CHAPTER IV

Rose Songs

That music breathes all through my spirit, As the breezes blow through a tree; And my soul gives light as it quivers, Like moons on a tremulous sea.

New passions are wakened within me, New passions that have not a name Dim truths that I knew but as phantoms Stand up clear and bright in the flame.

And my soul is possessed with yearnings Which make my life broaden and swell; And I hear strange things that are soundless, And I see the invisible. FABER.

IT was an exquisite evening. Mrs. Stuart lay on her couch by the open window. Molly was seated on a low chair, gazing out into the dusky garden. Her hands were idly clasped in her lap, and her blue eyes were filled with dreaminess and content. Bowls of roses—pink, crimson, and white—scented the room with their fragrance. At the piano sat Betty; an old-fashioned silver lamp above her threw its soft light upon her small dark curly head, her eager sensitive face, and her slight graceful little figure. She was singing, and singing in one of her most pathetic moods. Her voice thrilled to the soul, one unseen hearer outside.

"'Where blooms, O my father, a thornless rose?' 'That can I not tell thee, my child; Not one on the bosom of earth ever grows But wounds whom its charms have beguiled.'

"'Would I'd a rose on my bosom to lie, But I shrink from the piercing thorn: I long, but I dare not its point defy; I long, and I gaze forlorn.'

"'Not so, O my child; round the stem again Thy resolute fingers entwine; Forego not the joy for its sister, pain— Let the rose, the sweet rose, be thine.'"

Steps on the gravel made themselves heard as her voice died away.

And then Mr. Russell's voice broke upon them,—

"Mrs. Stuart, may we come in? This is very unceremonious, but Arundel has been dining with me, and the night is such a lovely one that we have been tempted out for a stroll. Let me introduce him to you—but you have met before."

The two men stepped in through the open French window. Mrs. Stuart welcomed them gladly. She missed the constant intercourse with her acquaintances in town, and always enjoyed a chat with Betty's old friend.

Betty rose from the piano with a pretty flush of pleasure on her cheeks, as she shook hands with Mr. Russell.

"You are not to leave the piano," he said. "We have been enjoying your music outside. We saw a little white figure surrounded by roses in a pale light, and we stood still to watch and listen, only half believing that she was real flesh and blood. No! Please, Mrs. Stuart, do not ring for lights. May we sit in the dusk and listen to another song? And let it be about roses still, Betty, only let us forget they have thorns."

Betty turned over the leaves of her music irresolutely.

"I have not many songs about roses, Mr. Russell," she said. Then, sitting down again, she sang,—

"'It was peeping through the brambles— That little wild white rose, Where the hawthorn hedge was planted, My garden to enclose. All beyond was fern or heather On the breezy open moor; All within was sun and shelter And the wealth of beauty's store. But I did not heed the fragrance Of floweret or of tree, For my eyes were on that rosebud, And it grew too high for me.'

"'In vain I strove to reach it, Through the tangled mass of green— It only smiled and nodded Behind its thorny screen. Yet through that summer morning I lingered near the spot; Oh I why do things look sweeter If we possess them not? My garden buds were blooming, But all that I could see Was that mocking little white rose, Hanging—just too high for me!'"

"Thank you, Betty," said Mr. Russell, as she shut up her music and came away from the piano. "You are bent upon teaching us to-night the undesirability of taking possession of roses. We must look at them, but they are not to be ours."

"A high standard ensures a high aim," said Gerald Arundel. "An easy possession is apt to be despised."

He had a pleasant, mellow voice, and as Molly turned up a lamp in her corner, which shed its light full in his face, Betty started violently. Where had she seen him before? Surely this calm, self-assured man was not the same whom she had seen in the full violence of emotion in that quiet field corner a few days before! Yet even in that short glimpse she had had of him, his face was too riveted on her memory ever to be forgotten. She sat down by Molly, and listened to the conversation without taking part in it.

"You would not sit down contented with that singer's conclusion," said Mr. Russell, smiling—"that it is 'just too high for me'?"

Gerald's eyes looked mirthful.

"There are always ladders," he said, "to everything!"

"But forbidden fruit is best not touched," said Mrs. Stuart.

"It depends on who forbids it."

"Arundel has the fighting element in him," said Mr. Russell. "I often tell him that his blood will cool with age."

"We want combativeness," said Mrs. Stuart, smiling; "I think the sin of our age is easy indifference."

"Yes; combativeness on the side of right is good, but not combativeness with fate."

"What is fate?"

"I will not use that word, for I do not believe in it. With what Providence ordains for us."

"Our circumstances, you mean? Do you preach the gospel of resignation, Mr. Russell, to all things that befall us? I must allow that I cannot tolerate those who drift with every wind that blows. I am on Mr. Arundel's side. The greater the difficulties, the more effort I should make to overcome them. I do not like that word 'Providence.' It is made use of to excuse laziness and indifference."

"I have expressed myself badly," said Mr. Russell. "I quite agree that easy acquiescence to whatever comes to us, without any effort to remedy the evil, is cowardly and weak. But there is a crisis in men's lives sometimes, when it is useless to fight with the inevitable."

"Your argument is, to fight till you know you are conquered, and then make the best you can of your defeat?"

It was Gerald Arundel who spoke, but he spoke as a man in a dream.

"Come," said Mrs. Stuart lightly, "let us leave arguments alone. Mr. Arundel, tell me what you have been doing since I saw you last."

"That seems a long time ago. I do not think I have been idle."

He drew up a chair to her, and was soon deep in many philanthropic subjects which seemed as dear to his heart as to hers.

Mr. Russell turned to the girls.

"When are you coming over to see me?" he said. "Betty, I want you to sit for me again. Will you?"

"I don't know," she said, a little mischievously; "I have a vivid recollection of the torture I underwent when you made me lie down and pretend to be asleep. How I longed to move! And how frightened I felt if I so much as winked my eyelid! It is like an endless photo being taken. I am afraid I could not have the patience to sit still."

"But you could talk," said Mr. Russell; "and I fancy that would compensate for a good deal."

Betty laughed merrily. Gerald Arundel, catching the sound of her laugh, turned round for a minute, then went on with what he was saying.

"I chatter too much, don't I, Molly? My tongue is always getting me into hot water."

"You never think out what you're going to say before you say it," said Molly.

"Who does? Only prigs and preachers—and I hope I'm not that sort."

"Molly," said Mrs. Stuart, turning to her eldest daughter, "can you find me the last report I had of the S.P.S.H.? I want to show it to Mr. Arundel."

"What are those magic letters?" asked Mr. Russell, as Molly left the room in quest of the pamphlet.

"The Society for Promoting Self-Help," said Betty promptly.

"One of the best societies going," said Mrs. Stuart warmly. "I thoroughly approve of its principles. It is true charity to teach those in need to help themselves."

"Yes," said Gerald Arundel musingly; "but I have come across some who are absolutely helpless to help themselves."

"Are you sure? Such cases are few and far between. I want to show you how this society meets the needs of the most improbable cases. Even bedridden cripples have been taught to support themselves. And you do not feel, in supporting such a charity, that your money will be wasted or thrown away."

"I don't see that it is a charity at all, mother," said Betty, in her reckless fashion. "I would much rather help the poor in the good old-fashioned way. Every one is so dreadfully afraid nowadays of giving to the undeserving. It makes me always want to do it. I hate all these societies, made up with red-tape machinery! Feeling and sympathy and love are all wrong, they say. I'm sure the Bible doesn't tell us to help our neighbours through societies!"

"You are on the side of freedom, Miss Stuart," said Gerald Arundel, smiling. "But if you have had any experience in charity, you will know that indiscriminate almsgiving sometimes aggravates the misery that you are anxious to relieve."

"Yes, that is what mother says, and I know she must be right; but I do hate to be tied and bound down by rules and regulations, don't you?"

"Mr. Arundel has seen a little more of life than you have," said Mrs. Stuart pleasantly. "It is only a question of time, Betty; you want a wider view of life."

"But, mother, I think I take a wider view than you do."

"Of course you think so. All young people do."

Molly came in at that minute, and soon afterwards, the gentlemen took their leave.

But before they went, Gerald Arundel asked Mrs. Stuart to bring her daughters over with her to lunch with him one day.

"I should like you to see my library," he said. "I am sure you would enjoy it. It is almost a snare to me sometimes, for when I get inside it I become entirely engrossed, and forget the outside world altogether."

"Perhaps we might drive over one day when I feel a little stronger," said Mrs. Stuart. "I should like to come very much."

They went; and Betty watched them go down the drive with interest. Gerald Arundel was filling her mind and thoughts. She dwelt again on every word that she had heard him say. His tone of voice was light and pleasant; his grey-blue eyes had a frank, honest look in them, with an occasional twinkle of humour, which lightened up his naturally stern face. Nothing in his manner or conversation betrayed any secret passion or grief. Yet she could not forget the glimpse she had caught of him a short time before.

"He is not married," she said to herself. "He lives in that sweet old Red Manor House. He has everything that the world can give him. What can his trouble be? Was it only a passing feeling, I wonder? But his face looked so fiercely miserable. I wish I knew more about him. Perhaps Mr. Russell knows, and yet I would not tell any one for worlds. I shall not tell Molly that I have seen my unknown hero. She is putting him into her story already. I am sure that he did not recognise me, and that is one thing for which I am thankful!"

Down the drive, the two men were discussing their visit.

"Mrs. Stuart has changed very little since I last saw her. What a handsome woman she is!"

"Yes; and the girls take after her—only in a different style."

Gerald was silent; then he said,—

"Little Miss Betty is your favourite."

"She used to be as a child; I cannot quite get reconciled to the change in her, but she is a winsome little creature still. Molly is too sedate, too placid, to interest me much."

Another silence. Then Gerald spoke in a different tone.

"My fighting powers are at an end, Russell. I knew what you were driving at when you talked of being resigned to the inevitable. You were only continuing our conversation of a few days ago. I told you then that I was fighting what I hoped would prove a shadow, but it has turned into a very substantial foe, and I am worsted in the combat."

"I wish you would enlighten me a little."

"I can't. It is only a question of time, and then you will know fast enough."

"Then I can only assure you of my sympathy, and hope that the inevitable may prove a blessing."

Gerald gave a short hard laugh. Then he said,—

"You had better turn that into a prayer. You and I both believe in its power; but I tell you the powers of evil seem to have been let loose on my soul! I have not, I will not, lose my faith; but it has been tested to breaking point."

"Thank God it is not broken. Faith, to some, seems mere acquiescence in what they see and understand. True faith can only be tested in the dark, when sight and understanding have been swept away—when it has been strained to breaking point, and does not break!"

Gerald stood still and bared his head in the moonlight.

Mr. Russell noted his upward gaze, and the light that was reflected on his face from within seemed to match the soft chastened beams from without. It is good to watch the sunshine pour out from a human soul; it is better to see the impress of the peaceful silvery light that only comes in black darkness.

They walked on in silence; then Gerald spoke again,—

"I have been roused to-night by a quick, sweet vision of what might have been, and what can never be. Thank you for your words. They have helped me."

He began to talk of other things, and the deep earnestness that had vibrated in his tone died away. Gerald could be very good company when he chose. He struck his friend as being singularly light-hearted when they parted that night, and Mr. Russell said to himself as he turned into his lonely home,—

"He is young, and troubles will not vex him long. A good constitution, a hopeful disposition, and a firm belief in God above, will carry him through triumphantly."

But he would not have spoken so certainly if he had seen Gerald in his library that night.

Till the small hours of the morning he was pacing to and fro; his brows were knitted and his hands clenched, but his lips moved in prayer.

As the dawn broke, he flung open the window shutters, and leaning out, drew in with deep long breaths the dewy sweetness of the morning. And then a subtle fragrance stealing upwards took his thoughts back with a bound to a sweet little figure framed in roses, and a still sweeter voice.

He put his hand out of the window and plucked a small climbing rose, then a smile played about his eyes and lips, and he murmured,—

"'But all that I could see Was that mocking little white rose, Hanging—just too high for me!'"