Books: Herb of Grace

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"Oh, I am comfortable enough," returned Malcolm. "Chelsea is sacred
ground to me. Did not Carlyle live and die there! Besides, there is
the river and the bridges, and Battersea Park in the distance, and
the house where Gabriel Dante Rossetti lived, and an old historical
church, and the grand old Hospital, and all sorts of gray secluded
old nooks and corners over which I can gloat when I take my walks
abroad."

"What a queer chap you are, Herrick," Cedric returned in a puzzled
tone. He felt rather like the bewildered Satyr when the traveller
blew hot and cold. But Malcolm was perfectly sincere. No man loved
the country more truly and sincerely. Nevertheless, the town was
equally necessary to him; and if he had been compelled to choose
between them, his casting vote would have been for town.

"We are at the top of the hill now," observed Cedric presently, with
a jerk of the reins to remind Brown Becky that she must not go to
sleep, and then they bowled swiftly down a wide-open road. They had
just passed a cross-road, which, as Cedric informed Malcolm, led to
Rotherwood, where the nearest church and shops were, when Malcolm's
attention was attracted by a house they were passing. It was a small
gray house, standing rather back from the road, with a garden at the
side full of gay flower-borders.

"Oh, that's the Crow's Nest," observed Cedric, "where the Logans
live; that is where your friends the Kestons are coming. Oh, there
is no need of looking at it now," as Malcolm craned his neck in his
effort to see more of it;, "we can go over it any day we like. Here
we are at the Wood House," and Cedric drove in at an open gate.

Malcolm looked round in pleased surprise. At that moment the house
was not visible. They seemed driving through a little wood--only the
carriage road winding between the fir trees was beautifully kept.
Now and then there was an open glade, but the greater part was
thickly fringed with heather, bracken, and whortleberry bushes.

The next moment Cedric turned a corner sharply, and a low gray house
and a well-kept tennis lawn were before them.

"What a charming place!" exclaimed Malcolm. "It certainly merits its
name--it is indeed a Wood House."

"Dinah is going to build a lodge next year," returned Cedric. "Lots
of people refuse to believe there is a house in the wood, and lose
themselves a dozen times before they find it. Ah, there's Dinah on
the look-out for us. Jump down, Herrick; I will follow you directly.
I want to speak to Forbes about the mare."

Malcolm did as he was told, and entered the long, softly-lighted
hall. Perhaps the sunshine had dazzled his eyes a little, but at
that instant he thought it was a young girl who was advancing to
meet him. The figure was so rounded and graceful, and there was such
alertness and youthfulness in the bearing; but as she came closer to
him he saw that her hair was quite gray.

"I am very pleased indeed to see you, Mr. Herrick," she observed in
a pleasant voice. "We have heard so much of you from Cedric that you
seem quite an old friend. I am afraid you will find us very quiet,
homely people; but I daresay Cedric will have prepared you for that.
He grumbles dreadfully, poor boy, at our old-fashioned, humdrum
ways."

"I can assure you, Miss Templeton, that the quiet will be very
restful after the turmoil of town," returned Malcolm seriously;
"and, as far as I can judge at present, Staplegrove seems a perfect
paradise;" and then Miss Templeton smiled and led the way into a
pleasant, cosy-looking drawing-room, with three windows opening on
to a terrace, below which lay a charming garden. On this side of the
house the wood ended abruptly; but in the distance, beyond a rose
arch, Malcolm caught sight of a little rustic bridge which seemed to
span a sort of green ravine.

Miss Templeton had taken her place at the tea-table; but Malcolm did
not at once follow her. "After all, town has its drawbacks," he said
half to himself; but Miss Templeton understood him.

"You mean one has to do without gardens there," she returned. "That
would never suit either my sister or myself; our garden is very dear
to us. You have not seen all its beauties yet, Mr. Herrick," she
continued brightly; "it is full of surprises. When I have given you
some tea we will go in search of my sister. She is sure to be down
at the Pool--we call it Ophelia's Pool, because it reminds us so of
a picture we have seen in the Royal Academy. It is our favourite
haunt on a hot summer's afternoon."

Malcolm made an appropriate reply, and for the next few minutes they
talked pleasantly of Staplegrove, and the short cut that led to
Rotherwood church and village; and then Cedric joined them, and
began chatting volubly to his sister; and Malcolm drank his tea and
watched them both. He owned to Anna afterwards that Dinah Templeton
was a revelation to him, and that all his preconceived notions of
her fell as flat as a pack of cards.

The demure and somewhat stately spinster he was expecting to see was
certainly not en evidence in this gray-haired, radiant-looking
woman; the soft, girlish bloom and the silvery hair were wonderfully
attractive; and yet what struck him most, with a sort of indefinable
surprise, was the mingled gentleness and brightness of expression;
there was such a wonderful clearness in the eyes--it somehow
reminded him of the innocent look of a happy child.

And it was to this sweet woman that Cedric was talking in that
cavalier fashion--with much affection certainly, but little
reverence, after the manner of the nineteenth-century youth. More
than once Malcolm muttered "Jackanapes" under his breath, and once
he interposed.

"Our young friend is too modern in his notions, Miss Templeton," he
observed. "Young Oxford is so cock-sure of everything under the sun-
-it is a fault of the age."

"Oh, do you think so?" and Miss Templeton looked relieved; for the
moment her serenity had seemed slightly clouded with what her sister
always called her "hen and duckling look."

"Oh, you may laugh, Cedric," looking at him fondly, "but I intend to
believe Mr. Herrick, he is older and more experienced. Oh, we have
such arguments sometimes," turning to Malcolm. "Cedric will have it
that we are not sufficiently up-to-date. We are mediaeval or in the
Dark Ages, according to him, but how is one to alter one's nature or
to talk unknown languages? My sister and I are very conservative,
and we cling to the beliefs and loves of the past."

"I don't believe Cedric wants to change you in the least, Miss
Templeton; he is only posing a bit for your edification, and trying
to make you think that he is as clever as he looks."

"Come now, draw it mild," growled Cedric. And then he looked
discontentedly round the room. "Where's Dick and the rest of the
fellows? I bet you anything you like, Die, that they are down with
Elizabeth at the Pool."

Dinah smiled as she rose from the table. "You are right, dear," she
returned composedly, "I saw the whole train following her as usual.
Dick wanted to go with the dog-cart,--he knew his master was
expected, but Forbes said it was too hot for the run. If you are
ready, Cedric, we might go down to the Pool now." And as Cedric
graciously intimated his readiness, Dinah led the way through the
flower-garden, only pausing on the rustic bridge to let Malcolm lean
over and admire the hanging gardens below, the sides of the little
ravine being clothed from the top to the bottom with wild-flowers
and plants of every description. The traveller's joy had even gained
a footing on the bridge itself. To add to the beauty, a tiny
rivulet, which seemed to take its rise from some invisible source,
flowed through the flowery ravine like a silver thread.

"What a charming spot!" observed Malcolm in a tone of such sincere
admiration that Miss Templeton looked quite gratified.

"It was my sister's idea," she said softly; "she originates most of
our improvements. Now, as you see, we have come to the end of our
garden and are going down that little woodland path. We are both
passionately fond of flowers, and like to see them from the house,
but in our hearts I believe we love our wild garden best."

"And you are right--one could never be tired of this," and Malcolm
glanced at the slender sterns of the firs and the soft green light
between the tree-boles. Just here the ground was bare except for the
carpet of brown needles, but the next moment the path became more
tangled and sloped rather steeply. They could distinctly hear a dog
bark. "Take him to the peep-hole," whispered Cedric in his sister's
ear, and Miss Templeton nodded and stepped off the path; then she
beckoned Malcolm to look through some interlacing branches which
formed a natural arch.

It was a charming little sylvan scene that met his eyes. The spot
had been fitly called Ophelia's Pool. The small pond was shut in
with rowans and thickets of alder and blackberry bushes, and on the
pond itself some water-lilies and other aquatic plants were growing.
Two or three rough boulders, cushioned with moss, made comfortable
seats, and were at the present moment occupied by two people--one of
them evidently the second Miss Templeton, and the other a young man
in a rough serge suit, whom at first sight Malcolm certainly did not
take for a clergyman; and round them, in various attitudes of
waiting and expectancy, dogs of all sorts and conditions--from a
handsome brown retriever to Cedric's little fox-terrier, Dick.

"My word, there's Carlyon," observed Cedric in rather an aggrieved
tone; "why, the fellow lives here;" and then he put his hands to his
mouth and gave a view-hallo so lustily that all the dogs began
barking like mad. Only Dick--who was a knowing fellow and up to
tricks--rushed up the path and began dancing excitedly round his
master.

"What barbarians boys are!" observed the other Miss Templeton
somewhat coolly to her companion, and then she rose from the boulder
and walked rather majestically towards her sister and their guest.

Her manner was friendly, and she greeted Malcolm kindly enough, but
it was less soft and winning than her sister's, and did not impress
him so favourably. Then she introduced Mr. Carlyon, and the two
young men shook hands; and afterwards the dogs passed in review, and
Elizabeth gravely named each one, ending up with her sister's little
dachshund Mike.

Malcolm, who was a dog-lover, although he had none of his own, was
soon making friends with all the animals; but as he praised and
caressed them, he was telling himself over and over again that the
second Miss Templeton could not hold a candle to her sister.

Malcolm was terribly critical with regard to women; Anna had often
blamed him for his severity.

"It is a mistake to expect perfection," she would say; "it is so
easy to find fault and pick holes in people;" but though Malcolm
agreed with her, he still remained fastidious and hard to please. So
he at once decided that Miss Elizabeth Templeton was not to his
taste. In the first place, he did not admire big women--and she was
tall, and decidedly massive. Her dress, too, was singularly
unbecoming--a big woman in a cotton blouse and a battered old hat
was a spectacle to make him shudder. Miss Templeton's blue muslin
and dainty ruffles were a pleasing contrast.

"It is a woman's duty to set herself off as much as possible," he
would say to the long-suffering Anna, and then he transposed a
certain saying, "If you can't be handsome, be as handsome as you
can;" and he would hold forth on the immorality of slovenliness.

"I daresay Miss Elizabeth Templeton would not be bad-looking if she
only took a little pains with herself," he thought, as they all
grouped themselves comfortably on the boulders. After a moment's
hesitation, Elizabeth placed herself beside him and begun to talk to
him. Somehow her voice pleased him. It was not so sweet as her
sister's, and there was a sort of burr in it, and when he knew her
better he discovered that when she was eager or excited about
anything there was a slight hesitation, as though her words tripped
each other up; but with all its defects it was a voice to linger in
the memory. She was so close to him now that he could judge of her
better. She was certainly not handsome, her features were irregular
and her mouth decidedly too wide for beauty; but the gleam of
faultlessly white teeth and a certain brightness in the dark Irish-
gray eyes redeemed her face from plainness; her skin, too, was clear
and naturally fair, but was evidently embrowned by air and sunshine.

Nature had formed her in a generous mould, for even her hands and
feet were large; and then Malcolm thought of Anna's pretty little
hands, and again he said to himself that in his opinion Elizabeth
Templeton was not an attractive woman.

CHAPTER X

WHAT THE FERN-OWL HEARD

There is but one thing that can never turn into
suffering, and that is the good we have done.
--MAETERLINCK.

It takes two to speak truth--one to speak and another
to hear.
--THOREAU.

While Malcolm was trying to make himself agreeable to the second
Miss Templeton, and not succeeding as well as he could wish, he more
than once broke off the conversation to listen with some amusement
to the bantering by-play going on between Cedric and the young
clergyman, Mr. Carlyon.

They were evidently on intimate terms, for Cedric addressed him as
David or Davie in the most unceremonious manner. Mr. Carlyon
appeared to be quite young, certainly not more than six-or seven-
and-twenty, and had an odd, characteristic, but most pleasant face,
that somehow took Malcolm's fancy at once. It was rather thin and
pale, and the mouth a little receding, but the broad forehead and
kindly, frank-looking eyes somewhat redeemed this defect. There was
so much life and animation in his expression; and a boyish eagerness
in his manner, a curious abruptness in his speech, a certain quick
clipping of words and sentences, only added to his marked
individuality, and was by no means disagreeable when one had become
accustomed to it.

Malcolm soon found out that he was the curate belonging to
Rotherwood, the church attended by the Templeton family; and it was
soon evident to him that the sisters, Miss Elizabeth especially,
took a great interest in parochial matters.

"How is old Dr. Dryasdust?" asked Cedric presently, but he spoke in
a jeering tone. Then Elizabeth laughed, but Dinah looked shocked,
and Mr. Carlyon threw a dry clod at him.

"It really is not such a bad name," observed Elizabeth softly, as
though to herself, and then her eyes encountered Mr. Carlyon's--it
was evident that he agreed with her.

"The vicar is not a lively person, certainly," he rejoined, "but all
the same I have a great respect for him. He is a trifle too
mediaeval for these days, and his environment does not suit him a
bit."

"He ought to be a fellow of his college--spending his days in
disinterring dusty old folios in the Bodleian," pursued Cedric,
"instead of being vicar of Rotherwood."

"I think very highly of Mr. Charrington," and Dinah spoke rather
gravely. "He is not only a very learned man, but he is such a
thorough gentleman. Poor man, it is a blessing that he has you near
him, Mr. Carlyon, for his life is very lonely."

"Why does he not get married then?" growled Cedric. "I bet you he is
not much over fifty." Then again Elizabeth and Mr. Carlyon exchanged
glances.

"I don't think the vicar ever intends to enter the holy estate of
matrimony," returned Mr. Carlyon. "He is an old bachelor by choice,
and in my humble opinion is likely to remain so; and then his worthy
housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, makes him so thoroughly comfortable."

"I heard something once from one of our fellows," observed Cedric,
with a mischievous glance at Dinah--he knew well her objection to
gossip. "He was not always a woman-hater. Palgrave of Lincoln told
me that he had been engaged to a lady, and that just before the
wedding-day the engagement was broken off; no one seemed to know the
rights of it, but ever since he has been a little shy of
petticoats."

"Cedric, I am sure it is time for us to dress for dinner,, the gong
must have sounded long ago. Will you show Mr. Herrick his room?"
Dinah spoke with gentle decision, and as she evidently expected
Malcolm to join her, he rose from his seat. As he did so he heard
Elizabeth say in a low voice to Mr. Carlyon, "I wonder if Cedric's
story is a true one." "Very possibly--why not?" was the answer; "he
looks like a man with a past," and then they dropped behind and he
heard no more.

It is never well to form an opinion too soon; before the next half-
hour had passed Malcolm had been compelled to readjust his ideas on
the subject of Miss Elizabeth Templeton. When he saw her again he
would hardly have recognised her. Her massive but well-proportioned
figure looked to its best advantage in the black evening dress; the
transparent material only set off the round white throat and finely-
moulded arms to perfection. The coils of brown hair were effectively
arranged, and the shape of the head was beautiful. Before the
evening was over Malcolm, in sheer honesty, was obliged to confess
to himself that Miss Elizabeth Templeton was a very attractive
woman, and would cast many prettier and younger faces into the
shade. "I wonder where her charm lies," he soliloquised when he had
retired to his bedroom that evening; "her sister is really almost
beautiful, but, with the exception of a pair of very bright and
expressive eyes, Miss Elizabeth has not a single good feature, and
yet one is compelled to admire her. She is a little dignified and
reserved with a stranger, and yet she is not shy; even while she
talked to Mr. Carlyon, who certainly seems a sort of tame cat at the
Wood House, I could see her looking at me as though she regarded me
with interest, but we have broken the ice now with a vengeance."

"One thing I have discovered," he went on, as he looked dreamily
down into the scented darkness of the garden, "she is a woman of
large sympathies, with an excellent sense of humour, which her good
heart and kindly nature keeps in good control; and if I do not
mistake, she is the leading spirit of the house. The sisters seem to
be devoted to each other; and the way they spoil that boy--" and
here Malcolm shook his head in strong disapproval, without being in
the least aware that he was not free from that fault himself. He had
just sent the lad away proud and happy by his delicately implied
praise of the Wood House and its inmates.

"I am quite sure that I shall get on with your sisters, Cedric," he
had said with good-natured condescension; "they seem to me such
thoroughly good, kind-hearted women, and very superior to the
generality of folk. How beautifully your sister Elizabeth sings! I
have seldom heard a voice that pleased me better."

"They both like you," returned Cedric shyly. "Dinah told me so at
once; and though Elizabeth did not actually say so, I could see by
her manner how she enjoyed talking to you;" and indeed Malcolm had
never been in better form.

It had been a very pleasant evening; the small oval dinner-table,
with its flowers exquisitely arranged, the open windows, with the
dogs lying out on the terrace, were all to Malcolm's taste.
Everything was so well-appointed and so well-managed. The servants
were evidently old retainers, and took a warm interest in their
mistress's guests.

After dinner they had their coffee on the terrace, and watched the
sun setting behind the fir woods, and when the last yellow gleam had
faded away from the sky, at Dinah's suggestion Elizabeth went into
the drawing-room, where two pink-shaded lamps were already lighted,
and seated herself at the piano.

"There is no occasion for us to go in," observed Dinah, who had
noticed Malcolm's evident enjoyment of his cigarette; "we shall hear
her perfectly out here, and Mr. Carlyon will turn over for her."

Such is human nature, for one instant Malcolm felt strongly impelled
to throw away his cigarette and oust Mr. Carlyon from his snug
corner, if only to teach him his place; but indolence prevailed: his
cigarette was too delicious, the air was so refreshing and balmy,
and the pale globes of the evening primroses and the milky whiteness
of the nicotianas gleamed so entrancingly in the soft dusk, that he
felt himself unwilling to move. Even the curious notes of the night-
jar seeking its prey in the dim light had a strange fascination for
him, and he spoke of it more than once to Dinah. "It is like the
humming of a spinning-wheel," he remarked; "it is very weird and
uncanny."

"So people always say," she returned. "It is the goat-sucker, you
know; they are very fond of feeding on that sort of beetle called
the gnat-chafer; in fact, it is their favourite food. It has another
name, the fern-owl."

"So I have heard;" and then, as a rich strong voice broke suddenly
on his startled ears, he leant back in his hammock chair and
composed himself to listen.

It was a wonderful voice, so sweet and true and full of expression;
there was such tenderness and depth in it, that it seemed in some
mysterious way to touch the very recesses of the heart, and to play
on the whole gamut of human feeling. Malcolm found himself thinking
of his lonely childhood, and of his father, then he recalled his
youthful aspirations and his old ideals. "The thoughts of youth are
long, long thoughts," he said to himself, "and the wind's will is a
boy's will;" and then, as the last lingering notes died away, he
flung his cigarette aside and rose abruptly from his seat.

"You have given us a great treat," he said in a low voice as
Elizabeth stepped through the window. Mr. Carlyon was laying aside
the pile of songs in the music cabinet as neatly as though it were
an accustomed duty. Malcolm gave him an impatient glance. "One would
think he belonged to the house," he said to himself rather crossly.

"Please do not thank me," returned Elizabeth smiling; her eyes were
very bright, and there was a warm flush on her face, which made her
look young and handsome. "It is my greatest pleasure to sing; I
believe if I had nothing else to do I should waste hours at the
piano."

"The hours would not be wasted," replied Malcolm. "It is a great
gift, and like all other great gifts it should be utilised as much
as possible. I could find it in my heart to envy you, Miss
Templeton."

"Oh, how often I have said that!" chimed in Dinah. "I think I enjoy
my sister's voice as much as she does herself; in the evening she
always sings to me."

"Mr. Herrick and Dinah are trying to make me vainer than I am by
nature," observed Elizabeth with her happy, childlike laugh, as Mr.
Carlyon came to her side. "Cedric, it is such a lovely evening that
we might have our usual stroll. Would you care to come with us?" to
Malcolm.

"You may as well go my way," remarked Mr. Carlyon, and Elizabeth
nodded; and then Dinah fetched her a light gossamer scarf, which she
tied over her head.

"Dinah does not care for moonlight rambles, she thinks them
frivolous," she observed, as they walked slowly through the dark
woodlands, "but Cedric and I love them. I like the silence and
emptiness; the villages are asleep, and the whole world seems given
up to fern-owls and bats and night-moths. Take care of the branch,
Mr. Herrick, or you will knock your head. It will be lighter on the
road outside. I am so used to this path that I think I could find my
way blindfold."

The two young men were before them, but Elizabeth, to Malcolm's
relief, showed no inclination to join them; even at this early stage
of their acquaintance he experienced an odd desire to monopolise her
society. He never felt more content with his surroundings. The
tranquillity of the hour, the soft half-lights, the mystery of the
long wide road, with two dark specks moving before them-all appealed
to Malcolm's artistic and romantic sense.

"It is a study in black and white," he half murmured to himself; but
at that moment he was not thinking of the tall, black-robed woman
beside him, with the shimmering white veil over her head.
Nevertheless, when Elizabeth laughed, he understood her and laughed
too.

"Mr. Herrick," she said suddenly, and her voice became grave, "I am
so glad to have this opportunity of speaking to you alone--without
my sister, I mean. For months--for nearly two years--I have longed
to see you and thank you for what you have done for Cedric. No--do
not stop"--for in his surprise Malcolm had paused in the act of
crossing the road; "they are looking back, and I do not want them
just now," and here she waved her hand a little impatiently. "We
must follow them through that gate into the woodland path that leads
to Rotherwood. It is so pretty in daylight. The moon will soon be
rising, and then you will see it better."

Malcolm followed her meekly. When he stumbled over a concealed root,
Elizabeth quietly put her hand on his arm to guide him. The firm,
soft touch, the spontaneous kindness of the action, and her utter
unconsciousness, gave him a positive thrill of pleasure.

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