CHAPTER XIV

A Meeting

It gives me wonder, great as my content, To see you here before me. _Othello._

IT was a very quiet life at Holly Grange. Nesta naturally, in these first days of her widowhood, saw very few people, and did not go out. Mrs. Fairfax kept much to her own rooms, and Molly and Betty were content to wander round the garden and grounds talking over, and making many plans for, their future.

Poor Molly was most to be pitied. All her resources were gone. She would not touch a pen and paper.

"I haven't the heart, Betty," she said piteously. "I can't forgive myself for being so engrossed in it, when mother was dying. It was all rubbish. I wasted hours over it, and I will never attempt to take it up again."

Much as she missed her writing, she missed her occupation of attending on her mother more. Nesta, seeing how languidly she moved about, how uninterested she was in work or books, suggested to her that she should take up some of her mother's work, and carry it on. But Molly shook her head.

"I am not fit for it. I have no head. I can carry out people's wishes and write at their dictation, but I never could be responsible for anything more."

"I am interested in these girls," Mrs. Fairfax said to Nesta one day. "Molly, I fear, will develop into an aimless, hopeless woman unless she marries. She wants to be roused, and to be made to work. It would be better for her if she had to earn her own living, while Betty is just the other way. She has a thousand unpractical schemes in her little head. She has too much enthusiasm. No amount of trouble will crush it."

"We don't want it crushed," said Nests quickly. "We only want to divert it into right channels."

One afternoon Mr. Russell called. Nesta immediately began to consult him about a new organ she wished to have placed in the little village church close to them.

"There is only a harmonium at present. I have promised the vicar to give it—"

Her voice faltered, and Betty finished her sentence.

"It is to be in memory of Colonel St. Clair," she said softly.

Mr. Russell gave all the advice he could about it, and then they walked down to the little church. They met the vicar on the way, and while he was talking to Nesta, Betty dropped behind with Mr. Russell. It was the first time she had seen him alone.

"Well, Betty," he said kindly, "you have had a sad winter, poor child; but I don't think you will have regretted giving in to your dear mother's decision to stay at home."

"No," said Betty earnestly. "I can only be thankful I was not allowed to have my own way, Mr. Russell."

"And what are your plans now?"

"Molly and I make a great many. If were quite by myself it would be very easy; there is so much I want to do, but Molly says she does not want to be separated from me, and it makes it difficult."

"How?"

"I want to spend my money in making people happy, Mr. Russell. I feel now I am a steward with something given to me to use rightly. I don't want to waste or hoard it, and it is a care. I lie awake at night and think about it."

"You want to spend it on the unhappy people in the world?"

"Yes; you understand me, don't you? But it is a puzzle. I think of so many different ways I could use it."

She gave a little laugh as she continued,—

"I think of something different every day. I believe I really should like to build a home of some sort, where I could live myself, and take in cripple children or orphans or workhouse people, or old soldiers and old servants, and anybody who has tried to earn their living and failed, like schoolmistresses and artists, and poor old maids who have lost their money."

"Go on," said Mr. Russell, smiling; "your list is not nearly long enough. You would be like the old woman who lived in a shoe. I have a vision of your happy mixture. Gentle, timid spinsters and 'old soldiers,' tramps and lazy ruffians from the workhouse, with orphan babies, and you in their midst, controlling and managing them all. Your heart is big enough, my child, but I don't think that your home would be, and certainly not your purse!"

"You're laughing at me, of course. I only tell you my thoughts. Then there is another way; I can divide up my income and send subscriptions to every home that has been started, or I can send it to some missionary society, or, better still, I could go myself and take my money with me."

"Go where?"

"To India, or New Zealand," said Betty vaguely. "Anywhere, as long as I could do some good to some one."

"Is that your aim in life?"

Betty was silent for a minute. She seemed to be considering, and then she looked up.

"Well, no, Mr. Russell. I don't believe it is. My aim is to serve God, to do His will."

"That is right. Many people put work for God before His 'will.' I think you were carrying out God's will this winter, when you gave up your time and attention to your mother, and practised 'patience, and long-suffering, with joyfulness.' Don't go ahead; just take your steps slowly. His will can be done every day in the very circumstances in which you are placed. His work will be shown you, if you are doing His will."

There was no opportunity for further talk, for they had joined the others; but, in spite of her keen interest about the proposed organ, Betty was strangely silent and absorbed.

"I am so glad you will be here, Betty," said Nesta to her on the way home. "Mr. Adams has been telling me his difficulty about an organist. He says he has not one parishioner who is sufficiently musical to learn it. I wonder if you will like to help him, and take the services."

"Oh, Mrs. St. Clair, I shall be proud, delighted!" exclaimed Betty. "But how can you ask me? Surely you will love to do it yourself?"

Nesta shook her head.

"Not yet, Betty, and not 'this' organ. I am not brave enough; not sure enough of my self-control. I hope by-and-bye I may conquer my weakness. I shall steal into church when no one is there, and get real comfort and refreshment from it, but I could not play in public—not for a long while to come, I am afraid."

Betty was silent. Nesta touched so little on her own sorrow that it was difficult to allude to it, but Nesta now quietly drew her arm into hers.

"You remember, Betty, how an organ must be for ever associated in my mind with him. You and that brought us together. And he was always so fond of it. It was a dream of ours to come back from India to this dear old house; and he always said that the first thing he would do, would be to put an organ in our little church here, so that he could come and hear me play."

"Oh," said Betty, with trembling lips, "why does God make life so sad? It must be right, but the older I get the more trouble there seems to be."

"But it is only for such a little time," said Nesta, raising her pale face to the spring sky above. "There is no harshness in a Father wishing to have His children with Him. It is a trouble that has more sweetness than bitterness in it, Betty. Do you remember those lines—

"'Love craves the presence and the sight of all its well-beloved, And therefore weep we in the homes whence they are far removed; Love craves the presence and the sight of each beloved one, And therefore Jesus spake the word which caught them to His throne.'"

"Yes," said Betty slowly, "that comforts one."

"And now," said Nesta brightly, "I want to talk about another matter. You know that Major Stuart has been choosing a pony for Jossy, and another one that I can either ride or drive. He writes to me this morning to say that they are coming down in charge of his groom. He says the mare has been ridden by a lady who is going abroad, and is perfectly safe and quiet, with no vice. I know you like riding. Will you use her while you are here, and take your little godson out with you?"

Betty's face flushed and sparkled with pleasure.

"Oh, how delightful! I shall love to. As you know, when mother was taken ill we gave up our riding. It was expensive, too, in town, as we always had to hire. I have longed sometimes to be on horseback, and was only saying the other day to Molly that we might attempt it again. Will you really trust me with Jossy? Does he like riding?"

Nesta caught her breath.

"Ah, doesn't he? He rode with his father every morning from the time he was four years old, and then after the—the accident I felt I could never let him ride again. I thanked God with all my heart that Jossy wasn't with him that morning. But I talked to your uncle about it, and I have come to the conclusion that it would be wrong to give way to unreasonable fears. So Jossy must have his pony, and in time perhaps I may be able to accompany him. Till then, I shall be so glad if you will. Molly does not seem to care for it at present."

"Molly cares for nothing. Am I heartless, Mrs. St. Clair, because so soon after—our trouble—I am beginning to care for everything so very much again? It is the spring, I think, and the country; and now this organ and the riding—why, it is all delicious!"

Betty looked radiant as she spoke. Nesta found her bright voice and face the sunshine of the house, yet she sometimes puzzled over Betty still, and she would say to herself,—

"There has been something in her life that she has not told me. Her bright winsomeness is not that of an untaught, undisciplined child; it is that which has been acquired and held fast to through real trouble. It is a steady fount of joy, not a fitful ebb and flow."

A few days after, Betty and Jossy took their first ride together. The groom accompanied them the first day, but they soon dispensed with his services, and it was difficult to say who enjoyed it most, godson or godmother.

As they cantered through the lanes, now bursting with their young fresh green, Betty's mirth and chatter were fascinating to the small boy.

"You know how to pretend so beautifully," Jossy said one day. "Some people won't pretend; they won't make themselves into different people. Now, Aunt Betty," (he had substituted "aunt" for "godmother"), "you must be a great lady, and your husband is fighting far-away. I'm his page, and he has sent me to bring you to him."

"All right," responded Betty gaily. "And now, Alphonso, how is my lord? My heart is awearying for him. Am I indeed to be taken to his presence, in the midst of armed men encamped around him?"

"Yes, my mistress," piped Jossy, in all solemnity. "We are now going through the enemy's ground, but I have my pistols, and I'll shoot the first man dead who stops us! Let me ride first. If we meet a woman, I will ask if we're on the right road, but if we meet a man, he must be either friend or foe, and that must be settled at once."

It was characteristic of Jossy that he could throw himself into any one of his fictitious personalities without the slightest difficulty, but it took a long time to bring him back to real life again. Betty and he would ride along personating many characters, for Jossy's imagination was wide and keenly vivid, and Betty entered into his spirit with a zest that enchanted him. Sometimes he was Robin Hood and she Maid Marian, sometimes they were Beauty and the Beast, sometimes he was a bandit chief and she his captive. He drank in stories, "like water" Betty would declare, and she delighted in telling him as many as he could listen to.

Now, as they rode along, his quick eyes were roving to and fro.

"It is a dangerous road, mistress," he said presently. "I spy a horseman in the distance. Is he friend or foe?"

Betty's heart gave a sudden leap, then almost stopped beating. She recognised the distant figure, and it was the one she had feared she must meet sooner or later, but now felt it would be more than she could bear. He was almost upon them before she had the presence of mind to speak, and Jossy was bristling all over with excitement and aggressiveness.

"He shall not pass us. He means foul play!"

"Hush, hush, Jossy! He is a gentleman that I know," Betty said hastily.

The boy was carried away entirely by his game.

"He's a friend, then!" he shouted.

Then, as Gerald Arundel came up, he added excitedly, with a wave of his hand from Betty to Gerald, "Behold your dear husband! And you, sir, this is your faithful wife who has come to meet you!"

Gerald's eyes met Betty's in undisguised astonishment at this introduction. Her face had whitened in her consternation and dismay, and terror peeped out of her eyes. Then she pulled herself together, and turned upon Jossy, who, with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks, was the only one who thoroughly enjoyed the situation.

"Now," he exclaimed, reining in his pony and barring Gerald's path, "dismount, my lord, and kiss your lady's hand!"

"Jossy!" Betty gasped. "Mr. Arundel does not understand; do be quiet!"

Then her sense of humour came to her aid, and she laughed at the absurdity of it. To her inexpressible relief; Gerald joined her.

"Oh, what will you think of us, Mr. Arundel?" said Betty, turning to him, with smiles and blushes. "Jossy and I have been playing a game, and he forgets that every one isn't in it."

"But I should like to be in it," said Gerald hastily; then he checked himself, as Betty's mare swerved and shied: her mistress's quivering little hands were tugging at her unmercifully.

"May I be introduced to your young squire?" he asked, in a different tone.

"This is Jossy St. Clair. I am staying with his mother." Betty was steadying her voice and her heart. "Wake up, Jossy, and speak to this gentleman properly."

The boy pulled off his cap.

"It is a pity," he said, with a heavy sigh. "We were getting on so splendidly. You ought to have carried it on properly."

This was added with such a reproachful look at Gerald, that he laughed outright. "Perhaps another day I shall be prepared; and then you will find me all that you can wish."

Betty was moving on.

"I heard from Mr. Russell that you were in these parts again," said Gerald, turning to her gravely. "Are you going to make a long stay?"

"I do not know."

Betty's voice faltered a little, then she braced herself and looked up at Gerald with her old straightforward glance.

"I love the country, as you know; so I hope to be here some time."

He was silent, then said quietly,—

"May I offer my sympathy for your loss?"

"Thank you. It makes this time so sad, when I remember last year."

She passed him. He raised his hat and moved on, then drew up his horse and looked at her retreating figure. Jossy turned round and waved his hat with a shout.

"Next time I shall shoot you. If you won't be a friend, you are a foe!"

Gerald smiled, and there was no bitterness in his smile.

"A friend I shall always be, if nothing more. And the meeting I have so dreaded has come and gone. It was short enough, but I could not trust myself, and she did not wish to prolong it. I wonder if she knows she is passing by my fields, and if she does, will she care?"

His horse fidgeted. He turned his back on Betty resolutely.

"I will not think of her," was his mental resolve; "but oh, how sweet she has grown! It is a cross between joy and torture to set my eyes on her again."

He rode to the town for which he was bound, did his business satisfactorily, and then retraced his steps homewards. Arrived there, he sank into his chair by the fire. Floy crept up, laid his head on his master's knee, and looked the affection and sympathy that he could not utter. Gerald laid his hand on his silky head:

"Still 'too high for me,' Floy. But I am to have the privilege of watching her from afar."