Books: Herb of Grace

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"Yes, he was there--Mr. Templeton, I mean; he was talking to a girl
with fair hair, and with such a nice face--not pretty, but sweet and
good; and they were laughing together. I could hear him laugh quite
distinctly--my hansom was so close."

"Good heavens! what an escape," Malcolm said to himself inwardly;
"it was a near thing." Then aloud, "That was Anna Sheldon, my
adopted sister; she is the dearest girl in the world; but you are
right, she is not really pretty."

"They seemed very happy," returned Leah, but her voice was full of
wistful pain.

Malcolm, who was a fellow-sufferer, understood in a moment what she
was feeling, and his kind heart prompted the remedy.

"Cedric has been a great deal with them lately," he said quietly;
"my mother and Anna know all about his trouble; and they are very
kind to him. It is good for him to be with friends who can make
allowances for him, and help him."

"But he seemed happy," persisted the poor girl; "and--and--Miss
Sheldon will soon make him forget things." But Malcolm shook his
head.

"I am afraid not," he returned rather sadly; "Cedric is by no means
happy, though we all do our best to make him so. He has had a great
shock, Miss Jacobi, and in spite of his youth he has suffered much.
I wish I could tell you truthfully that he has forgotten you, but it
would be a useless falsehood. We can only hope that time and change
will be beneficial;" and then, in the kindest manner, he sketched
the outline of Cedric's projected travels, and gave her a full
description of his travelling companion.

Malcolm's confidence was not thrown away; before many minutes were
over Leah's wan face brightened a little, and her eyes lost their
strained look.

"Thank you--thank you so much, Mr. Herrick," she said gratefully,
when he had finished; "no one has told me anything about him, and it
does me good to know. And now will you do me a favour"--turning to
him--"when you write next to Mr. Templeton, will you give him a
message from me?"

"May I know the message first?" replied Malcolm cautiously. Then she
smiled a little sadly.

"Ah, you do not trust me. Well, I cannot wonder at that. But my
message will not hurt him; indeed, I think it may do him good. I
want you to tell him that I have been ill, but I am getting well and
strong now, and that I am with a dear friend who mothers and takes
care of me, and whom I love better every day; and that I am content
and at peace. Tell him that I never forget to pray for him, and that
my one prayer and wish is for his happiness; that I entreat him with
all my heart not to let his disappointment shadow his life; that if
he can forget me, it would be wiser and better to do so; but if he
remembers, let him think of me as though I were dead, and already
praying for him in paradise. Will you tell him this?"

Malcolm was silent for a moment, then he bowed his head, and Leah
saw him pencil the message rapidly in his note-book.

"He shall have it--not a word shall be missed," he said briefly.
Then he saw the tears of gratitude in her eyes.

"It will make him happier to know I am content," she whispered;
"Cedric has such a kind heart."

"You are right--I think that message will do him good," agreed
Malcolm. And then Leah lifted her basket and they walked back to the
others.

It was during this visit to the Manor House that, in an unguarded
moment, Malcolm's jealously-kept secret was betrayed to Mrs.
Godfrey's sharp eyes, though Malcolm never guessed the fact then or
afterwards.

They had been having tea in the alcove as usual, and the Colonel had
just gone to the stables to give an order for the next day. Malcolm
had made some humorous speech or other about his wonderful agility
for a man of his age, when Mrs. Godfrey remarked innocently--

"How strange that you should say that, Mr. Herrick! It is just word
for word what Elizabeth said when she was last here. I never saw two
people think so alike;" and here Mrs. Godfrey laughed quite merrily,
for once before she had accused Malcolm of making Elizabethan
speeches. But her laugh died away when she saw Malcolm's face. It
was too sudden, and he was not prepared; but the next moment he was
hanging over the parapet trying to catch a peacock butterfly, and
was actually joining in the laugh.

"That reminds me of a funny story," he said, speaking rather
rapidly, "of two fellows who coined each other's ideas and got
rather mixed sometimes;" and he told her the story from beginning to
end with his old vivacity, and when he had finished it he went off
in search of the Colonel.

But Mrs. Godfrey looked thoughtfully at the distant prospect until
Malcolm's footsteps were no longer audible.

"I feel like a burglar," she said to herself--"as though I had
picked a lock and stolen something. I, to call myself a clever woman
and never to guess it! But he has been too deep for me. He is very
strong; one might as well try to open an oyster with one's nails as
to find out anything Malcolm Herrick wishes to hide."

Mrs. Godfrey's face grew more troubled. "His mouth was like iron,"
she whispered, "but his face was so white in the sunshine. Poor
fellow--poor fellow," in quite a caressing tone. "But you will be
safe with me--even Alick shall not know. I wonder if he guesses
anything; he only said yesterday that Mr. Herrick was different
somehow. Ah, Elizabeth," she went on, pacing the terrace restlessly,
"even wise women like you and me make mistakes sometimes. Yes, yes,
you have made a great mistake, my dear;" and then she went into the
house to get ready for her walk.

Malcolm went to Norway, and wondered why he did not enjoy himself
more. He had congenial companions, good sport, and the weather was
distinctly favourable, but he could not get rid of his trouble.
Wherever he went, in sunlight or moonlight, the shadowy presence of
the woman he loved so passionately walked beside him. On the shores
of the lonely fiord or in the pine forests, Elizabeth's bright,
speaking face seemed to move before him like a will o' the wisp;
even in the rustle of the summer breeze in the leaves he could hear
her voice, with its odd breaks and sibilant pauses, so curiously
sweet to his ear. "I am possessed," he would say to himself--"I am
possessed!" and indeed with all his strength of will he was
powerless to resist that influence.

Dinah still wrote to him from time to time. The Wood House was
empty, she told him; they had taken a house at Ullswater for three
months. Mr. Carlyon and Theo were to be their guests. "Mr. Carlyon
is very far from well," she wrote, "and his doctor has ordered
complete rest for some months; and we think Elizabeth needs rest and
change too, so altogether it is an excellent plan."

The Ullswater scheme seemed to work well. Dinah told Malcolm that
Mr. Carlyon and Elizabeth were out together most of the day--
fishing, boating, or roaming over the country in search of ferns and
wild-flowers. "The life just suits Elizabeth," she went on; "she
likes the quiet and freedom. And then she and Mr. Carlyon do each
other so much good. He was so weak after the funeral that it is my
private opinion that but for Elizabeth's care and devotion he would
soon have followed David. I know he thinks so himself. 'Father has
two daughters now,' Theo often says, 'but Elizabeth suits him best.'
She says it quite amiably. Theo and I keep each other company. Her
favourite amusement seems visiting the cottages and talking to the
women and children; they get quite fond of 'the red-headed lady' as
they call her. But in the evening we are all together, and then Mr.
Carlyon or Elizabeth reads aloud."

Malcolm was hard at work in his chambers long before the sisters
returned to the Wood House. His book had proved a great success, and
the leading papers had reviewed it most favourably. He had now
commenced fresh work, and spent all his leisure hours at his desk.
When Amias Keston complained that the studio evenings were things of
the past, Malcolm looked at him a little sadly. "I can't help it,
old fellow," he said gravely; "my social qualities are a bit rusty,
but I will behave better by and bye;" and then he nodded to Verity,
and went back to his papers and wrote on grimly, as though some
unseen taskmaster were behind him, ready to scourge him on if he
loitered.

"My work saved me--I had nothing else to live for," he said long
afterwards; "nothing else fully occupied my thoughts and made me
forget my trouble. When I was turning out copy I was almost happy. I
was not Malcolm Herrick: I was the heir of all the ages entering
into my kingdom."

"Yes, I know what you mean," replied the friend to whom he had said
this: "the children were strewing flowers, and there were timbrels
and harps, and they had crowned you with laurel leaves, as though
you were a conquering hero."

"Something of that sort," he returned laughing. "But you must not
make fun of my sweet mistress from Parnassus; it kept me sane and
cool to woo my reluctant Muse. At times she frowned, and then I set
my teeth hard and worked like a navvy; but when she smiled my pen
seemed to fly in the sunlight, and I was warm and happy."

Malcolm sent a copy of his book to Dinah, and she was not long in
acknowledging it. "We have both read it, and think it beautiful,"
she wrote. "I tried to read it aloud to Elizabeth, but I got so
choky over it, and stopped so often, that she grew impatient at last
and carried off the book to finish it in her own room. She wants me
to tell you how much she likes it. She has sent a copy to Mr.
Carlyon. Now I am going to tell you a piece of news that will rather
surprise you, but Elizabeth did not wish me to drop a hint until
things were definitely settled."

"Mr. Carlyon has resigned his living. The doctor has told him
plainly that another winter at Stokeley will be too great a risk:
the place is very bleak and cold, and the work far too hard. The
Bishop is going to put in a younger man."

"Mr. Carlyon is actually coming to Rotherwood, and is to take
David's place"--Malcolm started and frowned when he came to this.
"You will be surprised, of course--every one is--but it is really a
most excellent arrangement."

"You see, Mr. Charrington's health is not good, and as he will have
to winter abroad, he really requires a curate-in-charge who will be
responsible for the parish. The salary will be very little less than
the income of Stokeley; there is no house, but we have got over this
difficulty. Do you remember that low gray house, with the rowan tree
over the gate, just by Elizabeth's Home of Rest, where little Kit
died? It is scarcely more than a cottage, but it is very cosy and
comfortable, and quite large enough for Theo and her father. There
are two sitting-rooms--the larger one is to be Mr. Carlyon's study,
they will not need a drawing-room--and four bed-rooms, and the
garden is really charming. Rowan Cottage belongs to us, so we can
ask a nominal rent. I cannot tell you how happy all this makes
Elizabeth. Mr. Carlyon has been her one thought since David died.
She feels it such a privilege to watch over him and attend to his
little comforts. She is at work now at the cottage, getting
everything ready for them, for they are expected in about a
fortnight's time. But what a volume I am writing, my dear friend,
and as usual about our own affairs. By the bye, I have never given
you Elizabeth's message. She says that now you have become a
celebrated author, she hopes you will not forget your old friends at
the Wood House. Of course, this was only one of her joking speeches;
she makes her little jokes now and then. What she really means is
that you have not been to see us for a long time, and that when you
come you will be welcome."

Malcolm read this letter at least a dozen times, and each time he
came to the message he smiled as though he were well pleased;
nevertheless he made no attempt to go to Staplegrove.

With the exception of that half-hour in the churchyard, he had not
seen Elizabeth since her trouble--an instinctive feeling of delicacy
had warned him to keep his distance. Nearly eight months had passed,
but he was still unwilling to force himself upon her, and the
present moment seemed to him peculiarly unpropitious. Elizabeth's
thoughts would be occupied with the preparations at the cottage. He
knew her so well: she never did things by halves, and she would be
at Rotherwood all day long. No, he would not go yet, he said to
himself; it would be time enough when Cedric came back, and then he
would go down to the Wood House as a matter of course. It cost
Malcolm some effort to keep this resolution when Cedric deferred his
return week after week. When the New Year opened he was at Cairo,
and having "a rattling good time," as he expressed it. It was not
until the end of March that he and Mr. Dunlop turned their faces
homeward; but Malcolm made his work an excuse and held grimly to his
post.

CHAPTER XL

"HE IS MY RIVAL STILL"

Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
--SHAKESPEARE.

Love is patient and content with anything, so it be
together with its beloved.
--JEREMY TAYLOR.

It was on a bright sunshiny April afternoon that Malcolm at last
paid his long-deferred visit to Staplegrove. Cedric had been at home
for nearly a week then, but he and Malcolm had already met. Cedric
had spent a night at Cheyne Walk before going down to the Wood
House, and had extracted from his friend a reluctant promise that he
would come down as early in the week as possible. Malcolm's
assurance that he could only spare two nights was treated by the
young matron with incredulity.

"Look here, Herrick," he returned in a lordly manner, "it is no good
putting on side with me. You may be a brilliant essayist, as that
fellow called you, and a tiptop literary swell, but you are not
going to chuck up old friends in this fashion. You are going to pay
us a decent visit, or your humble servant will kick up no end of a
shindy." But to all this Malcolm turned a deaf ear. He repeated
gravely that his engagements would only allow him to sleep two
nights at the Wood House; and as Malcolm had made the engagements
himself for the express purpose of shortening his visit, he probably
knew best.

Cedric grumbled a good deal, and used some strong language, but he
quieted down after a time, and they went on with their conversation;
for Cedric had a plan in his head, and he wanted his friend's advice
and co-operation. As Malcolm listened, he wondered what Dinah would
think of her boy. Cedric looked at least two or three years older;
he was broader, stronger, and Malcolm even fancied he had gained an
inch in height; he was certainly a magnificent specimen of an
athletic young Englishman.

He had always been handsome, but in Malcolm's opinion he had never
appeared to greater advantage than now. His skin was slightly tanned
by sun and wind, and his hair had darkened a little; he had lost the
expression of weak irresolution which had marred his face, and he
had evidently grown in manliness and self-restraint. His manner was
still boyish at times, and Malcolm was glad to hear the old ringing
laugh. Cedric's wound had been deep, but it was not incurable--time
and change of scene had been potent factors in the cure. Malcolm
listened with a great deal of interest to the scheme that Cedric
intended to lay before his sisters.

It appeared that in the Bavarian highlands he had stumbled across an
old school-fellow, Harry Strickland.

"We were chums at Haileybury," went on Cedric. "Harry was always a
good sort; but his people sent him to Cambridge, so I lost sight of
him. I knew his father was dead and that an uncle had offered him a
home--his mother had died when he was quite a little chap, and he
had no brothers or sisters--but when we met in the inn that wet
night--when Dunlop and I were nearly drowned getting down from the
Alp--he told me that a fit of gout had carried off his uncle quite
unexpectedly."

"Poor chap, he seems a bit lonely," observed Malcolm
sympathetically.

"Yes, he was mooning about, and rather bothered what to do next. So
he was delighted at the idea of joining some of our excursions. But
I will keep all that for the Wood House, for we had no end of
adventures--the dare-devil Englishmen as they called us. But never
mind that, I must hurry on."

"Harry is his uncle's heir--not that that amounts to much--but he
has come into possession of a fine old farm that has been in the
family for a hundred years at least, with plenty of good land, but,
alas! little capital. The facts of the case are these, Herrick.
Roger Strickland was not a rich man, and for want of a little ready
money the farm has deteriorated in value. There is plenty to be got
out of the land if only more could be spent on it; they want a new
barn and some outhouses, and some of the fencing is disgraceful. As
for the Priory itself--it is the Priory farm, you know--it is an old
ramshackle place and in sore need of repair; some of the floors are
rotten, and there are holes and crannies, and the mice and rats hold
high revel in the disused rooms."

"My dear fellow, your description is not alluring," remarked
Malcolm, wondering what all this meant.

"Oh, I am telling you the worst; it really is a lovely old place.
Only Harry declares he would not live there alone for anything; it
is supposed to be haunted by a certain evil-minded Strickland, in a
green velvet suit and a powdered periwig, who drags one leg--but I
will tell you the story another time; it will make your hair stand
on end. Now Harry's difficulty is this: he has so little capital
that he is half afraid of taking up the farm himself, and yet it is
the only life he cares about; and he wants to find some one, with
money to spare, who would join him in working the concern"--and here
Cedric stopped and looked significantly at Malcolm.

"Ah, I understand now," returned his friend; "it is to be a sort of
partnership. And so you think you would like to take to farming--eh,
Cedric?"

"Like it," returned Cedric, colouring with excitement, "it is the
very life I should choose. It would be just splendid for Harry and
me to work together! Oh, I know what you are going to say"--as
Malcolm opened his lips--"but wait a moment and let me finish first.
Of course I know nothing of farming, and Harry knows precious little
either; but he has a good bailiff whom he can trust, and whose wife
manages the dairy. What I am going to propose is this, that Harry
and I should go to the Agricultural College at Cirencester for a few
months and get an idea of the business; and then, if Dinah would
start me with a good round sum we could begin to get the place in
order. I have set my heart on it, Herrick," and here Cedric's voice
was very persuasive, "and I want you to come down and talk it out
with her, like the good fellow you are."

"I will come, of course," returned Malcolm slowly, "and on the whole
I am inclined to approve of your plan; but I do not think we can
decide anything in this off-hand way. I think the best thing would
be for us to reconnoitre the place, and perhaps Mr. Strickland could
accompany us. The bailiff could give us full particulars, and we
might consult Mr. Strickland's lawyer if we are in any difficulty."

And Cedric made no objection to this arrangement. They would go into
the thing properly, of course, and there was no need to hurry
matters; he only stipulated that Malcolm should come down and talk
to Dinah without delay. This Malcolm had already promised; and when
Cedric went to bed he felt assured that Malcolm's interest and
sympathy were fully enlisted on his behalf.

"It is a foregone conclusion as far as Dinah is concerned," he
thought, as he laid his head on his pillow. "Herrick can make her
believe anything he likes, she has such faith in him; he has only to
say that it is a capital plan, and that I shall make a first-rate
farmer, and she will be ready to take out her cheque-book at once."

Cedric went round to 27 Queen's Gate to pay his respects to the
ladies before he started for Staplegrove. Malcolm, who dined there
that night, was amused by his mother's openly-avowed admiration of
their young friend.

"Cedric Templeton is one of the most attractive-looking men I have
ever seen," she said in her most serious voice; "he is very much
improved in every way, and is altogether charming."

"I hope you agree with my mother, Anna?" observed Malcolm, laughing.
"I think Cedric's ears must be burning at the present moment." But
Anna only returned rather shyly that she thought Mr. Templeton
looked extremely well.

Malcolm had fixed his day, but he refused to state any hour for his
arrival. There was no need to send the dog-cart for him; he would
prefer taking a fly from the station. Of course, he put forth
business as his plea; but in reality he did not wish Cedric to meet
him, the lad's incessant chatter all the way to Staplegrove would
have worried him excessively. It was just a year since he had seen
Elizabeth, and in his heart he was secretly dreading that first
meeting. Perhaps he had left it too long, he ought to have gone
sooner; they would be like strangers, and the first interview would
be very embarrassing to them both. Yes, he had been a fool to spare
himself the pain of seeing her grief. He had kept away, banishing
himself for all these months, and yet what good had it done him? it
had only increased his nervousness and discomfort tenfold. He was
haunted by the fear that he should find her changed, that she would
be cold and distant with him. He worked himself up into such a fever
at last, that half-way up the Staplegrove Hill he stopped the fly
and told the driver that he wished to walk, and directed him to take
his bag to the Wood House.

The walk certainly refreshed him, and by the time he reached the
Crow's Nest he felt more ready for the ordeal. When he came to the
gate that led to the Wood House, he hesitated, and then crossed the
road and stood for a few moments looking down the little woodland
path he remembered so well. No other place was so associated with
Elizabeth. How often he had met her at this little gate, or waited
for her when he knew she was coming back from Rotherwood! That day,
for example, when she wore her white sun-bonnet, and came along
swinging her arms like an imperial milkmaid, a "very queen of curds
and cream." At that moment a little sharp clang of a distant gate
made his heart beat suddenly. There were footsteps--yes, without
doubt, there were footsteps--it was no fancy. Then at the bend of
the road he could see distinctly a tall black figure, walking rather
slowly and wearily along, and though he could not see her face he
knew it was Elizabeth.

The next minute he unlatched the gate a little noisily; he would not
steal a march on her--she believed herself alone; then she looked up
and quickened her pace, and when he came up to her, there was
actually a smile on her face.

"You are fond of surprises," she said, looking at him as she gave
him her hand. "Am I late, have you come to meet me; and what have
you done with your luggage?"

"I have sent it on," he returned quietly; "it is such a lovely
afternoon that I preferred to walk. No, I did not come to meet you;
for all I knew, you might have been at the Wood House. I only had a
fancy that I should like to see the woodlands again, and then I saw
you coming."

"It is not my usual afternoon for Rotherwood," she returned quickly,
but a faint colour had come in her face at his words; "but I am
there most days. You know, of course--Dinah will have told you--of
the new interest I have there. I think Die tells you most things,"
she continued, with the same glimmer of a smile on her lips.

"Yes, she is very good," he returned gravely. They were walking side
by side now. Malcolm had hardly trusted himself to look at her, and
yet nothing had been lost on him. How changed she was! that was his
first thought. She looked years older; mourning did not suit her;
the black hat with its heavy trimming seemed to extinguish her
somehow. She was paler and thinner, he was sure of that, and had
lost some of her splendid vitality; and yet in spite of all this it
was to him the dearest face in the world.

As she made that poor little attempt at a smile, his whole heart
went out to her in profound love and pity, and he forgot his own
pain in remembering her trouble.

"Your sister told me about Mr. Carlyon," he said, as they crossed
the road; "I was very glad to hear from her how well it answered."

"He is very happy at Rotherwood," returned Elizabeth. "The people
seem to take to him, and he and the vicar are like brothers, and the
work exactly suits him. Theo is happy too, and that is a great
blessing. And we have made the cottage so pretty that I should like
you to see it." Elizabeth's manner had become more natural; she
spoke now as though she were sure of Malcolm's interest. He did not
disappoint her.

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