CHAPTER XI.

His Own People.

Where thou goest I will go, Through the sunshine or the snow: Where thou dwellest I will dwell, In a court or in a cell: All thy people mine shall be, Since myself is one with thee.

It was the day of Isabel's arrival at Chayford, and Mrs. Seaton's face was pink with excitement and anxiety that everything should be as Paul wished for Paul's bride-elect. The tea-table was spread with every simple dainty that Martha could suggest and carry out; and was covered with Mrs. Seaton's best table-cloth--a specimen of the finest and most silky-looking damask, with an elegant border composed of arum lilies, and an effigy of John Wesley in the centre.

"I cannot help feeling a little nervous," said Mrs. Seaton, "I am so anxious that everything should be as Paul would like."

The minister smiled. "My dear, you are careful and troubled about many things. If Isabel Carnaby loves our Paul, as I believe she does, she will not notice what viands are spread out before her, nor what servants are ready to serve her. She will be so happy to feel herself in Paul's presence, that minor matters will be of no moment to her."

"But I do want everything to be nice," persisted Mrs. Seaton plaintively.

"Don't worry so, mother," chimed in the sensible Joanna; "we have done our best to prepare a warm welcome for Isabel; and if she isn't pleased, it is her fault and not ours."

"But it is Paul I am thinking of--not Isabel," said Mrs. Seaton, "I should be so sorry to disappoint him in any way."

"My love, you really are overburdened with the cares of this life," replied her husband, "believe me, it is really of no importance what we eat and how we are clothed, provided we have wholesome food and garments beseeming our estate; and it grieves me to see you wearing yourself out about things that do not signify."

"Well, I hope Paul will be satisfied," repeated Paul's mother.

"There they are!" exclaimed Joanna, as a cab drove up to the door, and Paul sprang out, followed by an extremely well-dressed young lady.

The minister and his family went into the hall to receive their visitor; and Mrs. Seaton trembled all over, for she felt it was an ordeal. So did Paul; and his mother knew that he did, as soon as she saw his face.

"Mother, this is Isabel," was all he could say; he was so dreadfully afraid that the two women he loved best in the world would not say the right things to one another.

But Isabel was equal to the occasion. She threw her arms round Mrs. Seaton's neck and kissed her.

"I want you to be a mother to me as well as to Paul," she whispered. "I haven't got a mother of my own, you know, and I do so want one."

And then and there the minister's wife took Isabel into her motherly heart, and never really let her out again, in spite of all that happened afterwards.

When Isabel had duly greeted Mr. Seaton and Joanna, she was introduced to Martha.

"This is our faithful friend, Martha," said Mrs. Seaton, "she nursed Paul when he was a little boy."

Isabel held out her hand with a radiant smile. "I must thank you for taking so much care of him for me," she said, "if you hadn't sown, I should not have reaped, so I owe much of my happiness to you."

"Don't mention it, miss," replied Martha, looking proud and joyful, "it was always a pleasure to do things for Master Paul, in spite of his temper, which I am bound to say was one of the hottest I ever came across, while he was as yet a child of nature and not of grace. I bore the marks of his dear little teeth in my arm for many a day, miss, for once contradicting him when he said that Abraham was the father of Joseph, bless his heart!"

Isabel laughed, and so did Paul.

"But don't let me discourage you, miss, if you've made up your mind to get married," added Martha, fearing that she had said too much, "if you must have a husband, perhaps Master Paul is the best sort you'll get; though bad's the best, to my thinking, with regard to husbands."

Tea that evening was a very cheerful meal at Chayford Cottage. Isabel was so charmed by the refinement and culture of Paul's home, that she was at her best. She found herself in an atmosphere of intellectual activity such as she was accustomed to, but combined with a simplicity of life and a familiarity with higher things such as she had never yet known; and the combination was very attractive to her.

"I shall have much to ask about your life in India, my dear," said Mr. Seaton to Isabel, as they all sat round the tea-table, "I have always longed to go there, and see for myself the remains of one of the world's oldest and most picturesque civilizations, but I shall never accomplish it now; so I must beg you to give me information second-hand."

"Martha is immensely impressed by your having lived in India," exclaimed Joanna; "but she has deliciously vague ideas about the place. I think she pictures it to herself as a 'coral strand' covered with undressed niggers, like the picture on the cover of the _Missionary Notices_."

"I am not sure that my ideas of India are not a good deal like that," Paul said; "only I add a few elephants and pagodas."

"She asked me the other day," continued Joanna, still addressing Isabel, "if I thought you had ever worshipped idols while you were in India."

Isabel sighed. "I am afraid I sometimes did; but they were not the native ones."

"Never mind, my dear," said Mrs. Seaton kindly; "we have all of us worshipped idols at some time or another--except, of course, the minister."

Her husband shook his head. "I am afraid, my love, that I have worshipped idols too; only I bound them in vellum and called them by theological names."

"I expect we have all got a little museum of cast-off idols somewhere in our hearts," remarked Isabel.

"Which we now and then dust and put in order," added Joanna.

"Although they are no longer used as idols, they are still interesting as curiosities," said Paul. "I've got three fine ones in mine, called rowing and success and power; and I dare not allow myself to take them out and dust them too often, for fear I should fall a-worshipping of them once more."

"Dear old Paul!" said his mother tenderly.

"I used to have two lovely ones called the world and fashion," said Isabel; "but Paul came by and knocked them over in passing, and I have never been able to set them up again."

"I have got a very bothering one named duty," said Joanna, "and it gives me a lot of trouble, because I am not quite sure whether it is an idol or not. Sometimes I think it is, and then I put it by in the museum; but at other times it seems to be a legitimate object of adoration, and then I have to restore it to its shrine. I never can decide where to keep the thing for two days together."

"That would worry me," remarked Isabel; "there is nothing so wearing as indecision."

"But you are very undecided, Isabel," argued Paul.

"I know I am, and that is why I reprove this characteristic in other people. I feel sure I shall become an old woman before my time, through suffering agonies of indecision as to whether I shall take my waterproof to church or not, and how often I shall write to you in a week."

"What idols are in your museum, mother?" inquired Joanna.

"Oh! my dear, when a woman is married there is no room in her heart for anything but God and her husband and her children; and then she has to be very careful lest her husband and her children should take up more than their share of room."

Mr. Seaton smiled. "I do not think you need be afraid, Ruth; for I believe that the more room we give in our hearts to our fellow-creatures, the more room there is left for God."

"Paul will have to show you all about Chayford to-morrow," said Mrs. Seaton, turning to Isabel, "it is a pretty old town, and the surrounding country is lovely. Are you a good walker, my dear?"

"I am as fond of walking as I am of talking, Mrs. Seaton, which is saying a great deal; in fact, I may confess I am as walkative as I am talkative; walkative is rather a good word, I think. I've just invented it."

"It is capital," agreed Paul.

"Paul has told me about the people here," added Isabel, "I already know them all by their names. I am sure I could pass an examination in Chayford, and take honours."

"It will be fun to show you all the neighbours," exclaimed Joanna, "and to see if they are like what you expect!"

"How is Mrs. Martin?" asked Isabel.

"Better than ever!" was Joanna's reply; "she is torn asunder between her social respect for, and her spiritual disapproval of, you. But she reconciles you to herself by measuring your position in this world and your prospects in the next by different measures--like troy weight and avoirdupois--so that the two do not clash."

"How very nice of her!" exclaimed Isabel with delight.

"She offended Martha dreadfully the last time she called here," continued Joanna, "by saying that our cat's tail is too short for a real Persian. Martha related it to me afterwards with great indignation, and added: 'As if the Lord didn't know how to make a cat without Mrs. Martin's interference!'"

Everybody laughed; then Isabel said: "Martha is a dear! Even in this present world, 'I shall desire more love and knowledge of her'."

"She repays research," remarked Paul, "though I confess I think she would be more agreeable if her conscience were not so bent on setting forth unflattering truths. I do not ask for lies; but even truth requires clothing."

"Besides it is not always necessary to say the whole truth about everything," said Mrs. Seaton, "it is wrong to utter falsehood, but it is not wrong to keep silence."

"You mean that if a person had good eyes and an ugly mouth, you would tell her how pretty her eyes were, and leave her mouth to speak for itself?" suggested Isabel.

Mrs. Seaton looked amused.

"That would be mother's plan," said Joanna; "she never says anything that could hurt anybody's feelings. And I believe that, as a matter of fact, she would only look at the eyes, and never notice that the mouth was ugly. She has a splendid habit of only seeing the good in people and things."

"That is quite true," agreed the minister.

Joanna continued: "I am sorry to say that unpleasant truths are a terrible temptation to me. I really don't mean to be disagreeable, but sometimes they fly out of my mouth before I have time to stop them. Miss Dallicot asked me yesterday if I liked her new bonnet, and I'd said 'No' before I had time to weigh my words. I was extremely sorry afterwards, she looked so hurt."

"My child," said Mr. Seaton, "you should consider other people's feelings, and strive never to give pain where it can be avoided."

"So I do, father; but now and then the truth is too strong for me. And I am sure that a glimpse of the bonnet itself will prove to you that I was not without provocation."

"What was it like?" asked Isabel.

"It was a ghastly combination of black and white feathers and red flowers," replied Joanna; "and resembled a young person's funeral passing through a field of poppies; it really was a weird sight!"

"Thine own friend and thy father's friend forsake not," said Mr. Seaton reprovingly, "and Miss Dallicot is a dear and valued friend of mine."

"I am not forsaking her, father; I am only describing her head-gear."

Mr. Seaton smiled as he shook his head. "A man that hath friends must show himself friendly; and ridicule and friendliness hardly seem to me compatible, my child."

"Wait till you see the bonnet," persisted Joanna.

"I, for one, am looking forward to the vision," exclaimed Paul. "When she comes into chapel on Sunday, I shall begin to sing 'The morning flowers display their sweets'."

"Did I tell you that she tumbled down coming into chapel last Sunday?" said Joanna.

"No--did she? I wish I'd been there to see," cried the unregenerate Paul.

"Yes; she caught her foot on the mat of the door, staggered up the aisle with increasing speed at every step, and finally fell--an inert mass--at the pulpit steps, while her parasol and pocket-handkerchief and hymn-book flew all over the chapel like leaves in autumn."

Paul and Isabel laughed heartily; then the latter said: "My aunt had a similar misadventure the other day. She sneaked into a shop in Regent Street to inquire the price of a carpet she had no intention of buying--a mean trick, as I told her, and her sin found her out."

"Why, what happened?" asked Paul.

"She, likewise, tripped on entering, and ran a wild and reckless race the whole length of the shop. Brave young men sprang over the counter to stop her mad career, and even the cashier rushed out of his little square pew to check her rapid flight; but all in vain. She outstripped them all, and lay at last--convulsed with laughter--at the foot of a mirror at the very far end of the shop."

Mrs. Seaton laughed till the tears ran down her face. "It really seems too bad to laugh at such things, but I never can help it; I hope Lady Farley was not hurt."

"Not in the least. But you can picture her shame and humiliation when she had to confess to the crowd of young men collected to pick up her remains, that she had only looked in to inquire the price of a carpet!"

"It was rather dreadful for her!" agreed Mrs. Seaton, still simmering with amusement.

"I wish Mrs. Martin did not sit just before me in chapel!" sighed Joanna.

"Why not?" asked Paul.

"Because there is one white tacking-thread left to sully the glory of her otherwise immaculate Sunday mantle; and that tacking-thread comes between me and my devotions. I am torn between the desire to stretch forth my hand and pluck it out, and my knowledge that Mrs. Martin's tacking-threads are no concern of mine."

"You should try not to look at it, my dear," said Mrs. Seaton.

"So I do, mother; but the thing rises up and hits me in the face, so to speak; it is like Gehazi in its unnatural whiteness."

"I should let it stand," said Paul, "as an everlasting testimony to the truth that even Mrs. Martin is human, and not beyond the help of tacking-threads. To my mind there is something infinitely pathetic and poetical in the idea. I feel I could write a poem on it, if not a tract."

"I know I shall tell her about it some day," remarked Joanna.

"I'm awfully interested in your passion for speaking the truth," said Isabel; "it is just the other way with me; I always want to say what I feel people want me to say, rather than what I really think."

"How funny! But that is because it is your nature to make yourself pleasant. It is fearfully difficult for me not to make myself disagreeable--while to make myself agreeable is impossible," replied Joanna.

"Poor Joanna," said her mother.

Joanna went on: "I know that people often blame me for saying disagreeable things; but if they only knew how many disagreeable things I keep myself from saying, and how deeply I regret those I do say, they would commend rather than condemn me."

Then Mr. Seaton questioned Isabel about her life abroad, and the conversation never flagged till it was time for Joanna to go to class, and for Paul and Isabel to start for a walk in the lanes round Chayford Cottage.

Isabel's week at Chayford was a great success. The Seatons were charmed with her, and she with them; and as she and Paul had nothing in the world to do but to make love to each other, there was no occasion for jealousies or misunderstandings between them such as came later in the conflicting interests of "a London June".

Isabel revered Paul's father, because he was so courteous and so saintly, and had read more than any man she had ever met; she liked Joanna, because Joanna was good and clever, and possessed a most admirable sense of humour; and she loved Mrs. Seaton, because the minister's wife was the first woman she had ever met who in some degree satisfied the mother-hunger in her heart. And Mrs. Seaton understood Isabel better than any of them did--not excluding even Paul. She knew that there were depths in the girl's soul, whereof Joanna did not dream, and which Paul had not yet sounded; and that--in spite of her sunny light-heartedness--Isabel's nature was very highly strung. Mrs. Seaton trembled for them both when she realized that Paul's masterly touch might prove a little too heavy for so delicate an instrument, and that some of the strings might break under the pressure. But she knew herself powerless to interfere; for she had learnt that what we call influence, other people often call impertinence, and that it is a power which is more prone to do harm than good. When people are seized with the desire to set about improving their neighbours, it is a phase of thought which might be described as the "negative" of the missionary spirit; that it to say, it is a form of spiritual instruction which has the effect of turning Christians into savages--for the time being, at any rate.

The only person at Chayford that Isabel did not get on with was Mrs. Martin. These two fell foul of each other from the first. Mrs. Martin began by being obsequious, and Isabel snubbed her; and the man or woman who can forgive a social slight is as yet an undiscovered product of civilization. Human nature can only stand a certain strain; and social rudeness stretches this elasticity to its uttermost limit, if not beyond it.

Mrs. Martin opened the ball by calling upon Isabel, decked out in her Sunday best.

"I am so glad to meet you, my dear Miss Carnaby," she began, addressing herself pointedly to Isabel, and coolly excluding Mrs. Seaton and Joanna from the conversation, "I feel sure we shall be friends, for your dear aunt's sake. I believe she is one of the Farleys of Ferngrove, and they were friends of my mother's years ago."

"I am afraid I must confess I never heard of the Farleys of Ferngrove," said Isabel rather stiffly.

"Did you not? dear me, how strange! They were an old county family in Lancashire when my dear mother was a girl--really quite a good old family, I can assure you--and she had the pleasure of meeting them once or twice in those happy old days. I really think your distinguished uncle must belong to the same family. They were most accomplished and extremely rich."

"I don't think so," said Isabel. "Uncle Benjamin's money came to him from his mother's brother, who was in the iron trade; his father was a clergyman, and was extremely poor."

Mrs. Martin looked shocked; to her mind there was something indelicate in the mere mention of poverty. Her father had been extremely poor at the commencement of his commercial career, but she would have died rather than mention so disgraceful a fact. She wondered that Miss Carnaby had not more refinement of feeling. Nevertheless she made another attempt to establish a friendly footing between herself and this coarse-minded young woman.

"I wonder if you ever met my dear friends, the Sedleys?" she said.

Isabel did not think so.

"They are charming people, dear Miss Carnaby, and have such aristocratic connections; only last year they were staying in the same hotel as the Hereditary Grand Duchess of Edelweiss, somewhere in Switzerland; I forget the name of the place, but I know it was most fashionable. The Sedleys never go to any but really fashionable resorts."

"How very interesting," murmured Isabel politely.

"You would delight in Mrs. Sedley, she is so extremely refined. She once told me that unless she always wore silk next her skin, she would die of irritation. Is it not strange how good-breeding shows itself in these small trifles?"

"Very strange," said Isabel.

"You would hardly believe it, Miss Carnaby, but do you know I am physically unable to wear cheap boots or gloves myself? If I attempted to do so, I should become lame and helpless at once. I said to my dear husband only yesterday, it is not that I wish to be extravagant, for I hold extravagance a sin; but my skin is so delicate that the wear of cheap things is simply torture to me."

"I am sorry for you," replied Isabel, "for the pleasure of the summer sales must be lost upon you. You cannot imagine how delightful they are! Lady Farley and I always attend them; and last season we took Lady Eleanor Gregory with us, and she revelled in the bargains even more than we did."

"Dear me!" was all that Mrs. Martin could ejaculate.

"I remember," continued Isabel, "that she bought a sealskin cape, because they were so reduced; and she nearly died of heat in trying it on, for it was the hottest day of a very hot July. We were too warm in muslin blouses, and we sat laughing at poor Lady Eleanor as she tried on cape after cape, each one heavier than the last."

"Poor young lady!" remarked Mrs. Martin sympathetically, "I trust that thus overheating herself did not result in a chill. I remember a friend of mine, Mrs. Albert Simpkinson, died from the effects of a chill, brought on by overclothing herself on a warm day; and her premature decease was peculiarly unfortunate, for she died just as she was beginning to get into good society."

Isabel's eyes twinkled wickedly, but she kept her lips in order, and did not allow them to relax into a smile. "How sad!" she murmured.

"It was indeed!" sighed Mrs. Martin, "only a fortnight before Mrs. Simpkinson's death, the Honourable Mrs. Avalon, daughter-in-law to the Earl of Glastonbury, called upon her; and she barely had time to return the call--much less to follow up the intimacy--before she died."

But though Isabel did not get on with Mrs. Martin she looked at everybody else in Chayford through rose-coloured glasses. To Martha she was specially gracious, and was described by that excellent woman as "a sweet young creature".

"Master Paul is a lucky man, and no mistake!" said Martha one day, "luck being only another name for a good strong will of your own, coupled with the help of Providence, as my brother James said when he induced Mr. Hickory to leave the Grampton circuit."

"Who was Mr. Hickory?" inquired Isabel, who always appreciated Martha when the latter became retrospective.

"Mr. Hickory was a young minister with new-fangled notions, who travelled in Grampton for one year, and then my brother James induced him to leave."

"Didn't your brother like his preaching?" asked Joanna.

"Not at all, miss, not at all; but it wasn't only his preaching that James objected to, though that was far from satisfactory, being more full of modern science (falsely so called) than of saving truth. James never liked Mr. Hickory's views on the devil--he thought them broad and dangerous--but it was not the devil that they quarrelled over after all; it was the heating apparatus in Grampton Chapel. James said he'd have overlooked the devil if Mr. Hickory had given way about the heating apparatus, as we must all give and take in this world; but Mr. Hickory's attitude in that matter was more than he could or would stand."

Isabel looked deeply interested, and so did Joanna. "What was the end of it?" asked the former.

"Well, miss, you see, James said that the old heating apparatus had been good enough for the congregation for twenty years and more, and if it was good enough for them it was good enough for Mr. Hickory, and it shouldn't be altered as long as he was chapel-steward. But the minister was set on having some new-fangled arrangement of his own. And the minister got his own way, James was overruled, and the new apparatus was set up in Grampton Chapel."

"Was it a success?"

"A success, Miss Carnaby! Who ever heard of an improvement of any kind being a success? I never did. Give me the old-fashioned things, say I, and don't meddle with them; for I never yet met with an improvement that wasn't for the worse."

"You are a consistent Conservative, Martha, and I admire you," laughed Isabel.

"Thank you, miss; I don't go in for politics and all that rubbish, but I keep my eyes open and see things for myself, and judge accordingly."

"And a very wise plan!" agreed Isabel.

"That is as may be, miss."

"But how about the new heating apparatus and your brother James?" suggested Joanna.

"Well, miss, James never could say if it was a judgment from heaven or whether it was because the chapel-keeper put too much coal on; but anyhow the whole thing caught fire, and burnt part of the wall before it could be put out."

"Was much of the wall burnt?" asked Isabel.

"A nice piece, miss."

Joanna smiled. "Was that why the minister left?"

"Well, miss, after that, Mr. Hickory saw that he had made a mistake; and my brother James advised him to leave Grampton and begin again elsewhere. Before he went, James told him he would do well if he set about helping folks to get new hearts, and left their old heating apparatuses alone. Which was good advice, to my thinking, though it was my own brother as gave it."

The happy days at Chayford passed all too quickly. When Sunday came, Isabel went with Paul to hear his father preach; and she never forgot her first service in Chayford Chapel. She possessed the artistic temperament to an unusual extent, and therefore beauty in worship strongly appealed to her, whether it were shown in ornate ritual or in extreme simplicity. To such natures as hers a stately cathedral filled with the voice of a great multitude, and a bleak hillside where a handful of persecuted Covenanters are assembled, seem alike the house of God and the gate of heaven; for the artist-soul is slow to discern the theological differences of the two or three gathered together, but is quick to perceive and to prostrate itself before the perfect beauty of the One in the midst of them.

Isabel Carnaby was an extremely emotional woman, and consequently experienced the quick vision of the truth, and the rapid clouding over of the same, which are the portion of all emotional temperaments.

As she sat beside Paul in Chayford Chapel that Sunday morning she was at her best. Her love for him stimulated the religious, and stifled the worldly, side of her character. Herein lay the fundamental difference between herself and Joanna: Joanna was a good woman because she loved God; Isabel was a good woman because she loved a good man--a lower type, perhaps, from a spiritual point of view, but one none the less to be considered, since the vessels in a great house are not all of equal honour, and the stars in the firmament are not all of the same glory.

The minister preached a beautiful sermon on Love as the fulfilling of the Law; and as Isabel listened, her soul was uplifted and her understanding quickened. She made up her mind that, however she might fail in other things, the forgiveness accorded to them that love much should always be her right; and that she would never allow clouds of doubt and misunderstanding to arise between her and those whom it was her duty to love and to cherish. Them, she vowed, she would love to the end--and all others for their sakes. It seemed to Isabel an easy thing, sitting in the quaint little chapel and listening to the minister's silvery voice, to love both the brother whom she had seen and the God Whom she had not seen; but many things look easy from the Mount of Transfiguration, which grow difficult--if not impossible--amid the rabble of Jerusalem.

The hymn after the sermon was, "There is a land of pure delight," and it thrilled Isabel through and through. As she and Paul sang it together, she felt that for them the "everlasting spring" had already begun and the "never-withering flowers" were theirs, because they loved each other.

So Paul and Isabel rested for a while upon the Delectable Mountains, and imagined that they were even now in Paradise. But they forgot how it is written that "a little below these mountains on the left hand, lieth the country of Conceit, from which country there comes into the way in which the pilgrims walked a little crooked lane".

John Bunyan knew what he was talking about when he described the country of Conceit as lying close under the shadow of the Delectable Mountains.