Books: Herb of Grace

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"I shall certainly call there when I go to the vicarage," he
returned, and then he stopped as though to take breath. "I was very
glad when I read your sister's letter, and knew that this new work
was to come to you; it must make you so much happier."

Malcolm's words were almost magical in their effect, for Elizabeth
turned to him with her old eagerness.

"Oh, you always understand," she said gratefully; "that is why it is
so easy to talk to you. Yes, indeed, it has made me so much happier.
Life is worth living when one knows there is some one in the world
who is dependent on one for earthly comfort. Of course Mr. Carlyon
has Theo, but she does not know him as I do. I am at the cottage
nearly every day."

Malcolm listened and smiled, but he could not have spoken at that
moment. How little she guessed how her words stabbed him! She could
tell him to his face that life was worth living "because there was
some one dependent on her for earthly comfort," and yet she could
leave him hungering and thirsting in that sad pilgrimage of his. All
her thoughts and sweet ministries were for David's father. "It is
for him," he thought bitterly; "he is my rival still--dead as well
as living. She is very faithful: she will not forget him, and her
heart is still closed to me."

Elizabeth did not seem to notice his silence; she talked on about
Mr. Charrington, and the new schools; and then Cedric came flying
down the path to meet them, and the next moment Malcolm saw Dinah
smiling in the porch.

After dinner that evening they gathered round the fire, for the
nights were still chilly, and Elizabeth joined the circle to hear
Cedric's scheme discussed.

From his dark corner Malcolm watched her. In spite of her unrelieved
black and absence of ornaments, she was looking more like the old
Elizabeth. She grew interested and then quite absorbed in Cedric's
project, and soon began discussing it with her wonted vivacity. When
Malcolm made some damping remark, she argued the point with him in a
most peremptory fashion, and was quite Elizabethan in her rebuke.

"That is the worst of talking to a lawyer," she said severely: "his
legal mind takes such cut-and-dried views. Granted that it is a
speculation, it seems a promising one; and nothing venture, nothing
have. I don't know how you feel, Die, but I am quite willing to do
my share." Then Dinah, who was in quite a flutter of excitement and
pleasure, looked at her adviser in a timid, deprecating fashion.

"If Mr. Herrick thinks we are not imprudent, I should like to do as
Cedric wishes," she replied; "though there is no need to touch your
money, Betty." But Elizabeth took no notice of this remark.

"I have a proposal to make," she went on in such an animated voice
that Malcolm quite started. "Why should we not all go down and see
the place? And Mr. Strickland could come too. Donnarton is only
three hours from town; it would be a sort of picnic excursion, and I
know Dinah would like it."

"Bravo, Betty, what a brick you are!" exclaimed Cedric boisterously;
and Malcolm observed in a low voice that it was an excellent idea.

But when they talked it over quietly they found an amendment was
necessary. It would be impossible to go and return the same day;
there was the farm to inspect, and most likely they would have to
consult the lawyer. The matter ended by Cedric volunteering to go
back with Malcolm when he returned to town, and talk the matter over
with Harry Strickland; and if any decent lodgings could be found in
the little town of Donnarton, they would stop at least one night.

As early a day as possible was to be fixed, and all the arrangements
were to be made by the gentlemen. Dinah was evidently charmed with
the prospect of seeing the Priory; but Elizabeth's ardour quickly
cooled when she found it would be necessary to remain the night. "I
suppose you could not go without me, Die?" she observed when alone
with her sister. Then Dinah's face fell.

"Oh, Betty dear, that would spoil everything," she said in a
distressed tone. "Surely you want to see dear Cedric's future home."

"Of course I want to see it," returned Elizabeth rather shortly;
"only I should have preferred going down quietly a little later on"-
-which was somewhat contradictory, as she had herself proposed the
plan. But perhaps the delighted look on Malcolm's face when he heard
her proposition had somewhat alarmed her; for the next day she was a
little cool and distant in her manner to him, and left his
entertainment to Dinah and Cedric.

CHAPTER XLI

"YOU CAN BE DINAH'S FRIEND"

Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more;
My expectation wearies and shall cease;
I will resign it now and be at peace:
Yet never gave it o'er.
--CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

Various complications prevented the Templeton-Strickland picnic, as
Cedric termed it, from being speedily carried out, and it was not
until the middle of May that a day was definitely fixed, and Cedric
brought his sisters up to Waterloo, where Malcolm and Mr. Strickland
met them. The whole party were to be housed at the Priory, where
they were to sleep two nights. There were plenty of good bedrooms,
Harry Strickland told them, and in a rough, homely fashion he could
undertake that they should be comfortable. He had already been down
to the Priory to look after things, and to tell Mrs. Renshaw that
she must find some temporary help. He would have brought down a
hamper of delicacies from Fortnum and Mason, but Cedric remonstrated
with him and said his sisters would much prefer simple country fare.
And then Harry gave orders to his bailiff that the plumpest chickens
and the fattest ducks were to be sacrificed, and new laid-eggs and
cream served ad libitum.

Malcolm always looked back on those two days as the saddest and yet
the most beautiful he had ever known. For what sadness can be equal
to that of being with the person one loves best in the world, and
yet being conscious of a great dividing gulf, that never narrows;
and yet in spite of this, what happiness to know that one roof would
cover them for two days! Malcolm was in that condition when he was
thankful for even fragments and crumbs--a kind smile, an approving
word from Elizabeth made his heart beat more quickly. As for Dinah,
she was in the seventh heaven. The country was lovely, the Priory a
beautiful, picturesque old place, with leaded casements and a deep
porch, and a wonderful neglected garden, a veritable wilderness of
sweets. She liked everything, admired everything; she thought Harry
Strickland a thoroughly nice fellow; and she and Elizabeth wandered
all over the house, suggesting improvements in their practicable,
sensible way; and full of admiration for the fine oak staircase and
some really beautiful cabinets, and benches, on the landing-place
and in the best parlours. Roger Strickland had always called them
parlours--the oak parlour and the cedar parlour--the latter a
charming room with a fine ceiling, cedar-lined panels, and a cosy
nook by the fireplace covered with quaint tapestry. Elizabeth fell
in love with this room directly. She insisted that a certain cabinet
she had seen upstairs should be brought down to the cedar parlour,
and that an empty recess should be fitted up for books; and the
young men listened to her quite meekly. Her reforms and alterations
became so sweeping and extensive at last, that Malcolm, who at first
had been only amused, grew seriously alarmed. "We must see what Mr.
Atkins thinks," he kept observing; "we must decide on nothing
without him." Mr. Atkins was the lawyer who had managed all the
Strickland business, and they were to drive into Donnarton that very
afternoon to consult him. Nevertheless, when Malcolm made his little
protest, Elizabeth only shrugged her shoulders and muttered
something about "cautious legal minds" under her breath.

"Good for you, Betty, that we have a lawyer handy," observed Cedric
in high good-humour, "or you would be ruining yourself and Dinah
too. No--no, Herrick is right: we will mend the holes and lay down
fresh flooring where it is absolutely necessary, and do any cleaning
and painting that are required, but the rest can keep for a while;
the parlours and two decent bedrooms are all we shall require." And
then they went off to see the dairy.

They drove into Donnarton after an early dinner; but on arriving at
the lawyer's Elizabeth suddenly remarked that they were far too
large a party, and that she meant to do a little sight-seeing on her
own account. So, as they knew of old that it was useless to argue
with her, they went inside, and from over the wire blind in the
dingy front room Malcolm watched her crossing the butter market in
the direction of the ancient churchyard that skirted one side of it.

It troubled him to hear a bell toll as she passed through the little
gate, and a moment later a funeral procession, following a small
coffin, evidently of a child, climbed slowly up the steps.

After that he resigned himself to a long, tedious hour. The room was
hot and airless, the lawyer very prosy and unnecessarily fluent; but
he seemed a straightforward, honest man, and gave them good counsel.
Malcolm was soon put into possession of all the Strickland bequest,
and after this it was all plain sailing.

The land was good, and though the farm had deteriorated, a little
judicious management and a moderate outlay would soon put things on
a different footing. This was Mr. Atkins's opinion; he had himself
suggested that a partner with some capital should be found.

Some final arrangements were made after this; then Cedric suggested
that they should have tea at the inn, and Malcolm volunteered to go
in search of Elizabeth.

He felt sure that he should find her still in the churchyard, and he
was right. She was standing near one of those dreary monuments which
affectionate relatives loved to raise to their departed friends in
the early Victorian era. There was old Time with his beard and
scythe, a broken column, veiled mourners and a dejected-looking
cherub, and the stiff funereal urn; but Elizabeth was looking at a
cluster of grassy mounds under a yew tree, with simple headstones,
and here and there a cross. She looked up at Malcolm with a quiet
smile.

"Have they sent you to find me?" she asked. "It is so nice and
peaceful here; I like to think of all those tired workers resting
after their labours--their work done."

"I think you make a mistake there," returned Malcolm, falling at
once into her vein of thought. "Resting, true, but their work is
certainly not finished: it is only broken off, because probably they
have reached a part that can only be carried on under certain
conditions."

Elizabeth turned round in her quick way. "Say that again!" she
exclaimed eagerly, and Malcolm repeated his speech.

"I like that," she murmured: "if one could only grasp that thought."

"There is no difficulty, surely," he replied. "People often talk of
continuity of life, and continuity of love, and why not continuity
of work? Think of all the thousands of workers who have gone hence,
many of them in the prime of their youth or manhood--votaries of
science, of art, pioneers and missionaries, soldiers of the Cross,
and soldiers of the Queen--a vast army that no man can number!" Here
Malcolm paused.

"Yes, yes--oh, please go on!" Elizabeth was drinking in his words as
though they were new wine.

"You know what the Wisdom of Solomon says: 'In the sight of the
unwise they seemed to die, and their departure is taken for misery;'
but," looking at her with a smile, "you and I know better than
that."

"And you think, as Mr. Carlyon does, that there will be active life
and work there?" and Elizabeth's large sad eyes were full of
yearning as she asked the question.

"How could I face the future if I did not believe it?" returned
Malcolm earnestly. "Why are these talents, these gifts of genius,
this thirst for knowledge given to us, if they are not to be
developed and turned to account hereafter? Think of the conditions
under which such work will be done"--and here Malcolm's voice was
full of enthusiasm--"the wisdom of the ages around us, the great
ones of the earth--in whose footprints we have striven to walk--
beside us in the fulness of their majesty--no hindrances, no
physical weakness, no painful conflict between the human will and
the clouded intellect: the heir of all the ages will have entered
his goodly heritage. Oh, forgive me," checking himself abruptly, for
the tears were streaming down Elizabeth's cheeks.

"No--no, it has been such a comfort! I shall not forget; you have
done me so much good;" and then she wiped away her tears, and tried
to smile, and by the time they reached the inn she had regained her
composure. During their drive home Malcolm occupied the seat next
her in the waggonette, and Dinah, who was opposite to them, noticed
that Elizabeth talked more to him than she had done since that
unlucky afternoon at the Pool, and that Malcolm looked unusually
happy.

But his content was of short duration. The next morning, as they
were waiting for the waggonette to take them to the station,
Elizabeth wandered into the deserted garden, and Malcolm, who
followed her, found her standing under a Guelder rose-tree, picking
some of the snowy blossoms.

She greeted him with a smile. "This reminds me of Cedric's nursery
days," she observed. "He used to love to pelt me with these soft
white balls when he was a mite of a thing in a white frock and blue
ribbons. Powder-puffins," he used to call them. "What a pretty
little fellow he was, to be sure! Well, Mr. Herrick," as Malcolm
made no reply, "so our little jaunt is at an end. It has really been
very pleasant, don't you think so?"

"I have enjoyed it," returned Malcolm. He spoke with marked
emphasis.

"Oh, so have we all," she replied lightly. "It is so delightful to
see those two boys so ridiculously happy;" for both Cedric and Harry
Strickland had behaved during breakfast time like a couple of crazy
schoolboys.

"You have helped to make them so," observed Malcolm meaningly.

"Oh no," in a careless tone; "Dinah is taking the lion's share. If I
had had my way, I would have restored this beautiful old place--but
two lawyers are enough to crush any woman."

"I am only thankful that we were able to check such sinful
extravagance," he returned calmly; "I believe generosity can
degenerate into positive vice." But Elizabeth refused to listen to
this.

"If it had been Cedric's house, I would have done it up from garret
to basement," she said wilfully. "Anyhow, I mean to take the garden
in hand. When you come down to the Wood House next, you shall hear
all my plans, and of course we shall have one of our old fights over
them."

Now what was there in this speech to cause such a curious revulsion
in Malcolm's mind? Elizabeth was speaking with the utmost good-
humour, and at any other moment he would have thought her
imperiousness charming--so what possessed him to draw himself up and
say rather stiffly that he feared that it would be some time before
they saw him at Staplegrove. "You know, I am going abroad this
summer with my mother and Anna Sheldon," he continued gravely; "we
are going to the Engadine and the Italian Lakes."

"But that is not until August," returned Elizabeth, rather taken
aback by Malcolm's sudden gravity. She had been so pleased with him
the previous afternoon; her liking for him had deepened, and she had
felt a genuine desire for his friendship. In her secret heart she
knew how well he had behaved, and was grateful to him for his
delicacy and tact; but at this moment she felt as though she had
received a douche of cold water. "That is not until August, and it
is only May now," she repeated rather seriously.

"Yes, I know"--but here Malcolm lost his self-command. Perhaps the
May sunshine dazzled him, or the soft friendliness in Elizabeth's
eyes and that unvarying kindliness tried his endurance, but for once
the underlying bitterness found vent.

"I cannot come before I go abroad--you, of all people, ought not to
expect it! You must know how I feel--that it is not good for me!
When I am with you, I can scarcely endure my pain!" He spoke
harshly, almost flinging the words at her; but she answered him
quite humbly.

"Forgive me, I did not want to hurt you," in a trembling voice--"I
did not understand."

"No, you have never understood," but there was no conciliation in
his tone; "you make things harder for me. Elizabeth, I ought not to
have said this, but the happiness of these two days has been too
much for me. I will keep away until I have regained mastery over
myself, and then I will come. If you want me--if there be anything
that I can do for you or your sister, you must send for me."

"I could not do that," she returned, averting her face, and showers
of white petals powdered the ground at her feet, as her nervous
fingers unconsciously stript the stalks--"you have made that
impossible," And then she continued impulsively, "Mr. Herrick, you
must believe how sorry I am. You have been such a friend--such a
true, kind friend, and I have been so grateful to you!"

"I can never be your friend, Elizabeth"--there was a sad finality
about Malcolm's tone that made Elizabeth shrink from him almost
timidly.

"Can you not?" she returned with a little sob. "But you can be
Dinah's friend. Do not let her suffer because of this; if we are
both unhappy, there is no need that she should be, and you are one
of her greatest comforts."

"You are right," replied Malcolm more gently, "and I shall always be
at Miss Templeton's service. I know you tell her everything, will
you let her know this?--when she wants me, when either of you want
me, I will come if needs be from the ends of the earth. You will
believe this?"

"I always believe Dinah's friend," she returned, in a voice he
hardly recognised--it was so soft and full of feeling; "but how I
shall miss mine!" and here Elizabeth's eyes were very sad. She
looked at the bare flower-stalks in her hands rather remorsefully
before she threw them away and returned to the house.

On their way to the station Malcolm occupied a seat next to the
driver. Now and then Elizabeth glanced up at the broad shoulders a
little wistfully. How silent he was, she did not once hear his
voice! While they waited for the train, he and Harry Strickland
paced up and down the platform. The train was rather full, one or
two strangers were in their compartment, and whether accidentally or
by purpose, Malcolm was shut off from the rest of his party.

At Waterloo a silent hand-shake was all that passed between him and
Elizabeth, and even to Dinah he said little; but as he drove off in
the hansom, he told himself that he had done right, and that he did
not regret a single word he had spoken.

It was far better for her to know the truth: he understood her so
well--she was not dense, but she was wilfully blinding her eyes;
very likely she was misled by his calm, matter-of-fact manner.

"She thinks I have got over it--that I have come to my senses, and
accepted the inevitable--that we can be friends in the comfortable,
approved fashion"--here Malcolm's eyes flashed with sudden fire--
"but she has found out her mistake. No, there shall be no more
deception. When I see her again I shall wear my true colours--though
Heaven forbid that I should persecute her with attentions that only
embarrass and distress her. No, you are safe with me, dear," he
murmured inwardly; "but even for your sweet sake I will not act a
lie. I am Dinah's friend, but your lover, Elizabeth--and must be as
long as I have life and breath"--and somehow this solemn avowal of
his heart's secret did Malcolm good. But Dinah noticed that
Elizabeth was more than usually depressed for some time after their
return to the Wood House.

CHAPTER XLII

THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME

Give what you have; to some it may be better than
you dare to think.
--LONGFELLOW.

The Possible stands by us ever fresh,
Fairer than aught which any life hath owned,
And makes divine amends.
--JEAN INGELOW.

Two years had passed away since Malcolm had uttered his passionate
protest in the Priory garden that May morning, when the white petals
of the Guelder roses in Elizabeth's hand lay like snow on the gravel
path, and all this time he had sternly adhered to his resolution.

In those two years he had only paid four visits to the Wood House,
and on two of these occasions Elizabeth had been absent. Each time
he had come on Dinah's invitation, to give her the help and counsel
she needed, and more than once he had met her at 27 Queen's Gate.

For Cedric had had his way, and had effected an introduction between
his sisters and Mrs. Herrick; and as they had mutually taken to each
other, a pleasant intimacy had been the result, and Anna had paid
two or three visits to the Wood House. From the first moment of
their meeting Anna had fallen in love with Dinah. "You must not
think that I do not care for Miss Elizabeth Templeton," she had
observed rather shyly to Malcolm, after her first visit to
Staplegrove--"for I admire and like her more than I can say, and I
am never tired of talking to her--but I do love my dear Miss Dinah!"
And indeed Dinah accepted the girl's innocent worship with great
kindness. "She is a dear child, and Elizabeth and I are very fond of
her," she wrote once to Malcolm; "the thought that some one else is
fond of her too makes me very happy." For at this time it was
evident to all Cedric's friends that a mutual attachment was growing
up between him and Anna.

The years had not been unfruitful to Malcolm, and his name as a
powerful and successful author was firmly established. He no longer
held his appointment, and had given up his dingy chambers in
Lincoln's Inn. His own work fully occupied him, and thanks to his
literary receipts and his mother's generosity, he realised a good
income.

To his own regret and to his friends also, he was no longer a member
of the Keston menage. He had outgrown his homely quarters, and now
occupied one of the new flats in Cheyne Walk, and lived in quite a
palatial fashion, though many a pipe was still smoked in Amias's
studio. Malcolm had emerged from his shell, and mixed freely in
society. His was a name to conjure with, and all the people best
worth knowing gathered round him and delighted to do him homage.
Elizabeth used to read his name sometimes in the columns of the
Times and the Morning Post. "He seems to go everywhere, and to know
every one," she observed once to Dinah; "I am afraid he will be
terribly spoiled." But she only said it to tease Dinah. She knew
that Malcolm Herrick had no overweening estimate of himself--that,
in spite of his success and his many friends, and all the smiles and
adulation lavished on him, at heart he was a lonely man. Perhaps in
her way Elizabeth was lonely too. In spite of her devotion to
David's father, there were times when the narrowness of her life
oppressed her--when her broad sympathies and strong vitality seemed
to cry out for a larger life, for a wider outlook--when she trod the
woodland paths with a sense of weariness--the same path day after
day.

"How tired one gets of it all!" she said to herself one May
afternoon, as she came in sight of the porch where Mr. Carlyon was
reading tranquilly and enjoying the sweet spring air. The curate-in-
charge looked slightly older and had taken to spectacles, but
otherwise there was little change in him. On the whole, his
existence was a very peaceful one. He loved Rotherwood and the
simple, kindly folk amongst whom he lived. His books and Elizabeth's
society were his chief pleasures. If the day passed without seeing
her, Theo noticed that he grew restless and preoccupied, and finally
went across to the Wood House on some excuse or other, to assure
himself that nothing was amiss.

"Father thinks that there is no one like Elizabeth," Theo would
observe: "nothing that she says or does is wrong. If he had his way
they would never be apart;" and Theo was right.

In spite of his short sight, Mr. Carlyon soon detected the signs of
mental weariness on Elizabeth's pale face; for as she seated herself
on the wooden bench beside him, he patted her hand in his tender,
homely way.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked gently. "You look tired, Elizabeth."

"Do I?" she returned absently; "I feel as though I could walk ten
miles with pleasure. That is the worst, I am so strong that nothing
tires me. Sometimes I fancy it would be a pleasant experience to be
honestly fatigued in some good cause. How one would sleep after it!"

"I thought you always slept well, dear?"

"Oh, so I do: often I fall asleep as soon as my head is on the
pillow. But I wake early--the first twitter of the birds rouses me--
and then life looks so long." Elizabeth spoke in a dejected tone.

"Come and walk," was Mr. Carlyon's only answer to this; "I have been
writing my sermon all the morning, and I feel a bit stiff and
headachy. Let us go down the valley;" and as Elizabeth made no
objection to this, he got his hat and stick, and they sallied forth
together. Outside the gate they came upon the vicar, and the three
walked on together, as Mr. Charrington intended calling at the
Crow's Nest. Elizabeth had been very silent all the way, and had
left the conversation to the two gentlemen. When Mr. Charrington had
quitted them, they turned into the long woodland path that skirted
the valley. It was a beautiful spot, and a favourite resort of
Elizabeth's. She loved to breathe the spicy incense of the pines,
and to watch the shadows move across the valley. As they seated
themselves under a little clump of firs, they could look down into
the dark woods far below. All round them were heather, bracken,
whortleberries, and brambles, and later on the hillside would be a
glory of purple.

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