke won't get any dinner and
this is a heavy day for him. I'll come back in a few minutes and give
you a hint or two about to-day's meal."
Rachel bit her lip. She could scarcely bear this interference, yet she
knew she was herself to blame for it, as she was utterly incapable. But
if only she could be left alone she would learn from her very mistakes;
and why need Mrs. Greville always be reminding her of the necessity of
economy. She was sure it could not be necessary: she ought anyhow to
have had a good general at first so that she could have learnt from her
how to do things. As it was she was not even allowed to order her own
dinner.
But as she saw her mother-in-law leave the house with the heavy joint
in the basket, her anger melted. She remembered that she was only
trying to help her exceedingly incapable daughter-in-law, and after
all, she needed to be told how to cook the beef she had bought. It was
no use ordering a nice dinner for Luke if she could not cook it for him!
When Mrs. Greville opened the door again with her basket considerably
lightened, vexation at her own incapacity had taken the place of anger
in Rachel's heart.
"I'm afraid," she said, as she took the basket from her mother-in-law's
hands, "that you must think that Luke has married the wrong wife."
Mrs. Greville smiled kindly. Rachel's sudden humility touched her and
she was pleased.
"Well, my dear, you may make yourself easy as Luke anyhow does not
think so. He is under the impression that he has married perfection,
and we won't undeceive him. It is just as well for a man not to know
that his wife is not so capable as he imagines. Besides which," she
added, as she took Rachel's apron off the kitchen door and tied it
round herself, "if you pay attention to what I am teaching you there is
no reason why you should not be as good a cook as I am. But don't look
so melancholy I beg of you, nor so dreamy. I must tell you that there
is no time in the life of a clergyman's wife to dream. You will find
that every moment is important if you mean to look well to the ways of
your household and also to help in the parish. A Vicar's wife has very
little time in which to play."
Rachel pulled herself together though almost every word that had been
spoken seemed to hurt her. She determined to pay all attention to what
Mrs. Greville was going to teach her, not only for Luke's sake but that
she could dispense with the cooking lessons as quickly as possible.
"There now," said Mrs. Greville, after showing Rachel exactly what to
do, "you'll get on I'm sure."
Then noticing a look of depression on the girl's face, she added
kindly, "And don't be downhearted. Although you've been taught nothing
of this nature, unfortunately, you'll soon get into it. But whatever
you do don't allow yourself to get depressed. A man when he comes home,
after a hard day's work and a great many tiresome people to satisfy,
needs a bright face to welcome him. For his sake, my dear, be plucky
and do all you can to make up for lost time. Why girls are not taught
really useful things I can't imagine. However, matters are improving
in that direction. By-the-bye," she added, as she stood by the front
door, "it's the working party this afternoon and you'll be expected.
Luke will tell you where Mrs. Stone lives. It isn't far, and if you
are not too long over your dinner you'll just have time to get there.
Mind you're not late. A Vicar's wife has to set the example of being
punctual. Good-bye again, and I hope you and Luke will enjoy your
dinner. You may tell him that it was cooked by his mother; that will
give him an appetite."
Rachel felt all on edge and wondered how she could bear many more
mornings like the one she was spending. Yet she was well aware that
Mrs. Greville meant all she said and did in kindness. And now and then
she had noticed quite a nice smile flit across her face. Yes, she must
try to love her; but this type of person she had never come across.
Somehow she had never imagined for a moment that the mother, whom Luke
loved so devotedly, would be like Mrs. Greville. She could not but
compare her with her own sweet pussy mother, with her low, musical
voice. Then a great longing for her mother took possession of her, and
she ran up into her room and locking the door gave way to a flood of
tears.
But there was twelve o'clock striking and Luke might be coming in,
anyhow his dinner would have to be ready by one o'clock, and she had
a hundred and one things to do before going to the working party. She
must look her best and be her best.
She rather anticipated the working party. For one thing it would be
her first appearance at a Parish meeting and she felt on her metal.
No doubt she could get a little fun out of it. The prospect that Mrs.
Greville had held out to her of a life without any time to play, had
sounded dull, and she determined that the description given to her
should not be correct. She would not lead a dull life, why should she?
Having a sense of humour she often saw fun where others saw just the
reverse. Anyhow she was determined to be in a gay mood at the working
party and if it was possible to get any fun out of it, she would. She
was not fond of her needle but that did not signify, and indeed could
not be helped.
Rachel looked through her dresses and with a little chuckle chose one
which, as she told Luke afterwards, would astonish the "natives." It
was not exactly a dress for a working party, but she resolved that now
she was to make her first appearance she should be dressed prettily for
Luke's sake. So determined to forget the morning cooking lesson, she
started off directly dinner was over, in a merry mood. Luke had had
only time to sit down to a hurried meal before he was due at a clerical
meeting, so she had not the pleasure of showing her pretty frock to her
husband before leaving the house.
Arrived at Mrs. Stone's house, she was shown into the drawing-room
which seemed full to overflowing of ladies, all elderly and all
talking, till she made her appearance. Then the buzz ceased for
a moment and Rachel felt conscious of about thirty pairs of eyes
scrutinising her. But she was nothing daunted being quite used to
meeting strangers and to being made much of by them. She was shown
a seat near Mrs. Stone who at once took her under her wing, and
Rachel congratulated herself on this fact, for her face was pleasant
and smiling, and she looked as if humour was not left out of her
composition.
Rachel felt at home at once and before long Mrs. Greville, glancing
across the room, wondered what caused the quiet ripple of laughter
that came from the corner where Rachel sat. She noticed that her
daughter-in-law was looking exceedingly pretty and happy. There was
no distressed frown on her brow which she had noticed in the morning;
she looked the gayest of the gay. Mrs. Greville wished that she had
put on a more suitable dress and a hat that did not look as if it had
come out of Bond Street. She was quite a foreign element in the room
and it rather worried Luke's mother to see how the ladies round her
daughter-in-law laid down their work again and again to listen more
easily to Rachel's conversation. Could it be possible that she heard
Polly's name? Surely Rachel was not making fun of the girl she had
secured for her. Besides there was nothing whatever to laugh at in
Polly. She was a staid little body and a thoroughly good teachable
girl. But yes; there it was again. No doubt Mrs. Stone who looked so
thoroughly amused was drawing her out. It was really very awkward and
tiresome. She only wished that Rachel was more staid and more what a
clergyman's wife should be.
Mrs. Greville looked longingly at the clock, it was just upon four. She
would propose to Rachel that she should not wait for tea as Luke might
be wanting his. It would be quite easy to do, and natural.
Rachel rose delighted at Mrs. Greville's suggestion made in a low tone
of voice. She had enjoyed herself and had talked freely about some of
her difficulties in house keeping, quite unconscious of the fact, that
she was being drawn out by some members of the working party with not
altogether kind motives. She had addressed most of her conversation to
Mrs. Stone, whom she liked, feeling instinctively that she was a woman
to be trusted, but she gradually began to feel a little uneasy at the
probing questions of some of the others; questions which she felt they
had no right to ask; and which there was no necessity to answer; but
she was so anxious to make friends with Luke's people and not to annoy
them by showing her own annoyance that she was conscious that she was
talking more than she ought. So when Mrs. Greville proposed to her to
go home in case Luke was back from the clerical meeting, she rose with
alacrity, and was pleased when Mrs. Stone said that she was so sorry
that she had to leave as she had added greatly to the pleasure of the
afternoon.
When the door closed behind her, an amused smile passed from one to the
other of those who had been sitting near her.
"The Vicar has certainly given us a surprise," said one in a low voice,
so that Mrs. Greville could not hear. "She has roused us all up this
afternoon."
"A more unsuitable clergyman's wife I cannot imagine," said another.
"Her hat must have cost three pounds at least," remarked a third, "and
as for her dress!"
"She was not a surprise to me," said a friend of Mrs. Greville's.
"For I gathered from hints of the Vicar's mother that she was quite
incapable. Not that she does not like her, and is thankful that she is
devoted to her son, but she wishes he had chosen another kind of girl
for his wife."
"Mrs. Greville," said Mrs. Stone, in a voice that all could hear, "I'm
delighted with your daughter-in-law. She is so sunny and amusing. She
will do us all good."
Mrs. Greville smiled with pleasure but shook her head a little.
"She is very young," she said, "only nineteen, and it will, I
fear, take a long time before she settles down to undertake the
responsibilities of being head of the parish."
"But," said Mrs. Stone, "surely there is no need to take that position
yet. We have you and could not have anyone better. Let her have a
little more time before being weighed down with the needs of a parish.
She is full of fun and vitality, and should not have too much put upon
her all at once. Let her take up the duties gradually; it is not as if
she had been brought up to it."
Mrs. Greville sighed audibly.
Meanwhile Rachel hurried home. She had not known that there was a
chance of her husband coming back to tea, and was delighted with the
prospect. She felt happy, and a little elated, hoping that she had
made a good impression on the working party. Mrs. Stone had been
particularly nice to her, and so had one or two others. At the same
time she could not forget the grave face of a lady who sat near enough
to hear all the fun and nonsense she had been talking. This lady had
not once looked up from her work, and had actually shaken her head over
one or two of Rachel's remarks. The remembrance of her and the look of
evident surprise on the faces of others rather weighed upon her spirits
as she neared home. Had she talked too much? Had she been frivolous?
She hoped not. She wanted to help Luke and not to hinder him, and she
could not forget Mrs. Greville's words, about the necessity of the
Vicar's wife setting an example to the parish.
Her face was a little grave as she opened the dining-room door, but the
sight of her husband's smile of welcome as he looked up from the letter
he was writing, cheered her.
"I did not stop to tea," he said, "as I have to write some important
letters before the choir practice this evening, I know you won't mind
me not talking."
Rachel ran upstairs to take off her hat and then busied herself in
getting the tea. So he was going out again this evening! She was
disappointed. However, she congratulated herself that she had him to
tea.
"Well," he said, as he laid down his pen at Rachel's announcement that
tea was ready. "How did you get on at the working party? I'm glad they
have seen you."
"But they didn't like me," said Rachel laughing, "at least some of them
did not."
"Nonsense. How could they help it?" He took her face between his hands,
and looked lovingly into her eyes.
"They think I'm too young and frivolous, and moreover incapable, and
not half worthy of their Vicar," answered Rachel. "I read it all in
their faces, and I'm quite sure that with the exception of Mrs. Stone
and one or two others I shocked them. But let me go and pour out your
tea. You have a lot to do."
Luke seated himself at the table and began cutting the loaf of bread.
"What did you say to shock them?" he said.
"I enlarged upon Polly's peculiarities. I like Polly, she amuses me
immensely, and I really feel that I could make quite a nice little maid
of her, if only I knew how things ought to be done myself. Happily
there are a few things I do know, and I take pains to inform Polly of
them. But she is the queerest little creature I have ever seen."
Luke was not listening. He was looking at Rachel, thinking what a
radiant wife God had given him; and a fear arose in his heart, lest
marrying him might be the cause of her high spirits being quenched, and
of life taking on a too sober hue. Sin abounded in his parish and he
did not see how Rachel could learn of all the evil, and be as bright
and happy as she now was.
"You must not let those ladies who looked gravely upon you this
afternoon, count too much," he said. "Some of them have been at the
work for years, and have got too solemn and severe."
Rachel laughed.
"Don't be afraid," she said. "I could not imagine myself not seeing the
fun in things; my only fear is that I shall be too frivolous for them."
Luke did not smile; he was still wondering if he had done right in
bringing Rachel into the midst of all the sadness of his world. She
seemed made for happiness and flowers and the singing of birds. She had
loved the country and the trees and the beauties of the world; and now
he had brought her into a sordid town, and into a poky little house
with the saddest of outlooks. He had never realised, as he did this
afternoon, what he had done.
"Now what are you considering?" she said playfully, as his eyes still
dwelt gravely on her face. "Are you disappointed in me too? Well, if so
you will have to put up with me 'till death us do part.' Are you glad
Luke?" She looked at him over the tea pot, leaning forward towards him,
with the sweetest of smiles.
"It is just that; I am not sure that I am glad," he said slowly.
Rachel laughed again. She knew he did not mean what his words implied.
"Well, here I am, and you must make the best of me. But please don't
look at me any more, but eat your tea or you won't get through your
letters. I wish I could help you to write them."
"That unfortunately you could not do as they are private. However,
there is something else you might do. Do you think you can come with
me to the choir practice and play the organ? Crewse had to go home
on business, and will not be back in time, so if you don't come I
shall have to do my best. But bad is the best; besides if I am paying
attention to the organ, I can't look at the boys. You do play the
organ, don't you?"
"I should love to do it," said Rachel. Here was at least an opportunity
of helping Luke. She had begun to wonder when the chance of doing so
would come her way, as all the posts in the parish seemed to be filled
up, and those that were not were appropriated by her mother-in-law.
"You must not expect a good choir," said Luke. "There are not many
musical people, and what there are, are caught up naturally by the
mother parish. However, we are doing what we can, and you won't anyhow
have to suffer by listening to anthems. I have put down my foot at
that. If anthems are sung I believe in them being sung perfectly, so
that people may not be prevented worshipping God as they listen, by
hearing discordant sounds and wrong notes. So you will be spared that."
Rachel did not think that she would mind even that, so long as Luke was
in the church, but she did not say so.
The church was built of red brick, red both inside and out. It lacked
beauty of architecture, and Rachel missed the wonderful feeling there
is in the thought that for generations worship to God has ascended from
the place. But on the other hand it was kept beautifully clean and was
very airy and bright, and Luke was devoted to it.
Rachel seated at the organ sent up a prayer of thanksgiving, that she
was allowed to help her husband, and hoped fervently that the choir
master might often have to go away on business so that she could take
his place. Moreover, besides the pleasure it gave her to help Luke, she
loved playing the organ, and had been used to doing so in her little
village church at home, and this evening she saw Luke in a new light.
This was the first time she had seen him among his people, and it
interested her much. Also she saw how very much reverence counted in
his estimation. He evidently never forgot that he and his choir were in
Church and in the presence of God, and Rachel noticed how this sense
of God's Presence was communicated to the men and boys, and indeed to
herself. As she played the organ she felt that she was not only serving
Luke, but One much higher than Luke.
When the practice was over and the choir dispersed, he still remembered
that they were in a sacred building and lowered his voice as he spoke
to her, and took her round the church.
"I have it always open," he explained to her, "so that those who live
in crowded rooms can have a quiet place to come and pray."
"And do they come?" asked Rachel.
"I have only once found anyone here," he said, "but I often remind
them of the fact, that it is possible for them to pray in quiet. And
I'm quite determined that the Church shall be kept as it should be. We
Evangelicals, sometimes err in not looking after material things such
as neat hassocks, and dusted benches. We think so much of the spiritual
side of the work, that the material is neglected."
"Our little Church at home, for instance," said Rachel, "the door is
kept shut all the week and so it always has a musty smell on Sunday. It
is such a pity."
"I have heard people remark in discussing St. Mary's Church, that
the way it is kept would put people off going there if they did not
know what a splendid preacher Mr. Simpson is. As it is, the place is
crowded. I don't suppose the Rector has the faintest idea of the state
of his church. He is thinking altogether of more important matters, but
it is a pity. They have not anything like so good a preacher at our
Church," he added, laughing, "but they have a cleaner and more airy
building and I intend that it should be kept so."
"Don't you think Mr. Crewse will be obliging and leave the organ to
me?" said Rachel. "I should love to be your Organist. I play rather
nicely, does he play as well?"
"Not nearly as well. That is to say he does not take pains with the
expression as you do. His great aim seems to be to make the boys sing
loud. However, he has his very good points and I fear I must not fill
up his post," he added. "It would break his heart."
"That would be a bad beginning for me."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER. V.
TWO POINTS OF VIEW.
Rachel found it a little difficult to keep up her spirits as the days
passed. Luke was so engrossed with Parish matters that she saw little
of him; and when he was at home, his thoughts were apparently full of
his work. He did not realise how little he talked of anything else,
nor how long his silences were. His great desire to keep all sorrowful
things from his wife prevented him sharing his worries with her, and
instead of coming home after a meeting he would often turn in to 10,
High Street, and discuss the difficulties with his mother, while Rachel
tried to occupy herself in things over which she had to concentrate her
attention so as not to worry over his long absences.
At times he would suddenly awake to the consciousness that Rachel was
not looking quite as bright as usual and felt remorse at having taken
her away from her home.
On these occasions he would try and manage to get a free day off and
take her for a jaunt. But he felt it an effort and it put him back in
his work. These free days, however, were days of bliss to his wife,
till she recognised the fact that it was only when he was not engaged
in his life work that they had communion with one another. She was of
no help to him in the most important times of his life. This knowledge
made her grow restless and unhappy.
At last she spoke to him of her longing to help him more. They had gone
by train to some woods not far off and had lunch in a lovely spot they
had discovered. The morning was bright and sunny, and as weather had
a great effect on Rachel she was in a merry mood which communicated
itself to her husband. Then, as after lunch they still sat on enjoying
the rest and the smell of the damp earth, Rachel sighed.
"Isn't this heavenly?" she said. "I wish we lived in the country, don't
you?"
"No, I don't," said Luke. "I should die of ennui! and I cannot imagine
life without plenty of work. My work is my life."
"And I am kept outside," said Rachel. The moment the words were out of
her mouth she regretted them.
Luke looked down at her in surprise.
"How do you mean?" he asked.
Rachel, her hands clasped round her knees, looked up into the branches
of the tree above her, saying slowly, "I mean that there does not seem
any possible way in which I can help you or share your life; for you
say your work is your life. I am outside your work."
Luke did not answer. He was conscious that what she said was true. Had
he not taken pains that her bright spirit might not be quenched by
knowing all the sin that abounded in his parish? He could not bear the
thought of his wife hearing the sad stories that she would inevitably
come across if she worked in the parish. He felt convinced that the
shock she would receive would be too much for her sensitive spirit.
No, she was meant for happiness; why cloud it before the time? After a
moment of troubled silence, he said:
"As for helping me, you can best do that dearest, by being happy. You
cannot tell what it is to me when I come home to find you there; and
to know that you have not been troubled by the sin that has weighed
upon my own heart all day. The very fact of being with someone who is
unconnected with it is a tremendous help."
Rachel was silent. It did not seem to cross Luke's mind that it was
difficult to keep happy and bright so long as she had only the house
and its cares to think about. She needed outside interests to fill her
unoccupied time and thoughts.
"I suppose your mother shares your difficulties with you?" she said.
"Yes. My mother always has done so. She has a happy knack of letting
troubles of that sort drop away from her like water off a duck's back.
That is one of the great differences between you and her. She is not
sensitive as you are, and she has worked so long at this kind of thing
that she does not feel it as you would. My mother is just the one
that I need in my work. I can discuss anything with her and I lean
considerably on her judgment." He did not see the change of expression
on his wife's face, nor that the sun had gone out of it, but he noticed
her silence.
"You understand, don't you?" he said.
Rachel did not answer, but kept her eyes on the top branches of the
tree above her. He did not know her eyes were full of tears. He thought
he had explained the situation to her satisfaction, and supposed she
knew him well enough to understand that it was his great love for her
that was the cause of his decision not to worry her with his troubles.
And Rachel, sitting by his side on the soft moss, kept her eyes away,
and wondered if all men were as ignorant of a woman's heart as Luke, or
whether it was just because he lived so much up in the clouds that he
had never studied human nature.
Luke flung himself back on the moss with his hands behind his head and
looked in the same direction as his wife. The silence between them
struck him as beautiful and restful, and he felt certain that Rachel
was enjoying it to the full, as he was. Silence is the greatest proof
of friendship, and it was a luxury to him.
Rachel on the other hand, felt she had rather too much of that luxury.
As yet she had made no real friends. Mrs. Stone was the one that she
liked best, but they were not on sufficiently intimate terms for her
to feel she could run into her house should she be dull. So that with
the exception of Polly and her mother-in-law she had no conversation
except when callers came. And the callers were not always of the stamp
of people with whom she could exchange thoughts. Besides, they often
talked about people and things of which she knew nothing, as Luke
was not communicative. She sometimes felt in an awkward position in
consequence.
"What!" they would exclaim. "Did not the Vicar tell you?"
So now as Luke lay back enjoying the quiet and fully convinced that his
wife, whom he loved as his own soul, was equally enjoying it, Rachel
sat looking away from him feeling miserable and lonely, conscious
that Luke had not found her the helpmeet he had expected her to be.
She was feeling it all so much that she knew if the subject was again
touched upon she would burst into tears, and cause her husband surprise
and worry; so when she had successfully controlled her feelings she
turned the conversation to the beauty of the trees. She felt it almost
difficult to think of anything to talk about that would interest
him, as he had just told her that his work was his life, and she was
debarred from taking any part in it.
But Luke, quite unconscious of the sad thoughts of his wife,
enthusiastically agreed in her admiration of the trees and began
reciting a poem on the subject, thus giving Rachel time to try to get
over her sore feelings; before the poem was finished she was able to
turn and smile upon him.
"I never indulged in these holidays before I married," he said
laughing, "consequently I revel in them with you beside me. You can't
think Rachel what it is to come home and find you always there. It is a
little heaven on earth. Don't say again that you are outside my life or
don't help me. It just makes all the difference to me and to my work.
Do you know that sometimes in the very midst of it I suddenly think of
you and thank God for giving you to me."
Rachel flushed with happiness. If this really was so, and Luke was not
one to flatter, perhaps her longing to be near him in the battle with
evil and sin in the belief that she could help him, was a mistake.
She was more of a help to him, apparently, in seeing to his house and
welcoming him back from his work than if she was actually fighting, as
it were, by his side.
Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by Luke saying, as he had said
on that moonlight night at Southwold, which seemed now so long ago:
"Sing Rachel."
Rachel hesitated. "I don't know what to sing," she said.
"Sing what you sang at Southwold, on the sea. What a perfect night that
was, do you remember?"
Remember! Rachel could never forget it. How often had the thought of
it saddened her. Somehow things had not been just as she had hoped and
expected on that moonlight evening when she and Luke had been alone
on the great wide sea. She had never had him quite so absolutely to
herself since that day; ever since then she had had to share him with
others. No, she could not sing those words just now. They seemed sacred
to that wonderful time which they had spent in the pathway of the moon.
"Not that Luke," she remonstrated.
"Well sing something else," he said, not having noticed the slight
tremor in her voice. "I want to hear your voice among the trees."
"I'll sing the two last verses of your favourite hymn," she said.
"Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of Thy peace.
Breathe through the heats of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm,
Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire,
Speak through the earthquake, wind and fire.
O still small voice of calm."
Luke did not move. He lay looking up at the green leaves above him.
Then he said:
"How is it you always know exactly the right words to sing? My soul
has been full of strain and stress lately. A great deal of sadness is
going on among my people. I need to let the peace of God rule my heart,
and to listen to 'the still small voice of calm,' and to remember that
there is my wife at home praying for me."
Rachel forgot her own trials to think of his.
"I did not know you had been so worried," she said, her voice full of
sympathy. "Have people been horrid?"
"No, not horrid to me; but the devil is playing havoc in the place, and
it is a strain."
Rachel felt ashamed. Luke had been enduring the strain and stress of
battle with the enemy, thinking altogether of his people, while she had
been engrossed in her own little trials, caused by an insane jealousy
of the one who was the only person who could advise and help him. How
small she was! How poor and mean! How unlike the good Christian that
Luke supposed her to be. She was filled with shame and scorn of herself.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VI.
THE STUDY.
Luke was beginning to feel acutely the great necessity of a study. When
his mother had lived with him she had left the dining-room entirely for
his use in the mornings, and had been careful not to interrupt him by
going in and out. In fact, in those days they had kept no servant, and
Mrs. Greville had been so busy in the house that she had not needed to
use the room at all.
But since Luke had married and Polly had come as maid, things had been
different. Rachel was constantly in the room, and though she took pains
to be as quiet as possible, and sometimes sat so still working, that,
had it not been that Luke had heard her enter, he would not have known
she was there, he was more or less conscious of her presence, and this
very consciousness was an interruption.
Luke at this time was not only busy with his parish and his sermons; he
was grappling with the great enemy in his own soul.
The literature of the day was flooded with scepticism, and the truths
he held most dear were questioned, not only by avowed unbelievers, but
by those who held important positions in the Church; and for the sake,
not only of his own soul but for those of his people, he had to face
these questions and to answer them to his own perfect satisfaction.
He felt that the only way to fight the great enemy was by hard study
and constant prayer. And both these duties were almost impossible under
the present circumstances. He needed to be alone with God, and not to
be subject to continual interruptions even from his wife. Moreover he
felt that a study was necessary, so that people who needed spiritual
advice or comfort might not be afraid of coming to see him.
Then he had suffered considerably from Rachel's efforts to keep the
dining-room tidy. The papers that he left lying about his writing table
had been often neatly arranged in heaps, and he had spent several
minutes in sorting them. Yet he felt he could not blame the dear hands
that had done it, for he happened to know that Polly was not allowed to
touch his writing table; Rachel undertook its dusting and arrangement
herself. Had he a study he could safely leave his papers about and make
a rule that they should not be touched except by himself.
Yes, a study was absolutely necessary.
One morning its necessity was borne in upon him more than ever. He had
some very important letters to write and in the midst of them, Polly
came in to lay the cloth for dinner. Some of his papers he had put on
the table and the laying of the cloth involved their removal. He was
just in the midst of answering a very difficult question and felt he
could not possibly be interrupted.
"Ask Mrs. Greville to put off dinner for half an hour," he said. Rachel
ran in.
"Do you really want dinner put off Luke?" she asked. "It will, I fear,
all be spoilt."
"I'm sorry, but it can't be helped. This letter has to go by the 3
o'clock post. Don't let Polly come in again till I tell you."
To Rachel, Luke's dinner was of more importance than any number of
letters, but she saw he was a little worried and so left the room at
once. Half an hour afterwards she heard the front door slam.
"Quick Polly," she said, "Mr. Greville has evidently gone to the post,
lay the table as fast as you can."
But Luke must have gone further than the post. Ten minutes passed away
and he had not returned.
"I do believe he has forgotten dinner," said Rachel, looking at Polly
with a woe-begone face.
"It is a shame," said Polly, "and you've got such a nice one for him.
It's just like the master; he don't think of himself a bit. He's
thinking of them people."
And Luke, perfectly unconscious of the surprised distress he had left
behind him, knowing that he was late for an engagement, hurried into a
pastry cooks, bought a penny bun, and went off to his meeting, thinking
to himself, "I must have a study somehow or other. It is impossible to
do my work without it."
Should he suggest to Rachel to turn the little spare room into a study?
No, that would prevent her having her sister to stay with her upon
which, he knew, she had set her heart. He felt almost inclined to go to
the extravagance of renting a room in the house where his mother lived.
That was not a bad idea at all. He would talk it over with his mother.
When he returned home, to his surprise he found Rachel looking worried.
"Oh Luke," she said, as she glanced up from her work when he opened
the door. "What have you been doing? Do you know that you have had no
dinner and that Polly and I waited for ours till three o'clock, hoping
that you would come. It is really too bad of you." Rachel was evidently
ruffled.
"I've had lunch, so don't worry dear," he said, "I'm a bad boy I fear."
Rachel laughed.
"You are a very bad boy indeed," she said, "and don't a bit deserve to
have a wife who has prepared a particularly nice dinner for you. But
what have you had, and where did you have it?"
"I got a bun, and that supported me well all through the meeting for
which I was nearly late."
"A bun! only a bun! Oh Luke, you really are impossible. Of course," she
added as she rose, "you must have a proper meal now."
"No, have tea early and give me an egg. That's all I feel inclined for."
He made his way towards his writing table, then stopped short.
"Who has been moving my papers?" he asked.
Rachel started. She had never heard Luke speak so irritably before.
"I have been tidying up," she said, "I hope I have done no mischief.
All the letters I have put in the top drawer. See, here they are,"
opening the drawer quickly, "and your larger papers and books I have
laid together. They are quite all right. I was most careful of them."
Luke checked the expression of impatience that he was about to use, and
only said:
"I'd rather that they had been left just as I put them. It delays me to
have to hunt for letters."
"But the room had to look tidy," said Rachel distressed, "and I thought
that if anyone came in to see me and happened to be shown into the
dining-room you would not care for your letters to be strewn about. You
remember you left in a hurry."
"So I did," he said. "I had forgotten. And you are quite right;
the letters ought not to be left about where any one can see them.
However," he added, sitting down at his writing table and beginning
to look through the top drawer, "it all makes my way plainer. It is
positively necessary to have a study where need not be disturbed."
"Why not have dinner in the drawing-room on the days you are at home in
the mornings," said Rachel, anxious to help him.
"Oh no, I could not think of that. What I feel I must do is to get a
room somewhere; in the house, for instance, where my mother lodges. I
must manage it somehow."
Rachel standing by his side while he sorted his papers was quite
silent. It was all that she could do not to cry out, "Oh Luke, why are
you so blind; why do you hurt me so?" As it was, she stood perfectly
still and silent.
The days on which Luke wrote his sermons were red letter days. She
loved to sit near him and work; and she had had the impression that
the sense of her presence helped him. She had told him once that she
sat praying for him as he wrote, and he had kissed her as his thanks.
Evidently she had been mistaken; he would prefer to be alone. And
why, oh why should he choose to find a room in his mother's house? It
would be the beginning of seeing far less of him than ever. Of course
his mother would persuade him to stay to dinner with her if his next
duty was near her rooms; and it would be only human nature for her to
discuss his wife with him and to hint that she was incapable. But she
put this thought away from her at once. She was so certain that Luke
would not discuss her with anyone, even with his mother.
Her perfect silence made Luke look round, and the expression on her
face perplexed him. He covered the hand that lay on the back of his
chair with his own, saying remorsefully:
"I'm afraid, dearest, I was a little sharp just now. You must forgive
me. You were perfectly right to tidy away my papers; but you will
understand that it would be easier for me if I had a room where I could
leave them about and find them easily. Besides," he said, "I want more
time for private prayer and a place where I cannot be interrupted. My
work is suffering for want of this."
"I see," said Rachel. She tried to smile, but failed. "I so love being
with you when you write your sermons," she added.
"And I have loved to have you. But the work must come first; and I am
convinced that for every reason it will be better to have a room quite
to myself." He turned round again to finish sorting his papers.
Rachel came to a sudden determination.
"You won't engage that room till you have thought a little longer about
it," she pleaded.
"I shall engage it to-morrow if possible," he answered with decision.
And Rachel said in her heart, "You shall not engage it to-morrow."
Then she went out to find Polly.
"Polly," she said in a soft voice, "do you think your father could
come round this evening and bring a man with him. I want to give Mr.
Greville a surprise and make the spare room into his study. He will be
out at a meeting till nine o'clock. Could you just run round do you
think? I will get the tea."
The little spare room had been arranged with the hope that her
sister Sybil would soon be able to come and pay them a visit. It was
dreadfully disappointing that now she would not be able to take her
in. She would have to get a room out for her which would not be nearly
so nice. But anything would be better than for Luke to rent a room
in his mother's house. She could not endure that. If he did that she
would see less and less of him, and she did not think it could be good
for a husband to get used to being a long time away from his wife. In
fact she simply could not bear it. Sybil's little room at the top of
the stairs must be turned into a study; and all the time Rachel was
preparing the tea she was planning where to place the furniture and
his books. The very idea of giving him such a surprise had the effect
of sending away all melancholy thoughts, and Luke, who had been as
startled to see such a look of melancholy on his wife's face as she had
been to hear his somewhat irritable tone of voice, was relieved to see
her as bright as usual, and determined never to allow any irritability
to find its way into his heart towards her again.
At ten o'clock that evening Rachel sat by the open window in the
drawing-room listening for her husband's footstep. She was very tired,
as though Polly's father had, with the help of another man, taken up
Luke's writing table and book shelves, etc., and moved other furniture
into the spare room. Rachel and Polly had between them moved the books
and had arranged them as near as possible in the same order in the
shelves, as Luke had arranged them himself in the dining-room. She had
taken out of the dining-room two of his favourite pictures and had hung
them over his table; and she had placed a large armchair by the window
so that he could read in comfort.
And now she sat wondering if Luke would be pleased, or if the very
careful moving of his papers would again vex him. Her heart beat as she
heard him open the door and she ran to meet him. She drew him into the
drawing-room, saying:
"I have such a surprise for you."
But Luke hardly seemed to hear her. His face was radiant, and Rachel
saw at once that something had happened to make him very happy and to
engage all his thoughts.
"I have such good news to tell you," he said, as he sank rather wearily
into a chair.
"What is it?" asked Rachel. After the excitement of the evening his
preoccupation rather damped her spirits. That it was not the time to
spring her surprise upon him she felt at once, so she took up her
needle work and sat down. She could not but notice the expression on
his face. She could not think of any other word by which to describe it
to herself, but radiant, and a longing that he did not live quite so
up in the clouds, as she would have expressed it, took possession of
her; he had evidently not heard her remark as she had met him at the
door; or if he had heard it, it was to him of such infinitely minor
importance than the news he was about to communicate to her, that he
had ignored it.
As he was silent before answering her question Rachel said again, and
he didn't notice the faint tone of impatience in the voice.
"What is your wonderful news? Do tell me."
"That's just it," he said looking joyfully at her. "It is wonderful.
A man who has been the ringleader of a lot of harm in the parish,
has to-night made the great decision; in other words, he has been
converted."
"Oh Luke, how beautiful," said Rachel.
Rachel knew what this news meant to her husband. For a moment the study
was forgotten.
"He has only twice been to the class;" continued Luke, "and the first
time he made himself troublesome by arguing with me. But he came again
to my surprise, and to-night, well, it was wonderful. It only shows
what God can do. It was just a word of Scripture that struck him and
would not let him rest. He was quite broken down."
Rachel's work had dropped on to her knee and she sat looking at her
husband. His face reminded her of the parable of the lost sheep and of
the joy in the Presence of God over one sinner that repented. Even in
the days of their perfect courtship, even on that wonderful moonlight
night on the sea at Southwold, she had never seen such joy on his face.
His love for his Lord, and His work, exceeded, evidently, every other
love and interest. Rachel looking into her own heart and remembering
how comparatively little communion she experienced with her Lord,
compared to Luke, felt inclined to weep. She had been wholly taken up
with her husband and his home and with the determination of keeping
him all to herself. She had not given much time to prayer; and even in
those moments in which she had knelt down night and morning she found
her thoughts wandering away to Luke, and revolving round him. Her
conscience accused her loudly.
"I will bring in your cocoa," she said rising, "Polly has gone to bed."
It was after drinking his cocoa, that she told him again that she had a
surprise waiting for him.
They ran upstairs together, his arm round her. He was in such buoyant
spirits. Then Rachel opened the study door.
For the first moment he was silent from astonishment. Then he took her
face between his hands and kissed her.
"But I don't approve of the surprise at all," he said, laughing. "What
about Sybil?"
"Sybil will have a room out. I would a hundred times rather that you
should write your sermons in your own home and near me than that you
should get a room elsewhere. Do you like it?"
"Like it? I should think so." Then his face became grave. "But where
are my letters and papers?" he asked anxiously.
"Perfectly safe. I have put an elastic band round the letters and they
are in exactly the same order as you left them, and so are your other
papers which you will find in the long top drawer. Then I have told
Polly that she is never to come into the study, but that I will see to
it. So you can leave everything about, dear; or lock the room up when
you are out."
Luke busy among his papers looked up with a smile.
"Are you sure you would not mind me doing that? I can't tell you what a
relief it would be to me to know that nothing has been moved."
"I will dust it early in the morning before your letters come," said
Rachel, "and then you will be sure that you can leave everything about
and it won't be interfered with."
His smile of pleasure was enough reward for Rachel.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VII.
RACHEL CONFIDES IN THE BISHOP.
The Bishop was in his garden, surrounded by the Clergy of his diocese
and their wives. He was a grey-haired man, upright and spare of build.
His face was full of kindness and love as he went among his guests,
entering into their difficulties and encouraging them in their work.
It was his annual garden party, and he looked forward to it almost as
much as did his clergy. Being a widower, had it not been for his work
he would have felt the Palace lonely. It was an old and hoary building,
and lay in the shadow of the cathedral; but the greater part of the
garden was full of sunshine, and wherever the Bishop was, there was
brightness and the atmosphere of love and fellowship.
He now stood glancing around as if looking for someone; then he caught
sight of Rachel who was making her way swiftly towards him, her face
alight with love and eagerness.
The child is happy, he thought gladly, and stretched out both his hands
in welcome.
"I was looking for you," he said, "and was hoping that you and your
good husband were not going to play me false. Where is he?"
"He's coming by the next train, in half an hour's time, but I was so
impatient to see you that I told him I could not wait. Some parishioner
has been taken ill and he had to go and see him. But I simply had to
come."
"Now," said the Bishop, "I want to know all about your dear mother, and
about your new life. We will go towards the nut walk where we shall not
be interrupted. I also want to show you the Palace. I promised to do
that in the old days I remember."
"It's perfectly delightful to talk to anyone who remembers those old
days," said Rachel, with a slight catch in her voice, "and specially
with you of all people. How father loved you."
"He was my best friend," said the Bishop, "and the world for me is
the poorer for his absence. But tell me about your new life. Are you
getting used to it?"
A slight cloud crossed Rachel's face which was not unnoticed by the
Bishop.
"It's just a little difficult," she answered. "Luke's parishioners are
quite different from any people I have met; some of them are nice, and
they adore Luke. But oh they are so funny! They take offence at such
small things. I don't think they like me much. You see I was labelled
as young and incompetent before they saw me. But after all it does not
much matter, as I have Luke. Perhaps if it were not for a few worries I
should be almost too happy."
"You have a good husband in Greville."
Rachel looked up into the Bishop's face. Her look was enough to
convince him of her happiness.
"He's much too good for me," she said, "I'm not half worthy of him, and
of course his people can't help seeing that, specially his mother."
"She does not live with you, does she?"
"No. She turned out for me, but she lives very near."
The Bishop detected a shade of bitterness in the little laugh that
escaped her lips.
"Is it difficult?" he asked kindly.
"I think you had better not ask me," said Rachel. Then unable to
restrain her feelings, she added, "She just spoils everything, and I am
so afraid of Luke finding it out; he is so devoted to her."
The Bishop was silent.
"The worst of it is," said Rachel, after a slight pause, "I can't talk
it over with Luke, so there is a secret always between us. Don't you
think it was horrid of her to tell people how incapable she thinks me?
The result is that I can't help Luke in his work; people don't believe
in me."
"How do you know this?"
"Someone let it out by mistake when she called," said Rachel. "There
are always, I suppose, people like that in a place who talk more than
they mean to. This person is a regular gossip, and I learnt more about
the people in half an hour from her than I should have learnt in a year
from Luke. Luke never tells me anything. I wish he would."
"No, I don't think you should wish that. A man who does not talk over
his people is a man to be trusted with the secrets of their souls.
That is just the one disadvantage in my eyes of a man being married.
It is difficult for some wives to tolerate their husbands not telling
them what should be kept sacred. For every other reason I am a great
advocate of married clergy. A wife may be of the very greatest help to
a man. But in order to be so she must be a woman of high ideals, and
one who understands what is due to his position. But my dear child, why
did not you try to turn the conversation of this parishioner? Take my
advice and don't listen to criticisms of yourself."
"I am not sure that I have high ideals," said Rachel with a little
laugh, "but I'm afraid I do like being appreciated. I am sure the
people as a whole don't like me, and I can't think why."
The Bishop laughed.
"I expect you are mistaken about that," he said, "It's very easy to get
fancies of that sort into one's head."
"Oh no it is not fancy. Anyhow the older people do not like or
appreciate me. They think I am no help to Luke; but he won't give me
any work to do. I expect it's his mother's fault as she thinks I am
incapable. It worries me very much, as I want them to like me for
Luke's sake. Then I sometimes wonder if it is anything to do with my
dress. I see Mrs. Greville's face change sometimes when I put on one of
my specially pretty dresses."
The Bishop held her at arm's length and looked at her. Certainly she
was one of the best dressed women in the palace garden that day, but it
was all very pretty and becoming.
"Perhaps you are a little smart for the wife of the Vicar of Trowsby,"
he said reluctantly. "It is very pretty, but in a parish where there
are so many poor, it might be wise to dress in a somewhat less
luxurious fashion."
"It's part of my wedding trousseau," said Rachel regretfully, "and I do
love pretty clothes; perhaps they are my temptation."
"Perhaps they are," said the Bishop, smiling kindly.
"Anyhow when these are worn out the temptation will be over as I shall
have no money to spend on clothes. I am not sure that we shall not be
eligible for Gifts from the 'Poor Pious Clergy Society'," she added
laughing. "Mrs. Greville does not seem to think we have a penny to
spare. I hate having to think of every penny; it makes one inclined to
be miserly and mean."
"No; it's the poor who are most generous. Don't wish to be rich; by
far the nicest people are those who are not endowed with this world's
goods. It is far harder to persuade the rich man to give of his wealth
than the really poor widow of her mite. I am glad that you have not too
much of this world's goods."
"I should love to be rich, or quite comfortably off as we were at home.
I never thought of taking care of the pence in those days, nor indeed
of the pounds either. Now I am always thinking 'can we afford it,'
and find myself choosing the thing that costs threepence rather than
threepence halfpenny. It seems to me horrid and cramping."
"Not nearly so bad as if you spent five pounds carelessly, when your
poor neighbour had only five shillings to spend. You will find that if
you do not allow yourself to grow miserly, you will be the richer for
being poorer."
They had reached the door of the Palace by this time and the Bishop led
the way up the winding stone steps which led to the drawing-room. It
was a long low panelled room with large windows looking over the garden.
"How charming," said Rachel. "I hope you are going to ask us to stay
with you one day. I can imagine sitting here and dreaming all kinds of
pleasant dreams. Don't you love it?"
"If my dear wife was living and we had a houseful of children I should
appreciate it. But except when I have visitors, or when the house is
full of clergy, I have no use for this room. Come and I will show you
my study."
That the study was a room in constant use Rachel saw at a glance, and
wondered if the Bishop was as anxious over the many papers and letters
that were arranged neatly on his writing table, as Luke was.
The sight of the papers brought to Rachel's mind the sudden panic that
had arisen in her heart at the idea of her husband renting a room in
his mother's house, and she told the Bishop of her fears as she moved
about looking at the pictures on the walls. Then suddenly turning round
and facing him, she asked:
"Do you think all this is very small of me? I can't tell you how trying
Luke's mother is. She simply has no tact whatever and I can't help
thinking that she is a little jealous of me."
"Come and sit down," said the Bishop. Then he looked at her gravely.
"I am going to say something that I fear will hurt you. But I do it as
your father's friend and as your Bishop. Will you let me tell you the
truth?"
Rachel's eyes filled with tears.
"I only want the truth," she said. "And I could never mind anything you
said. Indeed I want help."
"I will try to help you. And first let me tell you that you have the
most splendid opportunity of growing into a noble strong woman. This
mother-in-law of yours, instead of being a hindrance to your soul's
life, may be a stepping stone to a higher life. It depends a great deal
upon yourself which she becomes, a hindrance, or a stepping stone."
"I don't see how," said Rachel.
"She will be a tremendous hindrance if you give way to your present
feelings about her. You must forgive me, my dear child, but I am
perfectly certain from all you have told me that you are suffering
from a terrible enemy. Let me call him by his right name: his name is
jealousy."
"Oh no," said Rachel shrinking. "I despise jealous people, I don't
think it is that."
"In the depths of your heart you are afraid lest your influence over
your husband should be undermined by his mother; lest he should grow
more dependent on her than on you. You do not like him to spend
time with her which you think ought to be given to you. In fact you
generally suspect him of being with her when he is late home, and all
this makes it impossible for you to like her. Is it not so?"
Rachel was silent. She knew he was telling her the truth.
"But you must remember that his love for his mother is the most natural
thing in the world. You would not really have it otherwise. If he did
not remain faithful to her now he has married you, you would have
cause to doubt if he would always remain faithful to you. You should
encourage this filial love in him."
"But you don't know her," said Rachel.
"Yes, I have met her; and though I can understand that she may not
have much tact, and may be lacking in sensitiveness, in fact is rather
a rough jewel, nevertheless she is a jewel, and I think you should be
grateful rather than otherwise to her for the beautiful influence she
has had over her son, which provides you with such a husband. And do
not you think that possibly she has more cause for jealousy than you?
Remember, she has had to turn out of her home, to give up her son, to
see him wrapped up in his love for you. I own I feel a little for Mrs.
Greville."
Rachel looked up at him with her eyes still full of tears. "I know you
are right," she said, "and I think I have been horrid. Somehow I have
selfishly been thinking of my own trials and have forgotten hers. But I
don't know how I can be different."
"Unless you get the victory over this sin, it will get the victory over
you and embitter your life. Jealousy becomes a kind of obsession, if
given way to. It has wrecked many a life."
"It is just that, an obsession. I can't sleep sometimes for thinking of
her, and my first waking thoughts are of how I can circumvent her."
"Then let me give you a receipt for jealousy. Whenever you find
yourself thinking of Mrs. Greville, pray, and then resolutely turn your
thoughts away from her."
"It will be very difficult," said Rachel, looking down. "She has got
quite on my mind."
"With God all things are possible."
"I sometimes wonder if I am really a Child of God," said Rachel. "I am
so very far from being like the Lord Jesus Christ."
"You must not let the great enemy of souls tempt you to despond," said
the Bishop. "That is the kind of atmosphere in which he delights to do
his work. You gave yourself to God at the time of your confirmation, I
remember. Don't listen to the doubts that the Devil suggests. You are a
Child of God, but just at present not a very happy or good one."
"I ought to be happy," said Rachel looking up with a smile, "with such
a husband as Luke. I only hope I do not love him too much."
"I don't think so. I doubt if it is possible to love a husband too
much; but it is very possible to love God, Who gave him to you, too
little."
Rachel looked up again into the Bishop's face.
"I do want to be good," she said, "and really I have everything to make
me happy; if I am not happy it is my own fault, I quite see that." Then
she looked at her watch.
"Luke's train must be in by now and he will be hunting for you. I ought
not to keep you any longer; but I am so glad that you are my Bishop and
my father's best friend. I feel just as if I had had a talk with him.
He, I know, would agree with every word you have said."
Then finding it was so late they hurried into the garden where they
discovered Luke among a crowd of clergy, and Rachel, feeling as if a
weight had been lifted off her shoulders, left them together.
Luke's eyes rested lovingly on the retreating figure of his wife, and
as he turned to the Bishop the question in his eyes was so evident that
the latter answered it.
"Yes," he said laughing, "I know what you want me to say—that there
never was a sweeter girl in the world; I congratulate you Greville on
your marriage."
"It is an ideal marriage," said Luke. "She is all I could possibly wish
for."
"Knowing her father I'm not surprised to hear you say so. What does she
do in the parish?"
For a moment Luke was taken aback. He suddenly realized the fact that
she did nothing but keep his home for him.
"I don't encourage her to work in the parish," he said. "She is much
too young, I feel, as yet; I consulted my mother about it and we both
came to the conclusion that it was best at present for her to do
nothing in that line."
"But is not that rather a pity? For the Vicar's wife to be a nonentity
is not good for a parish, surely there is something she can do."
"I can't tell you the state of the place," said Luke. "It would not
really be fit for her to go among the people. I could not endure for
her to learn of all the awful sin that abounds. It would be such a
terrible shock to her."
"But, my dear fellow; you married her to be a helpmeet for you. I don't
think a man has any right to marry a girl and then to keep her entirely
to himself just to make his home comfortable, when there is God's
work to be done. I think you should trust her with God. It is no good
keeping people blissfully ignorant of the sin that abounds. Besides,
ignorance is not innocence. It is almost as if you were leading her
about blindfold."
"My mother felt very strongly about it," said Luke. And yet for the
first time a suspicion crossed his mind that possibly he was denying to
Rachel from selfish motives, the wonderful privilege of working for God
in the Parish. He could not bear that his sweet wife should touch pitch
even though it was in God's service. He remembered saying to her what a
rest it was for him to come home and be with someone who knew nothing
of the awful matters with which he had come in contact during the day.
Might not this be a subtle form of selfishness on his part?
"Do you suppose that the women who go as Missionaries," added the
Bishop "have the faintest idea of the horrors they will see and learn
about? Yet you would not urge them to stay at home. Help her to work
for her God regardless of the consequences. Leave these with God.
Besides you may not always have your mother who I suppose is as good as
a curate to you."
Luke determined to think the matter out when alone, and was soon pacing
the nut walk with a fellow clergyman discussing the attitude of the
modernists in the Church of England.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VIII.
THE BISHOP COMES TO LUNCH.
The opinion of his mother weighed with Luke more than that of his
Bishop.
After the sudden suspicion that he had been unconsciously giving way to
selfishness in not encouraging Rachel to work, he made up his mind that
he must talk the matter over.
"My dear boy," said Mrs. Greville, "Rachel is no more fit to work
in a parish than a child of five years old, and particularly in
this parish. She has been buried in the country all her life and is
absolutely incapable of doing any good till she has had anyhow a little
experience."
"But I don't see how she can gain experience without working," said
Luke.
"Well if you are so bent on it let her come with me to the mothers'
meeting and watch how things are done. In fact she might undertake the
reading, that is to say if she reads well."
"I have never heard her read, but no doubt she does. She does
everything well," he added laughing.
"In fact she is perfect in your eyes," answered his mother amused
at her son's blindness. "Well, let her come to the mothers' meeting
to-morrow. She can't anyhow do any harm."
"Harm! No indeed. The mere look of her must do good."
"She is certainly very pretty," was the answer.
And Luke left her in good spirits, quite unconscious that his mother
did not agree with his views of his wife, and that when she made the
statement that anyhow Rachel could do no harm she did not intend it for
a joke.
He was however disappointed that Rachel did not seem to take kindly
to the idea of going to the mothers' meeting. To his surprise he had
actually seen her face fall at the suggestion.
"Don't go dear if you would rather not," he said quickly, "but I
fancied you might be glad of the experience. You are always telling me
you want to work in the parish."
"I want to help you," she said, "but I don't see that sitting and
watching your mother would be exactly a help either to you or to me."
Then suddenly remembering her talk with the Bishop, she added, "But
of course it is very kind of your mother to propose it. Perhaps I had
better go. I should not like to appear ungrateful to her."
And Luke left her, thinking to himself, "After all I don't believe she
wants to do that kind of work. Anyhow, she does not seem very keen
about it; we may have been right in not encouraging it before."
Rachel, as she took her place at the table at the mothers' meeting, and
opened the book she was given to read, felt nervous. She was quite sure
that the mothers were full of curiosity to see how she would conduct
herself at this first appearance at their meeting, and she was still
more convinced that in her mother-in-law she had a severe critic. She
was so nervous that she found herself even wondering how to pronounce
some of the words. The book was about Missionary work in India and
in places of which she had not heard before. Her mistakes were never
passed over but were corrected at once by Mrs. Greville. She felt like
a child at school and decided that this was the last time she would
ever come to the mothers' meeting so long as Mrs. Greville was present.
But she was determined not to let Luke know how her pride had suffered
that afternoon. She laughingly told him that she did not read well
enough to be of any good; the words were too long for her to master,
and too difficult. Her education, had evidently been neglected and she
believed that every one of the women present could have read better
than she could. She was so merry about it that Luke took it all as a
joke and told her he would have to give her reading lessons.
But when the next week came she thought of the "stepping stones" of
which the Bishop had talked, and felt that the remembrance of his words
might help her to grow into a noble strong woman worthy of Luke, if she
mastered her pride. And after the effort was made she was glad that she
had gone. Her mother-in-law was evidently pleased, and thanked her for
her help, and Rachel felt inclined to sing. She noticed too that when
Mrs. Greville smiled the expression of her face changed, she looked
kind and motherly. Rachel felt happier than she had done for some time.
The following week the Confirmation took place. The Bishop was coming
to lunch after the Confirmation. Rachel was overjoyed at the prospect.
She was busy the day before making every corner of the house look as
pretty as possible, and so imbued Polly with her excitement that she
forgot her manners and went singing about the rooms. Rachel was too
happy to reprove her. In fact she was quite glad to have someone who
seemed almost as excited as herself.
"Polly," she said, "the Bishop must have the best of everything, so our
cooking won't do for him. I'm going round to Evesham's to order a veal
and ham pie and other things; so if they arrive you will understand
that they are all right."
"I shall give him a lunch regardless of expense," she thought, smiling
as the remembrance of Mrs. Greville's injunctions to economise crossed
her mind. "For once I shall not count the pennies. He shall have a
lunch like he used to have at home."
On the counter in the window of the confectioners she saw the exact
thing. A small veal and ham pie, the crust of which was baked to a
golden brown and the edges of which were frilled. It looked dainty and
good. So Rachel made up her mind she would order one to be made exactly
like it, and with it were to be sent some rissoles and a jelly.
She thought that possibly she and Polly between them could provide the
puddings.
She went home quite satisfied with her purchases and determined, should
Mrs. Greville hear of her extravagance, to brave it out. Besides, her
mother-in-law was not coming to lunch so there was no need to tremble
at the consequences of her morning's shopping. Luke would be quite
oblivious as to whether they had boiled mutton or a dainty veal and
ham pie. He never made any remark about his food; nor indeed, was
he apparently conscious when his wife provided him with something
specially nice for a treat.
It was at the early dinner that the bomb fell. "I have asked my mother
to lunch to-morrow," said Luke.
"Oh Luke!" For the moment Rachel was off her guard and did not restrain
the bitter disappointment that his news gave her. Then seeing a
surprised look on her husband's face, she added quickly, "It is such a
small room for four big people."
Luke laughed.
"Four big people! I don't think any of us answer to that description.
Certainly you don't. I wish you did."
Rachel was too disappointed to be able to laugh.
"I had so hoped that you and I would have him to ourselves," she
murmured.
"But it was only natural that we should ask my mother," said Luke.
"And you need not worry about the food. She will send round something
suitable."
"There will be plenty," said Rachel, a little stiffly.
Luke glanced across the table at his wife. He had never heard her speak
in that tone of voice before. What could possibly have upset her, he
wondered.
"He was father's greatest friend," continued Rachel, "and I had such a
lot to talk to him about. It will just make all the difference having a
third person."
"Yes, I can understand that, if it were a stranger, but after all it is
only my mother. She need make no difference."
He was just a little surprised at his wife, and could not understand
why she should make a trouble of it.
Rachel did not speak. Her heart was hot within her. How blind Luke was!
Were all men like him? Surely he must have noticed how impossible it
was for her to be her best in his mother's presence, being conscious,
as she was, of her critical spirit.
Then she glanced across at her husband. He was looking perplexed and a
little worried. And had she not registered a vow that he should never
be worried with her smallnesses?
"O well, it does not really matter," she said with a faint laugh. "I am
apt to make mountains of molehills I expect. Don't look so grave Luke.
Of course you were quite right to ask your mother. She would no doubt
have been pained if you had not done so, and it will be all right.
As for food there will be plenty. I have been quite reckless on the
Bishop's behalf. But you must not blame me for my extravagance."
"He won't expect a spread," said Luke.
"I know. And probably would be quite happy with only bread and cheese.
But I love to give him of the best." Her laugh made her husband
forget that his news had worried her, and the faint surprise he had
experienced disappeared.
In the evening as Luke was out Rachel told Polly to bring in all the
silver and she would give it an extra rub.
"Everything must shine as brightly as possible to-morrow Polly," she
said.
At nine o'clock there was a ring at the bell, and a man handed in a
large basket which Polly brought excitedly into the drawing-room.
"It's from Mrs. Greville, Ma'am," she said. Remembering that Luke had
said that his mother was sending in something towards the lunch, Rachel
had no doubt that the basket contained her gift.
She lifted the cloth that covered the contents of the basket, and
groaned.
It was a pie! but not a dainty pie such as she had ordered. It was
large and ungarnished, and might have been intended for a school treat
rather than for a dainty luncheon table.
Polly stood looking at her mistress's perturbation with surprise; in
her eyes the pie was lovely, and yet as her mistress was not pleased
there must be something wrong about it.
"Ain't it good, Ma'am?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh yes, it's good, but oh so much too large and clumsy for our table.
Besides I've ordered one, and it is to come early to-morrow morning.
You'll see the difference when it comes Polly. I can't think what I am
to do. I'm afraid I shall have to go round to Evesham's, late though
it is, and counter order mine." Then a sudden determination made her
add: "No, I won't, I'll keep to my original plan. This pie will do very
nicely for another day. It is of course very kind of Mrs. Greville to
send it," she added for Polly's edification.
When Luke came home she said nothing to him about what had happened,
and he did not notice that she was not quite in such gay spirits as
usual. Mrs. Greville arrived early in the morning next day.
"I thought you might need my help," she said to Rachel who tried to
smile a welcome. "Is the silver brightened? And have you remembered to
get out the best cloth? I provided one or two extra good ones for such
occasions." She was full of excitement and anxious to help.
"Now would you like me to lay the table for you?" she said. "I see you
have some flowers. That's right, I wondered if you would think of them."
"Thank you," said Rachel. "I can quite do everything myself. Yes, I
know the Bishop is particularly fond of flowers and notices them more
than anything else."
"Well, then you can arrange them while I lay the table," said Mrs.
Greville drawing off her gloves. "I know where everything is to be
found, and you need not pay any attention to me, my dear."
Mrs. Greville in the kindness of her heart was perfectly unconscious
that her services were neither required nor wished for, and busied
herself about the house. When Rachel, who always felt a puppet in her
hands, mildly suggested that it might be better to let Polly arrange
the table, as it would disappoint her not to do so, Mrs. Greville
remarked:
"The great thing is that it should be laid correctly and Polly will
have to get over her disappointment. Perhaps next time she will be able
to do it. But this first time it is as well that some one who really
knows should undertake it."
Rachel supposed that Mrs. Greville had never entertained a Bishop
before, as she was in such a state of excitement over it, and evidently
was nervous lest her daughter-in-law should disgrace her and her son.
Rachel understood now how her husband could scarcely have helped
inviting her to lunch under the circumstances. It would, without doubt,
have pained her and disappointed her terribly to have been left out.
But to Rachel it was almost more than she could bear. She had looked
forward to a quiet happy time with her father's best friend. To make
such a fuss over him was perfectly unnecessary. She wanted to show him
her little house, and to assure him that she was trying to follow out
his fatherly advice. Now she felt that all was altered.
She saw that even Polly felt the hurrying and exciting influence in the
house. The girl was looking worried and disappointed as Mrs. Greville
called her hither and thither telling her to do this or that, and not
leaving her a moment's peace. Her face was crimson and its expression
one full of anxiety. She was no longer enjoying running about at her
mistress's behest, and entering into all the pleasure shown by her at
the coming of her father's best friend, (for Rachel had informed Polly
of many things about her home life that she knew would interest her
faithful and devoted little maid), but she was straining every nerve
that things should be properly done for the arrival of a very grand
gentleman who would notice every little mistake she made.
Besides, what worried the girl was the fact that her own dear Mistress
seemed to have lost her good spirits since the early morning. The sun
had gone out of her face; and disappointment and chagrin had taken its
place.
Mrs. Greville had a very kind heart and if she had had the faintest
idea of the disappointment she was giving to her daughter-in-law, she
would have put on her gloves and disappeared at once. But she was not
sensitive to her environment. Though she noticed that Rachel was graver
than usual, she supposed the gravity was caused by anxiety that all
should go well, and congratulated herself that she had come in to help
so early in the morning, as her daughter-in-law seemed rather helpless
and worried.
The more Mrs. Greville bustled about, the more lifeless Rachel became.
All her energy had evaporated. She felt there was nothing for her to do
as all was being done by her competent mother-in-law.
Even the arranging of the flowers was not left entirely to her. Having
placed them gracefully with their long stalks in the flower vase, she
put them in the centre of the luncheon table and was admiring them,
when Mrs. Greville came into the room, her hands laden with dishes.
Putting them on the sideboard she turned and looked critically at
Rachel's flowers; then quick as thought lifted them out of the water
and breaking their stalks put them again into the vase on the table,
pressing them down so that the blossoms might all be even.
"There! they look better so and more tidy," she said, whilst Rachel
stood by too astonished and taken by surprise even to expostulate.
But no sooner had Mrs. Greville left the house having done everything
to her satisfaction, than Rachel slipped on her hat and ran round to
the florist. Even if her mother-in-law had her way in everything else
she was determined that her flowers should be an exception. The Bishop
should anyhow see something to remind him of her old home, and the
flowers were those he particularly loved. They were a fabulous price,
but Rachel was reckless.
Happily the pie did not arrive from Evesham's till her mother-in-law
had disappeared. Rachel found Polly regretfully contemplating it as it
lay on the kitchen table.
"It's such a beauty!" she said to Rachel as she came in. "It's ever so
much nicer than the one Mrs. Greville brought. It has such a pretty
edge, and is varnished like, and there's a piece of parsley sticking
out of the top. The other looks ever so plain by its side."
"Go and fetch the other back from the table Polly," said Rachel. "We'll
put this one in its place."
Polly wondered how her mistress dared to do such a thing, and fervently
hoped that Mrs. Greville would not scold her too much, but she fetched
it gladly with an inward thrill of excitement.
Rachel went to the Confirmation Service in no devout state of mind.
She felt out of touch with all good things. She knew she was indulging
in wrong and unworthy feelings towards her mother in-law, as she was
not blind to the fact that all she did was done in pure kindness, and
because she had a false preconceived idea of her daughter-in-law's
incapability. It was a case of misunderstanding. But what had happened
this morning had made her feel all on edge. However, the sight of the
Bishop, the sound of his voice, and still more the Charge he gave
to the Confirmation candidates, filled her with a feeling of shame.
How badly she was keeping the resolutions she had made at her own
Confirmation. How half-heartedly she was fighting the world, the flesh,
and the devil; what an unsatisfactory soldier of the King, under whose
banner she had promised to fight unto her life's end.
She felt so ashamed of herself and so full of repentance, that she
hurried home as fast as she could after the service and told Polly to
put Mrs. Greville's pie on the table again. It was more necessary for
her to be good and for her mother-in-law to be saved pain, than for
the Bishop to partake of a pie with a frilled edge and, as Polly had
expressed if, "all varnished like."
Then with an easier mind she was able to welcome her friend and even to
smile at Luke's mother. It must be confessed however, that the smile
was difficult to maintain, as she could scarcely get in a word edgeways
with the Bishop. Her mother-in-law entirely engrossed his attention.
Even Luke had to sit and listen, which made Rachel every now and then
feel furious.
The Bishop, who was a much more sensitive man than Luke, saw at once
that Rachel was feeling tried, and did what he could to turn the
conversation in a direction that Mrs. Greville could not participate
in for a short time, but before a few words had been exchanged with.
Rachel or Luke, Mrs. Greville chimed in and again monopolised his
attention. She felt that Luke and Rachel were silent and so did what
she could to help to make talk, quite oblivious of the fact that she
herself was the cause of their silence. Luke indeed did not notice that
Rachel was not talking, or that he himself had very little opportunity
of doing so, for he was naturally a silent man, having contracted the
habit from having so talkative a mother.
Happily after lunch, Mrs. Greville had to go to some parish engagement
so that Rachel and Luke had their chance of a talk; and finally Luke
was called off to see someone and Rachel had the Bishop to herself.
The talk did her good, specially as she made him laugh over the matter
of the two pies.
"Now that lunch is over," she said laughingly, "I am thankful that I
changed them. I believe it would have given my mother-in-law a terrible
shock if she had found out that I neither wanted nor liked her pie. And
perhaps it would have ended in an estrangement between me and Luke as
he would have probably heard of it, and I am quite sure he would never
have understood. And fancy! All because of a pie! How silly and small I
am."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IX.
GWEN.
"I expect that Gwen has been in one of her naughty moods," said Rachel,
as she passed the letter she had received from her mother to Luke when
they were at breakfast. "I was the only one who could do anything with
her."
"I see that she is coming instead of Sybil."
"Yes, and I am sure that is the reason. I shall love to have her."
"I think I shall be somewhat afraid of that young person," said Luke
with a laugh. "She is one of the independent kind I noticed at our
wedding."
"She is a darling, and I know you will love her. But I own that at
times she is an enfant terrible, one never knows what she is going to
say next. One thing, however, we may be sure of, she is absolutely
true, and says what she really thinks. You must prepare for the worst,"
she added, laughing, "and you must overlook her faults. I shall not
forgive you if you don't love her. To me she is a most fascinating
little thing."
And Gwen arrived the next day. She was a girl of fifteen, tall and
slim, not exactly pretty; but there was a charm about her that could
not be denied, and Rachel, as she met her at the station, could not
help hugging her. She was a bit of home, fresh and sweet; and carried
about with her the atmosphere of golden cornfields and scented hedges.
Rachel had not seen anything so fresh and full of life since leaving
home.
On the other hand Gwen had never seen anything like the darkness and
dirt of the town through which she was passing to Rachel's home. She
grew silent as they drove through the streets.
Rachel wondered what she was thinking of, and tried to distract her
attention by questions about her mother and sister; but only received
short answers and in an absent tone of voice.
At last they reached number 8 Wentworth Road.
"Is this it?" asked Gwen incredulously.
"Yes. It is not pretty, but I have tried to make it nice inside;
and have quite got to love it," answered Rachel. She was a little
distressed at Gwen's tone of voice.
When they had given directions to the cabman to leave the luggage a
few doors further up, Rachel took her sister over the house, and they
finally settled down by the drawing-room fire, as the evenings were
beginning to get chilly; though they had not begun fires, Rachel was
bent on having one on the day of Gwen's arrival.
Gwen drew her chair up almost into the fender, and then clasping her
hands behind her head said, "Now I will answer your questions properly
about home. I really couldn't do so in that awful cab and passing
through the town. What a place it is!"
"I suppose it strikes you as very uninviting, but I have got so used to
it that I hardly notice its deformities."
"Well it is time that someone should come and spy out the land," said
Gwen. "I am sure that Mother has no idea of your surroundings."
Rachel laughed.
"Well don't you go and make the worst of them to her," she said. "I
have purposely not enlarged on the subject, as I did not wish to worry
her. Besides, she would imagine that I was not happy, which would be
very far from the truth. I would far rather live in an ugly dirty town
with Luke than in the most beautiful country in the world without him.
When you are a little older, Gwen, you will understand that."
"No I shan't. No man in the world would make up to me for the country.
I should simply die if I had to live here," she added, looking round
the tiny room. "In fact I can't imagine a really unselfish man asking
such a sacrifice from the girl he loves best in all the world."
Rachel laughed merrily. Gwen had got on to her favourite theme, the
selfishness of men. She was always harping on that subject, Rachel
remembered, at Heathland.
"Well, let us leave that and tell me of home," she said, as she was
hungering for news. Then she suddenly drew Gwen's chair closer to her.
"You dear little thing," she said, smoothing her hair tenderly. "How
glad I am to have you. I'm afraid, however, that you have come because
you have been troublesome at home. Is that so?"
"I've come to spy out the land," answered Gwen with a mischievous
smile; "and it's high time."
"Don't be silly, tell me about Mother and Sybil."
"Mother is a dear and lovely as ever. I wish I had not made her cry
last week. I own I was horrid."
"Oh Gwen! You don't know what it is to be without Mother."
"I'm thankful I don't," said Gwen energetically. "If Mother had seen
this place before you married Luke she would never have let you come.
By-the-bye, I suppose that funny little creature that opened the door
for us is not Polly who you write about?"
"Yes, she is Polly. We are great friends."
"But she is not the only one?"
"Of course she is. Why you don't suppose this tiny house requires more
than one servant do you?"
"But that minute specimen cannot do all that is needed by herself."
"Of course not. I help her. Now don't be stupid Gwen; tell me some more
about home."
Gwen shut her mouth indicative of intense disapproval for a moment;
then she began to talk of Heathland; and Rachel listening, could almost
feel the wind blowing over the moors, and see the hedges just touched
with hoarfrost in the morning. She pictured her Mother walking about
the garden with her pretty soft shady hat which they all thought suited
her so well, or lying on the cane sofa in the verandah speaking to the
old gardener in her low musical voice. The vision of her was so vivid
that the tears rushed into Rachel's eyes, and would have fallen had
it not been for Gwen's presence. She was determined that the tiresome
child should not have any excuse for supposing she was not as happy as
a queen.
It was at supper that Luke met the 'young person' as he called her, and
had to confess to himself that he was more alarmed at her than she was
of him.
Gwen was afraid of no-one, specially of a mere man, as she had made up
her mind that they were a set of selfish human beings who needed to be
taught what was really required of them, and that one woman was worth
ten men; specially such a woman as Rachel whom she loved devotedly.
In fact the selfishness of Luke had chiefly consisted in her mind in
taking her favourite sister away from her. She knew little but that
about him, and though she had been sent away from home in order that
a change might help her to get rid of her very tiresome mood, she
preferred looking upon her visit to Rachel in the light of a spy.
Was Luke worthy of her? Had he made her comfortable? Did he look well
after her? These were the questions that she intended answering during
her visit, and taking the answer back to her mother and sister.
But she soon found that it would not do to make the object of her visit
too plain to Rachel, as the latter showed signs of being vexed; and
she might defeat her own plan. So when Luke came in to supper she was
on her best behaviour, though at times she could not prevent her lips
curling at one or two of his remarks. It seemed to her that he was
wrapped up in his own interests and noticed nothing else. She did not
realise the immense importance of his interests which were centred in
his work.
"We must try and give Gwen a little amusement," said Rachel next
morning before her sister arrived for breakfast, "or we shan't keep her
with us. Don't you think we could take her to the wood this afternoon?"
He told her by all means to go to Deasely Woods, but that he had work
which could not be neglected.
To be in the woods again with Gwen satisfied a longing of Rachel's
heart. They left the dullness and dirt of Trowsby behind them, and
wandered among the trees, treading on the soft carpet of fallen leaves
and inhaling the scent of the damp earth.
"How delicious," Rachel exclaimed.
"Do you often come here?" asked Gwen. She knew what the answer would be.
"No, Luke can't afford the time. You see the calls on his time are
endless in such a parish."
"Bother the parish!" said Gwen.
"No, no, you must not say that. I don't think you quite realise that
a clergyman's life is quite different to that of other people. You
would not approve of a doctor neglecting his patients for pleasure.
Well a clergyman is a physician of souls. And after all souls are more
important than bodies."
"I don't know anything about souls," said Gwen.
"Of course you do, don't talk nonsense."
"No, I don't. I don't think I am sure that we have souls. But I am not
peculiar in this. The papers and books are full of doubts of all sorts."
"But my dear child, why do you read such books? We want to build
ourselves up in our most holy faith, and not to read all the views on
the other side. How do you see these books?"
"I find them in the library. Sometimes I wish I had not read them, but
you know I read everything I can get hold of."
Rachel made up her mind to ask Luke to have a talk with Gwen. She was
very distressed at what she told her.
"Luke says that we must not be surprised at all the doubts and strange
theories that are about just now, as he believes we are living in the
last days and must expect the devil to be extra busy. I am sure he is
right."
"Don't let us talk of the last days," said Gwen, "but enjoy the country
while we have a chance. You must pine for it in that horrid place."
"I am too busy to think much about it," said Rachel, and she added,
"when I do I turn my thoughts to Luke, and feel how much I have to be
thankful for in having him."
Gwen laughed a little unbelievingly; and on returning to Trowsby, she
felt she could not endure more than a few days in it although her
favourite sister lived there. Of course she helped Rachel with the
household work, and made fun of it; but she hated it for all that, and
could not understand how Rachel could endure it after her life at home.
She studied Luke attentively and critically; nothing escaped her, and a
day or two before she left, he heard a knock at his study door and on
opening it found Gwen facing him.
"I want to talk about something very important," she said.
Luke was in the midst of writing a paper to be read at a clerical
meeting, and was sorry to be interrupted; but he invited her in with a
smile and drew up a chair for her. She seated herself and then looked
up at him gravely. He wondered what was coming. Gwen's expression of
face was severe.
"I suppose you know how unwell Rachel is," she began.
"Unwell?" said Luke startled.
"Yes, she is quite different to what she was at home. She has lost all
her spirits and looks. Do you mean to say you have not noticed?"
"No, certainly I have not," said Luke. "She is always very bright."
"That's just like a man," said Gwen scornfully. "They never notice when
their wives look ill. They are all alike. Rachel is working far too
hard, it will wear her out."
Luke rose greatly concerned and leant against the mantle piece looking
down at his severe young judge, anxiously.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Perfectly sure. She can't stand this life; having never been used
to it. It is all very well for girls who have been taught how to do
things. Some of them quite like it. But Rachel has never been taught
and it is killing her, slowly."
Luke leant his head on his hand which rested on the mantle piece and
fixed sad eyes on the girl. He was too perplexed and worried to speak.
"Rachel positively slaves for you," continued Gwen unmercifully, "but
you don't see or notice. Why only the other evening she carried a heavy
coal scuttle into the dining-room and you were so deep in your paper
that you never saw. You don't see or know half that goes on. But all
men are alike. Certainly from all I see of married life I never intend
to marry; if I do I am determined to be an old man's darling rather
than a young man's slave."
Worried as Luke was, he could not resist a smile, as the thought
crossed his mind that Gwen would probably never have the chance of
being either. He could not imagine any man falling in love with such an
audacious young person. His smile however quickly disappeared as Gwen
said:
"I suppose you love her still?"
"Love her!" He grew white and his eyes flashed so fiercely that Gwen
for a moment quailed.
"Child, you don't know what you are talking about," he said, and stood
looking at her with amazement and anger.
"Well you don't seem to. At home when you were engaged I now and then
intercepted glances between you that almost reconciled me to losing my
favourite sister, as I was assured by them that she was all the world
to you, and that you would take care of her. But now you scarcely seem
aware of her presence, and she might be a piece of furniture for all
the attention she gets. I can't think how she can bear it."
Had Luke not remembered his calling, and had he not been accustomed
to keep himself in check, he would have shaken the girl who had
constituted herself as his judge. As it was he went towards his writing
table and began arranging his papers, saying:
"I am sorry I cannot spare you any more time. When you are a little
older you will understand more of the meaning of love," he added
looking at her gravely, "that a man and his wife are so one that it is
perfectly unnecessary for them to remind each other of their existence
or of their love for one another. Happily for me Rachel understands and
absolutely trusts me."
Gwen rose.
"But that does not explain about the coal scuttle business," she said,
"I do hope Luke," she added, "that you will take care of her. She has
given up everything for you."
Luke held the door open for Gwen politely, and was silent. Then he
locked it after her and sitting down by his desk tried to write. But
he found this was impossible. He felt all on edge. How dared the child
talk as she did; but when his irritation had subsided the remembrance
of her words fell like lead on his heart. Was it a fact Rachel had lost
her spirits and that Gwen saw a real change in her since her marriage?
He began pacing up and down his study while a terrible anxiety weighed
upon his mind. Was she not happy? Did she regret the step she had
taken? And the fear that every now and then had attacked him as to the
rightfulness of taking her away from her happy home, gained ground.
He could laugh off the ridiculous fuss Gwen had made about the coal
scuttle. Of course he had been quite unaware of Rachel carrying the
heavy weight across the room. He was able so to concentrate his
attention on what he was reading that he seldom noticed what was
passing round about him, unless he was trying to solve some difficult
problem, when every sound disturbed him. But he was so used to reading
while Rachel moved about the room that he had noticed nothing till he
remembered Gwen had called out to him, "Luke, don't you see that Rachel
is carrying the scuttle?" when he had risen at once, but too late.
That it proved in the very least that he was not careful of her he
would not admit for a moment. Neither did he pay any heed to Gwen's
ridiculous fancy that because he was not always showing his devotion
to his wife by his glances, his affection had waned. These ideas did
not trouble him; but the fact that Gwen had noticed Rachel was looking
and had lost her spirits was quite another thing, and it worried him
exceedingly.
Meanwhile Gwen had gone into the drawing-room where she found Rachel
writing home. She turned round at the sound of her entrance.
"What have you been talking to Luke about?" she said a little
anxiously. "You have been a long time in the study."
"I have been giving him a lecture," answered Gwen, seating herself on a
low chair by the writing table.
"What?" exclaimed Rachel. She could hardly believe she heard aright.
"I have been giving him a lecture," repeated Gwen. "Husbands
occasionally need one."
"My dear child what do you mean?" said her sister laying down her pen.
"I had hoped you might have been having a nice helpful talk with him."
"Well, I hope it has been helpful to him."
"You sound as if you had been rather impertinent," said Rachel not
pleased. "What have you been saying?"
"All husbands are alike," answered Gwen. "They get nice girls to marry
them, taking them away from their homes, and no sooner have they got
them than they seem to forget their existence. I have been studying
husbands lately, that is to say since my friend Mabel married. Men are
fearfully selfish."
Rachel looked gravely at her sister.
"Gwen, I advise you to wait to give out your opinions till you are a
little older. You really talk like a very silly child. I hope if you
have been saying anything impertinent to Luke that you will apologise
to him before you are an hour older. I am quite horrified at you."
Rachel's face was flushed, and Gwen saw she was more angry with her
than she had ever been in her life. But she was not daunted. Here was
her favourite sister, whom she adored, tied for life to a man who was
engrossed in his parish and had no time whatever to think of her. She
felt boiling with rage.
"I certainly shall not apologise," she said, "it would take away any
little good my words may have done. I think I have come to spy out the
land none too soon, and that Luke will awake to see that what I have
said anyhow has some sense in it, and that he will not let you carry
the coal scuttle another time."
Rachel looking at Gwen's earnest and rather anxious face repented that
she had been so stern with her. After all she was only an ignorant
child. She could not expect an old head on young shoulders; besides,
Gwen was always putting her foot into it, talking of things about which
she really knew nothing. The family took her sayings for what they
were worth and laughed at them. She wished she had not taken her so
seriously.
But the fact was, that Rachel was conscious that Luke sometimes
surprised her by not doing what he would have done during their
courtship. He had been very chivalrous in those days, and more careful
of her than was necessary. Now he often let her do things for him which
he would in those days have done for her. At times the consciousness
of this had a little hurt her; he seemed to have lost, where she was
concerned, his old world courtesy. She remembered feeling ashamed when
Mrs. Stone had come to tea, that he had let her, his wife, do all the
waiting while he sat still and talked. He was so interested in his
conversation that he had never noticed it.
But these were such very little things after all, that Rachel had made
up her mind not to notice them. However, the fact that Gwen had noticed
them made her feel sore and somewhat indignant with her sister. But
glancing again at the child who had tears in her eyes at the thought
that Rachel was wasted on Luke, anger fled, and an amused smile took
its place.
"Oh Gwen dear," she said, "I wish you could see how ridiculous you are.
What do all those little things matter when people love one another
as Luke and I love? You see you are too young to understand. I really
advise you to put away your silly imaginations." She ended up with a
laugh.
"Well then," said Gwen, "I will give you advice, rather than Luke. Why
don't you teach him what to do?"
Rachel laughed out loud. "Don't be foolish," she said.
"I'm not foolish," said Gwen earnestly. "But I have read, and I think
it is probably true, that a woman can make a man what she wants him to
be."
"Explain yourself," said Rachel amused.
"I mean that you should teach him to remember that as a husband he is
bound to follow your wishes. Tell him, for instance, to fetch the coals
for you; to open the door when you have your hands full; and to hand
the tea about when you have people. I have noticed that Mrs. Graham,
who has one of the best of husbands, does this, and the consequence
is that he waits on her as if he were her slave. You know, Rachel, at
present you are Luke's slave."
"Well now you have done your lecture," said Rachel good-humouredly, "So
we'll go out, and I hope to hear no more of it; but I feel strongly
you ought to ask Luke's pardon for what must have struck him as great
impertinence."
"I shall do no such thing," said Gwen. "I think you will find that he
profits by my words."
But as Luke took her home as usual at night, leaving her at the door
of the house in which was her room, having talked to her as if nothing
had, happened, Gwen felt rather small. It did not look much as if he
had profitted or indeed remembered her lecture. This was decidedly
snubbing, but then Gwen was used to being snubbed.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER X.
THE TRAINING BEGINS.
Rachel was not very sorry to remember that Gwen would be leaving in a
few days. She might do a great deal of mischief if she stayed longer
with them. Anyhow she would probably make Luke unhappy if she talked to
him in the same way as she had spoken to her.
But there was only one part of Gwen's conversation that had effect
on Luke, and that was the fear of Rachel's health suffering from the
change from the country to the overpopulated town.
When he had left Gwen at the door of her lodging, he hurried home, and
after hanging up his hat in the hall, made his way to the drawing-room
where he knew he would find Rachel. She was working, but on his
entrance looked up, and their eyes meeting, both knew that Gwen was the
subject of their thoughts. Rachel was the first to speak.
"I don't know exactly what that silly child has been saying to you,"
she said, "but I'm afraid she has been very impertinent."
"Well I can't deny that she has said some outrageous things," he said
laughing, "but after all she is only a child."
"And you must forgive her," said Rachel. "We never take any notice of
what Gwen says. She gets the most ridiculous notions into her head. I
hope you are not letting the thought of her worry you."
"A great deal of what she said was sheer nonsense," he answered, "but I
own what she hinted about your health distresses me. I only hope it is
not true."
"My health? But what did she say? I am perfectly well."
"She has made me so anxious that I want you to go home with her for a
few weeks."
"Go home! And leave you behind! No thank you. It would do me no good
at all. Besides, I am perfectly well and don't need a change. What a
stupid little thing she is; but do look over her folly and try and like
her," said Rachel. "She has such good points. For instance, she is
perfectly true."
"Possibly," said Luke, smiling; then he added, "I can't say I am
exactly enamoured of her."
"No, but when you know her better you will see her virtues. I am afraid
she has been really impertinent to you."
Luke did not answer. He leaned forward and looked at Rachel anxiously.
"Are you sure that you are feeling well? Gwen seems to think that you
are tired out. Is that the fact?"
"Tired out? What with? I have only this tiny house to see after; in
fact I don't think I have enough to do."
Luke sighed a sigh of relief.
"Then I needn't worry?"
"Certainly not. Put it right from your mind. It is only a child's
nonsense."
And Luke did as he was asked and worried no more about her.
He left her to write some letters before going to bed, and Rachel sat
working; but her thoughts were busy.
Although Gwen had talked a great deal of nonsense was there not a grain
of truth in some of her words? "A woman can make a man what she wants
him to be," she had said: she had evidently read this in a book, it had
not come out of her own little head. Rachel supposed there was some
truth in the words; and possibly she had been unwise herself in not
insisting more that the attentions that had been shown her during her
courtship should not be dropped now that they were man and wife. She
was afraid that she had unwisely done things herself instead of asking
Luke to do them, and then was surprised that he had lost the habit
of waiting upon her. She had got in the way of waiting on him and of
saving him all extra effort when he came in from his work in the parish.
She knew that in Luke's case it was often simply absentmindedness
that prevented him seeing of what she was in need at the moment. Once
buried in a book nothing would arouse him save her voice; or if he was
in the midst of an argument with a fellow clergyman, he would quite
unconsciously allow Rachel to help them both to tea though it meant
rising from her seat. At times she had felt a little indignant at the
two men sitting while she served them; but on the other hand if at her
request he handed round the hot tea cake, he would stand with the plate
in his hand talking, while the contents got cold, or would absently
hold the kettle while Rachel watched in anxiety lest the water should
pour out on to the carpet, or on to his foot. It was easier to do these
things herself. She had not known that anyone notice these little
omissions on Luke's part; but evidently Gwen had taken count of them at
once.
"A woman can make a man what she wants him to be." Yes, but save in
these few insignificant matters Luke was exactly what she wanted him to
be, and in these small matters perhaps she had been at fault, not him.
Gwen had opened her eyes; though she would not tell her so. Rachel felt
that she had made it easy for him to neglect little home courtesies.
When the child had gone she would behave somewhat differently.
Gwen came to breakfast next morning just as if nothing had occurred
between her and her brother-in-law: and Luke, who had put away the
thought of Rachel's health being affected by living in Trowsby, was too
large-minded to bear any grudge to the girl for the audacious things
she had said to him. He banished them from his mind, recognising the
fact that Gwen was after all only a child, and would learn better
by-and-bye.
Rachel, however, found her a little trying, as Gwen after breakfast,
took her to task about more than one matter.
"You should be the President of a Mutual Improvement Society, Gwen,"
she said laughing. "You have got terribly into the habit of setting
people to rights, or rather trying to do so. You want to go through a
course of snubbing, my child. Have you apologised to Luke yet?"
"Certainly not. And you know Rachel I can't help thinking that my
lecture has done him good. When I came in I saw him actually pouring
the water into the tea pot for you."
Rachel laughed, but she did not inform Gwen that she had begun the
training of her husband that morning. And that Luke had risen to it as
if it were a matter of course. He was, in fact, perfectly unconscious
that he had not always poured the water from the kettle into the teapot
for his wife.
"You see I was right after all," continued Gwen. "Men only want to be
taught what to do."
"You were a very impertinent little girl," said Rachel. "And Luke felt
you to be so, only he is too kind and noble to remind you of it this
morning."
"Well I shall remind him of it later on," said Gwen calmly, "as I have
a few more home truths to tell him."
"I forbid you to do anything of the sort," said Rachel, really angry
now. "You have no idea how ashamed I am of you, nor how much harm you
might have done if Luke was not as good and kind as he is."
Gwen, who was helping to clear away the breakfast things, stood still
with the plates she was carrying and looked at Rachel.
That the sister to whom she was so devoted could possibly speak to her
in such a severe tone of voice when she had been doing all she could,
as far as she knew, to help her, went to her heart. She stood still and
looked at her with tears in her eyes.
"Are you really ashamed of me?" she asked with a catch in her voice.
"Yes I am. I can't think how you could possibly have spoken
impertinently to Luke."
Gwen gave a little sob.
"I didn't mean to be impertinent," she said, "It was only because I
love you so much and couldn't bear to find you in this horrid pokey
little house and looking ill and tired. I don't see why you should feel
ashamed of me when it was all my love that did it," and Gwen laid down
the plates to find her handkerchief.
Rachel's tender heart relented.
"Don't cry Gwen dear," she said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I
know you didn't mean to do any harm; and as a matter of fact I am sure
no harm has been done; but you must remember it does not do to talk
over a wife with a husband. It is not wise."
Gwen threw her arms round Rachel promising to ask Luke's pardon for
speaking as she did. She assured Rachel she would do anything in the
world for her. And she kept her promise. No sooner did she hear Luke
open the front door and go up to his study just before dinner, than she
ran after him. She was no coward.
"I expect I was impertinent to you yesterday," she said, looking at
him straight in the face, "at least Rachel tells me I was. I didn't
mean to be; only I meant to tell you the truth and you know husbands do
sometimes need the truth to be told them."
Luke laughed heartily.
"Happily," he said, "it was not the truth so it does not signify in the
least. I shan't think of it again."
"Oh but it was the truth," said Gwen flushing, "but I don't mean to say
anything more about it. I might perhaps have said it more gently and in
a more polite manner; and I'm awfully sorry that Rachel is ashamed of
me."
Luke fancied he heard a little catch in her voice and looked at her
kindly. He could hardly refrain from laughing out loud at her.
"Well you can put it out of your head and not think of it any more. I
quite appreciate the fact that it was out of your love and anxiety for
Rachel that you spoke as you did, and so we will be good friends again."
Gwen looked down and her lips trembled. "Thank you," she said. "And you
will take care of her, won't you."
He patted her on the shoulder and told her to run away as he was busy.
And Gwen, having no more to say, obeyed; but she felt rather small.
She resented the pat on her shoulder just as if she were a child. She
was not sure that she liked Luke at all.
"I can't think," said Gwen after dinner, as she and her sister were
sitting working in the drawing-room, "how it is that you don't show in
the least that you do any house work. You look as dainty and as pretty
as ever."
Rachel laughed.
"When I began to realise that a great part of my day would be taken up
with dusting," she answered, "I bought the prettiest overall I could
find."
"You look as if you had just come straight out of the garden and ought
to have your hands full of roses." Gwen looked with adoring eyes at her
sister, adding:
"But there is a new expression on your face somehow. I think you are
really prettier than ever."
"If so it is love that has made me so," said Rachel.
Gwen laughed. "I don't quite believe that," she said.
Rachel smiled to herself, as she thought of the day on which she had
bought the overall, and had shown it to her mother-in-law with pride.
Mrs. Greville had looked at it critically, remarking:
"But you need not have gone to the expense of getting such a fanciful
thing. You could have got a yard or two of some good strong material
and made it up yourself. It would have served your purpose quite as
well."
"I don't think so," Rachel answered laughing, "you see I like to be
ornamental as well as useful."
"You need not worry about making yourself ornamental," said Mrs.
Greville. "What you really want to do is to strive to be useful."
"Oh mayn't I be both? I do believe in beauty. I think our houses and
everything we possess should be made as beautiful as possible. It makes
life easier and happier." Unconsciously she looked round at the drab
walls and ugly furniture.
Rachel would not on any account have complained of either to her
mother-in-law; and her glance round had not been meant to imply
anything of the sort to her. It had been done before she realised what
she was doing or how her look might be interpreted. But by the sudden
change in Mrs. Greville's expression of face she recognised what a
mistake she had made.
Mrs. Greville had put a great restraint on herself ever since Rachel's
arrival, and had been most careful not to show her disappointment in
Luke's choice of a wife, to her daughter-in-law.
But Rachel's unappreciative glance round at the walls and furniture
hurt her inexpressibly, as she had lain awake many nights planning how
she could make the little house as homelike and attractive as possible.
She quite thought she had succeeded. Having lived all her life with
early Victorian furniture she saw nothing ugly in it; and indeed it
struck her as both homelike and comfortable. She had, moreover, spared
several pieces of furniture which she had decidedly missed when she had
had to turn out into a barely furnished room for the sake of her son's
wife. But evidently nothing that she had done for Rachel's comfort was
appreciated. The disappointment was so great that she turned a little
pale.
"I am sorry Rachel," she said, in a strained tone of voice, "that we
were not able to supply you with Sheraton furniture. You see you have
changed a luxurious home for a poor one and must bear the consequences.
We have to cut our coat according to our cloth. I am sorry that our
efforts are so painful to you."
Rachel had flushed crimson.
She was tongue-tied for the moment. She could not tell a lie and say
that the furniture, which she had labelled in her mind as hideous, was
to her taste. She looked beseechingly at Mrs. Greville.
"I am sorry, my dear, if I have distressed you by my remark," said Mrs.
Greville, "but don't try to explain the look you gave at the furniture,
I could not possibly mistake its meaning."
Then while Rachel in her confusion and distress murmured her regret,
Mrs. Greville looked round the dining-room.
"I think perhaps I ought to have had the walls papered afresh and a
lighter colour," she had said. "I daresay it looks a little dull to a
young creature like you, and," she added, remorse getting the better
of her, "I ought to be grateful to you, for though you don't like my
papers you love my son," and Mrs. Greville ended by bestowing a hearty
kiss on her son's wife before hurrying away.
Rachel was left standing in the middle of the room with her eyes full
of tears. Something about her mother-in-law had touched her for the
first time; and she began to wonder if she might not possibly in the
future learn to love her. She wondered too how she could ever look her
in the face again. She must have seemed so terribly ungrateful and
ungracious, not to say ill mannered. But her glance round the room at
the walls and its furniture had been quite involuntary, and she had had
no intention whatever of letting Mrs. Greville know how she disliked
them.
She smiled now as she remembered her mother-in-law's criticism on her
pretty overall, but the smile faded as she realised that though she had
taken the Bishop's advice and was trying hard not to allow her thoughts
to rest on the trials that she had had to meet in her new home, she had
not by any means yet succeeded in learning to love her mother-in-law.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XI.
THE CHOIR THREATEN TO STRIKE.
It had not taken Rachel long to discover that she had married an untidy
man. Being very tidy and dainty in her ways herself, this discovery was
rather a shock to her. But she came to the conclusion that Luke's mind
was so full of the things that really mattered, that the less important
things were nothing to him though they meant a great deal to her.
Remembering her promise, the morning after she had prepared his study
for him, she had awakened earlier than usual and had gone there the
first thing. She had promised him that she would be responsible for
keeping it in order and that Polly should have nothing to do with it.
On opening the door she stood still and laughed at what she saw.
It looked to her in terrible disorder! Though he tried to convince her
afterwards that there was such a thing as a tidy untidyness. He knew
just where everything was, he said, and could lay his hand upon it.
But to Rachel's eyes disorder reigned.
Because the waste paper basket was not just at hand, he had thrown on
to the floor his many torn up letters. Books were piled on the ground.
His table was strewn with papers: there was scarcely a chair without
some volume of reference on its seat.
Rachel picked up all the torn letters putting them into the waste paper
basket, arranged the books, with a certain amount of trepidation, on
the shelves, and finally lifted up every letter and paper from the
table to dust them, laying them back in exactly the same position as
she found them. She opened the window carefully, anxious lest some of
the papers that strewed the desk should take to themselves wings and
fly away.
It amused her the first morning, she felt that Luke had indeed needed
a study. But the care of the room added to her work and took time as
she had to be so careful not to disturb anything. And in her heart of
hearts she wished that Luke was tidy!
Another thing that troubled her was the fact that on the muddiest days
Luke would run upstairs without wiping his boots. He was always in such
a desperate hurry to get through the numberless letters that awaited
his attention on his study writing table that he would hurriedly hang
up his hat in the hall, and then spring upstairs two steps at a time
and shut himself in. The necessity of rubbing his boots never occurred
to him. His mind was full of important matters, things that had just
taken place, and letters that had to be posted. Then to brush his coat
and hat before going out never crossed his mind. He was always so
hurried, and Rachel supposed that he expected to find everything that
was necessary to be done, done for him.
When the snow came in December she remonstrated with him once about his
boots, and on looking at the marks of his footsteps on the stairs he
was filled with remorse, as he recognised that he had made unnecessary
work for Rachel.
But he forgot it next time, and his wife felt that to remind him again
and again would only worry and fret him. For she recognised that the
work he had to get through was immense and that it was her duty to make
life as easy for him as possible. He worked far too hard, and it seemed
to Rachel that the time he could spend in his own home grew shorter
every month. She was getting used to it, and though at times the winter
evenings felt long to her, and it was somewhat of an effort not to give
way to low spirits, she fought bravely against melancholy, and always
had a smile of welcome for her husband.
She had made a few friends by the winter and now and then Mrs. Stone
would run in with her knitting to spend the evening with her.
Rachel was conscious that Luke by his outspokenness made enemies and
that all was not harmonious in the parish, so it was a comfort to know
that in Mrs. Stone, both she and her husband had a valiant supporter,
and that she would act as peacemaker whenever she had the chance.
It must be confessed, however, that Mrs. Stone liked the role she had
undertaken for she was very fond of giving advice. She had taken a
fancy to Rachel and pitied her. Mrs. Greville, senior, was no favourite
of hers, and though Rachel was far too loyal to talk over her husband's
mother with any parishioner, Mrs. Stone could not but gather sometimes
from silences on Rachel's part, and by what she saw and heard from
others, that Mrs. Greville was deeply disappointed in her son's wife;
and naturally a sensitive girl like Rachel must be aware of the fact.
It was to Mrs. Stone's credit that she kept her views to herself and
discussed no-one belonging to the Vicar with his parishioners.
In the New Year it was quite evident to those who had much to do with
the parish that there had arisen a feeling of discontent among some of
the people, specially among members of the choir, as lately the Public
Hall had been opened on Sunday evenings at 8 o'clock for what was
termed a sacred concert, and the Vicar's long sermons prevented the men
from getting to the Hall before the concert began; consequently as the
place was packed they had to take back seats.
When this came to Mrs. Stone's ears, she wondered if she could not help
matters by giving Rachel a hint as to the way the wind was blowing.
Consequently she went to see her one afternoon. The winter was passed,
and the first flowers had arrived in Rachel's little garden. She
insisted in calling her yard a garden, and had planted wild hyacinths
as well as primroses to remind her of her home in the country. The
hyacinths were beginning to show.
Mrs. Stone found her looking down rather pensively at her few flowers.
On hearing the door open Rachel called her visitor into the garden.
"I am trying to imagine I am in the woods at home," she said laughing.
"By now they must be a sheet of blue. In the distance it looks almost
like a cloud of blue fallen to earth. I can't tell you how lovely it
is."
"How you must miss it," said Mrs. Stone.
"There is compensation in all things," said Rachel gaily. She felt it
would be fatal to give way to the overwhelming longing for home that
these first Spring days were creating in her. She would not for the
world that Mrs. Stone should guess that her whole soul was crying out
for beauty and the sense of companionship.
"But let us come and sit down. These poor little hyacinths can't mean
to you what they mean to me. I'm glad you have brought your knitting."
"Your husband is out this evening is not he?"
"He is really out every night just now," said Rachel. "I hope the
congregation realise that he is spending his life for them, and that
his poor wife sits at home moping. Do you think they appreciate us
properly?" she added.
The question was asked in fun, but behind the words there lay an
anxiety that had arisen lately in Rachel's heart. She had noticed an
almost imperceptible change in the manner of some of the former ardent
admirers of her husband. She had said nothing to Luke about it, as it
was better that he should not be worried over the matter if he had not
noticed it.
"They would be extremely ungrateful if they didn't," said Mrs. Stone.
"I have never met a harder worker than the Vicar. He spends his life
for us all, as you say. And as for you, why I think it is often harder
to sit at home and wait than to be in the thick of the battle. But they
that looked after the stuff in David's time were to share the spoil.
You see you keep him well and cheerful for us. I for one can't feel
grateful enough to you."
"How encouraging!" exclaimed Rachel. "That's the first word of the sort
I have heard here. I was afraid I was considered a mere drone in the
hive."
Mrs. Stone who knew from Mrs. Greville's own words that she did not
consider her daughter-in-law suitable as yet for the work, did not
refer to the subject again, but as she settled down to her knitting
with Rachel beside her, she came to the conclusion that Rachel herself
had given her an opening to do what she considered a difficult duty and
a kindness.
"I can tell you one little matter in which I believe you could be a
great help to your husband. Have you noticed lately that there is a
feeling of dissatisfaction in the parish among some of the men?"
"Yes, and I want so much to know what it is all about. Polly's father
is in the choir and used to be such a nice mannered man. In fact I
often have him in to do little carpentering jobs for me. But lately he
has been rather unpleasant and surly, and I have not liked to tell Luke
as it might make a disturbance."
"Well I can tell you what it is all about if you like."
Rachel let her work drop on to her knee while she listened.
"In the first place, you know, the Vicar says things very plainly. He
calls a spade a spade. I admire and like him for it. But some of the
men are offended at one or two things he said about the strikes that
have lately taken place."
"I'm not surprised. Luke is so brave and fearless. I sometimes wish he
would be a little more careful as to what he says."
"No, don't wish that. It is so much better to talk straight to the men.
They respect him for it though they are annoyed at him."
"If only they knew how really sympathetic he is with them. But he is so
stern sometimes that I am sure they don't understand him. But he loves
his men and would do anything in the world for them."
"That's why he tells them the truth. If he cared for them less and for
his own popularity more, he would not speak to them so plainly. He
wants to save their souls."
"Yes. He is always saying, 'we are out to save souls.' But is there
anything else that they complain of? I am afraid he will never alter
his way of preaching. He will always speak straight, as they say. That
is Luke."
"There is another little matter of which they complain. But I am so
afraid if I tell you it may pain you."
"I would rather know what it is," said Rachel.
"Well then they consider the Vicar preaches too long sermons."
Rachel flushed.
"Too long!" she exclaimed.
"Yes. You see things are not what they used to be, and people will not
stand long sermons. I—I don't think them at all too long myself."
"I thought everyone loved his sermons. I do."
"So do I. But the fact is, the men want to hurry off to the Public Hall
concert, and they are just too late for it."
"How disgraceful of them," said Rachel hotly.
"Of course the concerts ought never to have been allowed. They call
them sacred, but from the programme that is issued every week I see
that this is by no means the fact. My husband is very vexed that the
Town Council gave way about it."
"I can't possibly ask Luke to shorten his sermons," said Rachel.
"Can't you? I just wondered if you could not Influence him in the
matter. I disapprove of these concerts as much as anyone, but I feel it
is such a terrible pity if just for want of a hint the men should leave
the Church altogether. You see they have written several anonymous
letters of which the Vicar has taken no notice."
"Anonymous letters! Luke never told me. How mean of them."
"I dislike anonymous letters intensely. But what makes the matter so
important is that I heard a rumour that the choir would leave en bloc
unless their request was attended to."
"How despicable of them. I hope, I sincerely hope that Luke won't cut
his sermons short by one sentence. Of course he won't. Besides I shan't
tell him."
"But, my dear, he will soon find out if his choir desert him."
"They surely won't do that?"
"I am afraid they will."
Rachel was silent. She knew how bitterly grieved Luke would be at such
conduct. He loved the men of his choir.
"I can't think what is to be done," she said anxiously.
"Why not give him a hint?"
"I could never give Luke a hint. No, I must tell him out right if it
has to be done. But it will pain him dreadfully; and to happen just now
when he is so pressed with work."
"I am so sorry about it," said Mrs. Stone; and as she left she wondered
if she had acted wisely by talking over the difficulty with Rachel.
It might have been better to have told Mrs. Greville senior. However,
she remembered the threat of the men of the choir to leave en bloc,
and she felt that to be taken by surprise in that way would probably
have caused more pain both to Rachel and her husband than if they were
prepared for what might happen.
When Luke came in tired and a little depressed about a meeting at which
he had been, Rachel was silent about Mrs. Stone's information. She felt
it would be cruel to tell her husband what she had heard when he was so
played out. Neither did he give her any information as to the cause of
his depression. He buried himself in a book till eleven o'clock, when
Rachel went to bed. Then he arose and made his way into his study.
But the next morning Rachel noticed that at breakfast he was in good
spirits so she ventured to speak of what was on her mind.
But she need not have feared to break the news to Luke. Apparently it
was no news to him. He had read the first anonymous letter through but
had thrown the others into the fire. So he knew what they were about.
Rachel was greatly relieved.
"What shall you do Luke?" she asked.
He looked up at her across the table with a smile.
"What do you expect me to do?"
"To make no difference whatever in the length of your sermon," she
answered. "But do you realise that one Sunday you may find yourself
without a choir?"
"Perfectly. But a choir is not absolutely necessary. We can do without
one."
"And you mean to make no difference in your sermons?"
"In order that the men may run off to a concert! No, certainly not. I
disapprove of those concerts and shall not make it easy for them to
attend."
"I wonder if you are quite wise," said Rachel.
Luke laughed.
"Would you like me to give way?" he asked. He knew what her answer
would be.
"No, no, no." she said, "I am so very thankful that you are not weak,
and yet I can't bear that your choir should desert you."
"Worse things might happen," he said, and he passed into the hall and
was out of the house before she knew he was going.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XII.
RACHEL MAKES A MISTAKE.
Rachel found Polly crying in the kitchen on Sunday after the Morning
Service.
"Why Polly, what is the matter?" she said.
"It's them men in the choir," sobbed the girl. "There won't be none of
them at service to-night. It's a reg'lar shame."
"But how do you know?" asked Rachel.
"I ran home after Church just now and I heard father telling mother
that they had all made up their minds to keep away as the Vicar had
taken no notice of their letters."
"The Vicar never takes any notice of anonymous letters," said Rachel.
"And it's a shame that they've written 'em," said Polly wiping her
eyes, "and you and the Vicar so kind to everybody. I think it's right
mean of 'em. Why the master, he is thinking of 'em all day and as for
that, all night too. He'd give up his dinner and everything else for
the men if he could help them. I'm right ashamed of them."
Rachel was silent, but she did not mean to sit down and do nothing. She
made up her mind that if the men did not come, girls and women should
take their place, and Luke should still have a choir. She said nothing
to Luke at dinner about what Polly had told her, but as soon as it was
over and her husband had gone to open the Sunday School, she started
off to see Mrs. Stone.
"I want you to give me the names and addresses of any girls in the
place who can sing in tune," she said, after telling her of what she
had just heard. "I mean to get up a choir for to-night's service."
"What a good idea," said Mrs. Stone. "But I don't see how you can go
round to them all as they live in different parts of the town and it is
beginning to rain."
"I don't mind the rain, but I do mind that Luke should find himself
without a choir to-night, and I mean to get one together."
"Well then you must let me lend you my cloak," said Mrs. Stone, amused
at the determination in Rachel's voice. She saw her in quite a new
light this afternoon.
The rain came down in torrents as Rachel made her way to different
parts of the town, but she hardly noticed it. She was happy in the
thought that at last she was really helping Luke with his work, and
looked forward to seeing his pleasure and surprise.
Some of those to whom she went had never seen her before. They did not
all belong to St Mark's congregation. But Rachel's charming personality
and persuasive ways won their hearts at once and not one refused her
help. In fact they quite entered into her plan and seemed keen to do
what they could in the matter. When she had found twelve who were
willing to form the choir she returned home. It was only then that she
realised how wet and tired she was. But the happy consciousness that
she was helping Luke made her hurry home in good spirits.
She was a little later than she thought and she found from the fact
that his hat was in the hall that Luke was already back from the Sunday
School and in his study.
"Polly," said Rachel, as she looked into the kitchen on her way
upstairs, "lay the table for tea and put the kettle on. I shall be
downstairs in a few minutes." As she went upstairs she was wondering
when she would tell Luke of the surprise that awaited him. She
determined not to tell him till after tea. She liked the feeling of
anticipation.
"You have been out," said Luke as he sat down to the tea table. "Did
you get very wet?"
"Yes, I got soaked. I hope you did not."
He told her no, as when it was raining the hardest, he took refuge in
his mother's rooms as she had a cold and had not been able to get to
the school that afternoon.
He apparently forgot to ask Rachel where she had been, or what made her
go out in such rain. His mind had started to work on the conversation
he had just had with his mother which put his wife's walk in the rain
out of his thoughts, and Rachel was glad as she did not want to tell
her good news till later. Her husband, she noticed, was rather more
silent than usual, and she began to wonder if he had already heard that
his choir were going to desert him that night. She could not find any
topic of conversation to interest him. But when tea was over and he was
beginning to look at his watch she said:
"Do you know Luke what is going to happen to-night?"
"Yes, I know," he said quietly, "we are to have no choir," He rose as
he spoke and looked at his wife with a smile. "I am not altogether
sorry," he said.
"Not sorry? Why?" said Rachel, a little crestfallen.
"Because I think it will be a good object lesson to those members of
the Town Council who attend my church."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean that they will see for themselves the result of their decision
to have public concerts on Sunday evening in the Public Hall. They will
miss the choir and so of course shall I."
Rachel looked across at her husband with a smile.
"I don't think you will miss it much," she said with a little laugh.
"Perhaps not," he answered. "Possibly the singing may be more hearty in
consequence. But I have no doubt that the Councillors will miss it, and
I hope may feel a little ashamed. Nothing really could have happened
more conveniently than a choir strike at the moment, as it is only the
third Sunday after the concerts have been set on foot. If the men were
going to absent themselves it is as well it should be done at once."
Rachel felt a little uneasy.
"But of course you would like a choir if you could get one," she said.
"I don't think so," he answered.
"But," said Rachel, a little breathlessly, "if some girls were willing
to come and sing you would not object, would you?"
Luke had been watching the rain which was coming down in torrents, but
at Rachel's question he turned round sharply towards her.
"I should very much object," he said rising from the table. "It would
frustrate any little good that may come of the strike. I hope no-one
intends to fill their places."
Rachel turned pale. A sudden mad idea of going round to every girl she
had called on that afternoon and asking them not to come crossed her
mind, in the hope that Luke would never find out what she had done. But
she put the suggestion away at once, not only because to do so in such
a short time as she had at her disposal was impossible, but because it
would be a cowardly thing to do. She must confess at once what she had
been doing.
"I'm afraid you will be vexed," she said looking him straight in the
face. "But I have got a choir of girls together and they will be at the
church to-night."
Luke did not speak but stood looking at his wife, a look that Rachel
did not understand. But it had the effect of making her say steadily,
and with dignity:
"I did it for your sake Luke. I knew how much you would feel the loss
of your choir."
"Another time," said Luke slowly, and with a smile that somehow hurt
Rachel more than any number of words could have done, "I hope you will
ask my advice before acting." He moved towards the door.
"Luke, just wait a minute," said Rachel, "If only you had talked over
with me about the choir I probably would have been wiser. But I only
knew from Polly that the men were not coming. I wish, oh I wish you
would talk things over with me. You never tell me anything."
Luke stood with his hand on the door. He looked round at his wife's
words. The sight of her anxious face touched him.
"I am sure that you thought you were doing wisely," he said, "but
you see that my hopes are absolutely frustrated. They will say, if
you can get another choir together so easily let the men off the
evening service. You must not be surprised at my disappointment and
indeed vexation. But before you do anything rash another time ask me,
or indeed my mother. She could have given you excellent advice, and
knowing all the circumstances she would not be so likely to make a
mistake."
Rachel rose, she felt now was her opportunity to speak of what had been
long on her mind.
"If you would only talk things out with me instead of keeping me in
such complete ignorance of parish matters," she said with a little
sob which Luke did not notice as his mind was full of his hopes being
frustrated. "I can't help making mistakes when I know nothing. Why
don't you sometimes consult with me?" The effort to speak and yet to
say nothing that would give him a hint of her feelings towards his
mother was so great, that she found herself trembling and leant against
the mantle piece for support.
Luke hesitated before answering. If he had said what was at that moment
in his mind he would have reminded her of her unwise action this
afternoon, adding that he scarcely felt she was competent of giving him
advice, or indeed of discussing any subject of importance with him; He
had, moreover, slowly come to his mother's opinion that Rachel was not
fitted in any way for parish work. The home was her sphere and no-one
could possibly keep his home better for him. And if this afternoon's
work was a specimen of Rachel's wisdom, he was thankful to his mother
for opening his eyes to his wife's incapacity although occasionally he
had doubted her judgment. But glancing at his wife as she stood leaning
against the mantle piece, and, noticing the worried anxious expression
of her face, he kept his thoughts to himself, saying:
"You have quite enough to worry you with the housekeeping bills I am
sure. I don't want to add a grain of anxiety."
"But don't you see how much less I should worry if I knew a little of
what is passing in your mind. I often wonder and wonder what you are
thinking of when you sit silent and deep in thought. If you would only
tell me sometimes."
He gave a little laugh.
"Oh well don't worry now any more about this," he said. "It will
all be the same a hundred years hence." Then he added with forced
cheerfulness, "It's no use crying over spilt milk. The thing is done
and it can't be helped; and I know it has been done in kindness. Cheer
up dear."
As he left the room Rachel sat down on the sofa. His last words had
stung her.
"Done in kindness!" Why it had been done in the warmth of passionate
love. She had braved the rain coming down in torrents, and had
overtired herself just because she wanted to save him pain and to give
him pleasure. And he had spoken coldly of kindness! She could scarcely
bear it. Yet her pride was too much touched at the moment to allow of
tears to come. For the first time she was sitting in judgment on her
husband. Her idol had fallen from his throne. Had he been what she had
fancied him to be he would never have allowed her to know all that his
disappointment meant to him; and she could have borne it; but now the
lack of gratitude on his part for her efforts, mistaken though they had
been, struck her as astonishingly unlike the Luke of her dreams. It
made her feel almost indignant. She felt sure his mother's influence
was at the back of it. All her own tender feelings had disappeared. A
cold pride had taken their place, and unconscious of any emotion she
made her way upstairs to get ready for Church. She did not hurry, and
when Luke called out that they ought to be starting as it was getting
late, she told him not to wait for her. It was the first time they had
not walked to evening service together.
Rachel had promised the girls that she would sit with them in the choir
and lead the singing. She was astonished to find herself walking calmly
up the aisle and taking her place in the Choir benches.
The singing went exceedingly well. The girls had good strong voices,
and Rachel's voice, of which the congregation had been in ignorance,
filled the Church. Now and then Luke found himself wondering to whom
the sweet and full voice belonged, and it was only toward the end of
the service that he discovered that it belonged to his wife.
[Illustration: THE MISTRESS HAD GONE TO BED WITH A HEADACHE, POLLY
INFORMED HIM.]
He made no allusion to the absence of the men in his sermon; but when
the service was over and most of the congregation had gone, he thanked
the girls for their help. But Rachel was not there. She did not wait to
walk home with him.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIII.
A BOX OF VIOLETS.
Luke was surprised not to find Rachel waiting for him after Church, but
as he made his way down the aisle, he caught sight of Mrs. Stone.
"I was hoping to see your wife," she said. "Is she not with you?"
"No, she must have gone home."
"I expect she was tired after all her efforts this afternoon; I hope
she has not caught cold." They were making their way out of the Church.
"Caught cold," said Luke alarmed.
"It will be a wonder if she hasn't. It simply poured with rain all the
time. I knew it was useless to try and stop her as she was bent on
getting up this choir. What a charming girl you have given us in your
wife."
"I only trust she has not done herself any harm," said Luke anxiously.
He hardly heard the praise of Rachel.
"I daresay she is stronger than she looks. I wanted to congratulate
her on the success of her efforts. The choir really sang remarkably
well. I was feeling quite anxious about it as I knew how keen her
disappointment would be if it turned out a failure. I thought it so
plucky of her to walk all that way to fetch those girls."
"How far did she walk?" enquired Luke.
It struck Mrs. Stone that it was rather queer that she seemed able to
give him more information about his wife than he had already; but then
perhaps Rachel had not had time to tell him about her afternoon's work.
"The girls she found up lived all over the town. She must have run part
of the way; that is to say if she got home in time to give you your
tea. But nothing would daunt her. She was so bent on you having a choir
to-night. I don't know many wives who would have taken that trouble
even if it had not been pouring with rain. I thought it very plucky and
very devoted of her. But I must leave you here. Please ask her to run
in to-morrow, that is to say if she has not caught cold, and tell me
all her experiences. I don't suppose she has had time to tell them to
you yet."
Luke hurried home full of remorse. So Rachel had been running risks
for him and he had never thanked her, nor asked a single question as
to what she had been doing. All the thanks she had had for her love
and devotion had been severe criticism and vexation on his part. He
had felt that she had needed a lesson so as to guard her against any
mistakes she might be inclined to make in the future; and he had given
her the lesson in no tender frame of mind.
She must be either tired or feeling ill as she had not waited for him;
or worse still, she might be too pained with his criticism of her
conduct to meet him as if nothing had happened between them.
Luke hurried home in no easy frame of mind. That he could ever have
willingly given her a moment's pain was a terrible thought to him.
The mistress had gone to bed with a headache, Polly informed him, but
she hoped that the master would not forget to eat a good supper.
Luke sprang upstairs two steps at a time and opened Rachel's bedroom
door. The blinds were up, and the moon, which had just emerged from a
dark cloud, lighted up the room and was shining full on her face. Luke
stood and looked at her, and as he looked he could not think how he
could ever have felt vexed with her and have spoken to her so coldly
and severely.
At first he thought she was asleep; but then he noticed a tear slowly
coursing its way down her face. Kneeling down by the bed he took her
in his arms. No words were spoken, but the silence said more than any
number of words could have expressed. Both felt that explanations were
unnecessary, for Rachel knew that his action was meant to express both
sorrow and remorse for his want of appreciation of her efforts on his
behalf, and her own pride was conquered by love.
The subject of the girls' choir was never mentioned again between them.
The choir men turned up the following Sunday. They were really attached
to the Church and to their Vicar, and found the concert did not make up
for either; and Luke put the whole tiresome incident out of his mind,
in fact it was crowded out by the hundred and one things that he had to
do and think about.
But Rachel did not forget quickly. She had been so shocked and
astonished to find how easily she had felt hard and cold towards
Luke when he disappointed her, that it had frightened her, knowing
that in all probability it would be easier still the second time.
She determined that there should be no second time; but she did not
forget. It was borne in upon her that she had idealised Luke, and had
been blind to his imperfections, save in a few small matters, that
though they worried her were too insignificant to count. Faults, though
apparently very few compared to her own, were there; and in order to
avoid the constant sparring she often noticed going on between other
husbands and wives, she realised that she must be careful to give no
occasion for it herself in future. She was determined that what seemed
to be an ideally happy marriage should not become prosaic and loveless,
which would inevitably be the case if love were strained by constant
friction. It should not be her fault if they ever swelled the crowd of
unsatisfactory and unhappy married couples.
When Rachel went the next morning to enquire after Mrs. Greville's
cold, she was agreeably surprised at the welcome she received.
"So you filled the empty choir benches last night," she said, after
answering Rachel's questions as to her health. "I have heard all about
it from Mrs. Stone."
"I hope it won't prevent the men from returning," answered Rachel,
flushing at the remembrance of what it had cost her. "It may I fear
offend them. I didn't think of that possibility at the time. I am
afraid I was rather rash."
"On the contrary. I was delighted to hear of it, and it will do the men
good, I am sure. I hope Luke was properly grateful," she added laughing.
"He was a little anxious about the consequences of my action," said
Rachel. "I do hope it won't have done any harm."
"Stuff and nonsense, of course it won't. It's the best lesson the choir
could have had. And I think it was very plucky of you, particularly as
the rain came down in torrents. You must have got drenched."
"I did; but it has done me no harm; and I was bent on getting the
girls."
"After all," ruminated Mrs. Greville when Rachel had left, "there seems
to be the making of a good parish worker in that child. She will never
neglect her duty, anyhow, because of a shower of rain, which many do
now-a-days. I shouldn't wonder if one day Luke will find her really
useful."
The next morning Rachel found a box of flowers awaiting her at
breakfast. She opened it quickly and plunged her face into a mass of
violets and primroses.
"How lovely! How lovely!" she exclaimed. "Come Luke and smell them."
Luke did as he was bidden.
"Are you so fond of flowers?" he asked.
"Fond of flowers! Of course I am and so are you. Don't tell me you
don't care for them or I shall never love you again."
"I like them in the fields; but I can't truthfully say that they ever
give me the joy that they evidently give you; and they mean little to
me in the house."
"I don't think I could live without them. The primroses in my garden
and the blue hyacinths are witness to that," she added laughing.
And Luke stood and watched her bury her face again in the flowers and
wondered for the hundredth time however she had made up her mind to
leave all such things.
"They are from Gwen," added Rachel, "and here is her letter." It
happened to be an answer to his unspoken question, if Rachel had
allowed him to see it, but at a glance she saw it was one of Gwen's
nonsensical letters.
"I know what you will do when you open the box." she wrote, "you will
bury your face in the flowers and try and imagine yourself in the
woods, and when you raise your eyes they will be full of tears. But
apparently Luke makes up for it all, so I am not going to worry about
your tears. He makes up for mother and me, and Sybil! Not to mention
the bluebells in the wood and the scent of the violets and primroses
and everything lovely here. It's all quite amazing to me, but you would
tell me that that is just because I do not know what love is. I hope
I shall never know as I don't want to lose all the things which I now
adore. Don't give my love to Luke, for I don't like him. He's just
an ordinary man, and I thought you would have chosen one out of the
common. I owe him a grudge for taking you away. I do hope he knows what
a treasure he has and is taking care of you, but I don't for a moment
suppose that he is. All men are selfish and certainly Luke is."
Rachel laughed, and as Luke tried to catch hold of the letter to read
it, knowing that it would amuse him, Rachel tore it quickly into pieces
and threw it into the fire, saying triumphantly, "You were just too
late. Besides the first part would have made you so conceited that
there would be no holding you, and the last part so depressed that it
would have unfitted you for your work."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIV.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
That Spring was a crisis in Rachel's life. She felt to have travelled
far along the road of experience since that moonlight night last
summer, when she had thought that she had just married a man who would
fulfil all her expectations and hopes.
She had, as it were, been exploring since her marriage, a new piece
of country, and though she had often rejoiced to find herself on the
mountain top, she had at times to walk in the shade of the valley. It
was not quite what she had anticipated. There were rough places, and
disappointing views, and she had had to confess that the landscape was
not all as perfect as she had thought she would find it.
She took a long time before acknowledging to herself that Luke
had somewhat disappointed her; and when she could hide the fact
from herself no longer, she recognised at the same time that the
disappointment was partly her own fault. She had expected too much
from a human being; she had steadily refused to see any fault in him.
But finding he had weaknesses, did not diminish her love for him in
the least; it really enhanced it; and added something of a tender
mother-love to that of a wife. And a time came when she could thank God
that her eyes had been opened, and indeed opened so slowly that she was
able to bear it. For she learnt the truth of those words:
"From the best bliss that earth imparts,
We turn unfilled to Thee again."
In her disappointment she turned to the ONE Who never disappoints, and
Who is "the same yesterday, and to-day and for ever."
Till now she had lived for her husband, and her one absorbing aim had
been to please him; her wish to do God's work in the parish was just to
help Luke; he was the centre of all her thoughts; and she was conscious
that her spiritual life had been hampered and dwarfed by the one
consuming wish to be all in all to him.
The discovery that he could after all never satisfy the hunger of her
heart, sent her back to Christ. Indeed it had changed her view about
many things. She was no longer worried because her husband did not seem
to want her help or think her capable of parish work. If, as it seemed,
God's Will was for her to do simply the duties of her quiet home life,
she would do them, not only for the sake of her husband but for her
God, the God Who notices if only a cup of cold water is given in the
name of a disciple for His sake.
The discovery changed also her views as to her mother-in-law. Her
antagonism to her was chiefly due to the fact that she had prevented
her from working in the parish and so becoming a still greater
necessity to Luke. But if it was not the Will of God that she should
do that kind of work, why worry and fret about it? She would just wait
till she was shown distinctly what her duty was in the matter and
meanwhile could she be training for the greatest work of all?
So it is, that our disappointments, if we do not allow them to embitter
us, drive us back to the ONE Who alone can satisfy our restless hungry
hearts.
As Spring passed away and the early summer took its place Rachel began
to pant for the sea or country. She felt it difficult to wait patiently
till August, which was the month in which Luke generally took his
holiday. She was feeling limp herself and he was looking tired and worn
out and much needed a change.
Although Rachel opened every window in the house, no air seemed to
penetrate the narrow road in which it stood, and it was so small that
it was difficult to get away from the sun. In the morning it filled the
dining-room, and in the afternoon the drawing-room.
At the beginning of June she approached the subject of their holiday.
They were sitting at breakfast and Rachel was feeling the heat almost
unbearable.
"Shan't you be thankful when August comes?" she sighed. "Where shall we
go Luke?"
Luke looked up at her across the table, saying quickly, "I'm afraid we
can't very well manage a holiday this year."
"What! Not have a holiday!" Consternation was in the tone of voice.
"You see," said Luke, "our balance at the bank is rather lower than
usual. I can't see how we can afford it."
Rachel dropped her knife and looked at her husband.
"Can you account for it?" she asked faintly.
"I am afraid I can. Since the war every article of food has risen in
price."
"Then it's in the housekeeping?"
"Yes, it's in the housekeeping."
"Are we spending more than when you lived with your mother?" Luke's
eyes were on his plate.
"My dear I don't think we gain much by probing into matters," he said
evasively.
"But I want to know the truth," said Rachel persistently. "Is my
housekeeping more extravagant than your mother's?"
"Well as you ask me, I am afraid it is," he said uncomfortably. "But I
know you can't possibly help it."
Rachel was silent. Then she said, pushing her plate away from her, as
she felt she could not eat another mouthful, "I can't think how we
could live more economically."
Luke said nothing. A large electric light bill had come by post that
morning. He did not remember ever having had such a big bill to pay.
"Talk it over with my mother," he said, as he rose from the table.
"No, I don't want to talk it over with her or with anyone, but you,"
said Rachel. "We must see ourselves what can be done. Is it in the
food? But then Luke, you know, you must have nourishing things. Your
mother has always impressed that upon me."
"It is not only the food. Look at this," He spread the bill before her.
"Well that is one thing in which we can economise," said Rachel. She
would not let him know how much the largeness of the bill appalled her.
"I have sometimes left the hall light on when you have been out late,
in fact ever since that curious beggar man came one day; you remember
about him. It has felt more cheerful to have the light after Polly has
gone to bed. But that can easily be altered. Then I daresay the coal
bill is rather large. Perhaps another winter we had better only have
the kitchen fire in the mornings; but I don't like to think of you
going out to work cold."
"I don't feel the cold," said Luke. "We certainly must make a
difference somehow. Discuss it with mother and see if she can't help.
She knows we are rather in low water."
"I don't see how we can give away so much as you do Luke," said Rachel.
"We really could not afford that £5 that you gave for the heating of
the Church for instance."
Luke looked worried.
"I have always somehow managed to do my part in that way," he said. "I
can't bear not setting an example in giving."
"No, it's horrid," said Rachel. And yet she felt strongly, that if by
giving away money he was deprived of his much needed yearly holiday the
work itself would suffer.
After he had gone, the subject that had caused their talk and had
brought to light their poverty forced itself again upon her.
No holiday! All the summer in this tiny stuffy little house away from
the flowers and the breezy wind. How could she bear it herself, and
still more how could Luke go on working all day and the greater part of
the evening in the terrible heat, which was making her feel giddy and
faint already.
She hurried into the drawing-room which was without sun and threw the
window open. Then she looked for her weekly bill books and sat down to
examine them. She saw they were higher than she supposed they ought
to be, but she did not see how she could economise with a man in the
house. If it were only herself and Polly they could do on less; but
Luke, though he might not notice that he was having less would soon
reap the consequence and feel limp.
Rachel leant her arms on the bureau and her chin on the palms of her
hands and gazed out Of the window. How could they manage to get away
for a week if no longer?
Unfortunately Heatherland was impossible.
Her mother found herself so impoverished that she was selling her house
and was on the point of going into a much smaller one in the village.
Rachel had felt very sad when Sybil had written to tell her the news.
That her mother, at her age, should have to uproot again would be a
real trial; evidently her family were in financial difficulties too.
Rachel began to think over her belongings and wondered if she could not
sell some of her wedding presents. There was the pearl necklace that an
uncle who was dead had given her. It was of little use to her now, and
in her present mood she felt that a breath of sea air would compensate
for the loss of any number of pearls.
Yes, she would certainly sell her pearls. She wondered if the day would
come when she would be reduced to selling many of her possessions. It
looked like it. It was a terrible shame that livings should be so small
that the very necessities of life should have to be done without. Well
anyhow she would sell her pearls and not tell Luke till it was done.
She would get a cousin of hers to do the transaction for her. She knew
she might be cheated and it would be no good for Luke to try and sell
them. He was no business man and would without doubt be contented with
half their value. No, she would write to her cousin. They simply must
go away somewhere this summer.
She wrote the letter to her cousin and got Polly to run round to the
post with it. Then she began to wonder if she ought not to do what Luke
had suggested; ask the advice of Mrs. Greville. But she was saved the
trouble, for late in the morning her mother-in-law came round to see
her.
"Luke tells me you are rather worried about the expenses," she said,
"and I am wondering if I can help you. Shall I look through your books
and see what you could do without?" and as she saw Rachel flush she
added, "It is not at all surprising my dear. Of course you have never
been used to economise. I hope you don't me an interfering old woman,"
she added kindly, as she saw signs of distress on Rachel's face.
"It's very good of you," said Rachel; but she bit her lip feeling
humiliated in the extreme.
Mrs. Greville was not long in discovering things which would have to
be done without. For instance, she explained to Rachel she could make
quite nice puddings without eggs. Considering the expense of eggs,
4d each, it was ruinous to follow the cookery books which prescribed
more than one in quite simple puddings. A great deal of money had been
thrown away on unnecessary eggs and they mounted up at once. Then it
was much better in these days to have margarine rather than butter. She
never used anything but margarine herself, and really you would not
know the difference.
Rachel sat by her side smiling. Not being a housekeeper all these
economies seemed so paltry to her, and yet she knew they were
necessary. She had of her own will married a poor clergyman, and must
bear the consequences. And Mrs. Greville was being very kind; and
giving as little pain as possible. Her feelings towards Rachel had
somewhat changed since that Sunday on which she had gathered the girls'
choir together. It had struck her mother-in-law as a sporting action
on her part and had pleased her. And now, for the sake of her son, she
was very anxious not to hurt his wife's sensitive spirit more than
necessary, but she had no idea how galling the whole thing was to her
pride.
And Rachel was bent on her not guessing it. So she sat by her side
smiling, and watching her mother-in-law making notes for her as to the
things that were really necessary to have and those which were mere
luxuries.
"I fear you must give up all luxuries, I hope Luke told you how poor
he is, when he asked you to share his poverty with him?" she said
laughing. Rachel joined in the laugh.
"We had much more interesting things to talk about," she answered.
"Luke's mind does not run on such matters as eggs and margarine."
"That's true," said Mrs. Greville. "The fact is, that some of the
poorest people are the clergy. It ought not to be so. They should not
have to worry about eggs and margarine as you say, they have so much
more important things to think of and they should be spared that.
Besides they are expected to help in every bit of work that goes on in
the parish. Unless they have property of their own the worry of pounds,
shillings, and pence, weighs them down. Happily, as you say, Luke does
not worry himself about those kind of things, but then he has a wife
and mother to worry for him. If he had not he would have less time and
strength to think of his people. I don't suppose many realise how the
clergy suffer from poverty, for they suffer in silence."
"Well I hope Luke won't ever be reduced to wearing a coat green from
age, as a poor man in our part of the world at home has to do. Not
that I suppose Luke would notice if his coat were all colours of the
rainbow."
Mrs. Greville laughed, and said goodbye while at the door she turned
back to say:
"Remember, not so many eggs, and margarine instead of butter. You'll
find that makes a difference very soon."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XV.
RACHEL'S PEARLS.
Rachel took out her pearls from the jewel box and looked at them. They
were certainly very beautiful. She had not worn them since her wedding
day; and she did not see any chance of wearing them again.
In case the parting with them should grow a little hard she packed them
up quickly and went to the post to register them.
It seemed to her as if she was parting with another link of the old
life. But after all what did that matter! She had Luke; and it was true
what Gwen had said, that Luke compensated for the loss of all else.
Besides which, she knew that they both needed a change and rest, and
certainly sea breezes were of more value just then than pearls locked
up in her jewel case could be. Nevertheless it cost her something to
part with their beauty. It was not so much their value that she had
thought of as their beauty; and more than once she had taken them out
simply to have the pleasure of seeing something very lovely. There was
so little beauty surrounding her that she revelled in the sight of her
pearls.
[Illustration: RACHEL TOOK OUT HER PEARLS—AND LOOKED AT THEM.]
It was some time before the cousin, to whom she had sent them, wrote
and told her that he believed they would fetch a very good price; and
one morning at breakfast she opened a letter that was lying on the
table beside her, and a cheque, much larger than she had hoped for,
fell out.
Her exclamation of surprise and pleasure caused Luke to look up from
the paper he was reading.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Something delightful," she answered. "We can now go for our holiday."
"What do you mean? Have you come in for a fortune?"
"I feel as if I had in our present strait," said Rachel still looking
down at the cheque in her hand. "Would you like to see what I have?"
She held it out to him.
Money meant little to Luke, except that it enabled him to carry out
plans on which he had set his heart. And there was a plan of his that
sprang at once into his mind as he looked at the cheque. His face
glowed.
"Where did it come from?" he asked, astonished and delighted.
"I sold my pearls."
The smile on his face faded for a moment.
"I did not know you had any, I have never seen them."
"I have never shown them to you as I know that that kind of thing is
not in your line, you don't care for jewels; but I wore them on my
wedding day. I hope you saw them then."
"No, I only saw you. But why didn't you tell me what you were doing?"
"Because I was afraid you would not let me part with them. Uncle Joe
gave them to me, and I was fond of him."
"I shouldn't have prevented you from parting with them. What is the
good of pearls?"
"The good! Why their beauty is their good. They are gifts from God just
as everything else is that is lovely, and of good report. Don't despise
them. Besides," she said, feeling a little sore, "Uncle Joe gave them
to me, and I loved him." Then she added, determined not to give way to
any feeling of disappointment, "and now we can think about our holiday.
Where shall we go?"
She was folding the cheque up and putting it again in the envelope of
her letter. But on noticing that Luke did not answer her question, she
glanced up and found him looking out of the window with a dreamy happy
smile on his face. He was evidently thinking of the holiday. Perhaps
his thoughts had flown to Southwold and the moon's silver pathway on
the sea. The happiness displayed in his expression of face made her
feel that the small self-denial that she had exercised was well worth
while.
"I do believe," he said, still looking out of the window, "that at last
my dream will be fulfilled."
"What is your dream?" asked Rachel. She had been right. He was
evidently dreaming of Southwold.
"Why, to put electric light in St. Marks. Think how attractive and
bright it would make the place. I never thought I should be able to do
it. How much do you think it would cost?"
Rachel was silent from astonishment and disappointment.
Then she said slowly:
"You don't suppose, do you Luke, that I have sold my pearls to be able
to do for the Church what the people are far better able to afford to
do than we are? You seem to forget that we are really poor, much poorer
than many of the congregation. No, the first thing we must do," she
said decidedly, "is to pay our bills and to start afresh, and then to
go for a holiday."
Rachel's tone of voice was so decided that he turned and looked at her
in surprise.
"But," he said, "it is God's work that you are refusing."
"No," she answered, "I don't think it is. To provide the luxury of
electric light in a place where the gas is quite good and sufficient,
seems to me to be not so much doing the Will of God as paying our
debts, and going for a holiday, which will give you strength to do His
work better."
Luke was silent.
"Besides," she added in a lower voice and smiling, "you forget next
January."
Luke looked mystified. Then noticing the expression of his wife's eyes,
he remembered.
"I forgot for the moment," he said. "You are quite right."
At the thought of January Rachel's face had lost all the surprise and
disappointment as she looked down again at the envelope containing the
cheque. Then she suddenly drew it out with a gay laugh and flourished
it in his face.
"Happily it's mine," she said, "and you can't get at it."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVI.
THE CHURCH COUNCIL.
"I know you won't give way," said Rachel, as she helped her husband
into his coat.
Luke did not answer at once.
"If you remain firm this time you will find it easier the next."
"I don't intend to give way," said Luke gravely. "It would be fatal."
"Yes, and you would never forgive yourself." Luke buttoned up his coat
and looked at his wife.
"We should hear the same excuse that that old woman gave for not
attending her Parish Church," he said smiling.
"What was that?"
"That she had been too ill for the last half year to come to the
services but she was proud to say she had not missed a single Whist
Drive."
"Oh you mustn't give way," repeated Rachel earnestly. Then she added,
laying a hand on his arm, "You know what I shall be doing."
When Luke smiled his face was transfigured.
He smiled now.
"You will be doing the part of Moses," he said. "I am not sure that I
should not fail if it were not for that." Then he opened the door and
was gone.
Rachel stood where he had left her looking absently at the door which
he had shut after him.
That the Church Councils were not always happy meetings she knew.
Luke said the right people were not on it. There were some really in
earnest, but these often seemed afraid of speaking. Those who spoke the
most often and the loudest were those who wanted to make their Church
the most popular in the town by way of parish dances, whist drives,
etc. Luke, Rachel knew, had always stood out against such methods of
work, but people were growing persistent, and the subject was to come
up again this evening. His last words had surprised her and made her
anxious, for they showed her that his resistance was growing weaker and
that he felt himself in real danger of giving way.
She knew what giving way would mean to him. It would lie on his heart
like lead. He would not look for blessing so expectantly and hopefully
in his parish if once his church began to cater for the amusement of
his people instead of putting its full strength into the spiritual
work. By this time Rachel knew her husband so well, that she felt sure
that he would grow melancholy and depressed, and his work would be
robbed of zeal and happiness in consequence.
It was not as if he had any doubts as to the wrongfulness of such
methods for Church work. He absolutely disapproved of them and had made
his opinions known. If he gave way or countenanced such proceedings, in
the least, people would cease to believe in him.
Well there was one thing she could do to help him to be strong; she
would go and do it. And while Luke was wrestling with his Church
Council, Rachel was wrestling in prayer.
Then she went down stairs to listen for his footstep.
When she heard it, it did not inspire her with hope. Luke came in
quietly and made his way slowly into the drawing-room where he knew he
would find her.
"Well?" she said.
He took a seat on the sofa near her.
"I have gained my point."
Rachel's eyes shone.
"What good news," she said greatly relieved. "Why do you look so
melancholy?"
"Because though I have gained my point I have lost four of the most
regular members of the congregation. They walked out of the room."
"Oh well, that is not half so bad as if they had gained the victory,"
said Rachel cheerfully. Then Luke looked lovingly down at his wife.
"I doubt if I should have taken such a strong attitude if it had not
been for you. I knew you were praying."
"Yes, I was praying."
"The knowledge of that helped me enormously. The four who resigned have
been my most loyal supporters and I can tell you it was hard to stand
out against them. They have been so exceedingly kind to me ever since
I have had the church. It was this fact that made it so difficult.
Besides I love peace."
"Peace with honour, but not without."
"That's just it. I felt that my Master's honour was at stake."
"I can't tell you how thankful I am," said Rachel. And under his wife's
influence Luke regained something of his usual spirits. But Rachel had
only heard Luke's side of the question. The next day she was inundated
with callers.
"I suppose you know," said Mrs. Moscombe, the wife of the owner of the
principal shop in the parish, "that the Vicar got his way by one vote
only. I own when I heard all the arguments in favour of opening the
Hall for such purposes I began to wonder if we ought not to do what the
neighbouring churches have done to attract the young people."
"I don't think that kind of thing attracts people to Church," said
Rachel.
"But as my husband says," continued Mrs. Moscombe, "it saves the boys
and girls from going to worse places. Surely that is the work of the
Church."
"It may save them for two or three days, possibly; but it really leads
them to go to unwise places of amusement in the long run, and I know my
husband feels very strongly that the Church loses its spiritual power
if it goes in for catering for amusements."
"But then, dear Mrs. Greville, your husband, forgive me for saying so,
is rather peculiar in his views. He scarcely moves with the times and
isn't up to date as they say."
Rachel flushed.
"The times are not so particularly good that one should wish to move
with them," she said. "I am very thankful that my husband does what he
considers right without swerving or moving with the times."
Rachel was glad to see the last of her visitor, but had hardly said
goodbye when the door opened to admit Mrs. Stone.
"Of course," she said as she took a seat, "your husband has told you
all about last night. I admired him immensely. He didn't give way an
inch though the majority were really against him."
"But anyhow he had a majority of one."
Mrs. Stone laughed.
"And he would not have had that if it had not been for me. I didn't
agree with him in the least! I must tell you, but I voted for his views
as I always feel he is such a good man that he probably knows what is
for the good of his people better than I do. If it had not been for my
vote, he would himself have had to give the casting vote."
"I am very disappointed that you don't agree with us," said Rachel.
"Well I do believe in people keeping up with the times, and girls and
boys are crazy now for dancing and cards. You can't get them if you
don't give way. Things have changed so much since our fathers' times."
Rachel was silent. She felt depressed. She quite expected people like
Mrs. Moscombe and others who had called to see her, and who did not
profess to be religious, to misunderstand Luke's action, but it was a
blow to find that her friend Mrs. Stone also disagreed with him.
But the last caller was the most trying of all.
Rachel heard her mother-in-law open the front door and walk heavily
across the little hall.
"What has Luke been doing?" she exclaimed almost before she was in the
room. "I hear he has quite estranged the four best supporters of the
Church." She looked at Rachel as if she were to blame.
"It was about the amusement question," said Rachel. "He put down his
foot at the proposal to introduce them into the work of the parish."
"Well I call it remarkably silly of him. It is a matter of very little
importance and certainly not worth wrangling over. I am quite thankful
I am not a member of the Council. I could not have voted against my
son, but I should have felt very vexed at being a party to such a loss
to the Church."
"You mean?"
"I mean losing his four best financial supporters, and those who give
the most to the Easter offerings. Who is he to look to now, I should
like to know? And if he only waited to consider the state of his own
finances and the expense of food, (eggs are still fourpence a piece),
he would not have made such a fatal mistake."
Rachel was silent, but she disagreed with every word her mother-in-law
had spoken. Then after a pause during which Mrs. Greville tied and
untied her bonnet strings in her agitation, she said:
"I don't suppose any consideration respecting finance would weigh with
Luke against doing what he thinks right."
"My dear, young men often make a fatal mistake in going their own way,
thinking that youth must know better than age. Think of those four gray
haired men who know more of the world than Luke, being set at nought
like that. I have never known Luke to make such a mistake. If he had
only consulted me before he had acted."
Then Rachel spoke.
"But don't you see how noble it was of him to keep to what he felt
right even though he must have known what the result would be. I own
am proud of him, and should have been bitterly disappointed if he had
given way. I am sure he did the right thing."
Mrs. Greville looked at her son's wife and could not but admire the way
she stood up for her son's folly, (as she considered it). There was an
expression on her face that any mother-in-law would have been pleased
to see on the face of her son's wife. But for all that she felt it
incumbent on her to give her a snub.
"I daresay," she said, "that you admire him. So would most young girls
who only look for actions without weighing their cost. We all admire a
man who is not afraid to speak out. But when it comes to flouting those
who have been kind and considerate, and who never hesitate to give
money for the work, it is a different matter. Luke has done a bad thing
for the parish by his action of last night."
"People would never have believed in his convictions again if he had
given way," said Rachel.
"Well now, don't you go and encourage him in that kind of thing," said
Mrs. Greville. "I hope that you recognise the fact that Luke is not a
paragon of wisdom, neither can any one turn him from what he imagines
his duty. But he must remember that he now has a wife to support. He
not only will stubbornly stick to his point even when it means losing
money for the work of the parish, but will give away every penny he
possesses without a thought of the consequences. I daresay you have
found that out."
Rachel laughed, thinking of the pearls.
"Well, am I not right?"
"Luke is the most generously minded man that I have ever come across,"
said Rachel.
And then Mrs. Greville gave her a kiss. She could not resist it; though
she knew that her action would startle her daughter-in-law.
"My dear," she said, "I do believe that you love that boy of mine as
much as I do."
Rachel was tempted to answer "a great deal more," but forbore, only
returning the kiss with warmth. She was getting almost fond of Mrs.
Greville.
"Well, you see," she said with a smile, "he is my husband."
"But that does not always follow I am sorry to say. Wives are generally
very quick in seeing and resenting faults in their husbands. And much
as I love my dear boy I see a great many in him."
"But there are more virtues after all," was Rachel's answer, "and to
return to the subject of whist drives, it is perfectly true what Luke
quoted to me from some speech yesterday. 'The Church has so little
power with the world because the world has so much power over the
Church.' Don't you agree?"
"Well perhaps it is so. But when a man's bread and butter is concerned
and when the Church funds are low, I own I feel it is not the time to
be too particular."
"I am afraid I don't agree with you a bit."
"I don't suppose you do; that is because Luke has imbued you with his
ideas of right and wrong."
"Luke has a very high ideal," said Rachel, "and I am trying to live up
to it."
And Mrs. Greville went away thinking to herself, "I only hope that Luke
realises what a devoted wife he has. I don't believe he does."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVII.
LUKE IS DISCOURAGED.
The four members who had left the Church Council when the vote went
against Whist Drives for Church purposes, did not leave the Church.
They valued their Vicar too much to do so suddenly; but they were
thoroughly vexed at the decision arrived at.
It had been a blow to Luke to find that he only had a majority of one.
He had hoped that his congregation had felt with him in the matter, and
finding how strong the stream was towards such means of increasing the
popularity of the Church, depressed him not a little.
Moreover, he felt bound, greatly against his will, to preach against
such methods and to give his reasons for so doing; and though some
respected him for his courage, there were others who resented it. To
Rachel, the Sunday on which he mentioned the matter was a most painful
day; though she was glad that Luke had spoken out on what was much on
his mind.
"I am beginning to think," he said, on sitting down to dinner after the
service, "that my time in the parish is about over. It seems to me my
influence for good is not strong enough. It wants a stronger man than I
am here."
"You are tired," said Rachel. "That's what is making you downhearted.
Last week was such a very heavy one for you. In a day or two you will
see things differently."
Luke smiled unbelievingly.
"What I should like, and in fact what I have always longed for," he
said, "is a Church in London. Though I doubt if such an honour will
ever come my way. I am not a big enough man to be trusted with a London
parish."
"London!" cried Rachel. "Oh Luke, I should hate it of all things.
Besides you must be a man strong in body as well as in soul to work
a London parish satisfactorily. I should be very sorry to see you
undertake such a work."
"I'm quite strong enough," said Luke. "The only things that try me are
the petty quarrels and vexations of such a parish as this. I heard this
morning that Went and Ethers have fallen out, and on a ridiculously
small matter. I fancy everything would be larger and more important in
London. It is just the petty matters that worry me."
"Human nature is the same everywhere. I expect you would find small
souls in a London parish just as you do here."
"Would you very much object to London?" asked Luke. "Not that there
is the slightest chance of me being offered a Church there. But it is
the dream of my life. Fancy working in the very hub of the Universe. I
should revel in it."
"The work would be enormous, unless you had several curates. And you
know how difficult they are to find now-a-days."
"I shouldn't mind the work. The more the better, so long as it is not
spoilt by bickerings and quarrellings. Should you very much dislike it?"
"Intensely. I don't feel in my present mood, as if I could endure it."
Then seeing a look of disappointment on her husband's face, she added,
"But where thou goest I will go, you know that."
"Yes, I have no doubt of that," he answered.
And his longing for London increased during the next few months. It
was a time of great disappointment for him. When he had first come
to Trowsby, he had had the warmest of welcomes, and the largest
congregation in the place. His preaching was arresting and people
congratulated themselves on having such a Vicar. He had come straight
from France where he had been acting as Chaplain, and had there shown
great bravery under fire. Many came to hear him just because of this.
But when the rage for amusements began to show itself, and it was
found that the Vicar had no sympathy with it, and had no new Gospel to
preach, but preached the same Gospel as they had heard before the war,
untouched with modernism and the various other new religious theories,
the congregation that had increased out of curiosity gradually
dwindled, for they said, "He's not up to date." It was disheartening
for Luke, specially as he heard that a Church not very far off was
crowded to overflowing on account of all the social questions that were
discussed during the sermons, and well-known lecturers on the various
religions came down from London, Sunday after Sunday, to preach.
"Nevertheless," he said one day to his wife, "I shall continue to
preach the Gospel; and by-the-bye Rachel, I must somehow get three days
of quiet at least, for some of the men's Bible Class want to discuss
those questions which have been raised by the Modern Churchmen's
Conference; and I must prepare for the discussion. But I really don't
see how I can manage it. I am late as it is with the Parish Magazine."
Rachel was laying the table for dinner at the time and looked up
quickly at her husband.
"Pass that over to me," she said.
Luke looked at her a little doubtfully.
"Do you think you can manage it?" he asked.
Rachel laughed.
"Certainly I could. I am a little more intelligent than you give me
credit for. Have all the people sent in their accounts?"
"No, that's just it. Sargent has never sent in his description of the
Temperance Meeting, nor has Mrs. Lent of the Scripture Union Meeting.
They are so often late. It means a good long walk as there is no time
to send them cards to remind them of their duty. The manuscript ought
to go in early to-morrow morning to the printer or the magazine will
not be out in time. I should be thankful to have at least two quiet
uninterrupted days; but then there are sick people to visit. I don't
see how I can."
"You can quite well if you will only trust me," said Rachel, smoothing
the table cloth. "You have never tried me."
"I wonder what my mother would say."
"What does it matter? I don't belong to your mother I belong to you.
You must take the responsibility of me," she added laughing.
And so it was settled and Luke had two whole days of quiet. He did
not move out of his study except for meals, and then he hurried over
them and ate them without speaking. Rachel, knowing what he was going
through and in what dead earnest he was, in his longing to rid his
men of the terrible doubts that had been sown in their hearts, kept
silence. It might have been a quiet day arranged by the Bishop!
Luke had given her a long list of people to visit, and had told her
what information was needed for the magazine, and Rachel set to work
asking no further questions. She dispensed money where she thought it
was needed (not always wisely alas!) and tended to the best of her
knowledge the sick people, singing to many of them; and though it was
work just after her own heart, being utterly unused to it having had no
training whatever, it took a great deal out of her, particularly as she
was of a sympathetic nature. But she felt it was well worth while when,
after the two days were over, the strained tired look on Luke's face
had disappeared giving way to one full of peace and happiness.
He had felt it his duty to face over again, all the arguments and
difficulties that his people might come across; and he realised that
he was at war with the Devil. The words of St. Paul often ran in
his mind; "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against
principalities, against powers, against the rulers of darkness of this
world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."
Not even Rachel was conscious of the spiritual warfare that was raging
in her husband's little study, nor how often he threw himself on his
knees crying to God for help in the conflict, nor had Rachel the
faintest suspicion of the victories that were gained within its walls.
She had often wished that her husband was not so preoccupied, and
had more thought for the small things of life which make all the
difference to its comfort. But though she felt that the things of which
she complained in her heart were so insignificant compared to the
great matters about which Luke was engaged, she had no idea that his
preoccupation and absentness of mind were often caused by the fact that
he had either lost or won a spiritual battle.
He was thankful now that he had spent so much time in facing the doubts
and difficulties that he had met with in the course of his reading, so
that the two quiet days enabled him to prepare the subject in such a
way as to make the truth plain to his men.
On the night of the meeting Rachel found it rather hard to occupy her
thoughts with anything but the great strain which she knew Luke was
passing through. He was late home and to turn her mind from that which
was making her anxious she sat down to the piano and sang.
She was just finishing her song when she heard the front door open.
She sat still in her suspense, expecting Luke to come at once into the
drawing-room. But instead, she heard him going upstairs to his study,
and walking heavily as if he was tired.
For some moments she sat still where she was, then she followed him.
But at the study door she stopped.
Was that Luke groaning? Was he ill?
She very softly opened the door and looked in.
Luke was on his knees, his arms on the writing table and his face
buried in them. He was praying out loud.
Rachel closed the door and went downstairs again. Her heart was heavy,
and anxious. She knew that his habit was to pray out loud; but his
prayer to-night was mingled with groans and probably tears. What had
happened? Rachel moved restlessly about the room. Her impulse was to go
to the piano, and soothe her anxiety by playing. But she was afraid of
disturbing Luke. Then she took up her work and sat waiting.
It was late before she heard him coming down the stairs.
His face bore no trace of the anguish he had apparently been going
through. He came and sat down by Rachel's side without speaking.
"Well?" she said.
He was silent for a moment, then he said:
"I have never had such a fight with evil as to-night. I feel sure that
the Devil is working with all his might to destroy any good that may
have been done."
"What happened?"
"We have been discussing for nearly three hours the articles of our
faith. The men had primed themselves with all the arguments they could
lay hold of against them. The Divinity of our Lord, the Virgin Birth,
the Resurrection; and the very men who I had hoped were on the eve of
making the great decision have been thrown back."
"But there were surely some who were helped by your words?"
"Yes, thank God. There is a small band of faithful Christians as firm
in their faith as I am. They know the Christ; and believing Him to be
God take His Word as truth. But the greatest number have been shaken
by these views that have been scattered broadcast since the Modern
Churchmen's Conference at Cambridge, and there are some who are weak in
the faith and just tottering, as it were." Luke rose up and began to
walk about the room.
"I feel," he said, "that a stronger man than I am is wanted for this
place. It seems to me to be the stronghold of Satan."
"When I am weak, then am I strong," said Rachel.
Luke stood and looked at Rachel for a moment. Then his face broke into
a smile.
"Thank God for my wife," he said.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVIII.
GAS STOVES VERSUS MOUNTAINS.
"Next year," said Rachel one day, as she and Luke were on their way
to Church, "next year we may not be able to afford a holiday. So I am
resolved that we shall have a good one this August. We will go to the
Lakes."
Rachel wrote and secured rooms at Rydal and a month after the men's
meeting mentioned in the last chapter, they started off for the North.
What the sight of the beauty that now surrounded them was to Rachel
can be imagined. She told Luke that she had seen nothing that could be
called beautiful ever since coming to Trowsby, with the exception, she
took pains to add, of her primroses and hyacinths in the little garden
of which she was inordinately proud.
To sit by the Lake in the cool of the evening and watch the lights and
shadows on the mountains, was positive bliss to Rachel. She tried to
make Luke revel in it as much as she did, but alas, his thoughts were
still engrossed with his parish, not withstanding all Rachel's efforts
to make him forget it.
"It will be so much better for the parish as well as for you if you
will only put it away from your mind," she said.
But Luke still persisted in saying that his work was his life and that
it was the most interesting of all subjects to him. Happily there was
a friend of his staying at Rydal with whom he went long excursions,
leaving Rachel to the luxury of beauty and her happy thoughts. These
excursions she felt were the only things that interested Luke or turned
his thoughts away from his parish, with the exception of the many books
he had brought with him making their luggage over weight. Rachel had
sighed as she had caught sight of him trying to force them into his
suitcase; but she knew he would not be happy without them.
The anniversary of their wedding took place while at the Lakes. Rachel
wondered if the day meant anything special to her husband, and waited
some time before she reminded him of it. They were walking on their way
to Grassmere when she said:
"Luke do you remember what day this is?"
"To-day? No, what?"
"You mean to say you don't remember?" said Rachel incredulously.
Luke looked concerned.
"I have not forgotten anything important in the parish I hope."
"Important! Yes, indeed it is important; but nothing to do with the
parish. In fact you have forgotten the most important day of our life,
anyhow, I count it so. Don't you remember the fifteenth of August last
year?"
"I'm afraid I don't. What happened? The School treat?"
"Something much more important than that. It was our wedding day."
Luke laughed.
"Our wedding day! Why I feel as if I had always had you. Is it really
only a year ago? I was afraid at first that I had forgotten some
important engagement."
"So you have. It is the most important. It was my first waking thought."
"What creatures you women are, always making so much of anniversaries."
Rachel laughed.
"I am afraid after all you are a thoroughly prosaic man. I thought you
were full of romance and beautiful things when I married you. You must
not grow prosaic or we shall be just like all the other dull couples
that we so often meet."
"How can I think of anniversaries when I have 6,000 souls under my
charge."
"You can think of them very well, that is to say if marriage is the
sacred thing I always thought it was. Don't you remember the words in
Aurora Leigh?"
"'Beloved, let us work so well
Our work shall be the better for our love,
And still our love be sweeter for our work.'"
"Don't give up loving, Luke."
"Give up loving!" said Luke amazed. "Why, you are all the world to me."
"Then tell me so sometimes," said Rachel. "Wives need to be told. If
not they, the husband and wife I mean, drift into such commonplace,
humdrum, phlegmatic married couples."
Luke laughed. He had not noticed the slight tremor in her voice.
"By-the-bye," he said, "I hope I shall get a letter from West to-morrow
about the estimate of the new gas stove to be put in the chancel."
Rachel, who had been watching the changing shadows on the mountains,
now turned and looked at him. Was he really thinking about gas stoves!
Then she laughed, and he vaguely wondered what she found to amuse her
in gas stoves.
They were silent till they arrived at the end of the Lake.
Then Rachel said, "Just look at those lovely pink clouds and their
reflection. Isn't it perfectly heavenly?"
On getting no answer she looked again at Luke; but the expression of
his face convinced her that the beauty was quite lost upon him; his
horizon was still filled with gas stoves.
Rachel loved the quiet times she had when Luke and his friend went for
excursions. She would sit in the little garden belonging to the house
in which were their rooms, and try with her paint brush to produce
the wonderful effects of cloud and sunshine on the hills opposite to
her. She had not touched her paint brush since her marriage, and she
revelled in sketching. While she sketched, her thoughts were busy with
the past and future. She looked back in her year of married life and
was conscious of the change it had wrought in her. She found it almost
difficult to believe that she was the same girl who had lived such
a happy uneventful life in her country home. In those days her time
had been taken up with riding, driving, gardening and tennis. She had
had few thoughts for anything outside her home. She had very little
knowledge of the world and its sorrows; and scarcely any suspicion of
its sins and wickedness. It seemed now to her as if she had been living
in a happy dream.
But what she had learned from the little parish work that she had done,
and from the pained expression again and again on her husband's face,
was enough to make her realise something of the strain and stress of
life and of its misery and sin. She would gladly have been without the
knowledge that she had gathered since her marriage, had it not been,
that she was able to realise more what it all meant to Luke, and to
sympathise with him. Life seemed a different thing to her to what it
had been at home, and it made her long to be able to stretch out a
helping hand to those who were tasting its bitterness. But she was
willing now to wait till the way was made plain for her to do all that
she longed to do; and till she was more ready for the work.
For she realised now how unfit she had been for the work in her early
days of married life. She had known very little of God, or of the help
that came from above. She had learnt so much from Luke of which she
was ignorant before, of the things which matter. Although he was by no
means perfect in her eyes, and thought too little, she felt, of the
things which she ranked of importance, yet, she knew he was very far
above her in spiritual matters. She felt ashamed of her poor prayers,
when she knew he spent hours in his study in communion with his God.
His love of his people was more than she could understand; his passion
for souls and God's work absorbed him almost to the elimination of
everything else. He was more in earnest than any clergyman she had ever
met, and even when on a holiday, he never forgot that he was God's
ambassador and was on the look out to help travellers to the Radiant
City. His faults and weaknesses arose, after all, she said to herself,
from mere forgetfulness and absentness of mind. It was not that he was
neglectful of her or of the little things of life which to her made
just all the difference, but he simply did not see them or what was
needed. But oh! He was good—good all through! And she could not imagine
any mean or small ignoble thought entering his mind. Though she had
been disappointed when she found the anniversary of his wedding day
counted as nothing to him, she knew all the time that next to his God,
he loved his wife. It was just because of his love for her that he
thought it so absolutely unnecessary to remind her of it.
How much she owed to Luke she was beginning to realise more than ever.
The very fact of him being so terribly distressed at the meeting of
his men the other night, convinced her, if nothing else had done so,
of his love and adoration for his God and Saviour. That those for
whom Christ had suffered and died had begun to doubt His Word and His
Divinity pained him beyond expression. Luke might forget things which
wore of lesser importance, but he never forgot his God. Gwen might
imagine that he was slow to think of the little duties which would have
been appreciated by his wife if they had been fulfilled, but Rachel
knew that it was not laziness, or selfishness that caused them to be
neglected, but simply that his mind was full of greater things and
spiritual needs.
It was in human nature to wish that he did not live quite so much up
in the clouds, as she expressed it, and being of a truthful nature
Rachel did not hide the fact from herself, that to have recognised
these duties, and to have done them, would have made her husband a
finer man; but she had come to the conclusion that he was one who found
it difficult to think of more than one thing at a time, and it was far
more important for him to be occupied with spiritual matters than with
temporal.
Indeed she would not have had it otherwise.
Watching the changing shadows on the hills caused by clouds and the
sudden bursts of sunshine, it seemed to her that the view before her
was a picture of her life. Shadow and sunshine, and perhaps she would
not have realised the glory of the latter had it not been for the
shadows that sometimes eclipsed it. And after all, she thought to
herself, the sunshine, representing love and happiness, far outweighed
the disappointments of life. She had everything to make her happy; and
a future, the hope of which flooded her soul with joy whenever she
thought of it. And January was not very far off! The homesickness and
the loneliness of which she had often been conscious would be over then.
Both Luke and his wife were the better for their holiday, and returned
home with fresh vigour for their duties. And though Mrs. Greville shook
her head over the extravagance of going so far away, she could not but
agree with Rachel that her son looked another man.
It was a good thing for Luke that he had been refreshed and had
returned hungry for work; for he found himself in the midst of a fierce
battle with the evil one. Unbelief was spreading, and his congregation
gradually diminishing. One or two of his best workers were leaving
the town, and two of the four men who had left the Church Council on
the night of the discussion on the amusement question, had attached
themselves, while he had been away, to a neighbouring church, where
they considered the young people were better looked after. But Luke's
faith had been renewed, and he determined not to give way to depression
or discouragement, knowing that that was the atmosphere in which the
devil did some of his worst work.
So the summer wore away, giving place to autumn and winter, and on
January the first, his little son was born, and they called him
Patrick, after his maternal grandfather.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIX.
GWEN WRITES TO THE BISHOP.
"I don't know what is to be done about Rachel," said Gwen, as she stood
looking at her sister Sybil weeding in the garden.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that she won't live long at the rate that she is working."
"Don't be silly, Gwen."
"I am not silly; I am only thinking of what Rachel is doing in that
horrible Trowsby. No girl could do all that she is doing and not pay
for it. There is Luke in the first place who seems to require no end
of her attention; then there's the baby and the house; and now she is
doing Mrs. Greville's work."
"Of course it's unfortunate about Mrs. Greville being ill; but there
is no reason why she should not get better. And after all Rachel likes
parish work."
"But when she had the time for it they gave her none to do; and now
that there is that troublesome baby who is always needing her, she is
called away from him to do her mother-in-law's work. But you don't care
Sybil, I get no sympathy from you."
"I care very much, but I'm not going to worry over what can't be
helped. And after all it's nobody's fault but Rachel's. She chose to
marry Luke and must abide the consequences."
"I can't imagine what made her do it, when she could have had Archie.
He is worth a dozen Lukes."
"I don't agree with you. Luke is worth more than Archie."
"Archie of course has his weak points, but for all that he is a dear.
But if he did not suit her there was Sir Arthur, who was head over ears
in love with her, and asked her twice to marry him."
"Yes, he was a nice man, and yet she chose Luke. I thought it silly of
her at the time, but I am not sure that I have not changed my mind."
"But why?"
"Because he is such a thoroughly good man. Of course Rachel recognised
this about him. She could trust him; and after all that is what a woman
wants to be sure about before she marries."
"Oh, he is trustworthy I grant; but I don't like him. Rachel ought to
have someone quite out of the common."
"He may be a better parish priest than a husband; but it is not from
want of devotion to his wife; it is from a certain denseness—I don't
know what to call it. You don't understand him Gwen."
"I certainly don't."
"I am not sure however that he ought to have married. He is so wrapped
up in his parish. Or he ought perhaps to have married someone different
to Rachel—a real parish worker. I sometimes wonder if his parish does
not stand for more in his estimation than his wife. But for all that he
is good."
"I don't call him good."
"Well you don't understand him, that's all. He would do anything in the
world for anyone who wants his help."
"Except for his wife."
"That is what I say; he is rather dense, and probably doesn't suppose
she needs his help. I remember when I was at Trowsby, he sat up all
night with one of the men of his Bible Class who was dying. No nurse
could be got."
"Well of course that was nice of him," said Gwen grudgingly, "but
I doubt if he would think of sitting up for an hour with his own
refractory baby to give Rachel a night's rest."
"I own he is a little blind about those comparatively small matters,
but for all that he is a good man and Rachel knew it, and that was why
she loved him enough to marry him."
"He is so blind that he is killing her with his neglect," said Gwen
warmly. "Mother must not be told, but I shall write to the Bishop."
"Don't be silly Gwen."
"I love her much more than you do. You are evidently satisfied to leave
matters alone without trying to remedy them; and as both father and
Uncle Joe are dead there is no-one whose opinion I should care to take
except the Bishop's."
Sybil rose from her kneeling posture and rubbed the earth off her
gloves.
"I wish you would be more sensible," she said, "and see things in their
right proportion. As for me I tell you that I envy Rachel."
"Envy her!"
"Yes, because she follows out our Lord's command so wonderfully. She
denies herself daily, takes up her cross, and follows Him."
"Yes," said Gwen slowly. "She is the one person I know who makes me
feel ashamed of myself."
"And it seems to me," said Sybil, making her way towards the house,
"that instead of commiserating her on her hardships, and pointing out
to her, as you do, her husband's imperfections, we ought to encourage
her. She has to live the life, why should we make it more difficult
for her. Why try and rob her of the 'Well done' that she will hear
by-and-bye."
"That may be all true; but it does not mean that we are to stand still
and see her die. I shall certainly write to the Bishop."
The Bishop smiled as he read the letter that lay on his hall table
next morning. He knew Gwen, and had no doubt whatever that in her love
for her sister she had exaggerated matters. He sent her a kind answer
reminding her that no life was perfect. There was almost always some
drawback or other.
"All our joy is touched with pain;
So that earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain."
He owned that the trials that Rachel had apparently to meet, if Gwen
had reported their correctly, might not be very good for her bodily
health, but they were the means of strengthening her soul, of helping
her to grow in grace, evidence of which was not wanting. That after all
it was worth enduring hardness, if it resulted in becoming a better
soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ. He ended his letter by expressing the
wish that his little friend Gwen knew what it was to take up her cross
and to follow Christ.
But the Bishop did not put the thought of Rachel and her husband away
from him. He determined to run over to Trowsby before long to see if
Gwen's report had the element of truth in it.
The first few months after the baby's birth had been supremely happy
for Rachel. Little Pat had supplied all that she had been conscious
of lacking in her life. Notwithstanding the fact of their increasing
poverty, she was able to fight successfully the anxiety which would
have depressed her in earlier days. She was so engrossed with the
thought of her child that other cares were put into the background.
That the balance at the bank grew steadily less she knew; but it was no
use allowing this fact to weigh down her spirits, and when she now and
then had to face it, a glance at the lovely little flushed face lying
on the pillow in the cradle, filled her heart with such rapture that
anxiety fled, leaving her with a smile of happiness on her face.
She was astonished that even his baby son had not the power of
engrossing his father's attention for more than a minute. He would take
a look at the child, lay his finger on his cheek, and smiling at the
little laugh that issued from his lips would turn away and run up to
his study. Even the baby fingers had no power to keep him! How he could
resist them Rachel could not imagine. "It is perfectly shameful the
little notice you take of your son," she said one day laughingly. "It's
a happy thing that he has a mother to look after him, poor little man."
"I thought mothers always looked after them in the crying stage," he
answered. "Just wait and see how I shall fulfil my duties when he is
older."
"I doubt it. Did you see the account of the baby sea lion that was born
in the Zoo the other day? The mother undertook its education, teaching
it to swim. The father avoided all responsibility. There are hosts of
fathers like that."
"Wait and see," answered Luke. And then the door bell was rung sharply
and Rachel little thought that a new chapter in her life's story was
about to begin.
Luke had come in late after a heavy day's work in the parish, and the
conversation just related had taken place at the supper table. He, rose
to open the front door, and Rachel stood listening to a man's voice
that she did not recognize. What she heard made her run into the hall
and clasp her hands round her husband's arm, as if to shield him from
the blow she knew the news would be to him.
"When did it happen?" he was asking in a quiet tone of voice. His very
quietness made Rachel aware of what he was feeling. Under any strain he
was unnaturally still.
"She was took about half an hour ago, Sir," said the man. "And the
doctor, he say it would be as well for you to come round as soon as
possible, and Mrs. Luke too. It's difficult to get a nurse just at
once. But he say, that it ain't a really bad stroke. She can talk a
bit, but is quite helpless on one side."
"We'll come at once," said Luke, reaching for his hat which hung on the
peg. "You'll follow directly, won't you?" he added.
Rachel's thoughts flew at once to the baby who was sleeping peacefully
upstairs, but who might wake any moment. She had never left him
for more than a few minutes before. How could she leave him for an
indefinite time in Polly's care! Polly was as good as gold, but had
had no experience with babies. She was devoted to Pat, but her very
devotion was likely to take an unwise form. She would probably give him
anything he cried for, whether it were advisable or no. Rachel's heart
sank at the prospect of leaving her little baby in her care.
"Is it quite necessary that we should both go?" she asked faintly.
Luke, forgetful of his little son, looked at her in surprise, and there
was a tone of reproach in his voice as he said:
"Surely we must not fail my mother at this time. I am quite sure that
she would feel it very unkind if you did not go to her."
"I will follow you," said Rachel.
She ran upstairs and looked at her boy. He was fast asleep in his crib.
She always loved to look at him asleep; her whole heart went out him
now as she leant down over him, giving him into God's keeping. She
would have to trust him to the One Who loved him better than she did,
but it was difficult not to be over anxious.
"Polly," she said, as after putting on her coat and hat, she went into
the kitchen to give parting directions; "if I don't get back in time to
give baby his bottle, be sure that you don't make it too hot, and that
he doesn't take it too quickly. And if he cries, mind you don't give
him anything but pat him gently and sing to him; then perhaps he won't
notice that I am not with him."
"I'll be ever so careful of him, Ma'am," said Polly. "He shan't come to
no harm I'll promise you."
And Rachel left the house determined not to give way to her fears.
She found Luke kneeling by the side of his mother's bed smoothing her
hand and talking in a soft comforting tone of voice. His mother was
lying with closed eyes, occasionally murmuring a few words.
"I'm going to try and find a nurse," he said in a low voice, "now that
you have come. The doctor has given me several addresses. They have
no-one at liberty at the Nurses' Home. I shan't be long."
Left alone Rachel took his place by the bedside, and for many minutes
she knelt in silence. Then Mrs. Greville opened her eyes. When she saw
who was with her an added look of anxiety crossed her face.
"Baby?" she murmured.
Rachel smiled reassuringly at her.
"I've left him with Polly," she said. "Don't be anxious about him.
Polly is very fond of him and will take good care of him."
Mrs. Greville closed her eyes again. But though Rachel had spoken so
reassuringly to her mother-in-law, she had hard work not to let her
mind dwell on the occupant of the crib in the nursery at home.
She was touched at Mrs. Greville's anxiety for her boy, and that even
in this first hour of her illness she was thinking of him rather than
of herself. That she loved her grandson had been evident to Rachel from
the very first. She was in fact wrapped up in the child; and was in
consequence creeping into a warm place in her daughter-in-law's heart,
the daughter-in-law who had never yet been able to frame her lips to
call her "mother." Mrs. Greville had noticed the omission but had said
nothing about it either to Luke or to his wife. It hurt her too much to
mention it. But as Rachel knelt by her bedside holding her hand Mrs.
Greville recognised the fact that the girl, who she had at times rather
despised, had a strength in her, after all, that, made her glad to have
her at this sad time, and when Luke returned with a nurse, he found her
peacefully sleeping.
Rachel was thankful to be able to slip out of the house, and ran all
the way home. After all, her fears had been unnecessary. Pat had had
his bottle and was asleep again with Polly sitting by his side.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XX.
NO LADY HEAD OF THE PARISH.
And now began a very strenuous life for Rachel.
Mrs. Greville had been as good as a curate to Luke; and she was now
laid aside unable to do any work at all. She lay thinking and worrying
over the fact that she was no longer any good to her son. The worry
did not help her to recover from her illness. In fact the doctor
told Rachel that so long as her husband's mother allowed herself to
be consumed with anxiety she could not hope to get strong. Was there
no-one, he asked, who could help in the matter? Surely there were some
ladies in the parish who could divide the work between them?
Rachel knew that no more workers were to be had. In fact several had
given up their districts. They so entirely disagreed with the Vicar in
his determination not to allow the parish hall to be used for whist
drives and dancing, that they felt out of sympathy with him, and had
left the Church.
Those who remained were already too full of work to undertake anything
further.
Luke came home from seeing his mother one day, in the depths of despair.
"She is worrying herself to death," he said, "over the Mother's Meeting
and the Sunday School." Then he looked across at his wife, who was
playing "Dickory, dickory dock!" with the baby. Her face had been full
of love and happiness, but at his words the smile faded. She knew what
was coming.
"I suppose," he said, then he hesitated.
"Well?" asked Rachel.
"I suppose you couldn't manage to take my mother's place?"
"To superintend the Sunday School and the Mother's Meeting?"
"Yes. It would lift such a burden off her heart. You see she is one
of those people who worry unnecessarily, and I can't tell you what a
relief it would be to me to be able to tell her that her place has been
supplied."
"I don't quite see how I can, with baby," said Rachel.
"But there is Polly. She likes looking after him."
"Dickory, dickory, dock," sang Rachel again, "the mouse ran up the
clock." But while playing she was not only thinking of the anxiety
which would be hers if she had to leave baby constantly under Polly's
care; but she was wondering if her own health would stand it. She must
keep well for Luke's sake as well as for baby's, and lately she had
felt sometimes at the end of her tether. She had already undertaken a
district of her own and various other duties, and what with the cooking
and the house, not to mention all the work that little Pat entailed,
she had felt that if she did not soon have a rest she would break down
altogether. Yet here was Luke, looking at her with his anxious pleading
eyes; and she had never failed him yet, how could she fail him now?
"Dickory, dickory, dock," sang Rachel as she ran her fingers up Pat's
little arm:
"The mouse ran up the clock,
The clock struck one,
Down the mouse ran,
Dickory, dickory, dock."
Baby crowed with merriment, and Rachel looked up gravely at her husband.
"I'll see what I can do," she said quietly.
Luke's face beamed.
"Thank you dearest," he said. "I'll go round at once and relieve
mother's mind."
Rachel sighed as she heard the front door close after him.
She looked down gravely at the child in her arms.
"I wonder if I have done right," she thought. "Anyhow my little baby
I won't neglect you for any number of Mothers' Meetings or Sunday
Schools. You and Daddie must come first."
Then she sang again—
"The mouse ran up the clock,
The clock struck one,
Down the mouse ran,
Dickory, dickory, dock."
"Ah! Me! The life of a clergyman's wife is difficult," she sighed.
And besides all the work and care, poverty stared her in the face. She
could not help fancying that Luke's great coat was turning green; and
that he was growing thin, notwithstanding all her efforts to provide
him with nourishing food. That he was unconscious of it himself she
felt sure.
He was quite unconscious also of the necessity of not giving
away money unnecessarily. Generous by nature, people had soon found it
out, and he could not resist giving when asked. Now that his mother was
no longer able to give him advice in the matter, and to restrain the
impulse which was so strong in him, and which was a beautiful trait
in his character so long as he did not allow it to interfere with his
duties as a husband and father, he had been freer than usual with his
money. He had no idea that such was their poverty that Rachel who now
had taken upon herself to keep the accounts, and to pay the bills, went
without nourishing food, in order that there might be enough for him
and his little son.
He never noticed that when he had meat for his dinner Rachel ate bread
and cheese, and that the various dishes that she invented to help to
give him a good appetite she did not share with him. Now and then she
laughed to herself to see how extraordinarily oblivious he was as to
what was going on around him. She was thankful that he never noticed
that she looked tired, and was growing thin. It would only have added
to his anxiety. But she hoped she would not break down, for his sake
and the baby's.
And now this fresh work had come upon her. It was not even as if she
had been trained up to it. If only they had let her begin when she was
stronger, it would have been easier.
A few days after she had given the promise to Luke, Mrs. Stone called.
Rachel had rather begun to dread her calls, for though she was always
loyal to Luke, and had more than once proved herself to be a good
friend, if there was any complaint to be made by the parishioners, Mrs.
Stone was always the one to be asked to make it known to the Vicar and
his wife. People knew that she was on intimate terms with them, and
felt that she was the best person to plead their cause. By now Rachel
had become conscious of this, and as Mrs. Stone sat down and began to
enquire about Mrs. Greville and to ask after the baby, Luke's wife felt
confident from the rather uneasy expression of her face, that the real
cause of her call was yet to be made known.
It was not long before she learnt what it was. "I want to know," said
Mrs. Stone as she rose to go, "if it would be possible for you to come
more regularly to the working party?"
"I am almost afraid I really can't manage that," said Rachel. "I have
about as much as I can do."
"Well you won't mind me having asked you, I know," said Mrs. Stone. "I
thought it was only kind to let you know that people are complaining a
little."
"Complaining of what?" said Rachel rather sharply.
"I don't like to hurt you. But they say that now Mrs. Greville is laid
aside there seems no lady head of the parish. I think that it would do
a lot of good if you could just manage that monthly engagement. Even if
you only came for an hour."
"I wonder how many of those people realise what it is to have an
incompetent servant and a baby to look after," said Rachel. She felt
indignant. "I was not engaged to act the part of a curate. When I
married I promised to love, cherish, and obey my husband. I didn't
promise to do all the parish work that other women ought to be doing."
Mrs. Stone had never seen Rachel anything but calm and bright: and was
much distressed at the result of her advice.
"My dear, I am so sorry to have pained you," she said. "Of course we
ought not to expect the impossible from you."
Rachel, overwrought and very remorseful, burst into tears.
"I ought not to have said that. I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "Only just
now I feel as if I couldn't do a thing more. Please forget it. The
fact is," she added, "I have to say a dozen times a day, 'Lord I am
oppressed. Undertake for me.' But it was very very wrong of me. I will
certainly come if I possibly can. Of course for Luke's sake I ought not
let it be said that there is no head of the parish, and I really love
that kind of work."
Mrs. Stone went home flushed and distressed. She saw that Rachel was
just on the verge of a breakdown, and blamed herself for not doing more
to take the heavy burden of the parish off her shoulders.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXI.
THE BISHOP LOOKS INTO THE KITCHEN.
Mrs. Greville's illness not only gave Rachel more work to do in the
parish, but took up a certain amount of her time in visiting her and
seeing that she was well looked after. And her mother-in-law, being
such an active woman was not an easy patient to do with. Her incapacity
to help her son was trying in the extreme to her, and she was one of
those people who look on illness as a humiliation. The atmosphere of
the sick room was not a happy one.
Moreover, Rachel found that visiting her meant various little extra
duties to perform, as there was someone or other always on Mrs.
Greville's mind. Would Rachel give Mrs. Jones a look as her heart
was constantly giving her trouble; and Mrs. Jacob was probably in
great need of a grocery ticket. She would like to know also if Mrs.
Grayston's baby had arrived, and how she was. And by-the-bye, she had
promised to lend a book the day before she was taken ill to that poor
crippled man in Rainer Street. Then two or three women ought to be
looked up who had not lately been to the mothers' meeting. And though
Miss Sweet had not told her, she felt sure that her young man was going
to spend the week end with them soon, and that in all probability
she would not be likely to take her class at the school that Sunday.
Someone ought to be found to take her place.
What all these commissions meant to Rachel can be imagined; but she
knew that if her mother-in-law had the faintest idea of how tired she
felt and how terribly full her days were she not have asked her to do
this extra work.
Curiously enough, Mrs. Greville, after that time of anxiety about
Rachel leaving the baby alone, had scarcely mentioned Pat; indeed
Rachel wondered at times if she had forgotten him. Anyhow, she had
quite forgotten how difficult it was to leave him so often with Polly,
who indeed had other work to do.
What tried Rachel more than anything was that when her mother-in-law
was getting better, she suddenly relapsed into her old habit of
thinking her incapable. She would say "No, you had better not go
and see Mrs. Guy. She is a woman that needs careful handling. You'd
probably offend her, ask Mrs. Stone." Or when Rachel had taken pains to
make some appetising little dish for her, denying herself perhaps an
egg for breakfast so as to be able to spare one for her mother-in-law,
Mrs. Greville would worry at her extravagance, reminding her that she
was the wife of a poor parson, and that if she were not more careful
she would land him in debt. Rachel put all these uncomfortable moods
down to illness, but it did not make her life easier.
One day after a specially trying time, she hurried home to find to her
surprise the Bishop sitting in the drawing-room.
The sight of his dear familiar face was almost too much for her. She
clung to his hand without speaking.
In a moment he saw that Rachel was overdone.
"Come and sit down my dear child," he said. His tone of voice was so
full of kindness and sympathy that Rachel nearly gave way to tears.
"You have come just at the wrong time," she said, with a faint laugh in
which the Bishop detected the tears that were not shed. "I am so tired
that I can't feel as glad as I know that I am to see you."
The Bishop looking at the girl, was shocked at the change in her. That
she was not only tired, but seriously ill, he saw at a glance.
"You have been working too hard," he said quietly. "What have you been
doing?"
"Oh don't let's talk of it. I want to forget it all now you have come.
You will stay to lunch of course, but I can only offer you pot luck."
"No, I can't stay to lunch," he said rising, "but I am going to tell
that nice little maid of yours to bring you some beef tea or milk. You
need it."
"Beef tea!" exclaimed Rachel laughing. "Why, only invalids can go in
for such luxuries and I certainly am not one."
"I am not quite so sure of that. Anyhow you need something at this
moment and you must let me go and see what there is to have, while you
sit still."
"Oh you mustn't pity me," cried Rachel. "I can go on quite well if
no-one notices me; but sympathy just weakens me. You really mustn't be
too kind." Rachel had risen looking distressed. Then she dropped into
her chair again and covered her face with her hands. "I wish you hadn't
come," she sobbed.
"No, you don't. You are very pleased to see your father's greatest
friend. You mustn't talk nonsense," said the Bishop with a smile.
"Don't you suppose I understand? You needn't mind me finding this out.
You must let me try and help you, and get you something. Polly will
help me."
[Illustration: THE BISHOP STOOD IN THE TINY KITCHEN FACING THE
DIMINUTIVE POLLY.]
Rachel sat still while the Bishop made his way into the kitchen. She
was so played out that she had not even the energy to wonder what he
would find there. She just lay still with a restful sense of being
looked after.
The Bishop stood in the tiny kitchen facing the diminutive Polly.
"Your mistress isn't feeling well," he said, "and I want to know what
there is in the house that she would fancy. She must have something.
Have you any soup or bovril?"
Polly overwhelmed with the importance of the occasion turned red. That
she had never seen bovril or knew what it was the Bishop discovered
before she had answered, "That there ain't no such stuff anywheres in
the house, Sir. We don't eat bovril and there ain't no soup," she added.
The Bishop smiled.
"Well, what are you going to have for dinner?" he asked.
"Master, he is to have a chop," said Polly, "and Mistress she say
she'll have some bread and cheese to-day."
"And what are you going to have?"
Polly flushed crimson and hung her head.
"Mistress, she say that I'm to have the leg of the chicken that Mrs.
Stone brought us two days ago. There's just one leg left and the
Mistress won't take it herself. It ain't right that I should be eating
chicken while she eats cheese."
The Bishop loved little Polly on the spot. He was thankful that there
was anyhow one person in the house who thought of Rachel. What had
Greville been about to let his wife get into such a weak state.
"You may enjoy the leg of the chicken with a clear conscience, my
girl," said the Bishop, "for I feel sure your Mistress would not be
able to eat it to-day. There's milk I suppose?"
"Yes Sir, there's baby's milk," said Polly doubtfully, "but I don't
think Mistress would like me to touch that. She's very particular about
his milk."
"Well I want you to run round to the grocer's and buy for me a bottle
of bovril. Run as fast as you can and I'll tell you how to make it.
Where is the Baby?"
Polly put her finger up and listened.
"I do believe he's just awake," she said. "I'll bring him down if you'd
be so kind as to look after him while I go to the Grocer's."
The Bishop carried the baby into the drawing-room and laid him on
Rachel's lap.
"That will do you good," he said smiling at her.
The sight of her baby in the Bishop's arms brought the happy colour
into Rachel's face.
"He doesn't know what a privilege he has just had," she said laughing.
Then she looked down at the child, "I do hope he will be a good man
like his father," she murmured.
"So thank God, she still loves her absentminded husband as much as
ever!" thought the Bishop, but he felt he could have shaken him. To
possess such a treasure and not take more care of her was in his
opinion reprehensible in the extreme. They were a blind pair! He to her
lovely self-forgetfulness, and she to his absentmindedness. Well, he
was thankful that she was still devoted to him.
Rachel laughed when she discovered that the Bishop had made her bovril
himself! It was luxury to be looked after and taken care of.
Before he left, he made her promise to have medical advice.
"It would never do for me to see a doctor," she expostulated, "and I
have no time in which to be ill. What do you suppose Luke would do with
an invalid wife, and little Pat with a useless mother! No, it won't
do to give in and it was only the sudden sight of you that made me so
stupid."
"It is only right to both your husband and child that you should
consult a doctor," returned the Bishop. "Possibly all you need is a
tonic; anyhow, as I consider I stand in the position of a father to
you, you must do what I say. And you must certainly curtail your work."
And so Rachel gave way and promised, and the Bishop left the house with
a heavy heart. Besides the state of Rachel's health he had learnt for
the first time of their extreme poverty of which he had had no idea. He
did not suppose that Rachel's family knew the state of their finances,
as Gwen would certainly have enlarged upon it in her letter to him
had she known. No doubt Rachel had hidden the fact from her mother
partly to save her pain, and also to prevent her from blaming Luke for
marrying her when he could not provide for her. Something must be done.
He was unwilling to give Luke too sudden a shock by telling him what
he thought of his wife's health, but as Mrs. Greville was now getting
stronger, he decided to enlighten her quickly about the matter. He
would write directly he got home; and meanwhile, the thought that this
was only one case of extreme poverty that existed among the clergy in
his diocese, lay on his heart like lead.
But the doctor told Mrs. Greville of the serious state of Rachel's
health before the Bishop's letter reached her.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXII.
THE DREAM OF HIS LIFE.
Rachel did not hurry to see a doctor, but having promised to do so
she knew she must keep her word, so the second day after the Bishop's
visit, knowing that Luke would be away at a clerical meeting in the
country, she wrote a note to the doctor who had been attending her
mother-in-law asking him to come and see her. She did not suppose that
there was anything seriously the matter with her notwithstanding the
fact that she felt so ill; and after all, she thought to herself, she
need not follow out his injunctions if they were inconvenient.
She was quite unprepared for his verdict. He told her that both her
heart and her lungs were affected, and that it was absolutely necessary
that she should give up all parish work and if possible take a thorough
rest. To Mrs. Greville, he gave a still more serious account.
"She should leave this place at once," he said, "and live as far as
possible an open air life. A sanatorium would give her the best chance.
But if this is impossible she should go into the country or to the
sea. Of course she has been doing the work of two or three women. She
must drop all that and what is more she should be fed up. She is not
properly nourished."
"Do you mean to say you think that she has not had enough food?" asked
Mrs. Greville very much distressed.
"I am afraid not. She has not looked after herself at all. I made her
tell me what she had had in the way of food yesterday, and when I heard
I was not surprised at her state of health.
"I am afraid it will be an awful blow to my son," said Mrs. Greville.
"I'm afraid it will, but if he wants to keep her he must make some
other arrangement for her. I won't be responsible for her life unless
she is removed as soon as possible, and is given the opportunity of
changing entirely her way of living."
Mrs. Greville so dreaded telling Luke the news she had received from
the doctor that she did not ask him to come round to see her that
evening. So she sat and brooded over the news, and in her heart she
blamed Rachel for neglecting herself as she had evidently done. Of
course people would lay the blame on Luke; but how could you expect a
man whose every moment was filled in with his parish duties to notice
when his wife looked pale, or lost her appetite. And what a terrible
hindrance to his work to have an invalid wife! Moreover, it was easy
for the doctor to prescribe a different climate and complete rest; but
how his plans were to be carried out she did not know.
Meanwhile Rachel quite unconscious of the doctor's visit to Mrs.
Greville, after the first shock of the news, determined to behave as
if he had never been. She was resolved not to become an invalid and a
hindrance to her husband, an hour before it was positively necessary.
And after all doctors often made mistakes. She would drink more milk, a
matter on which he had laid great stress, and there she would leave it.
When Luke returned home from the clerical meeting he was in good
spirits. The paper he had read had been well received and the
discussion that had followed had been intensely interesting. Rachel
was as interested in all that had happened as she always was in his
concerns, and he did not notice that she was looking unusually tired
and worn.
The next day two letters lay on the hall table for Luke. But he had to
hurry off directly after lunch to an appointment, and so he put them in
his pocket to read in the tram on the way.
It was only after taking his seat that he remembered them. One he
saw at once was from the Bishop, the other had the London postmark.
He opened the second first as being more interesting to him; and he
could scarcely believe what he read. It was the offer of a living in
a crowded part of London, where he would have the charge of 16,000
souls. He could have shouted for joy. It was exactly what he had been
longing for. It was true that financially it was not much better than
his present living, but money had very little attraction or indeed
meaning for Luke, and he dismissed from his mind that part of the news
in the letter almost without a thought. It was the work that he craved,
and work in the very centre of the universe, as he liked to think of
London. At last the dream of his life was coming true. He felt he could
hardly get through his work, so anxious was he to tell the news to
Rachel and to his mother.
He felt that his mother would rejoice with him almost more than Rachel.
Now that he came to think of it his wife had never taken much to the
thought of London; though he knew that she would do nothing to prevent
him going. Had she not said when they had been talking about the
possibility of him one day being offered a church there, "Where thou
goest I will go?" But the remembrance of her words about London and her
dislike of it, for a moment or two rather damped his spirits; but he
knew she would not fail him now that the dream of his life was coming
true.
So full was he of the news the letter contained, that he forgot there
was another one in his pocket till he was in the tram again on his way
home.
To his amusement, he found that this one was also an offer of a living;
but one in the country. It was a good one, much better than the one
offered to him in London; but this did not weigh with him in the least,
and the fact of it being in the country at once made him dismiss it
from his mind. In fact, he scarcely took in the Bishop's letter in
which he said, that he felt sure a country life would be beneficial
both for his wife and his son, adding that when he called at his house
he had thought Rachel looking very tired and worn.
Rachel was always so bright in her husband's presence that he
supposed the Bishop must have called at an inconvenient time and that
unfortunately Rachel had not been able to conceal the fact. He had not
noticed anything wrong in her looks himself, and he did not recollect
her once complaining of even a headache ever since her marriage. The
Bishop evidently had got a wrong impression of her from his call. He
would write and thank him for his kind thought of them but decline the
country living and tell him why. Then he thrust the Bishop's letter
into his pocket and made his way joyfully toward his mother's rooms.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIII.
LUKE SEES HIMSELF.
Luke, full of his great news, ran upstairs to his mother's room, with
the letter from London in his hands.
He found her crouching over the fire in the big horsehair chair, the
only armchair in the room. He was surprised that she did not look round
at the sound of his footsteps and give him her usual smile of welcome.
Instead, she stretched out her hand to him with averted eyes.
"Mother what is it?" he asked. He knew she must have bad news of some
kind and wanted to express her sympathy before she broke it to him.
"My poor boy," was all she said.
Luke took a chair by her and looked anxiously at her. She had been
so much better lately, was able to walk a little and was getting
altogether stronger, that her action perplexed him. Had the doctor
given her a depressing account of herself, he wondered? Mrs. Greville's
first words confirmed this fear.
"Dr. Fleming has been here."
"And surely he thinks you much better? Don't let him make you nervous
about yourself, mother."
"It isn't about myself," said Mrs. Greville in a strained tone of
voice, "it's about Rachel."
Luke's face cleared at once.
"Oh well," he said laughing, "you may make your mind easy about her. I
left her this morning in good spirits."
He was much relieved.
"My poor boy!" said his mother again, "You must prepare for a great
blow."
He began to wonder if the slight stroke his mother had had, affected
her brain. He put his hand caressingly on hers. "Let's have it out," he
said with a smile. "I don't think what ever it is that it can affect me
as much as you imagine."
"Rachel is not well," said his mother watching his face anxiously. "She
saw the doctor yesterday."
"Not well!" said Luke astonished. "Why, what is the matter with her?
She was quite well anyhow this morning. Has she had an accident?"
"No. It is worse than an accident. The doctor thinks very seriously of
her."
Luke rose and stood before his mother. All the colour had left his face.
"Tell me outright what you mean," he said sharply. "What is wrong with
her?"
"Both her heart and her lungs."
Luke stood quite still and silent. He was always silent and unnaturally
quiet when agitated in his mind.
"When did she see the doctor?" he asked at last.
"Yesterday."
"Yesterday!"
"Yes. The Bishop, you remember, called on her. He made her promise to
consult him."
"And why didn't she tell me?" said Luke. And the agonised expression in
his eyes showed his mother how intensely he was moved.
"I don't know, except that she wanted to save you anxiety. She has
not told me either and I don't suppose that she has any idea that Dr.
Fleming came round to see me about her."
Luke dropped into a chair. Then he looked up again at his mother.
"Did he give any directions or say what should be done?" he asked.
"I'm afraid he did my dear boy. He mentioned something about a
Sanatorium, but anyhow, he said it was absolutely necessary for her to
have perfect rest and a change of air and environment. In fact Luke,"
she added, and her voice trembled, "he seemed to think it a matter of
life and death."
Luke groaned and covered his face with his hands.
"He says," continued his mother, "that she has evidently been doing too
much and has not taken care of herself. He particularly dwelt on her
thinness. Apparently she has not had nourishing food."
Luke groaned again.
"I feel Rachel is greatly to be blamed for having been so careless
about her health," added Mrs. Greville.
Luke looked up, and his mother was startled by the stern expression of
his face.
"Rachel to be blamed!" he repeated. "I am to be blamed, not Rachel."
There was anguish in his tone of voice. He picked up the letter from
London which had fallen to the ground, ramming it into his coat pocket.
Then he sprang up and looked at his watch.
"I shall go and see the doctor at once," he said. And without another
word, he hurried away.
His visit confirmed his worst fears, and the doctor seemed surprised
that he had never noticed the gradual change in his wife's appearance.
Even he had seen it, casually meeting her in the street.
Luke walked home as if in a dream. The letters in his pocket were
absolutely forgotten; his one thought was Rachel.
He opened the door of the house softly and went up into his study.
He felt he could not meet his wife till he had looked the terrible
truth in the face. The thought that he might possibly lose her was too
painful to him to be able to bear calmly, and yet he knew that he must
not give her any hint as to his fears.
He shut the door of his study after him and sank into the large
armchair by the fire burying his face in his hands.
The fire! Even that seemed to cry out in condemnation of his
selfishness. Of course Rachel had lit his fire so that his room might
be warm and comfortable for him, while she probably had had no fire
to sit by except that in the kitchen. He had been so preoccupied with
his own interests and concerns that he had scarcely given a thought to
hers. His mother had said, that the doctor gave it out as his opinion
that she had not eaten enough. How was it that this fact had never been
noticed by him! She always supplied him with plenty, and it had not
struck him to notice what food she had provided for herself. Husband
and child had never wanted for anything.
The doctor had said that she was thoroughly overworked. And yet he had
never noticed how she was getting thin and pale! How often had he asked
her to do things for him so that he might go off to some meeting or
other, and it had never crossed his mind that the anxiety of leaving
Pat with inexperienced Polly must have added to the strain.
Then he had never shared in the care of the child; in fact he had at
times asked Rachel to do what she could to keep him quiet as his crying
somewhat disturbed him working. Not many weeks after his birth he had
moved his bed into his dressing room, as the child's restlessness
prevented him sleeping, and he felt his sleep to be all important to
his work. He had never realised that Rachel also wanted an occasional
night's rest.
And what had she not given up for him! Her luxurious home, where she
had every comfort; her mother and sisters who had petted and loved her;
her out of door pursuits; her flowers which she loved so passionately;
her ease and her friends. And what had he given up for her in return?
Nothing! Nothing!
In exchange for all her home comforts, he had given her a pokey little
house, poverty, overwork, and strain!
He was indeed in the Valley of Humiliation!
Then he suddenly rebelled at his thoughts and he started up and began
to pace the room. Given her nothing! He had given her his heart's love.
All the love that he knew how to give. Next to his God was his love for
his wife; and he knew that in this sudden reaction of thought Rachel
would be one with him. Though poor compared to her love for him he had
given her his best. She knew she was all the world to him. Life without
her was unthinkable. He paused as he reached his writing table, looking
down absently at his Sunday sermon which he had already begun. The text
of it faced him.
"'These ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.'"
The words gave him a shock. They so exactly described him, and yet
he had been so unconscious of his delinquencies that he had actually
intended to preach to his people about theirs.
"'These ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.'" The
Word of God condemned him. He had forgotten that preaching and visiting
were not the only duties to be done for God, or the only work. Did not
St. Paul lay a special stress on the home life?
He realised now that though he loved his wife so devotedly, he had
been so engrossed in his own affairs that he had neglected her. He
suddenly paused in his walk. That was Rachel's voice. Evidently little
Pat was restless and his mother was singing him to sleep. Luke could
hardly bear the sound of her dear voice. It pierced his heart like an
arrow. He pictured just how she was looking, walking up and down in her
bedroom with the child in her arms. He had often heard her sing the
words that he now heard, but he remembered how even the sound of her
singing at times had disturbed him, and he had asked her to stop. But
this evening, he listened and wept.
"Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head,
The stars in the bright sky looked down where He lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay."
"The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus no crying He makes.
I love Thee Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,
And stay by my side until morning is nigh."
"Be near me Lord Jesus; I ask Thee to stay
Close by me for ever, and love me I pray.
Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care,
And fit us for Heaven to live with Thee there."
The voice grew softer and softer; then it ceased altogether and Luke
knew Pat was asleep.
He so dreaded to meet Rachel that he stayed up in his study till he
heard her footstep outside. When she opened the door she found him
sitting over the fire in an attitude of deep depression, and knew at
once that somehow he had learnt the news about her. Kneeling by his
side she laid her head on his breast.
"You mustn't worry about me dearest," she said, "I think myself that
Dr. Fleming is a pessimist and has made a mistake. Anyhow I don't mean
to act as if what he said was true. I shall just go on as I have done
before; that is to say after a little rest. I suppose I must have that."
Luke was silent. He hardly thought that she could be aware of her
serious condition.
"Why did you not tell me?" he asked after a pause. There was a tone of
reproach in his voice.
"I didn't want to worry you, you have so much to trouble you. Besides,
I don't suppose there is anything really the matter with me. Doctors
make such mistakes."
He took up one of her hands and looked at it. He was shocked to notice
how thin it was.
He held it to his lips and kissed it. The unusual action almost broke
Rachel's self-control.
She rose saying, "I must go now and see after the supper. Polly will
wonder where I am." But once out of the room her tears began to flow.
"Oh, I mustn't be ill," she gasped, as instead of going into the
kitchen, she sank into a chair in the drawing-room. "I shall be no good
to Luke, only an anxiety. Oh God show me what to do. Don't let me be a
burden to him."
Luke, after Rachel had left, sat sunk again in deep depression.
Then suddenly he remembered the letters in his pocket. He had
completely forgotten them, and now when he opened for the second time
the Bishop's letter, it suddenly dawned upon him that here was the way
out of his difficulty. To accept the country living meant that Rachel
could live in the garden, and her strenuous life at Trowsby would be
over. She would go to the place as a known invalid and would not be
expected to take up parish work. The cloud on his face lifted, and the
weight on his heart grew lighter. Moreover, the struggle with poverty
of which Rachel had been more conscious evidently than he had, would be
over, for the stipend was unusually good.
With a feeling of great thankfulness, he closed the letter and opened
the one from London intending to answer them both that night. Of course
the London living must be refused. There was no question about it. But
as he read over again the description of the work a feeling of intense
disappointment took possession of him. He had been longing for this
offer! It was, as he had once said to Rachel, the dream of his life.
And here it was within his grasp and yet he was unable to accept it.
Instead of preaching to a large congregation and ministering to their
souls needs, he would have to vegetate in the country! It would be a
living death to him.
During the first year or two of his present charge he had tasted what
it was to be able to move people by his oratory; it was only the
extra-ordinary craze for amusements that had spoilt it all. It was then
he began to long for a wider sphere, and though the parish in which was
the church that had been offered to him was in a poor part of London,
the congregation consisted of many who had been drawn there by the
preaching of the former Vicar. The Trustees were most anxious to secure
a good preacher to succeed him. One of them had visited St. Marks on
purpose to judge of Luke's preaching, and was much struck by it. This
was why the living had been offered to him notwithstanding the fact
that he was somewhat young for such an important post. All this was
mentioned in the letter that Luke held in his hand, and the fact that
he had to decline it filled him with the keenest disappointment. So
keen was it that he decided not to tell Rachel that night about either
letter. He would wait to answer them till the next day. It was never a
good thing to do anything in a hurry.
Luke's silence at supper did not surprise her. She knew that it was a
sign that he had some problem to solve. The problem of course, this
evening, she knew must be what to do about her. Once or twice she
tried to make him smile as she recounted some event of the day; but
she was so unsuccessful that she felt it was better to leave him to
his thoughts. She was trying herself to unravel the difficulty that
had arisen, but so impossible did she find it that she came to the
conclusion that the only thing was to leave it in Higher Hands. God
had always provided for them and would do so still. Was He not a very
present help in time of trouble?
Luke sat up late that night. He was standing before the Bar of his own
conscience. He had to face the fact that he was feeling rebellious;
struggling against the Will of God. To bury his talents in a village
was a repugnant thought to him. How could he endure the quiet and
dullness of it? Would it not tend to make him indolent in work? What
would be the good of reading all the new thought of the day in order to
help those who were troubled by it, if there was no-one who had even
heard of the false teaching. How could he spend his time in preparing
sermons suitable to men and women whose brains had never been taught
to work. He pictured himself preaching to a congregation, the half of
which were asleep and the other half on the verge of going to sleep.
Then he suddenly remembered how his Lord had spent time over the soul
of one poor woman, the Lord of whom it was said, "Never man spake like
this man." Had He not taught again and again, both by his words and
actions, the value of one individual soul?
Luke's disinclination for a village congregation made him look into
his own motives. Had all his work been at Trowsby been done for the
glory of God? Had not the first year or two of his great popularity
somewhat intoxicated him? Was the wish to preach to large audiences to
win them to the service of the Lord? Or was it the delightful sense of
power to sway their minds, that attracted him? Was the disappointment
and the longing for a larger sphere caused at all by the fact that he
was conscious that he had lost hold of his people? That they no longer
hung on his words as of yore; that instead of looking up to him, as
formerly, with admiration, they looked down on him as out of date?
Sitting by his fire that night, looking at the dying coals, he saw
himself for the first time in the light of one who had been weighed
in the balances and found wanting. He was right down in the Valley of
Humiliation, and in agony of soul.
It was late when he went to his room. Then he dreamt that he was a
Bishop preaching in St. Paul's Cathedral. He looked down at the sea
of faces, and was conscious of a thrill of emotion as he saw the vast
congregation before him. He felt triumphant and elated as among the
number he noticed some of his parishioners at Trowsby, who had left his
Church because they did not consider him up to date.
He heard his fine voice echoing down the aisles as he gave out his
text, and was congratulating himself on its texture, when the whole
congregation rose to its feet, saying solemnly and slowly, "Thou art
weighed in the balances, and art found wanting." Then they filed out of
the Cathedral till he was left standing alone in the pulpit, with the
condemning words still echoing among the pillars.
He awoke trembling with horror, and knew, in the anguish of his soul,
that it was true of him. He had been weighed in the balances and found
wanting.
The cry of his little son in the adjoining room reached him; and he
heard Rachel's soft voice singing:
"Be near me Lord Jesus; I ask Thee to stay
Close by me for ever, and love me I pray.
Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care,
And fit us for Heaven to live with Thee there."
He rose and opened the door softly, and took the child from her arms.
Rachel, almost too tired to smile or feel any surprise, lay down and
slept.
"Perhaps," said Luke to himself, "To take care of my little son, may be
more to God's glory than to preach in St. Paul's Cathedral."
He wrote the next morning before breakfast to refuse the London living
and to accept the one in the country; and he never told his wife nor
his mother that he had had a chance of experiencing the dream of his
life and had put it away.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIV.
FOR LUKE'S SAKE.
Luke paced up and down the lawn of his pretty Rectory. The moon was
shedding its silver light on grass and trees; the flowers were flinging
their perfume around him; a nightingale trilled out its song from a
tree in the distance; but it all meant nothing to Luke. His soul was
crying out for crowds of human beings; for his fellow men; for the rush
and excitement of city life; for the tumult and whirl of London.
The silence of this summer night broken only by the song of the
nightingale was almost unbearable. The thought of his village church
sparsely filled with farmers and their wives, and labourers, who
listened to him with their mouths open in astonishment at the oratory
of their new "parson," the remembrance of the cottages nestling on the
hill below the Rectory, with their walls covered with roses and honey
suckle, and whose occupants he had already visited several times during
his short stay among them, had no charm for him.
He longed for strenuous work in courts and alleys, for congregations of
people who could appreciate his sermons; he pined for London platforms
and enthralled listeners to his eloquence. He felt he was wasted,
utterly wasted in this quiet village on the hill that Rachel so loved.
Yes, Rachel loved it. That was the only compensation. Gradually it
seemed that her health was returning. The open air life and comparative
rest from worry were doing their work; and only a few minutes before,
she had left him rejoicing in all the beauty of their surroundings, its
peace and quietness. She revelled in the flowers and trees and soft
green grass.
When Luke had told her two months ago of the Bishop's offer of
Stagland, the news had struck her as so wonderful that she had burst
into tears. She knew that a few more months in Trowsby would mean that
she would have to say goodbye to husband and child and leave them to
get through life alone; and the lifting of that burden seemed almost
too good to be true. Moreover, living at Stagland meant an end to
the perpetual struggle of keeping within their means, an end too of
housework, for which she was entirely unfit. She decided before many
hours were over to take the faithful little Polly as nursemaid and to
help in the house, with another general servant. They would be able
to grow their own vegetables and fruit, and no doubt Luke would do a
certain amount of work in the garden with a man to help. The whole
plan seemed ideal to Rachel. She lay awake thinking of it at night and
panting for the fresh air of the country.
At times, however, she wondered if she ought to let Luke sacrifice
himself to the extent of living in the country. Would he be able to
endure it? Would he have enough to occupy his time? Was it right that
a young and strong man should take a country living and spend his best
years among fields and hedges instead of courts and alleys?
She looked anxiously at his face when he did not know that her eyes
were upon him, and was afraid that she detected a shade of sadness in
its expression. Luke, however, was very careful not to let her know by
his words how almost unbearable the thought of the country was to him.
But when Rachel was not with him he gave way to his miserable thoughts.
He had been inexpressibly touched by the warmth of feeling displayed by
some of the members of his congregation at Trowsby when they heard that
he was leaving them. As is often the case, he learnt then for the first
time that which would have immensely encouraged him had he known it
before, that he had helped so many of them spiritually. It made leaving
them all the harder, though at the same time it warmed his heart to
find that he had been used far more than he had imagined for the good
of their souls. The last two Sundays at Trowsby, the Church had been
full to overflowing, and he had again the wonderful feeling of being
able to sway men's minds.
As he paced up and down in the moonlight, he lifted his eyes to the
starlit sky and cried to God to forgive all his past unsatisfactoriness
and to make him once more of use in the world.
As for Rachel she was in a dream of happiness. In fact it seemed as if
life had suddenly opened to her in all its rich fulness. The presence
of her husband, her child, the country air laden with all sorts of
perfume; the feeling of rest and quiet after the strain and stress of
Trowsby; and the consciousness that she was getting her strength back
and had not to be always thinking of ways and means, filled her with
thankfulness. Moreover, she had a most faithful nursemaid in Polly who
she counted distinctly as one of her blessings. Polly's devotion to Pat
showed itself in many ways; and Rachel felt that she could trust the
child perfectly to her when she was feeling unable to make any effort
on his behalf. For though she knew she was gradually getting stronger
she was conscious that her amount of strength was at present very small
and that any unnecessary effort was bad for her.
"I am going to Trowsby," said Luke one morning. "I am not happy about
my mother. Her letters strike me as rather depressed."
"I am afraid that she must miss you very much," said Rachel.
"I fancy that is what is making her depressed. Anyhow I shall go and
find out. I shall rather like to be in Trowsby again," he added.
"You mustn't like it so much that you'll want to be back again," said
Rachel.
Luke laughed. He would have given the world to be back again, but he
did not tell her so. Anyhow it would do him good just to have a look at
the people. And if he started quite early in the morning, by 7.30, he
would have a long day before he need return by the 8 o'clock train.
The streets of Trowsby did for him what the trees and flowers did for
his wife. He felt he could breathe again, and the depression that had
weighed him down rolled away. His first visit was to the church. It was
empty. After kneeling in prayer, he sat down and lived over again the
Sundays he had spent there. He remembered the crowded building, the
earnest listeners, the hearty singing, and compared it with his present
village Church.
Then with a sigh he rose and made his way to his mother's rooms. That
she was missing him terribly, he saw at once.
"You must come and live with us," he said. "Why not?"
"My dear I could not do that," she answered. "If Rachel asked me that
would be another thing. But she is not likely to do that."
"But why not?" said Luke. "I am quite sure she would be delighted. I
can't think why the plan was not thought of before."
Mrs. Greville smiled.
"Have you ever come across a daughter-in-law who would welcome such an
idea? I haven't. No, it would not answer."
"Perhaps not with most people; but you are different. I can't imagine
Rachel not liking the suggestion. Of course she would be only too
delighted."
Mrs. Greville shook her head. "It is impossible," she said. "I like
Rachel and admire her in many ways, but I am perfectly sure that our
feelings for one another would be strained and uncomfortable. I don't
know if you are aware she has never once called me mother. I am Mrs.
Greville to her and nothing more."
"What?" exclaimed Luke.
Mrs. Greville, seeing her son's astonishment, was sorry that she had
mentioned the fact to him.
"Oh it really does not signify," she hurried to say. "I daresay it has
never struck her. And I have not a word to say against her. She is a
very nice girl and an excellent wife. But you see the kind of footing
we are on. She would not welcome me I am quite sure."
"I am convinced that you are mistaken," said Luke. The idea had never
entered his mind, that his wife and mother were not on the closest of
terms with one another. His mother, he felt sure, was depressed from
her late illness and was looking at things through dark spectacles.
"You must put those ideas quite away from you," he said, "and you must
come and live with us. Wouldn't you like it?"
"I have never liked the thought of the country. But of course it would
be far less lonely and I suppose I could find enough to do in the
village."
"Of course you would. You could start all sorts of things which Rachel
is not in a fit state to do."
"Well I shall not come unless I am definitely asked by your wife,"
said Mrs. Greville, "as I am convinced that I should not be welcomed.
Neither do I think it at all wise for a mother-in-law to take up her
abode with her son and his wife. You will see that I am right."
Luke made the best of his time in Trowsby. He visited every member of
his men's Bible class; had tea with Mrs. Stone, looked up the district
visitors and finally found himself just in time to spring into the 8
o'clock train as it was moving out of the station.
Meanwhile Rachel had had a lovely day in the garden. Little Pat was in
his perambulator by her side, crowing and happy. The birds were singing
in the trees above her. The gardener was cutting the grass in another
part of the garden with a scythe; that most delicious of all sounds; an
occasional heavily laden cart passed in the lane near by. She rejoiced
in every sight, sound, and smell, and the quiet and peace were as balm
to her spirit.
When baby was taken away to be put to sleep for the night Rachel still
lay on under the trees, and was fast asleep herself when Luke opened
the gate.
"Have you had a nice day?" she said, as she awoke at the sound of
his footstep. But she saw the question was unnecessary. His face was
radiant.
"First-rate," he said, taking a seat by her side. "I enjoyed every
minute of it."
"How is your mother?"
For the moment Luke had forgotten about his suggestion to his mother;
and the sudden remembrance of her words made him hesitate before
answering; then he said:
"Of course she misses me terribly. I don't feel happy at her being so
far away."
He was so afraid of seeing by the expression on his wife's face that
his mother was right in her judgment, that he kept his eyes on the tree
above him. Rachel was silent. A sudden presentiment filled her mind and
made her heart flutter.
Was Luke wanting his mother to live with them? Was it possible that
such a thought had entered his mind! How could she bear it? She had
grown to like Mrs. Greville, indeed to love her in a way.
Her devotion to little Pat was almost pathetic and had drawn them
together. But to have her in the house, for the peace to be interrupted
by her restless activities; to hear her loud voice disturbing the quiet
of the home and garden! How could she bear it! And yet—yes she was sure
from the look on Luke's face as he gazed up into the tree, that this
was what he wanted to propose and for some reason felt nervous of doing
so. She was silent; then mastering herself she said quietly:
"Of course she must miss you terribly. What a pity Trowsby is so far
away." With a fear lest he should then and there propose to her what
she believed would wreck the happiness and peace of the home, she added
quickly, "I think it is getting a little damp and chilly. Will you
bring in my chair dear."
Luke was all concern in a moment. Rachel must not get cold. He folded
up the chair and followed her into the house. He was just a little
surprised that Rachel had not caught his thought. She was generally so
quick at discovering his meaning; but evidently the idea of his mother
living with them had never crossed her mind. He must try and broach the
subject again later on. Had it not been for his mother's words he would
not have felt the slightest hesitation in doing so; but what she had
said was making him find it a little difficult for the first time to
tell Rachel his wish.
"What is the time?" asked Rachel as she paused at the door of the
drawing-room.
"Half past nine."
"Then I shall go straight to bed," she said. "Polly has laid your
supper in the dining-room. I must wait to hear all about your day till
to-morrow, then I shall be fresher."
On reaching her bedroom Rachel locked the door and sank into a chair.
The shock of the discovery of what was in Luke's mind made her feel
quite faint. Was her cup of happiness to be taken from her? She had
so enjoyed having her husband and child to herself—and so thankful
that for a time, at least, the subject of economy could be put on one
side—that she need not worry any more over eggs being 4d each or that
margarine was cheaper than butter. She hoped that she had left all
that behind in Trowsby for ever; but she was convinced that if Mrs.
Greville lived with them the subject of economy would continually crop
up whether it were needful or not. Ways and means were too interesting
a topic to her mother-in-law to allow of her dropping it for long.
Then there were the servants. Polly had a rooted objection to Mrs.
Greville, and as for her new maid she was one who disliked any
interference. Rachel felt that she would certainly lose her, and if it
were not for Polly's devotion to little Pat and herself, there would
have been small chance of keeping even her. Anyhow the peace and the
intense happiness would be gone. She would feel that she had lost both
husband and child. Mrs. Greville would dominate them all and would rule
the house. Rachel knew by this time, moreover, that her ideas on the
bringing up of children were in direct opposition to her own.
What should she do if Luke asked her outright to invite her
mother-in-law to live with them? Should she tell him of the
difficulties which would certainly arise? Would it be possible to talk
them over together without hurting him too much? But no. She knew that
Luke would not in the least understand them. It would only make matters
worse. She must either put her foot down and say decidedly that it
could not be, or give way.
Rachel in her distress knew there was only one thing to do. Only one
answer to give. She must just pray for strength to do what she knew was
her duty; and to take up the cross without murmuring.
Luke was spared the ordeal he had begun to dread; for at breakfast the
next morning Rachel looked at him across the table with a smile.
"I have been thinking about your mother," she said. "Why not ask her to
come and live with us. Would she like it?"
Luke's whole face lit up.
"That is exactly what I should wish, dearest," he said. "But will it
put more on you? Happily we have Emma, and two servants ought to be
able to work the house well."
"Anyhow," said Rachel, "we might try the experiment."
"I'll write this morning," said Luke joyfully. "No, it would come
better from you. And Rachel," he said, with a little hesitation, "call
her 'mother' will you? That would bring her I know. She would feel we
really wanted her."
Rachel laughed. Had she not laughed she would have cried.
"All right," she said. "You shall see my letter before it goes."
Luke was overjoyed. He was so glad that he had been right. There was
evidently no feeling whatever against his mother's coming in Rachel's
judgment. In fact she was evidently pleased at the suggestion. He
would write also and tell his mother that she had been quite wrong in
imagining that his wife would not like the plan.
Rachel dashed off her letter as quickly as she could lest her heart
should fail her, and showed it to Luke.
"Dear Mother," she wrote;
"Why not come and live with us? You would
like this place and would feel much less
lonely than living on in Trowsby. We do not
like to think of you there by yourself."
"Your affectionate daughter-in-law,"
"Rachel."
Rachel pointed to the beginning as Luke took it in his hands, saying,
"I have called her mother for love of you."
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXV.
THE DISTURBING ELEMENT.
"We must have a Baby Show before the summer is over," said Mrs.
Greville, as she sat in the garden by Rachel's side darning stockings,
"and next year a Flower Show. The village has been dreadfully
neglected, evidently, by the last Rector."
"I don't think so," said Rachel. "He was a splendid visitor and was
looked upon as a father by the people."
"Perhaps; but there is nothing social by which to draw the people
together. Now a Women's Institute ought to be started."
"But you must remember there is not a single helper in the parish with
the exception of a very nice farmer's daughter, who conducts the whole
Sunday School. It would be impossible to start things here that need
helpers."
But Mrs. Greville was not to be put off.
"I expect if helpers were really looked for they would be found. I'll
look round the parish and see what I can do."
Rachel sighed.
"You won't make the people want things that they can't have, will you?"
she said.
"Certainly not. But there is no need to say they can't have them.
Anyhow I am here to help; and anything in the way of writing I am sure
you could do. There are two workers at once."
"Oh, you must not think of me as a worker," said Rachel. "I can only
just live." She had been more conscious of her weakness since her
mother-in-law's advent than ever before.
"My dear, of course you cannot be a worker in the ordinary sense. But
believe me you would feel all the better with something to interest
you a little. It never does anyone any good to lie and think about
themselves all day. I found that out when I was ill; and no sooner did
I begin to think of my work than I felt better at once."
Rachel was silent. She wondered how much longer she could endure the
intense activity of her mother-in-law. She thought she would have to
take to her bed; but she knew the air was the only thing for her.
"Let me see," continued Mrs. Greville. "There's a Mrs. Simpkins at
the bottom of the hill who has a fine boy, and next door is that poor
thriftless woman whose baby is nothing but skin and bones. It will do
the mothers a world of good having to weigh their babies; they'd be
ashamed then of their little puny creatures. We must certainly have the
Show before the summer is over. When shall it be?"
"Whenever you like," said Rachel wearily. Then she added, "Ask Luke."
"Oh it won't make any difference to Luke. It is a question for his
mother and wife to decide. Shall we say at the end of August?"
"Luke has a clerical meeting here one day in August. You had better ask
him."
"Will the clergy be here to tea?"
"Yes, and they come to lunch too."
"Come to lunch! How ridiculous! In these days to give lunch is quite
unnecessary I am sure. Why it can't be done under—"
"Oh don't say that to Luke," interrupted Rachel. "It's such a delight
to him to be able at last to offer hospitality to his brother clergy.
He is quite looking forward to it."
"Well I call it very unnecessary. What are they going to have? I hope
you are not preparing a spread. Because you have a rather better living
than your last it does not mean that you must forget the necessity of
being economical."
Rachel laughed hysterically. Here it was again! Eggs at 4d and
margarine instead of butter!
"Don't let us talk of economy yet," she said. "Let us enjoy, anyhow for
a time, being able to give something to one's neighbours."
"And pray who is going to do the cooking?"
"Emma. In her last place she had to cook for clerical lunches and knows
just what is necessary. And," she added laughing, "I mean to give them
a good lunch."
"What do you mean by a good lunch?"
Mrs. Greville sarcastically. "Do you intend to give them chickens? They
are nine shillings each at Trowsby."
"No I don't mean to give chickens. They are probably tired of them in
the country. But they shall have a good lunch, I am determined about
that, for Luke's sake."
"My dear you are talking like a very silly woman;" said Mrs. Greville
gravely.
"Am I? I am sorry, but for once in my life I mean to be silly. So you
must forgive me," said Rachel.
Mrs. Greville said no more, but came to the conclusion that Rachel was
a little light-headed, particularly as the conversation had set her
laughing weakly. She supposed her presence was too exciting for her,
so in a few minutes she picked up her work and made for the house, and
before long Rachel caught sight of her making her way towards the gate
with a note book and pencil in hand.
"She is going to look after the babies," sighed Rachel. "I hope she
won't make those poor mothers too miserable by her comments." Then her
mind reverted to one of Mrs. Greville's remarks.
"I wonder," she thought, "if she really imagines that I lie and think
of myself all day! A woman with a husband and child, not to mention a
mother-in-law and the housekeeping, has scarcely time to lead an idle
life even in thought. Little Pat's clothes would be enough to keep me
busy even if I had nothing else to do." And Rachel, who had laid down
her work while talking to Mrs. Greville, took it up again. It was not
long before she heard the gate open and her mother-in-law's somewhat
heavy tread on the gravel.
"You are back sooner than I expected," said Rachel. Mrs. Greville
looked tired and dispirited.
"Yes. I found my suggestion of a Baby Show rather upset the women. They
seemed to take offence and were up in arms at once. That thriftless
creature with the puny baby was almost rude to me, so I felt it would
be as well to put the show off for a time."
Rachel sighed a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry that you have had your walk for nothing," she said, "but
on the other hand it would be such a pity to create an ill feeling.
Besides I would so much rather that our first gathering should be a tea
in the garden. They would get to know us then and Luke could talk to
them. I am bent, when I feel a little stronger, on inviting the whole
parish."
"Another expense," said Mrs. Greville.
"I know. But it need not be an annual affair; just a kind of house
warming."
"I wonder how much it would cost."
Rachel, who had been anticipating managing the tea herself directly
she felt strong enough, had noticed the disappointed expression on
Mrs. Greville's face when her plan of the baby show had failed; she
evidently felt a little depressed. Should she put the whole management
of the tea into her mother-in-law's hands? She knew Mrs. Greville would
not be happy unless she had plenty to do, In fact she was so restless
that she would make work if it were not provided for her. It would be
a disappointment, but anything was better than to have an unhappy,
restless, person in the house.
When Rachel asked Mrs. Greville if she would undertake the tea for her
she cheered up at once. Taking out her pocket book she put down the
probable number that they might expect, and began to discuss at once
how much bread would be wanted, and what the whole affair would cost.
"I shall give them margarine," she said. "It would be quite absurd to
go to the expense of butter." Rachel would have given them butter but
she knew it would be useless to suggest this.
"And the tea might be sugared also altogether. It is much easier to
have it all ready mixed with the milk."
"But some may not like sugar in their tea," objected Rachel.
"Well they mustn't mind it just for once," answered Mrs. Greville.
"It is by far the best way when you have a large party. Then I almost
think the cake and bread and butter had better be divided up before
they come, and put on their plates. They will all fare alike then, and
they'll know exactly how much they can have. If they don't want to eat
it all they can take it away with them."
"But they are not by any means all children. I want them to be treated
just as we should treat our own friends," Rachel expostulated. She
began to wish she had never asked her mother-in-law to undertake the
tea.
"But," said Mrs. Greville, "you see you have not had much experience
in these matters and have no idea how much easier it is if you arrange
everything beforehand. Method is everything on these occasions."
"But I want to make it really nice for the people," said Rachel
eagerly. "It's better not to have the tea at all than in any way to
hurt their feelings. I don't think for instance the men would at all
like the plan of the food being piled on to a plate. Besides I want
them to have sandwiches, and they would not be nice all mixed up with
cake. I do hope you don't mind," she added, seeing that Mrs. Greville,
who was considered such a first-rate caterer in Trowsby, was a little
flushed at the thought that her suggestions were not liked. "I fancy
that people in a country village would not be used to that kind of
thing; besides there will not be very many of them. I do want them to
have a dainty tea."
"Dainty? How do you mean?" said Mrs. Greville. She was evidently put
out.
"I mean the same kind of tea that we would give to our own personal
friends. Of course, rather thicker sandwiches as they would not
appreciate the thin ones, but I am thinking more of the way it is all
arranged."
"Well," said Mrs. Greville shortly, "if you will tell me exactly how
you wish things to be done I will follow your directions."
Rachel wished that the subject of the tea had never been mentioned. The
slight discussion had tired and rather worried her.
"Shall we talk about it another day?" she said, "there is plenty of
time, and," she added, "of course you may be right. I have had no
experience in such things and you have had so much."
Mrs. Greville was slightly mollified. She was not used to having her
plans criticised. She preferred criticising the plans of others.
"Well my dear," she said, "I don't think you need worry about it. I
promise you that your guests will have enough to eat; and after all
that is the main thing."
Rachel did not think so. She thought that the manner in which the food
was presented to them was as important as the food itself; but she did
not say so.
"You can leave it all in my hands perfectly happily," added Mrs.
Greville. "I will take the whole responsibility of it so don't worry
yourself. Why, you look quite flushed even at the thought of it. There
is really no need to be anxious," and Mrs. Greville moved towards the
house notebook and pencil in hand.
Rachel sighed.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXVI.
LUKE TELLS RACHEL ABOUT HIS DREAM.
"What is Luke doing all day in his study? That sedentary life is very
bad for him and he ought to be visiting his people."
Rachel, who was trying on a little frock for Pat which she had been
making, looked up amused.
"He has visited every one of his people a dozen times since he came
here. In fact he was afraid of over visiting them."
"But then what is he doing all day? He is young and strong and ought to
be at work," said Mrs. Greville, standing in front of Rachel as if she
was in some way to blame. Her face was anxious and perplexed. She could
scarcely understand work without movement, and rush.
"You may be quite sure he is not wasting his time," said Rachel; then
hoping to distract her mother-in-law's thought she held up the baby to
be admired.
"Doesn't he look sweet," she said. "He shall wear this little frock
when we have the villagers to tea. He must look his best."
But once Mrs. Greville was on the war path nothing would move her.
"It isn't as if he had an intellectual congregation to preach to as
he had at Trowsby," she said. "Of course then he had to study and fit
himself for the work. But here they are only uneducated people. I am
sure he cannot want all this time to prepare for them."
"But don't you know that a man like Luke must find it much more
difficult to speak to such people? He has to make everything so plain
and to choose the simplest subjects. I am quite sure he finds it much
harder to prepare his sermons here than he did at Trowsby."
"I don't understand it at all," said Mrs. Greville, moving away to the
window. "And why he should object to me going into his study, I can't
imagine. He does not say in so many words that he prefers my absence to
my presence, but I see it worries him. Of course I used to leave him
quite alone at Trowsby, but then I knew every moment was precious. But
here there ought to be plenty of time for a chat with his mother now
and then."
"I must make the sleeves a little shorter," said Rachel. "Don't you
think so?" She hoped that Mrs. Greville would feel interest in the
baby's frock and would not continue the conversation which was getting
embarrassing. But no. It was of no use trying to turn her thoughts.
"I think it's very sad to see a young man getting so idle and losing
all interest in his people," she said. "It's quite different to what it
was at Trowsby. Of course, he worked far too hard before his marriage
and, indeed, after it, too," she added rather grudgingly. "But I would
far rather he worked too much, than too little."
Rachel's colour rose. She felt indignant.
"But he is working very hard," she said. "He is studying; and you know
the complaint is that the clergy don't study and so can't help their
people in these difficult times. Visiting their parishioners is only
part of the work after all."
"Well, all I can say is that things are very different to what they
were. And I never remember a time in which he did not welcome his
mother." Mrs. Greville did not recollect how carefully she kept watch
over the dining-room, which then stood for his study, so that he should
never be interrupted. "Of course," she added, "I don't suppose I can
quite expect things to be exactly the same as they were before his
marriage. I don't imagine he objects to you going into his study at any
time."
Rachel, glancing at her mother-in-law, was aware of a certain pathetic
eagerness displayed in the expression of her face as she waited for the
answer. The slight indignation that Rachel was conscious of feeling
passed away, and she was glad that she could assure Mrs. Greville that
she never interrupted her husband unless it was absolutely necessary as
she knew he would not like it.
"But," she said, "don't you think that he may have been sent here so
as to give him time to study before some great and important post is
offered him? That is what I love to think. I could not bear to believe
that he would be here all his life. When I am stronger, I hope we shall
go to some town where he can have a larger sphere of work. That is one
of the things that reconciles me to this country living."
"Well," said Mrs. Greville, "I feel that he ought to be doing
something, and not spending all those hours in his study."
"He is doing something."
But Mrs. Greville was only half convinced.
Rachel was feeling stronger so that the conversation with her
mother-in-law did not trouble her as it might have done. It almost
amused her.
That Luke could possibly be wasting his time in his study was so absurd
an idea that it made her smile. She had sometimes wondered herself at
the amount of writing he was engaged in doing; but she had not asked
him about it, as one of his peculiarities was the fact that he did not
care to be questioned about his work. That she would know in time she
had not a doubt. That he was doing anything that she did not know about
did not make her either curious or restless. Apparently it had that
effect on her mother-in-law.
Rachel had noticed that since coming to live with them Mrs. Greville
had shown a propensity for wishing to know exactly what everyone in
the house was doing. She wandered from room to room just to see what
was going on. The servants were not the only people who found it
trying. Rachel felt it getting on her own nerves. She put it down to
a restlessness arising from Mrs. Greville's illness, but this did not
make it less trying. She could seldom enjoy little Pat for long by
himself. Mrs. Greville, under the impression that she was helping,
would come into the nursery while Rachel bathed the child, giving her
various hints as to the best way of doing it. Or she would take up a
great deal of her time giving out her theories on the bringing up of
children, while Rachel was busy putting him to bed. It was just as
much as Rachel could do in her present state of health to dress and
undress the child, and at times she had to pass over what was to her
such a happy duty to Polly, so that to be talked to, and to have to
listen to various theories on the training of children, was tiring in
the extreme. But she felt she must bear it without complaining as Mrs.
Greville had so little in which to occupy her time, and if she was
shown that her advice was not welcome she would grow melancholy.
But till to-day Rachel had had no idea that Luke had found it trying.
His study door was open that evening when after putting Pat to sleep
she went down stairs. At the sound of her footstep, he called her
in, closing the door after her. He was looking a little worried and
distressed.
"I'm afraid I have hurt my mother," he said, "but I find it so
difficult to get on with my work while she is in the room. Three times
this afternoon she has interrupted me at the most unfortunate moment.
I try not to let her know it, but I can't make out what she wants. I
fancy it's only a chat, and I can't chat about nothing in the middle of
my work."
"She has not enough to do," said Rachel, "and feels dull I expect."
"That's unfortunate," said Luke, running his fingers through his hair.
"I'm sorry for her. But I had to tell her I was doing some important
work to-day and that I was sorry to say I could not have a chat just
then. I'm afraid I've hurt her. I think," he added, "that my mother has
altered a little since her illness. She used to have such tact."
"It would help matters if you could tell her what the important
business is," said Rachel, laughing.
"I don't much want to tell her," he said. "I'm afraid she would be
constantly referring to it and I could not stand that. You see dear,"
he said looking down at his wife with shining eyes, "I believe I have
found my work."
"Your work?" said Rachel mystified.
"I believe my prayers are being answered and that I am being shown why
I have been sent here. Sit down. I want to tell you something." He drew
a chair up to the window for her and sat down by her side.
"I never told you that just before we left Trowsby I had a dream. It
was the most painful dream I have ever had and I can't think of it even
now without a shudder. I'd rather not tell you what it was; but it was
nothing more or less than a looking glass in which I saw myself for the
first time, and I want you to know that I believe we left Trowsby for
my sake as well as for yours."
Any great emotion was bad for Rachel, and when Luke turned and looked
at her he was distressed to see how white she had become.
"Am I tiring you dearest?" he said, with concern.
"No. I'm only so very glad to hear what you say," she answered. "The
thought that you had to leave your interesting work for me, has been
such a burden on my mind."
"Well it need be a burden no longer. I believe it was for the sake of
your bodily health that we came here but also for my soul. You see,
I doubt if your soul wants the discipline that mine does. Anyhow, my
spiritual life was not in a healthy condition; I needed to take a back
seat, if you understand what I mean. I am not sure that my work was not
becoming my god, and I was too much in the lime-light. Anyhow, now I
can work for God and for Him alone. I think He has given the work that
is best for me."
Rachel, in her weak state could not prevent the tears of sympathy from
falling, but she brushed them away with her hand, and Luke did not see
them.
"What is the work?" she asked.
"I'm writing a book for young men. When I was in Trowsby I often felt
the need of one which faced the difficult problems of the day honestly
and wisely. I am trying to contend earnestly for the faith. Of course
it means the need of much prayer and study."
Rachel held out her hand and Luke grasped it in his own.
"You see how much better it is for me than preaching," he explained. "I
don't mean to put my name to the book, and shall never know what it has
done for people. God only will know that, so there will be no chance
of conceit and pride getting the better of me in my work. I do not see
how I can forget God in the work as I need Him every moment. I feel I
am contending with the devil and he does not leave me alone. But no-one
knows but God—and now," he added, "my wife."
Rachel had never loved her husband or admired him more than she did at
that moment. She sat and looked at him with her heart in her eyes; but
she did not speak.
"I meant to keep it a secret," he said, "till I could put the finished
book into your hands. But now you know. I have sent the first few
chapters to Sharnis and he is pleased with them and quite hopes to
undertake its publication. But I don't want anyone to know about it.
Now do you think you can help me about my mother? I don't feel as if I
could be constantly asked questions about it. It's such a sacred thing
to me that I cannot talk about it. Besides, as I'm not putting my name
to the book, it is important that no-one should know that I'm writing
it."
"She would be so pleased that she would find it difficult to keep the
fact to herself."
"That's just it."
"What a pity though that she will never know," said Rachel.
"Perhaps sometime after its publication I may tell her, but not now.
But can you manage to keep her from disturbing me without hurting her?
A woman can generally do this kind of thing better than a man. I would
not hurt my dear mother for the world if I could help it."
They neither of them heard the door open and then softly close again,
and Luke never knew that his mother had turned away from his study
murmuring:
"Luke was talking to Rachel about me! His mother! I never thought he
would talk to anyone about his mother." The pain was almost too much to
bear.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXVII.
RACHEL'S GARDEN PARTY.
Rachel noticed a marked difference in her mother-in-law's behaviour
to her after finding her talking with Luke in his study. She was
perplexed as to its cause and it worried her. Moreover, she found that
her efforts to keep her out of the study during Luke's busy time there
were unavailing, and she came to the conclusion that it would hurt her
feelings less if Luke mentioned the subject to her himself. Her pride
would not be wounded. She told Luke so. But, manlike, he felt that to
burn Pussy's paws was by far the better plan. But Rachel, unwilling
to give him a hint as to his mother's strained feelings in respect
to herself, determined to do nothing in the matter unless she found
a particularly favourable moment in which to speak. Having suffered
herself in the past from jealousy she began to suspect that the same
wretched enemy to all happiness was attacking her mother-in-law; and
instead of despising her for giving way, she felt the situation to be
particularly pathetic.
Since the day on which Luke heard of his wife's delicacy, he had been
filled with anxiety about her and was continually thinking of her
comfort and good. In fact, Rachel's health was now his first concern,
and plans which would in any way give her too much to do or think about
were put on one side at once, even though they might be suggested
by his mother. His wife and his book were at present the absorbing
interests in his life and everything else fell into the background.
Rachel had long ago come to the conclusion that Luke found it difficult
to concentrate his mind on many things at the same time. When he was
at Trowsby, his parish and Church took up all his thoughts to the
exclusion of almost everything else. In fact, he suffered from a want
of seeing things in their right proportion. And now that his mind
was full of anxiety for his wife, his mother was somewhat put on one
side. It distressed Rachel, for she knew the signs of the terrible
pain caused by jealousy and felt sure she saw them written on her
mother-in-law's face. They had in fact changed places since leaving
Trowsby. Luke now consulted his wife about matters of interest instead
of his mother; and though Rachel loved that it should be so, she felt
Mrs. Greville's position to be very difficult.
Some women would have been triumphant over the reversed positions but
Rachel was above all such unworthy feelings; she could only see the
pathetic side and it distressed her. Remembering too her own fight with
the sin that brings such misery on those who give way to it, she longed
to give Luke a hint as to how matters stood, and to ask him to be
very careful; but she knew Luke would no more understand his mother's
feelings than he would have understood those of his wife in the old
days; and she felt it would not be fair to his mother to enlighten him.
It would inevitably make her fall in his eyes; and up till now, he
thought her perfection.
So Rachel came to the conclusion that the only course to take was to
behave to Mrs. Greville as if nothing was the matter, and to ignore the
severity of her expression of face and voice when she spoke to her. But
the anxiety and constant effort not to say anything that might offend
or hurt was not good for her and was tiring.
As the time drew near for the parish garden party, Mrs. Greville's
thoughts became engaged with preparations for the event, and at times
she seemed to forget that she was not pleased with her daughter-in-law.
She had taken the whole affair off Rachel's hands and was thoroughly
enjoying the responsibility of it. Luke was thankful that it meant no
effort for his wife.
"If it hadn't been for my mother being here," he said, "we could not
have had it. The doctor said you were to have perfect rest."
But Rachel was disappointed, though at the same time she was thankful
that her mother-in-law had something to interest her and to fill up her
time.
That it was Mrs. Greville's party was quite evident when the day
dawned. Rachel was amused when her mother-in-law told her that she had
better stand at the gate and welcome the people, as she herself would
be engaged seating them at the tables. Rachel had quite intended to be
at the gate.
"But," she said, "I think it would be better not to have tea the moment
they arrive. They might walk about the garden and have games first."
But Mrs. Greville had arranged in her own mind that tea was to be the
first item of the programme and she did not wish it altered.
"It's far better to get the business of tea well over first," she said,
"then we shall be free to think of games," and Rachel gave way. She
felt it was not worth while discussing the matter.
About sixty people with their children arrived and were shown at once
to their seats by Mrs. Greville. Rachel saw them looking at the plates
before them with a smile, and heard them making jokes with one another.
But after Luke had appeared and had said a word of welcome and tea
began in earnest, they were silent. The business of eating did not seem
in their estimation to need the effort of talking. Suddenly Rachel
heard Mrs. Greville say:
"Mind you all make a good tea, and what you don't want you can put in
your pockets and take home with you. I won't look!" There was a laugh
and the sound of it sent the colour into Rachel's face. The talking
too began in real earnest and did not cease till tea was over; but the
words that Rachel occasionally heard convinced her that Mrs. Greville's
tactless remark was not liked by the men; and she noticed that no-one
save the woman with the puny baby took advantage of the invitation to
take the food home.
Rachel did what she could to take away the impression made by her
mother-in-law's mistake, by noticing the many babies that the mothers
had brought with them. And the subject of babies was so absorbing
that when Luke took the men off for a game of bowls, the women were
quite contented to sit and tell Rachel of the various complaints their
children had suffered from.
They were not allowed however to sit still for long. Mrs. Greville
bustled them about from one part of the garden to the other dividing
them into groups and setting them to games. The mother with the puny
baby alone refused to budge. She was too tired, she explained, and
Rachel, looking at her as she talked, came to the conclusion, that
probably the reason why the baby was so thin and weird looking was
because the money went in drink. She tried to gain the mother's
confidence and to help her, but the woman simply sat and cried and
complained of her hard life. One of the women who had been playing
games and was a little jealous at seeing Mrs. Grot having such a long
talk with the Rector's wife, informed her spitefully, that she was a
"bad lot," and left the baby alone in the house while she went to spend
her evenings at the public house. Rachel came to the conclusion that
the village was not such a little heaven below as she had imagined; but
that the great enemy of souls was as busy there as elsewhere.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXVIII.
"THINK OF RACHEL."
Gwen came to stay at the Rectory. She was much impressed with two
things. First she was terribly upset at the look of Rachel. She had
had no idea that she had grown so thin and weak. It gave her quite a
shock, and she felt disinclined to admire or appreciate anything of her
surroundings.
But she was equally struck with the alteration in Luke. She could find
nothing with which to find fault in his behaviour to Rachel. He was as
thoughtful for her as before he had been negligent.
"What have you done to Luke to change him so?" she asked her sister one
evening, as they were sitting in the garden after supper.
"I have done nothing, but you were blind."
"Then if you are not the cause of his alteration I must be," said Gwen.
"I believe it was the talk I had with him when I told him the truth
about himself. But I must confess I never expected it to have such an
effect."
Rachel laughed.
"You had better not remind me of your delinquencies," she said. "I
don't think I ever felt more angry with anyone in my life than I did
with you that day. However I have forgiven you so we will say no more
about it."
"One thing I can't understand," said Gwen. "What could have induced you
to have that tiresome old lady to live with you? It isn't as if she
were fond of you for I'm sure she rather dislikes you; that is to say
if her manner to you means anything. Why did you let her come?"
"I don't think she dislikes me. She has a very kind heart, but she has
been ill and finds it a little difficult to be always nice. You must
not blame her."
"But I do blame her. Why did you have her?"
"I knew it would make Luke happier. You see she was all alone in rooms
in Trowsby."
"I can't see why Luke should be made happy at your expense."
"But you must remember that before I arrived on the scene she had Luke
to herself. She is devoted to him, and must have missed him dreadfully
when we left Trowsby."
"Well it seems to me that my next move will have to be to tackle her,
as my words take such effect. But look there's Luke. Why is he tearing
down the drive on his bicycle at such a rate?"
"There's a fire in the village," he shouted, and was gone before there
was time to ask questions.
Both girls rose.
"Yes, I smell the smoke," said Gwen. "It comes from the bottom of the
hill. I shall run down and see it."
Rachel stood looking in the direction of the fire and had just made up
her mind to follow Gwen slowly, when Mrs. Greville appeared.
"I saw Luke rushing off on his bicycle," she said. "What is the matter?"
"It's a fire in the village and I'm afraid it must be near those tumble
down cottages in which Mrs. Simpson and Mrs. Grot live. If the fire
reaches them they will burn like tinder."
"Well then I shall go and see if I can't help," said Mrs. Greville. "If
anyone is hurt I may be of use. I shall put a few things in my bag in
readiness. I've some old linen and some carron oil," and she hurried
into the house followed by Rachel, who made her way into the nursery
and stood for a few minutes looking down at her sleeping boy.
It was a hot evening and he had kicked off the coverlet in his sleep.
Rachel kissed the tiny feet gently, holding them in her hand tenderly.
Then she covered him up again.
"You'll take care of him I know," she said to Polly as she moved away.
"I'm going down to see if there is anything to be done in the village.
I'm afraid several cottages must be in danger."
Then as she left the room she looked back once more at her sleeping
boy, saying, "I'm so glad, Polly, that I can trust you implicitly. I
know you would never leave the house under any circumstances, whatever
Emma may do."
Polly looked at her with the brightest of smiles. She knew there was no
need for words. Pat was her one thought.
Arrived at the bottom of the hill Rachel found herself in the midst of
an excited crowd, and was dismayed to see that the flames had not only
reached Mrs. Simpson's cottage but were approaching the one next to it,
belonging to Mrs. Grot.
"The Rector has sent a boy off on his bicycle for the fire engines,"
explained a woman to Rachel in answer to her questions. "But I doubt if
they'll come in time."
"Is Mrs. Grot here?"
"No Ma'am, she's half a mile away at the 'Three Swans' and has the key
with her. Her baby is still in the cottage."
Rachel was horror struck.
"But somebody must save the baby," she cried. "There's time yet.
Where's the Rector?"
Before the woman could answer a cry rang through the crowd, and Mrs.
Grot rushed in among them shrieking, "My baby! my baby!"
"You just follow me," said the woman to Rachel, "and I'll find the
Rector for you. It's no good that woman 'holloring' like that. It won't
mend matters; the Rector is the one to help." As she pushed her way
through the crowd Rachel caught sight of Luke placing a ladder against
the cottage wall.
"There he is Ma'am," said the woman. "He knows what to do, for the poor
mite is in that front upstairs room with the small window."
"Here's Mrs. Grot with the key," shouted a man near by. "Hold on, sir,
for a moment, and I'll unlock the door, we may be able to get in this
way."
But alas it was too late. A thick cloud of smoke issued from the door
and drove the man back. A groan came from the crowd.
Rachel caught sight of Gwen rushing towards Luke and catching hold of
his arm.
"You mustn't go Luke," she cried. "You'll be killed. Think of Rachel."
At that moment Rachel saw her husband was on the first step of the
ladder. He was going to save the baby! Her heart gave an exultant leap,
and then almost stood still.
At Gwen's words Luke took a hurried glance at the crowd beneath and his
eyes rested for one moment on his wife's face. Though it was deadly
white there was something in its expression that nerved his steps. She
was helping him, not for the first time by any means, to do what was
his duty, and this time he knew it was at the risk of his life.
He looked down at Gwen as he mounted, with a smile, saying:
"I am thinking of Rachel. That is why I am going to save the baby."
In another moment he was forcing the window out, which gave way easily,
and disappeared within the room.
The silent crowd stood spellbound, but Gwen in a panic ran to the side
of her sister. Her voice alone was heard, crying:
"Why didn't you call him back, why did you let him go?"
Call him back! Rachel would not have called him back for the world. It
was just the brave thing she expected him to do, and knew he would do.
She stood calm and still while the crowd surged around her murmuring.
Suddenly they saw Luke at the window. He dropped a small bundle into
the arms of someone below. A cheer went up but was suddenly checked by
the sound of timber falling and a lurid flame soaring up into the air.
There was only one explanation to give—the floor of the room in which
the baby had been sleeping had given way, and the terror-stricken crowd
knew that their Rector must be lying buried among the ruins.
At that moment the engines arrived, but Rachel stood dazed and
unconscious of what was going on around her. She did not move or speak
even when the women gathered about her, neither did she hear their
words of sympathy and commiseration.
"You'd better go, my dear," said an old woman with tears streaming down
her face, "you'd better go. It don't do any good to him or to you to
stay. If your husband, God bless him, has gone to glory why he's with
the Lord, and if not they'll bring him safe home to you."
"To think," cried a hard-faced woman, "that he's done it to save a
drunkard's baby, that's already half starved to death. He'd have done
better to leave it alone."
The old woman turned sharply at the words.
"That baby, I take it, is as dear as the rest of us to the Lord. But
come, my dear," she said again, addressing Rachel, "go home, I beg of
you. You'd be best at home. And the Lord be with you."
But Rachel did not stir till a touch on her arm suddenly aroused her.
She looked round and met the eyes full of anguish of Luke's mother. No
words were spoken, but the silent cry found its way at once to Rachel's
heart and awoke her from her dazed condition.
"Mother!" she said softly, then taking her arm in hers she slowly moved
away. No words were spoken, as they mounted the hill. The only sounds
were Gwen's sobs as she followed behind them.
On arriving at the house they made their way automatically into Luke's
study and sat down silently together on the sofa—the two women who
loved Luke—clinging to one another, and listening for that sound of all
sounds, which strikes a chill into the bravest heart.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIX.
IN THE LIGHT OF THE MOON.
Gwen, in the drawing-room, had hidden her face in the sofa cushion. She
had not wanted to hear the dreadful steps of the men carrying in the
stretcher.
She was feeling frightened and unstrung and as if she had lost Rachel.
Since that fearful moment when the floor of the cottage gave way and
Luke was buried in its ruins, her sister had not spoken a word to her.
Her dazed condition frightened Gwen; and she almost dreaded seeing her.
She knew where she probably was at this moment; for no sooner had the
men who had carried in Luke's body left, than Rachel had gone up into
the room, where they had laid him. It was now 10 o'clock and she was
still there, and there was a deathly silence in the house. Gwen opened
the door and listened. Not a sound could be heard. All was still. At
last feeling it unbearable she crept upstairs hoping to find Polly in
the nursery.
Polly was sitting by Pat's little crib, crying. It was a relief to Gwen
to hear her sobs. It broke the terrible silence.
"Is Mrs. Luke still there?" she asked, glancing in the direction of the
room in which she knew they had laid him.
Polly could not speak for her tears; but nodded.
"It's ten o'clock," said Gwen. "She ought to be coming to bed. She'll
be quite ill to-morrow. Do you think you could go in and persuade her
to come? Tell her I want to speak to her. Or where is Mrs. Greville?
Perhaps she would go."
"She ain't fit Miss Gwen," said Polly, "and I daren't go to her. She's
in her room and maybe in bed for all I know. I guess I'd better go
myself."
Gwen stood outside the room while Polly went softly in. The very fact
of the door being opened frightened her; all her nerve had left her and
she hoped that Polly would not be long.
She was not gone a minute; she came out of the room on tiptoe, closing
the door softly behind her. She was trembling so that at first she
could not speak and had to lean against the wall for support.
"Oh what is it? What is it?" cried Gwen in a panic, turning white.
It was some moments before Polly could speak, then the words came in
gasps.
"She's gone with him," she panted.
"What?"
"She's gone right—away—with him—to Heaven." She could scarcely speak.
"Do you mean she is dead?" cried Gwen.
"Yes; yes, she's dead; and the moon is shining on 'em both."
Gwen appalled at the news, opened the door and looked in. But what she
saw was so wonderful and beautiful that all horror subsided. Rachel was
kneeling by the bed on which Luke lay, her cheek resting on his dead
hand and a smile of rapture on her face. The moonlight was streaming
into the room from the open window on to the faces of husband and wife.
Once more they were together in its pathway as they had been on that
evening on the sea at Southwold, but now they were unconscious of it,
as they were together in the city that has no need of the sun neither
the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God did lighten it and the
Lamb is the Light thereof.
When the villagers heard that Rachel had died of heart failure on the
same day as her husband they mourned and wept. So young, they said, to
die! Two valuable lives given for the sake of a poor sick baby of a
drunken woman! What a waste of life!
But the Bishop, who came to preach the funeral sermon, said, "It was
one of the most beautiful things of which he had ever heard, and he
felt that instead of mourning and weeping, there should be flowers and
singing. Two happy saints treading together the streets of gold! No
long parting! No farewells! The Rector," he told the people, "could
hardly have had time to reach the gates of Heaven before he was joined
by his wife. What could be more joyful for them!"
"But," he added, and with evident emotion, "when we look at it from our
own point of view, we cannot help tears. Did not our blessed Lord weep
at the tomb of Lazarus? It is not wrong to weep; but in thinking of our
loss, we must not forget their gain; for they were lovely and pleasant
in their lives and in their death they were not divided!"
THE END.
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