CHAPTER IX

DARK CLOUDS

GENTIAN did not see Thorold for some time after this. He went away into Cornwall to visit an old friend, and though he only meant his visit to last a week or ten days, it prolonged itself into a month. She missed him more than she had thought it possible she could. Miss Ward looked at her in an amused fashion when one day she said rather impatiently that he ought to be back.

"Surely you like to be free from any kind of surveillance or influence, my dear? You are always telling me that Mr. Holt presumes upon his assumed cousinship."

"So he does, Waddy, but I do enjoy a scrap sometimes. It's so dull when no one opposes me. You are much too gentle, you know. It isn't much fun to fight a feather!"

"Is that what I am?"

"Oh, don't look hurt! You're an angel."

"I don't fancy," Miss Ward said slowly, "that Mr. Holt will always stay here. He has said several times to me lately that he is feeling lazy and self-indulgent, and that he is not old enough to live the life he is doing."

"Why, what other life could he live?" Gentian looked startled. "He's on ever so many philanthropic councils and committees, and always busy. How could he go away from his house? It's his own, and every one says he deserves the rest he is having. He has earned it they say."

"I suppose he does seem old to you—but he doesn't to me. I rather agree with him. He is a man of exceptional ability, and there is very little real work to occupy him here."

"Oh, Waddy, what stuff you are talking! People don't want work when they have money."

"You are very young, my child. Money supplies the needs of the body, not of the mind and soul."

"I'm not going to argue the point," said Gentian laughing; "you do love to put me in my place, Waddy, just under your feet, where if I do attempt a rise, you give me a firm pat down again. I know this much, that you and I could do with more money. My mind needs books, and intellectual entertainment, and a more crowded atmosphere to make it work properly. I think Cousin Thorold is the only one who stimulates me to think, and if he went away, I believe I should march after him! Don't look so horrified! I disliked him intensely when we first came here, but he has a way of impressing himself—his individuality you would say—upon you, which makes his absence quite a blank. Don't let us talk any more about him. I'm pretty certain he doesn't want to uproot himself from here—"

Gentian had perplexed and puzzled Miss Ward all her life, but perhaps never more than now. She seemed to have fits of preoccupation and moodiness, alternated with reckless gaiety and irresponsibility.

Miss Ward was more relieved than otherwise when Gentian came home one day and announced with glee that she was going to take the Miss Buchans up to Scotland in the car.

"We shall be gone three weeks or a month; they'll pay all my expenses. Isn't it too enchanting! We've been looking out a tour—up the Caledonian Canal. I've seen pictures of it—a perfect dream, through Braemar, and we shall end in the Trossachs—taking Edinburgh and Perth by the way. Oh, Waddy, if ever I shall have a good time, it will be now!"

"I wonder they trust themselves to you—I hope you'll do it by easy stages. It will be too much for you otherwise. I don't know that I altogether approve. But I suppose they will look after you."

Gentian laughed and scoffed at this last idea.

"I am going to look after them. It is a triumph for me. Miss Horatia said when I first went to them that she would never go in a car as long as she had a horse, but she's actually coming with us. Can't trust me with Miss Anne; she pretends she's making herself into a martyr, but I believe she'll enjoy it as much as I shall. The Scotch all seem to think their country is the most wonderful in the world, and they want to go and see the part to which they belong. Miss Anne is quite keen to go. She's always talking about the Scotch air in the Highlands. I laugh when I think that Miss Anne was so nervous when I began, that she wouldn't let me drive through the high street on market day! How delighted you will be to get rid of me, Waddy! It will be a peaceful holiday for you."

Miss Ward shook her head.

"I shall be anxious till I get you back again under my wing. I never have confidence in these cars." But she made no more objection, saw that Gentian had plenty of warm clothes for the tour, and packed all her belongings with her own hands.

The house was certainly very quiet when she had gone. Her letters were Miss Ward's greatest comfort. She wrote in the highest spirits, and beyond one or two slight mishaps, the tour seemed a great success.

Thorold was back before Gentian was, but he seemed strangely absorbed when Miss Ward met him, and did not come to the house as often as was his custom.

The days were closing in before Gentian returned. She sent a wire the day she expected to arrive, and turned up at the Cottage about seven o'clock one evening. Miss Ward was relieved to see her looking fit and well, though she thought her thinner—and Gentian took it as a compliment when she said so.

"I do dislike to be plump," she said; "and I can assure you I've kept them on the go the whole time. But they've thoroughly enjoyed it, and so have I. Only they say they've had enough of the car for the present, and have given me a fortnight's holiday. What shall we do, Waddy? Is Cousin Thor home? Wasn't it queer? We ran up against a daughter of the man he is staying with! She had just arrived in Edinburgh when we were leaving. Her father is a rector down in Cornwall. Such a handsome girl! But we didn't cotton to each other. She talked of Cousin Thor in a patronizing, appropriative kind of way. Said he was a thorough good sort, and that she and he had a lot in common, and it was nice to think of having him as a possible neighbour soon. Now what did she mean by that? I didn't let her see I was curious, but I am most dreadfully and painfully so. Are you in his confidence? Before I went away you spoke as if he might be leaving us."

"It was only conjecture, my dear. I know nothing, and have hardly seen him to speak to since he came back."

"Oh, well, I'll ask him straight out. He'll tell me. Men can never keep a secret."

And the very next afternoon Thorold appeared and found Gentian comfortably settled by the fire with a book. Miss Ward was out in the village doing a little shopping at the general shop there.

"Well," he said; "you're back again. Had a good time?"

"A heavenly one! And you?"

Thorold drew up a chair to the fire, and rubbed his hands together, looking reflectively into the glowing coals.

"I'm very glad I went down, very. I've come to rather a momentous decision. We've sometimes had talks together about work in life, haven't we? You rubbed it in one day when you talked of wanting to do something with your life."

"Yes," said Gentian, twinkling her eyes as she looked at him, "but you discouraged me. I must always be content to stay where I am and do what I'm bid—I am too young to strike out a new line for myself."

He smiled. "I think you are at present. But it's a different case with me. Dick Muir, my friend in Cornwall, opened a door to me. You know I'm a bit of a Socialist. I believe in sharing good things with those who are without them, and the people all round him are in an awfully bad way. No work—no money—no hope for better times. As their parson, he feels it—and he can do so little to help. The long and short is—I'm going to open up a mine there to provide work. I have the money to do it, for an investment I made some time ago has proved very remunerative. What's the good of living in idleness and luxury when others are starving? It isn't the life anyone but the helpless and aged ought to live. And I've strength and brain for a long time yet, I'm hoping."

Gentian's blue eyes were big with interest and concern.

"I don't know anything about mines," she said, "except that they're down in the earth. Will you be a miner? You don't live in idleness, Cousin Thorold. Mr. Wharnecliffe says you're taking the first rest you've had in your life!"

"Oh, I've had my rest right enough. The mines have been closed down—the owners found them a losing concern, but they got into difficulties through want of capital."

"Then you may lose, too, if you put your money in it, and then what would you do?"

"It wouldn't hurt me if I did. I have no one dependent on me now. But I don't think I shall lose. Anyway, I'm going to take the risk. I've been talking to an expert down there. The mines were not developed far enough. They stopped short when they ought to have gone on. It would give work to hundreds. That's worth thinking about in these days."

"Well, they'll only want your money, not yourself," said Gentian serenely. "You'll go on living here, won't you?"

Thorold shook his head.

"No, I want to be part and parcel of the concern; my own manager by and by. I shall sell up here and live in quite a small way down there at first. But I want to start it personally and get in touch with those I employ."

Gentian was silent.

Thorold looked at her with his kind, thoughtful eyes.

"It won't make any difference to you and Miss Ward," he said; "you'll go on living here just the same. I shan't sell the Vicarage. And you will be freed from my unwarranted interference in your doings!"

He smiled as he spoke, but Gentian did not smile.

"You've made such a substantial background to our life here, that I don't know what we shall feel like without you."

"A background can very easily be dispensed with," he said lightly.

"I am afraid I am very rude to call you a background," said Gentian, looking at him contritely. "And I don't think it quite describes you. You are too aggressive for that!"

"I'm generally considered a very mild-mannered man."

Gentian laughed, and her face cleared.

"I like you better than I did," she said; "and if I get very dull here having no one to contradict me, I shall drag Waddy off to Cornwall and take some lodgings just over your mines, and watch you trying to turn yourself into a miner or mine-owner. Do you know I have been to Scotland; and in Edinburgh I met a Miss Frances Muir, a great friend of yours?"

"Did you meet her? How strange! She's a nice girl. I'm her godfather."

Miss Ward came back at this moment, and she had to be told the news. She took it quietly, but she had a strange sinking of heart when she realized that she would no longer be able to appeal to Thorold for advice. She had certainly leant upon him more than she had ever done upon anyone before.

Thorold's news soon spread. Mrs. Wharnecliffe had known all about it from the beginning, and she highly disapproved of the step.

"He will lose his money, and his health, and die in the workhouse," she told her husband. "Why is it that some people will never take their rest in this world? I almost wish he had not come into money. I might have known it would never do him any lasting good!"

"I think it's a fine thing of him to do," said her husband. "I wish a few more moneyed folk would open up some Cornish mines. I've been told the land is rich with untold wealth below the surface, and anyone who gives employment, to our honest poor in these days is a benefactor."

Before the winter came, Thorold's house was for sale, and he was saying good-bye to his friends.

"You can't have got your mines ready yet to work," said Gentian, when he paid his farewell visit to her.

"No, but I want to know my manager and the people round, and every detail of the work if I can."

"You'll work yourself to death." She looked up at him with troubled eyes.

Thorold would not meet those blue eyes. He seemed nervous and ill at ease.

"If anything goes wrong here," he said, suddenly turning to Miss Ward, "be sure to let me know."

"What could go wrong?" said Gentian, giving a funny little laugh. "I shall only drive my car, and play my organ, and worry Waddy to death! Life is very monotonous. I shall try hard and make it hum if I can, but I'm getting rather tired of this part of the world. If only I could make a little more money, we might go back to Italy."

"That is out of the question," Miss Ward said sharply.

"We won't consider this a long farewell," said Thorold in a cheerful tone.

He took Gentian's hand in his.

She gave him a quick little grip, then pulled her hand away and whisked round to the window.

"It's raining," she said. "Even the sky is weeping at the thought of losing you."

But when Thorold went out at the hall door, there was a moist drop on his hand which had not fallen from the skies. And his lips compressed themselves together as he strode out into the wet.

"She hasn't had her chance yet. I'm an old fool—much, much too dull and old, to think of such a thing. But I'm glad the child likes me a little. I never thought she would."

He had not been in Cornwall many days before he got a letter from Gentian.

"My DEAR COUSIN THOROLD,—

"Cousins can write to each other, can't they? And I want some safety valve—else I shall have spontaneous combustion. You told us to let you know if anything is wrong, and something is very wrong with me. I really don't think I can go on living here. Mrs. Wharnecliffe has shut up her house and gone to London. Sir Gilbert has gone off to Cannes. Miss Horatia is hunting and thinks and talks of nothing else. I wander up and down the road and look at your empty house. We hear some one has bought it—a single woman, they say, but she hasn't yet appeared. Your English winters are loathsome. Rain and mud, mud and rain—black skies, dead trees and hedges, and cold as the North Pole. How can you expect us to thrive without any sun? Miss Anne is in for the winter—at least, she is in unless we get a mild, sunny day. Instead of driving her out, I go over and read to her. That's the only nice time in my day. She gets books down from Mudie's and I live in them from three to four every afternoon. Do write and say what you're doing and where you are living, and if Miss Frances Muir has taken possession of you. And do, do find out a big piece of work—real work for me to do, with a very big W.

"Women can do anything nowadays—but there seems nothing that just suits me. I'm getting almost tired of my car, and I want to do something big—and worth living for. I'm praying for something to be sent to me. I know you believe in prayer. I wish I could lead a Crusade, or something of that sort. I want to do something that will call out all my powers of soul as well as of my body. You see how the poor Bubble wants to soar! And Waddy is trying to fasten me down with string to the earth. String composed of Convention and Caution and Contentment, three C's that I snap and break in fury.

"Write me a long letter and cheer me up.

"YOUR POOR DISTRACTED BUBBLE."

But before Thorold could reply to this, Gentian's prayers were answered in a way that she little expected.

It was a cold grey afternoon in December. Gentian was returning in her car from the Mount where she had been reading to Miss Anne. As she neared the Vicarage she saw a car with lights standing outside the gate.

Jumping out of her own car, she met the doctor who lived near coming down the path.

"Dr. Wild, what is the matter?" she cried out.

He looked at her gravely as he pulled on his gloves.

"It's your friend—Miss Ward. I fortunately happened to be passing when your small maid called me in. I'll come back into the house with you. I think you'll have to have a nurse."

"Oh," cried Gentian, "tell me quickly. Is it an accident?"

"No—it's a seizure, and a bad one. Your maid found her unconscious, and she's unconscious still. Was she quite well when you saw her last?"

But Gentian had dashed upstairs. She could hardly believe it to be true, and flung herself on the bed by Miss Ward's unconscious figure.

"Waddy, dearest Waddy, speak to me, speak! Oh, what can have happened to you!"

She was so unused to illness, and the shock was so sudden, that she was almost beside herself.

Dr. Wild got her out of the room and talked to her quietly downstairs, and in a short time she had regained her self-control.

"She was quite well when I left her this afternoon. She had been complaining of her head these last few days, but I thought it was only one of her ordinary headaches. We can't afford a nurse. I'll nurse her myself. She's all the world to me!"

So Gentian talked, but the doctor meant to have his way about a nurse.

"Have her for a week, and we shall then see how things are going. Has she ever had an attack like this before?"

"Never, that I know of. It's awful! What shall we do?"

"You'll get through all right," he said reassuringly. "I must go now as I've other patients to see, but I'll look in again this evening and bring back a nurse with me."

It seemed like some black dream to poor Gentian. She had never realized how dependent she was on Miss Ward till now, nor how deep was her affection for her.

Dr. Wild was able to bring back a nice capable nurse, and Gentian was persuaded to go to bed leaving her in charge. But she did not sleep.

Life, which had seemed so easy before, now presented horrible possibilities. She felt her own inexperience and irresponsibility. What would she do without her faithful friend beside her? She had no experience of housekeeping or money matters. Miss Ward had kept the house going economically, but comfortably. She would appear the first thing every morning at Gentian's bedside with a cup of tea and some daintily cut bread and butter. She tidied her room and drawers, she cooked, or supervised their village maid, she dusted the rooms and kept flowers fresh and clean, and mended Gentian's clothes; even darned her stockings.

All this the girl had taken as a matter of course. It had been done during her mother's lifetime. Miss Ward had been nurse, and maid, and companion, and friend, and chaperon, in turn to her. Now she was lying unconscious, stricken down in one moment, and the doctor seemed to think seriously of the case.

"O God," Gentian prayed, "have pity on me. I can't live without her! Make her well again, I beseech Thee to do it. I am quite helpless without her. I have been a selfish pig. I promise Thee I'll try to do better, and think more of her and less of myself if Thou sparest her!"

She tossed to and fro on her bed, and rose the next morning unrefreshed by her night's rest. Kate, the little maid, brought her a cup of tea with scared eyes.

"She ain't no better, miss. I've seen nurse. She be just the same, breathing so loud and hard, it fair frightens me!"

"Send nurse to me—"

And so the nurse came, but could give her little comfort. Gentian dressed and came downstairs, then set to work to keep things going as usual in the small household. She sent a note to Miss Buchan telling her what had happened. And then she waited patiently for the doctor's visit, hoping vainly that he would give her better news.