CHAPTER XVIII

AUSTIN SPEAKS

"WELL, Monica, dear, how are you?"

Sidney was bending over her friend, but the face that was raised to hers hardly seemed like Monica's. It was sharpened and lined with pain, and the misery and bitterness that flashed from her eyes struck Sidney with a fresh realisation of what she was enduring.

"I know the worst at last," Monica said in cold, biting tones. "That fool of a doctor could buoy me up with false hopes no longer. I made him tell me the truth."

"He wants you to try electrical treatment," faltered Sidney.

"Oh, don't tell me what he wants me to try! He knows, and you know, that if ever I walk again, it will be with crutches. He told me, in any case, my farming days were over."

Sidney could not speak.

"I wondered he dared say such a thing to me. I felt in such impotent fury. To tell me—I, who have never had a day's illness, who have been out of doors in all weathers, who cannot breathe with comfort indoors, who, a couple of months ago, was the strongest straightest hardiest woman in the county—that I am to spend the rest of my life on a couch by the fire, or, at the best, hobble out for an hour or two in the sun upon crutches! Why, Sidney, it is enough to turn my brain!"

Sidney's eyes filled with tears.

"I wish I could bear it for you."

"I made up my mind directly his back was turned to go straight up to London to get special advice, but the post came in and brought me this letter. You will laugh at me when I tell you that it is the last bitter drop to my cup of misery, and the climax of it all. I shall struggle no longer: The farm is going rapidly to pieces. My house, Sidney, has been destroyed. The storms have come and beat upon it, and great is the fall!"

Sidney took the letter offered to her. It was in Chuckles' best copper-plate handwriting.

"MY DEARE ANT,

"We allways rites home on Sondays. I like my skool first rat. There is forteen boys, witch is all older than me. I have now quite sertenly made up my mind I will never—no, never—be a farmer. Willie Green seys no gentleman is a farmer, and we wud kick a farmer's sun out of our skule. I am going to be a saylor on the sea. Willie is a nice boy; he says you can allways run away and be a saylor; he thinks Nelson did; so please rite and tell me I can be like him. I hope you are kite well. With my best love—

"Your loving

"CHUCKLES."

Sidney had no heart to smile, for Monica's restless unhappy eyes never left her face.

"My dear Monica, such a baby's letter cannot really affect you. Next week you may hear he means to be a soldier. You don't really mean to tell me that this ridiculous letter has any weight with you?"

"Yes, it has. The child is growing rebellious already over my future for him. I know what boys are. I know what my brother was, and Chuckles is just like him. He has never hidden his dislike to farming. I don't know why. And now, as I lie here, I see things differently. It is not a promising profession in England. The least slacking off, the absence of superintendence, and a few mistakes, and the whole thing begins to slip downhill. My farming days are over. I keep repeating it to myself. All my efforts, my successes, have been fruitless. My time, my life, has been wasted, and I am doomed to a sofa and crutches for the rest of my days. Don't express any sympathy or talk religion to me. If you think that disaster and trouble will make me turn to religion, you are mistaken. It never suited me, and it never will. Your nature and mine are utterly different.

"You are fatherless and homeless; I acknowledge the storm has beaten and buffeted you, and you still go about serenely, with a smile in your eyes and on your lips. We illustrate the two builders about whom Chuckles is so fond of talking. You have built on the rock, you say, and your life is still steady, your spirit unbroken, your trust unshaken. I am lying amongst the ruins of mine. I ought to rise up and start building again, this time on the rock, but I won't do it. If I pray at all, it will be to death to come and finish off a useless, broken life. I am vanquished now, with a vengeance. Oh, how horribly cruel life is!"

Sidney listened in pained silence.

Then she put her hand gently on Monica's arm, and said with intense feeling:

"You can prevent my talking to you about the only One Who can comfort you, but you cannot prevent my praying for you. Your illness only makes me love you all the more and long to help you; and if I feel thus, what must God do, to Whom you naturally belong?"

"No more, please," said Monica, with furrowed brow. "Now let us put me and my misery aside for a time, and talk about the advisability of letting this farm while it is still worth its purchase."

Sidney humoured her, but before she left her, she persuaded her to try some baths that the doctor had recommended, and offered to go with her.

In the end Monica accepted the offer. Aunt Dannie was left behind to take care of the house, and for two months Thanning Dale was without Sidney's bright personality.

And whilst she was away, Jockie was more than ever up at Thanning Towers. Mrs. de Cressiers had tried to snub her, but it was of no use. Jockie was impervious to snubs.

"Don't you really want me to-day, Mrs. de Cressiers? Then I'll come to-morrow, instead. I want to tell Mr. de Cressiers a very good story I heard in the village to-day. It will make him laugh, and that always does him good, does it not? But if you're very busy, you had better let me stay a few hours, because I shall be able to take Mr. de Cressiers off your hands."

Then Austin would appear and carry her off in triumph to his father's study, whence Mrs. de Cressiers would hear gay laughter and chatter. If she went in, she would generally find Austin there, sometimes astride on the low window-sill that opened upon the terrace, sometimes pretending to sort over papers at his father's desk, but in reality listening to the gay young voice and having wordy skirmishes with audacious Jockie, when he could get a chance. Mr. de Cressiers would lie back amongst his cushions, well pleased, and would always say to his wife:

"We must keep Miss Jockie to lunch. I want her to read to me afterwards."

And Mrs. de Cressiers soon gave up trying to keep Jockie and Austin apart. The girl's bright natural ways and frank affection began to have effect upon her. She comforted herself with the thought that Austin was too perfectly at ease in Jockie's presence to have any warmer feeling for her than that of a comrade and friend. He teased her unmercifully, and sometimes she would lose her temper and take her departure with stiff dignity; but the next time they met, the past would be forgotten, and they would be greater friends than ever.

One lovely evening in September, Austin and Jockie were boating on the river together. Austin had been rather grave and silent, and Jockie was fond of relapsing into dreams when she was upon the water. She looked up at him presently, and her eyes began to twinkle.

"A penny for your thoughts, old sobersides."

"We'll exchange them; give me yours."

"I was thinking of dear Sidney. I do wish someone would come along and marry her, so as to prevent her shutting herself up in some poky house. But there isn't anyone near here good enough for her. Of course, women don't marry nowadays as they used to do; but Sidney is so enchanting that she ought not to be wasted."

"It's rather rum that both our minds should be running on matrimony. I was trying to make up my mind to 'come along,' as you term it, and 'marry somebody.' I think it is time I settled down."

Jockie looked at him with round eyes.

"You're too young," she said, with her head in the air; "boys like you couldn't be trusted with wives. You would not know how to take care of them."

"Girls don't want to be taken care of nowadays," he retorted; "more's the pity. They're too independent to suit me. And you talk as if I'm intending to have a batch of wives. One would be quite enough for me."

Jockie's laugh rippled out. She leant over the side of the boat and let her hand trail in the water. She looked at him through half-shut eyes.

"Go on," she said. "Tell me about your future wife. What is she going to be like?"

But Austin was silent. He compressed his lips. Then he blurted out suddenly:

"If you don't think I would make a good husband, we'll change the subject."

"Oh, don't be sniffy. I think you have, as dear Cousin John would say, some valuable qualities. You are a gentleman, and have a gentleman's ideas of truth and honour. You wouldn't do a dirty trick to save your life; and you're quite intelligent. Your father says you are no fool; and you buck up when obstacles crop up and bar your path. You learn how to jump awkward banks in the hunting field, don't you? And you're not one of those who are always looking for the gates. I admire the way you have dismissed the agent and are doing his work yourself till you can find someone else."

Austin grinned at her.

"'This is very pleasant,' as my mother says. I don't often hear my praises sung. Please proceed."

"I always spread the butter fairly thick," said Jockie gravely, "but your faults must be told."

"No, thanks, not to-day. I'm going to have my say now. This honourable, high-minded gentleman with intelligence and grit now proceeds to offer his hand and heart to the one who appreciates his noble qualities. Miss Jockie Borlace, will you do me the honour of accepting them?"

Jockie gave such a start that she nearly upset the boat. Then she said, a little reproachfully:

"What a humbug you are!"

Austin slipped in his oars, and, folding his arms, gazed at her with steady eyes.

"I'm in dead earnest."

Jockie went red and white with emotion which she could not conceal.

"But—but," she said, "we may like each other very much, but that's not enough to marry upon."

"It depends on the measure of the liking," said Austin.

Then he stretched out his hands and took hold of both hers.

"Sit still and listen to me. I've had this in my mind for a long while. I'd rather live with you, Jockie, than with anyone else on the face of the earth. We won't discuss each other's virtues and vices. You're no more perfect than I am; but I loathe perfection. I like you just as you are. Now, do you feel like that about me?"

Jockie's slim sunburnt hands trembled in his grasp. He was glad to see that she was perturbed; he dreaded lest she might show flippancy.

"Do you care for me a little bit? Now, on your honour! For this is no game; it means either that we're going to be all in all to each other, or nothing at all."

"I think you'll have to give me time," she said irresolutely. "There's a lot to be considered, and I'm sure Mrs. de Cressiers won't approve."

"No; I won't give you time. Hang consideration! You know your own mind as well as I do. Leave everyone else out of the question. Here are we alone—just we two. If there was no one else in the world but you and me, what would you feel like?"

Then Jockie looked up. Her mischievous eyes showed a deep clear light in them as she met his ardent penetrating gaze. She drew in a long breath.

"Gloriously happy," was her answer.

And he was more than satisfied.

An hour later they were walking up to the Rectory together, when two people stopped to speak to them. These were Major and Mrs. Urquhart.

"Is that Jockie?" said Mrs. Urquhart sweetly. "My dear girl, we have just been talking with the Rector. He was quite anxious about you. It is getting dark. Have you been on the river?"

"She has been with me," said Austin, with pride in his tone.

"So I gather. Well, we must not keep you. I suppose you have heard that Sidney returns to-morrow with poor Miss Pembroke? It is such a sad blow—that the baths have done her no good. I expect Sidney will make her home with her now. It will be very nice for her if she does so, as she will be able to help her a good deal."

"Sidney helps everyone," said Jockie with sudden heat. "The house is happy that has her, and those are fools who oust her from their lives."

"Hear, hear!" muttered the Major.

His wife responded with dangerous sweetness: "You are a warm-hearted champion, Jockie. I wish, for your own sake, that Sidney could be more with you. You certainly want someone to look after you. Good-night. The sooner you get home the better. Your poor cousin is much harassed by these late expeditions."

Austin was about to speak, but Jockie slipped her arm into his and dragged him on.

"Don't explain or protest. It will only be wasted on her. We won't spoil our evening by a wordy combat. Oh, Austin, do you think we shall look back to this lovely evening for the rest of our lives as a red letter day? I shall never forget it, will you?"

Austin insisted upon going into Mr. Borlace's study and informing the Rector of what had taken place. His distress and agitation was quite alarming, but Jockie laughed and soothed him into a peaceful state of mind.

"Don't you be afraid of Mrs. de Cressiers. Austin and I will manage her all right; and I'm not a child, Cousin John. And you can pretend you know nothing about it, if you would rather not. It has nothing to do with you, has it? And we have settled it up on the river, not even in this house, so you can't be in any way responsible."

She talked to him in the way that a modern girl would; as if she, and she alone, were the only one responsible for her future. And Mr. Borlace, who did not understand girls, and had come to look upon Jockie as a very original specimen of her race, at last sat back in his chair with a resigned sigh.

"Well, you must 'gang your own gait'; only don't ask me to express my opinion upon such an altogether unexpected and unsuitable union."

And then Austin laughed, shook him warmly by the hand, and departed, wondering how he would get through the coming interview with his mother.

Manlike, he hated scenes, and he knew that his mother's hopes did not rest upon Jockie as a daughter-in-law. He went straight to her boudoir, and found her writing letters at her davenport.

"Now, mother," he said gaily, "when do you intend to get old, and sit in an arm-chair before the fire knitting for the poor? Isn't that the role of all good old ladies?"

"Not when the thermometer stands at seventy-eight," said his mother dryly.

But she left her writing and sat down in her easy chair. Austin stood on the hearthrug warming his back at an imaginary fire.

"Are you only just back?" she asked him. "I hope you have not been out with Jockie at this late hour?"

Austin did not answer; then he launched his bolt.

"I have asked her to marry me, mother. You do like her, don't you? The governor does. He was only saying to-day how good she was to him. I could not bring you a daughter-in-law whom you did not know. Jockie is like a daughter of the house already."

Mrs. de Cressiers visibly stiffened in her chair. "You might at least have given me some idea of your intentions, Austin. It will be a bitter disappointment to your father. He never anticipated this. Jockie is a good-tempered amusing schoolgirl, no more fitted to be a member of our family than any well-behaved village girl. I can hardly believe that you are in earnest. It was only a year ago that you were infatuated with Mrs. Urquhart."

Austin nodded in a shamefaced manner.

"Yes. Would you have preferred her as a daughter-in-law? I don't think you would. I own I was a fool. But fools can learn wisdom by experience, and Jockie and Mrs. Urquhart are as different as chalk and cheese. You'll find that Jockie will, under your tuition, grow into a de Cressiers under your very eyes. It only wants a great self-assurance, and a firm belief in one's own superiority to the rest of the human race, to stamp the de Cressiers look and tone upon one's face and tongue. I bet you that Jockie will do it easy."

"You have always been different from any of your race," said his mother bitterly. "It is only what I might have expected. She is your sort. I ought not to have hoped for anything different."

Austin, generally so easy going, said a bad word now, and flung himself out of the room. He could not go to his father, for he had retired to his room for the night, so he stamped off to the smoking-room, where he brooded over the unreasonableness and silly pride of some women, and the sweet audacity and warmheartedness and lovableness of one in particular.

"Ah," he said to himself, "Sid will be home to-morrow; she will pour oil on the troubled waters."

But it was not Sidney who brought the first signs of relenting to Mrs. de Cressiers' proud heart. Jockie met Austin the next morning riding off to one of the distant farms on a matter of business. They had a short confabulation together, and arranged to walk up the Beacon in the afternoon.

"How is your mother?" asked Jockie.

Austin tightened his lips.

"I'm dead certain I'm a changeling," he said; "was changed in my cradle by the nurse. Isn't that how it is done generally? Otherwise, shouldn't I have a little comprehension of my own mother's spirit? She's an enigma to me, and I ditto to her."

"I suppose you've had an awful row about me?" said Jockie, looking a little disconsolate.

"I didn't think my mother would take it lying down. But she'll be all right in a day or two. Don't you fret!"

"I never fret!" said Jockie scornfully. Then the light sparkled in her eyes. "You're rather an old blunderbuss with your mother. Go on like a good boy, and do your business, and don't come home before you can help it. You'll find a slight change in her, I venture to prophesy, before the day is over."

He shook his head, and after a few more words went his way. Jockie stood and watched him out of sight, then pelted away as fast as she could towards Thanning Towers. She was rather breathless when she arrived at the front door, but was shown at once into the morning-room where Mrs. de Cressiers was sitting.

Her face when she saw the girl was a study. But Jockie came forward with both hands outstretched, and such a radiant sunshiny face, that Mrs. de Cressiers could not maintain her icy remoteness. She never knew how she did it, or why she did it, but she had kissed the girl before she realised what she was doing.

"I know it's all wrong my coming to you like this," said Jockie humbly; "but I couldn't keep away, for you have been so awfully kind and good to me that I wanted to know how you were feeling; and, dear Mrs. de Cressiers, I'm so honestly fond of you and Mr. de Cressiers, that I promise you I won't bring discord in your family. I know I'm not what you would like as a daughter-in-law, and if you're dead against me, and are quite convinced that Austin will be happier with some other kind of girl, I shall just go away somewhere and hide myself till Austin forgets me. He is so self-willed and obstinate that it would be no good my remaining in the neighbourhood, for he would insist upon meeting me and worrying my life out. I can't help being fond of him, you know; he is such a dear. But I'm fond of you, too, and I do honestly believe I could make Austin a little bit more of a de Cressiers than he is. He doesn't think half enough of himself, does he?

"But since your last agent has gone, he has done a lot more in the way of business, hasn't he? I'm always talking to him about it. It's a funny thing to say, but if you could bring your mind to it, how do you think it would be to give me a month's trial as your daughter-in-law! Then, if we're miserable all round and you feel ashamed of me, I could break off the engagement. Now I promise on my honour to do it, but give me a month's trial first. You see, I've had no mother to look after me and tell me things. Comparing myself with Sidney, I see how rough and clumsy and slangy I am. But if you'll have patience and just mother me yourself for a bit, you don't know the good it will do me. And I'll try to my utmost limit to live up to your ideal of a daughter-in-law."

Jockie paused for breath. She was so much in earnest, and so full of her subject, that she did not notice a slight relaxation in Mrs. de Cressiers' stern set face.

"I don't think we shall gain anything by discussing the situation together," Mrs. de Cressiers said loftily.

"Oh, I think we shall, if we go on long enough," said Jockie cheerfully. "If you will tell me a few of your objections, I will try to meet them; and I'll do anything to please you. Of course, I don't mean in the cringing way. I could never cringe to anyone; but I'll try to cure my most glaring faults and curb my tongue."

Mr. de Cressiers' bell rang at this juncture.

"Oh, let me go to him!" Jockie exclaimed as Mrs. de Cressiers made a move. "Do think over what I have been saying. It would be so heavenly if Austin came home and found that you and I were the greatest friends."

She slipped away, and was soon making Mr. de Cressiers laugh at her confidences. Mrs. de Cressiers left them alone, but later on joined them. As she more than half expected, her husband turned to her at once:

"My dear, I think we must accept this little girl as a daughter. She is young, but time will mend that, and if she makes Austin a good wife, and reminds him of his duties towards us and the estate, she will be a help and not a hindrance in our home."

Jockie looked appealingly into Mrs. de Cressiers' face.

"I wish you liked me as much as I like you," she said.

The frank sincerity of her tone, and a little wistfulness in her eyes won the day.

Mrs. de Cressiers put her hand gently on her shoulder.

"We old people must learn to stand aside when young people come together," she said. "I cannot prevent your becoming my son's wife, but I will try to become accustomed to the prospect. It remains with you as to whether you will bring peace or discord amongst us."

Jockie seized her hand, and pressed it fervently.

"You must turn me out if I bring discord," she said. "Thank you, dear Mrs. de Cressiers, for withdrawing your objections to me. You will make Austin a happy boy to-day."

And when Austin returned home with a slight shrinking in his heart from another encounter with his mother, he found Jockie and her holding an animated conversation as they sat at luncheon together.

Jockie looked up at him as he came in, with her mischievous smile.

"I am quite one of the family now," she said; "and though your mother does think me not half good enough for you, she is going to train me herself to carry on and maintain the tradition of your race."

Austin was too dumbfounded to reply. He said to his father afterwards:

"Jockie beats anyone I know for walking into a heavy squall, and coming out of it triumphant. She not only knows what she wants, but she gets it done before I've half-finished surveying the situation."