Books: Herb of Grace

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"Oh yes, I know that."

"When I go back to town may I send you her little book--"Thoughts of
a Queen" it is called?"

Elizabeth, after a moment's hesitation, thanked him and said she
would be glad to see it.

"It is well worth your perusal," he went on, too much engrossed by
his subject to notice her hesitating manner. "But I have not given
you her definition of youth."

"'In youth,' she remarks, 'one is a mediaeval castle, with hidden
nooks, secret chambers, mysterious galleries, trenches, and
ramparts; one becomes afterwards a modern mansion, rich, morocco-
leathered, elegant, stylish, and only open to the select; and
ultimately a great hall open to the whole world, a market, a museum,
or a cathedral.'"

"I think I know what she means," returned Elizabeth thoughtfully.
"Youth is so fond of mysteries, and all its castles have endless
winding galleries, that lead to all sorts of curious nooks and
corners. When we grow older our horizon widens--we care more for
utility and less for subterranean passages. What could be better
than a market, where one sells one's best and most durable goods pro
bono publico!"

Malcolm was delighted with this answer. Miss Elizabeth Templeton
might not be a profound student of books, but she was certainly an
intelligent and sympathetic woman. They had turned into the
woodlands by this time, and Elizabeth, who was determined to
entertain their guest to the best of her ability, proposed that they
should stroll down to the Pool.

"If you will go on, I will just fetch my work," she observed, "and
tell Dinah where we are going, and then Cedric will join us. He
ought to have been back by now." Then Malcolm, in high good-humour,
sauntered over the rustic bridge and amused himself by looking down
on Elizabeth's wild garden.

"Oh, Betty, what a pity to wear your pretty new hat!" exclaimed
Dinah, looking up from her accounts. She was rather a martinet on
the subject of dress, and had funny little old-fashioned notions of
her own; but Elizabeth, who was ten years younger, was more up-to-
date.

"It was part of the programme," she returned solemnly; "and the
sunshade too. I was determined to make myself as nice as possible.
Remember, I trimmed it myself, Die, and as I had the materials it
only cost me five shillings." Here she took it off and looked at it
admiringly, for Elizabeth was rather fond of dress in her way. "My
sailor hat will do for the Pool. I wish you could come with us,
dear." Then, as Dinah shook her head, "Yes, I see, you are busy, so
I will not bother you. Please tell Cedric where we have gone."

Malcolm was still on the little bridge when Elizabeth rejoined him.
He looked regretfully at the sailor hat.

"It does not suit her a bit," he thought. "I wonder a sensible woman
like Miss Templeton does not know what becomes her. Anna would never
have made such a mistake." But Elizabeth, unconscious of this
criticism of her offending head-gear, walked on serenely.

Some of the dogs had followed them, and while Elizabeth worked at a
piece of beautiful embroidery, Malcolm amused himself with throwing
sticks into the pond for their delectation; and as soon as he was
weary of the sport, he stretched himself comfortably on the ground
beside her and began to talk. How it came about neither of them
knew, but all at once Malcolm fell to speaking of his father, and of
his lonely boyhood, and by-and-bye, Elizabeth grew so interested
that she laid down her work, and propping her chin on her hand, gave
him her undivided attention.

Malcolm was very unreserved about his mother. "She is perfectly
unique," he said; "a grand worker, with brains and energy that, if
she had been a man, would have qualified her for a legislator. She
has a gift for organisation. Oh, you would admire her immensely. You
are a worker yourself, Miss Templeton, and that would be a bond of
union."

"Would it?" she returned quietly. "I am not quite so sure of that. I
think your mother would rather look down on my small efforts. Please
do not call me a worker, Mr. Herrick. I potter about the village two
days in the week, and teach the children needlework, and tell them
stories, and read to a bedridden old woman or two, but I am afraid
on the whole I waste my time dreadfully," and here she looked at him
with one of her beaming smiles. "I do so enjoy my life, especially
in summer--the world is so beautiful, and one has the birds and
flowers, and it is just lovely to wake to another new day."

"I wish Anna could hear you," he returned; and as she looked a
little puzzled at this, he explained that his mother had an adopted
daughter--a dear, lovable girl, whom he regarded as a sister. And
when he said this. Elizabeth's bright eyes glanced at him a little
keenly.

"She is your adopted sister," she said dubiously; "is that not
rather a difficult relationship, Mr. Herrick?"

"Not at all," he returned quickly, for somehow this, remark did not
quite please him. "Anna was so young when she came to us, I think
sometimes that she quite forgets that she is not really my mother's
daughter."

"She must be a great comfort to Mrs. Herrick," observed Elizabeth,
"especially as you are not always with her." There was nothing in
this speech to offend Malcolm's amour propre, nevertheless a dull
flush mounted to his brow.

"Of course I should not have left my mother alone," he said so
stiffly that Elizabeth opened her eyes rather widely; but her keen
woman's wits soon grasped the situation.

"My dear Mr. Herrick, you must not misunderstand me," she said quite
gently. "I am quite sure that you are backward in no filial duty. To
tell you the truth," colouring a little, "I hardly liked to show you
how thoroughly I comprehended things--your home has never been a
real home to you, and though you love each other dearly, you and
your mother are really happier apart. How can two walk together
unless they are agreed?"

"Thank you for saying this," he returned gratefully; "I am sure you
mean what you say."

"Most certainly I do."

"I know it--I am sure of it; you are not one of those people who are
afraid to speak the truth. Forgive me if I seemed put out for a
moment, but something in your manner made me think that you
disapproved of the step I had taken."

"Mr. Herrick, I disapprove--a mere acquaintance who has not even
seen your mother!"

"Ah, it is you who misunderstand now," in a reproachful voice. "Even
a mere acquaintance," dwelling on the word rather pointedly, "can
judge pretty correctly of a man's circumstances. I thought you were
saying to yourself, 'Mr. Herrick must be a selfish sort of man; he
is the only son of a widowed mother, and he has left her roof
because her charitable works bore him to extinction.'"

"No--oh, no!" in a shocked voice. "How can you say such dreadful
things? I shall begin to be afraid of you; and I have never been
afraid of man, woman, or child in my life. Shall I tell you of what
I was really thinking when you turned on me in that crushing manner?
I was thinking of that poor dear girl, and how dull and moped she
must be. Mr. Herrick," rather shyly--Elizabeth never looked more
charming or more irresistible than when she put on this soft,
appealing manner--"do you suppose Miss Sheldon would care to stay
with us while you are at the Crow's Nest. We should so like to have
her. You see," her voice softening still more, "you have done so
much for us that we want to make some return, and it would be such a
pleasure."

"You are very kind," he returned, and indeed he was so surprised and
touched by this unexpected speech that he hardly knew how to express
his sense of her thoughtfulness. "It is good of you to think of it,
and nothing would have given Anna greater pleasure, but--"

"You mean she has some other engagement this summer?"

"Yes; it is a great pity. My mother has taken rooms at Whitby for
the middle of next month, and she never goes anywhere without Anna."

"Then it cannot be helped; another time perhaps we shall be more
fortunate." And then, as though she were desirous of changing the
subject, Elizabeth began talking of her own and Dinah's movements,
how they never went away in the spring and summer except for a week
or so in town for shopping and picture-galleries, but filled the
Wood House with relays of guests.

"For the last three years we have gone abroad in the middle of
October, and returned for Christmas and the New Year," she finished,
"but we have made up our minds to remain in England this year. Why,
here comes the truant, and it is actually nearly luncheon time."

Cedric, flushed and panting, flung himself down beside her.

CHAPTER XIV

"YOU DO SAY SUCH ODD THINGS"

Womanhood should be the consecration of earth.
--U. A. Taylor

In the region of domestic affections a new and
ennobling motive came from Bethlehem--"that I may
please God."
--Knox Little.

Elizabeth put on an air of great severity as she regarded the
culprit.

"Rotherwood is about a mile and a quarter from our gate," she
observed, apostrophising some midges that were dancing in a sunbeam
overhead. "You could walk there easily in twenty minutes. It is now
one o'clock, and you have been away exactly three hours and a half,"
and here she consulted the miniature watch that she wore as an
ornament as well as for utility. "If it be not impertinent, may we
inquire why you have absented yourself the whole morning?"

"Oh, shut up, Bet," returned her brother impatiently. "Sarcasm is
not your style at all. It is like killing a grasshopper with a pair
of iron-heeled clogs. It is precious heavy, I can tell you."

"You rude, unmannerly boy," and here Elizabeth attempted to pull his
hair, but she might as well have tried her prentice hand on a young
convict freshly shorn by the prison barber.

"Hands off, Betty, I tell you," returned the graceless lad. "I have
had rather a good time of it. I knew Herrick was getting pretty sick
of me." Here Cedric rolled over on his back, and tilted his straw
hat over his eyes. "Familiarity breeds contempt and all that sort of
thing. Conversation is like a salad, isn't it, Herrick?--you may
have plenty of green stuff and oil, but it wants pepper and a dash
of vinegar too."

"Why don't you box his ears, Miss Templeton? He is getting
positively abusive."

"I prefer pepper to oil," she returned calmly. "Well, Cedric,
perhaps you will kindly inform me if your mission has been
successful."

"Oh, it is all right. David will be here to tea, but he says it will
not be cool enough to play until nearly five. Now, don't go tugging
at my coat-collar, or I won't say another word." Elizabeth, with a
resigned expression, folded up her work. "I left the vicarage note,"
continued Cedric, mollified by this submission. "Mr. Charrington was
engaged, but Mrs. Finch brought me his message--his kind regards to
Miss Templeton, and he would have much pleasure in dining at the
Wood House to-night."

"Did you tell Dinah?"

"Do I not always do my duty?" rather sententiously, "Well, before I
could get to the White Cottage I met old David. He was going to the
church to practise on the organ, and he was a bit bothered because
he could not get any one to blow, so, being a good-natured chap, I
volunteered."

"Good boy," observed Elizabeth softly.

"Well, there we were for pretty nearly an hour and a half--David
perched up like a glorified cherubim, and rolling out music by the
yard; and there was I grinding away like a saintly nigger in a
beastly hole till I could stand it no longer, and told him I must
chuck it. He declared he had quite forgotten me."

"I expect he had. Mr. Carlyon plays the organ so beautifully"--
Elizabeth was addressing Malcolm now. "My sister and I often go into
the church to listen to him."

"It must be a great resource," he returned regretfully, "and I am
inclined to envy Carlyon. I am passionately fond of music myself,
but the power of expression has been denied me."

"I would back David against most organists," went on Cedric. "Well,
as I was pretty much used up by my exertions, he proposed we should
go into the vicarage garden and help ourselves to fruit. The
greengages were ripe and so were the mulberries, and you bet I did
not need pressing."

"Mrs. Finch saw us from the porch room, and sent us out some cider
and home-make cake, so we had a rattling good feed. David said he
was in a loafing mood, and would not hear of my hurrying away."

"Mr. Carlyon does not seem overworked," remarked Malcolm; but he
regretted his speech when he saw Elizabeth's heightened colour.

"Thursday is a slack day with him," she said rather gravely. "I
assure you he works harder than most clergymen, and is very
conscientious and painstaking. He is not at all strong, but he never
spares himself."

"My hasty speech meant nothing," returned Malcolm smiling. "Mr.
Carlyon is certainly no loafer--he looks the incarnation of energy."

"How doth the little busy D--
Improve each shining hour,"

chanted Cedric. But Elizabeth would stand no more nonsense. She
called to the dogs, and warned their guest that the gong would sound
in five minutes, and then marched off with her sailor hat slung on
her arm, which she filled on her way to the house with Canterbury
bells and blue larkspur.

The game of tennis was a great success. Dinah sat in the shade and
watched them.

There was some little difficulty in choosing partners, so Cedric
said they must toss up for it, and Elizabeth fell to Mr. Carlyon.

If Malcolm felt secretly disappointed, no one guessed it. To his
surprise he and Cedric were ruthlessly beaten.

Mr. Carlyon played a masterly game, and Elizabeth ably seconded him.
Malcolm, who had always held his own on the tennis green, and was an
excellent golf player, was much chagrined at his defeat. They had
lost three successive games, when Cedric flung up his racket and
declared he could play no more.

"They have given us a regular beating, mate," he said cheerfully.
"You were in capital form, Herrick, and I did not do so badly
myself, though I say it as shouldn't; but David has taken the shine
out of us. I say, old fellow, you ought to be champion player."

"I think Miss Templeton played a good game," returned David
modestly, and then he and Cedric went off to hunt for missing balls,
and Elizabeth sauntered to the house. Half an hour later she was
just putting the finishing touches to her dress when Dinah tapped at
the door, and, as Elizabeth gave her a welcoming smile, sat down by
the toilet table. It was one of Dinah's homely, pleasant little
ways, but these few minutes of sisterly chat would have been sorely
missed by both of them.

"How nice you look, dear!" in an admiring voice. Then Elizabeth
glanced at herself with her head a little on one side.

"Do I?" she said simply. "I was afraid I should never regain my
normal colour. Are you sure I don't look rather blowsy, and like a
milkmaid?" But Dinah indignantly repudiated this; it was Dinah's
private belief that Elizabeth was a very beautiful woman. "She has
such lovely eyes, and then her face has so much expression," she
would say; but Dinah had the good sense to keep this opinion to
herself.

Elizabeth, who was not at all vain, and was quite conscious of her
own defects, continued to gaze at her own reflection rather
critically.

"I suppose on the whole I am passable, Die," she said rather
philosophically. "When people like me they seem to like my looks;
and really when you think of all the plain and downright ugly people
in the world, there is surely room for thankfulness." "Have you just
found that out, Betty?"

"My dear Die, I am rather in a humble frame of mind just now. Don't
you recollect my telling you Mrs. Robinson's speech last Monday. I
have never thought quite so much of myself since."

"If I remember rightly, Mrs. Robinson paid you a compliment. She
told Miss Clarkson that she wished Selina were as fine a woman as
Elizabeth Templeton."

"And you call that compliment!" and Elizabeth arched her long full
throat in rather a haughty and swanlike manner. "Fancy that goose of
a Miss Clarkson repeating such a speech. A fine woman is my
abhorrence. It always seems to me to rank in the same category with
a prime turkey or a prize bullock, or something ready for the
market."

"My dear Betty, you do say such odd things!"

"Of course I do. Elizabeth is nothing if she is not original. Don't
you remember dear old dad's speech? But I am really serious, Die--
you know I never coveted beauty."

"No, nor I, dear," and Dinah spoke quite earnestly.

"Oh, you," returned Elizabeth with playful tenderness. "I should
hope not. I expect many women would be glad to change with you, you
sweet thing." Then Dinah smiled and patted her sister's hand.

"No, Betty, you must not say that. I have often thought that even
our poor faces, with all their defects, ought to be sacred to us. If
we are a thought of God, as some one has beautifully put it, surely
the stamp of His handiwork must be precious to us."

"But how about the marred and ugly faces, Die?" and Elizabeth looked
at her dubiously.

"It is their cross," returned Dinah simply--"a heavy cross perhaps,
but when I see a very plain, unattractive woman I do so long to
whisper in her ear--"

"Don't trouble about it, poor thing. What does it matter? You will
be beautiful one day, and even now, if you are good and patient, the
angels will think you lovely.' Dear me, Betty," interrupting
herself, "why are you creasing my pretty silk dress."

"Lord love you, miss, I am only a-feeling for your wings," returned
Elizabeth in a droll voice, and then they both laughed, for this was
a standing joke between them ever since Dinah had repeated poor old
Becky Brent's speech, when the wrinkled hand of the blind and doited
old creature had fumbled about her shapely shoulders.

Dinah had been right in thinking that the vicar and Mr. Herrick
would have much in common, and the conversation at the dinner-table
that evening was unusually animated.

She and Elizabeth were attentive listeners, and on comparing notes
afterwards both of them owned that they had been struck with Mr.
Herrick's intelligence and broad-minded views.

The slight egotism that Elizabeth had detected seemed to drop from
him like a veil, and he showed his true nature; he was evidently a
patient and reverent searcher after knowledge, and his marked
deference to the elder scholar became him greatly. Dinah quite
glowed with innocent pleasure as she listened to them. "It is so
seldom the dear vicar gets any one to talk on his favourite
subjects, but one could see that Mr. Herrick is after his own
heart," she remarked, as they sat on the terrace drinking their
coffee and waiting for the gentlemen to join them.

"He is certainly very clever," observed Elizabeth thoughtfully.

"David was unusually quiet," went on Dinah; but her sister
apparently did not hear this, for she went on talking about the
advantage of a more varied reading.

"I am such an ignoramus," she continued, "when those men were
talking about the MSS. in that old unknown monastery, I felt like a
little goggle-eyed charity-school girl. When I get Mr. Herrick alone
I mean to ask him about the Behistun Inscription;" and then Mr.
Carlyon strolled towards them, followed by Cedric, and Elizabeth,
who had finished her coffee, advanced towards them.

"They are still at it tooth and nail," observed David in an amused
tone. "I should have stopped to listen to them, only this fellow was
so sick of the discussion. What a well-informed chap Herrick is!"

"So Dinah and I were saying," remarked Elizabeth, as they paced
slowly down the terrace. "Why were you so silent?" she continued;
"you know a good deal about these subjects too."

"Who? I! My dear Miss Elizabeth, you are quite mistaken. Ask the
vicar, and he will tell you that I am really a duffer in these
matters. It is a wise child who knows his own father, and I am wise
enough to know my own ignorance. Don't you know," with a smile, "it
is easier to hold one's tongue and listen in an intelligent manner
than flounder about out of one's depth among the billows of
cuneiform inscriptions and the insurmountable precipice of the
Behistun Rock."

"Why do you undervalue yourself so?" returned Elizabeth gently;
"don't you know people take us at our own value? I have got it into
my head that you and Mr. Herrick do not quite take to each other--
woman's eyes are rather sharp, you know." But Mr. Carlyon turned
this off with a laugh.

"Oh, we hit it off all right," he replied; "please don't go and take
fancies in your head. He has his innings now, but we got the best of
him this afternoon." Elizabeth's merry answering laugh reached
Malcolm's ears, and made him lose the drift of the vicar's argument.

But he lost it still more, and became increasingly absent-minded,
when a few minutes later he heard her rich, full tones in his
favourite song, "Loving, yet leaving." Mr. Charrington noticed it at
last. "The siren is too much for you, Mr. Herrick," he said
pleasantly; "we will resume our discussion another time," and to
this Malcolm cheerfully assented.

Did Elizabeth perceive the dark figure that glided in at the open
window and settled itself so comfortably in the easy-chair? If she
were conscious of the silent auditor, she made no sign.

Never had her voice been sweeter and truer; never had she sung with
such birdlike clearness, with such abandon and pleasure. Now and
then a whispered word from David made her exchange one song for
another, or a low-toned "bravo" from the same source greeted some
special favourite.

Elizabeth was in the mood for singing. She was a creature of moods
and tenses, and would probably have gone on carolling blissfully for
another hour if the vicar had not interrupted them.

"It is getting late, Carlyon, and we may as well walk back
together," he remarked in his leisurely manner, for being an old
bachelor he was rather precise in his ways. David jumped up at once.

"I will go with you, sir, of course," he replied quickly. Then in a
lower voice, "It is a lovely evening--will you do your lady's mile?"
He spoke so low that Malcolm could only guess at what he said; but
Elizabeth's answer was quite clear and audible.

"No, not to-night; I think I have exerted myself sufficiently. But I
daresay Mr. Herrick and Cedric will go."

And Malcolm, who felt himself dismissed and had no excuse to offer,
was soon plunged into an argument again that lasted all the way to
Rotherwood.

"Betty, did you notice that Mr. Herrick did not want to go?" asked
Dinah, who was always keenly alive to the likes and dislikes of her
neighbours. "It was naughty of you to put him in such a position.
How could he refuse to go when the vicar was waiting for him?"

"I thought a walk would do him good," returned Elizabeth demurely;
"he was almost asleep when Mr. Charrington spoke to us. A
comfortable chair, and moon-light, and a German lullaby are
soporific influences."

"Nonsense, Betty," replied Dinah in her practical, downright way,
"he was as wide-awake as I was; but," with a little sigh of
sympathy, "he looked rather sad. Are you sure he is quite happy,
dear?"

"I expect he is quite as happy as he deserves to be," returned
Elizabeth in rather a hard-hearted way; and then she went off,
singing to herself in a low tone a line or two from her last song:

"It may be in the Land above--
The Land beyond our ken;
Yet we shall meet again, my love,
Though none can answer when"

And as Dinah stood listening in the moonlight her face looked like
the face of a radiant infant.

"That is so true," she whispered, "and what does it matter--when!"

CHAPTER XV

"BETTY IS A TRUMP!"

A character is like an acrostic or Alexandrian stanza: read it
forward, backward, or across, it still spells the same thing....
We pass for what we are: character teaches above our wills.
--EMERSON.

It had been Malcolm's intention to go back to town on the ensuing
Monday, but on Dinah's pressing invitation he promised to remain
another day.

"You know I am due at the Manor House on Thursday," he observed, as
they sat at breakfast the next morning, "and I must have a couple of
days in town first."

"It is a very short visit," she returned regretfully, "and you are
to dine at the vicarage to-morrow evening."

"I could not get out of it," he replied quickly, but he glanced at
Elizabeth as he spoke. "Mr. Charrington never gave me the option of
refusing. He seemed to look on it as a foregone conclusion that his
invitation would be accepted. He was so very kind and cordial. He
wants me to see his library, and to show me some rare books he has
got."

"Oh yes, he is a collector of curious books and first editions. He
has a very valuable library. It is his hobby--is it not, Dinah? Old
books, old wine, and plenty of learned talk--you will be in luck's
way, Mr. Herrick," and Elizabeth flashed an amused look at him.

"I suppose Mr. Carlyon will be there," observed Dinah composedly, as
she replenished Malcolm's cup. Cedric had not yet made his
appearance, but they could hear him whistling in the distance. But
before Malcolm could answer in the negative, Elizabeth broke in
again.

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