Produced by Al Haines

[Frontispiece: 'I HAVE SEALED THE DIRECTIONS IN THIS ENVELOPE.']

THE CARVED CUPBOARD

BY

AMY LE FEUVRE

AUTHOR OF

  'PROBABLE SONS,' 'TEDDY'S BUTTON,' 'LEGEND LED,'
  'ODD MADE EVEN,' 'HEATHER'S MISTRESS,' ETC.

R.T.S., 4 Bouverie Street, London, E.C. 4

1899

Contents

CHAPTER I
  A SUPPLANTER

CHAPTER II
  FOUR VERSES

  A COUNTRY HOME

CHAPTER IV
  BLUEBEARD'S CUPBOARD

CHAPTER V
  A QUIET SUNDAY

CHAPTER VI
  A DEPARTURE

CHAPTER VII
  UNREST

CHAPTER VIII
  ENTERTAINING A STRANGER

CHAPTER IX
  GWEN'S RESOLVE

CHAPTER X
  CLARE'S DISCOVERY

CHAPTER XI
  AGATHA'S LEGACY

CHAPTER XII
  OUT IN CALIFORNIA

CHAPTER XIII
  HIS LAST MESSAGE

CHAPTER XIV
  THE COUSINS' RETURN

CHAPTER XV
  ALICK LESTER

CHAPTER XVI
  BRINGING BAD TIDINGS

CHAPTER XVII
  ELFIE'S CHOICE

CHAPTER XVIII
  PATTY'S GRAVE

CHAPTER XIX
  THE RIGHTFUL HEIR

CHAPTER XX
  BROUGHT BACK

ILLUSTRATIONS

'I HAVE SEALED THE DIRECTIONS IN THIS ENVELOPE.' . . . . . .
_Frontispiece_

AND SAW A MAN ON HIS KNEES BY THE CUPBOARD

THE CARVED CUPBOARD

CHAPTER I

A Supplanter

  'For troubles wrought of men,
  Patience is hard.'--_J. Ingelow._

The firelight shone upon a comfortably-furnished drawing-room in one of
the quiet London squares, and upon four girlish figures grouped around
a small tea-table.  Agatha Dane, the eldest, sat back in her chair with
a little wrinkle of perplexity upon her usually placid brow.  Rather
plump and short of stature, with no pretensions to beauty, there was
yet something very attractive in her bright open countenance; and she
was one to whom many turned instinctively for comfort and help.

Gwendoline, who sat next her, and was doing most of the talking, was a
tall, slight, handsome girl, with dark eyes that flashed and sparkled
with animation as she spoke, and there was a certain stateliness of
carriage that made some of her acquaintances term her proud.

Clare was toying absently with her spoon and tea-cup; she was
listening, and occasionally put in a word, but her thoughts were
evidently elsewhere.  She had not the determination in her face that
was Gwendoline's characteristic; and perhaps the varying expressions
passing over it, and so transparent to those who knew her, formed her
chief charm.  There was a wistfulness in her dark blue eyes, and a look
of expectation that one longed to see fulfilled; and her dreamy
preoccupied manner often made her friends wonder if she spent all her
time in dreamland.

Elfrida sat on the hearth-rug with her sunny hair glistening in the
firelight.  She was the youngest and prettiest of the four, and had
only just returned from Germany that same day.  It was her eager
questioning that was making them all linger over their tea.

'But I don't understand,' she said, a little impatiently.  'How does
Cousin James happen to be here at all?  Aunt Mildred never cared for
him.  She said last year when I was home that he was a regular screw,
and that he only came on a visit to save his housekeeping bills.  Now I
come back and find dear Aunt Mildred gone, and he in full possession of
our home, ready to turn us out to-morrow, you say!  Aunt Mildred always
told us we should never want after her death.'

'We shall not actually do that,' said Agatha quietly, 'for she has left
us a legacy each, which will at any rate keep the wolf from the door.'

'But hasn't she left us Dane Hall?  She always said she would.'

'No; a codicil to that will has been added since James has been here.'

'Yes; he has managed it beautifully,' put in Gwendoline, with scorn in
her tone.  'He came down here directly he heard she was ill, and
established himself in the dressing-room next to hers.  Clare has been
away, but Agatha and I were virtually shut out of the sick-room from
the time he entered the house.  He got a trained nurse; said Agatha was
worn out, and must rest; and told Nannie she was too old and too
near-sighted to be left alone with her mistress.  The poor old soul has
been weeping her eyes out since!  Then he took advantage of Aunt
Mildred's state of weakness, and worried and coaxed her into making
this unjust codicil.  All in his favour, of course; I don't believe
poor aunt knew what she was doing.  And we shall have to shift for
ourselves now.  I hope he will enjoy his unrighteous possessions.  I--I
hate him!'

'What are we going to do?'

'Well,' said Agatha, rousing herself, 'we have been talking over
matters together.  You see, we can be independent of each other if we
choose, for we are all of age, and have each about 100 pounds a year,
besides what the sale of this house will bring us.'

'Oh, she left us this house, did she?  Then why can't we go on living
here?'

'The lease terminates at the end of this year, and we have not the
income to keep it up.  Why, Elfie, a town house like this is ruinous
for people of small means!  I feel anxious for us to have a home
together somewhere, even if we have to go into the country for it; but,
of course, I would not influence any of you to side with me against
your inclinations.'

'It would be an establishment of old maids; single women, shall we say?
It doesn't sound very nice, buried away in the country.'

Elfie spoke dubiously; then Gwen broke in, 'Well, if Clare is wise, she
will marry soon.  I'm sure two years' engagement ought to be long
enough in all conscience to satisfy her!'

Clare's soft cheeks flushed a little.

'Hugh is going out to Africa, you know, with a survey party.  We could
not settle till after that.  He is quite of the same mind as I am on
that point!'

'Do you like the country plan, Gwen?' asked Elfie.

'Yes, I think I do.  I am personally sick of town.  A suburban life
would be intolerable, and we have all resources enough to prevent us
from stagnating.'

Elfie gave a little sigh.

'You don't know how I was looking forward to a London season.  I have
been in Germany ever since I left school, studying music.  And now what
is the good of it?  I shall be out of touch with it entirely.'

'Would you like to stay in town for a little?' asked Agatha
sympathetically.  'We could easily arrange for you to board with some
nice people somewhere.'

'No, I will come with you, and see how it works.  I suppose we shall
not be banished from London for ever?  We can sometimes come up for a
short stay?'

'Oh yes, I think so.  We have not settled where to live yet, but we
have been looking through some house agents' lists, and Gwen is full of
plans, as usual.'

'You would be badly off without me to keep you all alive,' said Gwen
laughing.  'If I were by myself, I would like nothing better than a
caravan or a house-boat; but that wouldn't suit all of us.'

'Not me,' said Clare, with a little grimace of disgust.

'Oh, it is a shame!' exclaimed Elfie, springing up, and walking up and
down in her excitement; 'how dare Cousin James behave so treacherously!
Can't we dispute the will?  Can't we go to law?'

'It is useless to think of such a thing.  We can prove nothing.  He is
a man, and has had a jealous feeling of us all our lives.  Now fortune
has favoured him, and he is glorying in his prosperity.  He is rightly
named James, or Jacob, for he is a base supplanter!'

'Will you give me a cup of tea?'

Gwen started at the voice following her hot outburst so quickly, and
Elfie stopped her hurried walk, and turned a little defiantly towards
the new-comer.

Mr. James Dane was a quiet-looking, sprucely-dressed man of over forty
years of age.  He seated himself with the greatest equanimity in the
midst of the group, and Agatha in silence poured him out a cup of tea,
and handed it to him.

'I am afraid I have interrupted a very animated discussion,' he said
blandly.  'I suppose you are arranging future plans.  Of course, you
cannot well remain here.  Would you like me to take any steps about the
sale for you?  I shall be a week longer in town.'

'Mr. Watkins will arrange all that for us, thank you,' replied Agatha
quietly.

'Oh, very well.  Why, Elfrida, I never noticed you!  Just come back
from Germany, have you?  It seems to have suited your health.  You are
looking quite bonny.'

'I don't feel so,' was the blunt reply; 'it is not a very happy
home-coming!'

'No, of course not.  But, as my wife was saying this morning, you girls
can only have pleasant memories of your dear aunt, who did so much for
you all when she was alive.  I remember when first you all arrived from
India, and she was in such an anxious state of bewilderment at the
thought of the charge of four orphan children, my mother said to her,
"Oh, well, Mildred, if you are good enough to educate them, they will
naturally do something later to relieve you of the burden of
maintaining them."  And my wife and I have been so surprised at your
all continuing to look upon her house as your rightful home.  I suppose
in the goodness of her heart she insisted upon it.  Still, nowadays,
young ladies are so independent, and have such a wide scope for their
talents, that we quite expected to hear you were supporting yourselves,
after the liberal education that you have received.'

There was dead silence after this speech, which Gwen broke at last, and
her tone was haughtiness itself.

'As you have met with such success in your visit here, Cousin James,
you could at least afford to be generous towards us.  You have one
mercy to be thankful for, and that is, that we never have, and never
shall, look to you to maintain us!'

And then she left the room, shutting the door behind her with a rather
ungentle hand.  Mr. Dane smiled, passed his cup to be refilled, and
then turned to Clare.

'I suppose your marriage will be hastened now, will it not?  When is
the happy day to be?'

'I will let you know when it is settled,' was the quiet reply.

'Come upstairs with me, Clare, and see Nannie,' said Elfie impetuously;
'I haven't been near her yet, dear old thing!'

The two girls quitted the room together, and with a little sigh Agatha
settled herself down to a _tête-à-tête_ with her cousin.

'You girls have all assumed such aggressive demeanours towards me, that
I really hardly know if you will take any advice from me.  It is
exceedingly foolish to adopt such airs.  No doubt you are disappointed
in not being the sole heiresses of our aunt, but you ought not to have
expected it for a moment.  She had for a long time regretted making
that rash will, which was drawn up when her heart was full of pity for
your penniless condition.  Only, being in such robust health, she
always put off doing it until this last sad illness of hers.  Where do
you think of settling?'

'We have not made up our minds.'

'Have you heard from your brother lately?  Is he doing better than he
was?  It is such a mistake for a young fellow to think he will make his
fortune in the Colonies nowadays.  I only hope you may not find him
thrown on your hands soon.'

'Walter is doing very well, thank you.  There is no chance of his
coming back to England for a good long time.'

'I have been wondering whether you would like to settle somewhere near
London.  I have some house property at Hampstead, and could let you
have a small villa there at a very reasonable rent.  Of course,
understand, this is entirely because I should like to give you any help
that I can.'

At this Agatha could not help smiling.

'It is very kind of you, but we have decided to live in the country.'

'I am surprised.  Have you ever tried a country life in the winter?  I
am afraid you will find it a great failure.  And, remember, unprotected
females, choosing an isolated position, run the risk of being robbed.
If you do go to the country, be sure and get a house near others.
Well, I must be going.  Say good-bye to the others for me.  I shall
look in again on you before long, and if you want me, you know my club.
Your cousin Helen has left town, and I shall be taking a trip to the
Continent with her very soon.'

He rose, shook hands politely, and directly the door closed upon him,
Agatha hastened to find her sisters.

She knew where to look for them.  In a small room at the end of the
passage past the best bedrooms, Nannie would now be taking her
afternoon cup of tea.  She had been with them all since they were quite
tiny children; had brought them over from India after their parents'
death, and had been kept in Miss Dane's service ever since--first as
their nurse, then as housekeeper, when they no longer needed her care.

She was an old woman now, crippled with rheumatism; but she was a
bright and happy Christian, and had a good influence upon all who came
in contact with her.  It had been already arranged that she was to go
into an alms-house when the house was sold, and Miss Dane had left her
a small legacy, so that her future was provided for.  Agatha's face as
she opened the door was a troubled one.  She saw the old woman in her
easy chair by the fire; Gwen and the two younger ones making themselves
comfortable round her; and all were talking freely to her of what had
passed downstairs.

'Come along, Agatha; has he gone?'

'Yes,' was the reply; 'and I have come to Nannie to be soothed.  All
the way upstairs I have been saying to myself, "Fret not thyself,
because of him who prospereth in his way."  But it is hard to see his
self-complacency.'

'Poor old thing!  When Agatha is disturbed, it must be something
indeed!  Here is a seat.  Nannie has been scolding us, and now she
shall scold you.'

CHAPTER II

Four Verses

'In preparing a guide to immortality, Infinite Wisdom gave not a
dictionary, nor a grammar, but a Bible--a book of heavenly doctrine,
but withal of earthly adaptation.'--_J. Hamilton._

The old woman looked through her glasses at her four nurslings with a
loving eye; then she said very quietly, 'I have been hearing all about
your plans, Miss Agatha, and I'm thinking you have shown your wisdom in
keeping a home together.  Forgive my plain speaking.  I know 'tis an
age for young ladies to make homes for themselves, anywhere and
everywhere, but unless a woman is married, 'tis a risky undertakin'!
I've been inclined to fret that my working days are over, for dearly
would I like to have gone with you, and done what I could to make you
comfortable; but 'tis the Lord's will, and my age and helplessness
doesn't prevent me from prayin' for you all!  You have the same psalm
in your mind, Miss Agatha, that I have been readin' and studyin' this
afternoon.  I would dearly like to give you each a verse out of it, if
you won't take offence.'

'We're in for one of Nannie's preaches!' said Gwen, laughing, as she
placed a large-print Bible before her old nurse; 'but we shan't have a
chance of many more, so we promise to be attentive!'

'Ay, dear Miss Gwen, it isn't a preach!  How often you come up here to
have a cup o' tea to refresh your bodies! and 'tis a bit of refreshment
to your souls that I'm now makin' so bold as to offer.'  Nannie turned
over the pages of her beloved Bible with a reverent hand, then she
looked across at Agatha.

'My dear Miss Agatha, there are four verses here, with a command and a
promise.  I should like to give you each one to think of, through all
the troubles and trials that may come to you.  Will you mark it in your
own Bibles, and live it out, remembering it was Nannie's verse for you,
so that when I'm dead and gone you may still have the comfort and
teachin' of it?'

Agatha was touched by the old woman's solemn earnestness.

'Yes, Nannie, give it to me, and I will try and put it "into practice."'

Nannie's voice rang out in the dusky firelit room, as she repeated,
more from memory than by sight,--

'Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and
verily thou shalt be fed!'

'Thank you, Nannie,' said Agatha after a pause, 'I will look it up and
remember it.'

'Now mine, please,' said Gwen, looking over the old woman's shoulder.
'Is it the next verse for me?'

'No, my dear, I think not.  It seems to me that this must be the Lord's
word to you: "Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He
shall bring it to pass."'

'You have given me that because you think I like choosing my own way
through life, now haven't you?'

'Maybe I have.  Choosing our own ways and goin' in them always bring
trouble in the end.  Now, Miss Clare, your verse is the beginning of
the one Miss Agatha was sayin': "Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently
for Him"; and, Miss Elfie, this is for you, "Delight thyself also in
the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart."'

'And I am the only one that has got a command without a promise,' said
Clare reproachfully.

Nannie looked at Clare, then at her big Bible again.

'You have a promise further on, Miss Clare, "Those that wait upon the
Lord, they shalt inherit the earth."'

'Ah, Nannie, that is too big a promise to realize.  If it was to
inherit Dane Hall now!'

'My dear, since you were a little wee child, you have always been
looking for something big.  You will inherit more from God Almighty, if
you wait for Him, than ever you could inherit without Him!'

There was silence for a few minutes; then Gwen said, trying to speak
lightly, 'We shan't forget your verses, Nannie; and though I'm afraid
none of us will ever grow into such a saint as yourself, it won't be
for want of an example before us.  Now may we turn to business?  Jacob
has gone, and we must bestir ourselves.  I have cut out an
advertisement from the _Morning Post_, which I think sounds tempting.
And as Agatha seems so slow in making up her mind, I think I shall take
the train to-morrow morning and go and inspect the place myself.
Doesn't it sound as if it ought to suit us?  "To Let.  An old-fashioned
cottage residence, four bedrooms, two attics, three reception-rooms,
well-stocked fruit and vegetable garden.  Owner called abroad suddenly;
will let on reasonable terms!"'

'Where is it?' asked Elfie.

'Hampshire.  I wrote to the agent who advertises, and he said the rent
would be about 40 pounds.  It is close to some pine woods, and only
three miles from a town.  It sounds nice, I think; at any rate, it is
worth seeing about.'

'Do you like old-fashioned cottage residences?' said Clare very
dubiously; 'they always remind me of rotten floors, rats and mice, and
damp musty rooms.'

I hate modern villas,' retorted Gwen, 'with gimcrack walls and smoky
chimneys and bad drainage!  This has an old-world sound.  Let us, if we
live out of town, choose an Arcadia, with nothing to remind us of the
overcrowded suburbs.  Are you willing I should go, Agatha, and come
back and report the land?'

Yes,' said Agatha; 'better you should do it than I, for what suits you
will suit me, but what would suit me might not suit you.  We will talk
it over when you come back.'

And so it was settled; and after an early breakfast next day, Gwen
started on her quest.

She did not come back till between seven and eight o'clock in the
evening, and seemed so tired that Agatha insisted upon her eating a
good dinner before she gave an account of herself.  Then, rested and
refreshed, she came into the drawing-room and settled herself in a
comfortable chair by the fire to give her experiences.

'I really think it will do,' she began.  'I arrived at the station
about twelve o'clock, and walked out the three miles, to see what the
country was like.  Brambleton is a clean, empty little town, with no
one in the streets but a few tottering old men and children, a few good
shops, and there is a market every Friday.  I walked along the high
road for a couple of miles, then turned up a lane with a ragged piece
of common at the end of it, passed one or two nice houses standing back
in their own grounds, a little country church with parsonage adjoining
in the orthodox fashion, a cluster of thatched cottages, and finally
came to the "cottage residence."'

'Is it in a village street?' asked Agatha.

'No, not exactly.  It is in a side road leading to a farm.  It is a low
white house with a great box hedge hiding it from the road, and a
stone-flagged path leading up to the door.  A blue trellis verandah
runs right round it, which I rather liked, and a row of straw bee-hives
in front delighted me.  There was an old woman in charge, who showed me
all over, and talked unceasingly.'

'Now describe the rooms exactly,' said Elfie eagerly; 'and did the
house smell musty and damp?'

'No, I shouldn't say it was at all damp; of course rooms that have been
shut up always seem fusty and close.  It is a little place; you must
not think the rooms are anything like this.  On one side of the door is
a long low room, the width of the house, with a window at each end; the
other side of the passage there are two smaller rooms; the kitchens,
etcetera, lie out at the back; and the stairs go up in the middle of
the passage.  Four fair-sized bedrooms are above, and the two attics
are quite habitable.  The back of the house has the best view; it
overlooks a hill with a cluster of pines, and woods in the distance.
Fields are round it, but the back garden has a good high brick wall,
with plenty of fruit trees, and all laid out as a kitchen garden.  The
front piece is in grass, with a dear old elm in the corner.'

I don't like the sound of the box hedge,' said Agatha thoughtfully; 'it
seems so shut in, and very lonely, I should say.'

'Of course we shall not have many passers-by, except the carters to and
from the farm; but if you are in the country, what can you expect?  We
can cut down the hedge.  I like the place myself, and it is in good
repair, for the owner has only just left it.  I must tell you about
him, for there is quite a story about him.  Old Mrs. Tucker was his
cook.  He is an eccentric widower, and has a brother with a lot of
property in the neighbourhood.  He spends his time in carving,
painting, and writing about old manuscripts.  That is one thing you
will like, Clare; all the doors and cupboards in the house are carved
most beautifully, even the low window sills, and mantelpieces.  About
four months ago he had a dreadful quarrel with his brother, and told
Mrs. Tucker that he was going abroad till his temper cooled.  He stored
all his furniture, and said he would let the house, but only to a
yearly tenant, as he might wish to return again.  That is the
disadvantage of the house; but I think he will not be in a hurry to
return.  There is an old carved cupboard let into the wall in the room
which was his study, and this he has left locked, and wishes any tenant
to understand that it is not to be opened.  They take the house under
this condition.'

'A Bluebeard's cupboard,' said Clare delightedly.  'Why, this is most
interesting.  I am longing to take the house now.'

'That is indeed a woman's speech,' said a voice behind her, and a tall
broad-shouldered man laid his hand gently on her shoulder.

Clare turned round, with a pretty pink colour in her cheeks.

'Oh, Hugh, is it you?  Come and sit down, and hear about the cottage we
meditate taking.  Gwen is our business man, and seems to have found
just the place we wanted.'

Captain Knox took a seat by his betrothed, and was soon hearing about
it all.  Then after it was discussed afresh, and he agreed that it
might prove suitable, the other girls slipped away to the inner
drawing-room, and left the young couple alone.

Clare's wistful dreaminess had vanished now, and she was bright and
animated.

'I believe you girls are rejoicing in your sudden downfall,' said
Captain Knox at length; 'I hear no moans now over your lost fortunes.
It is the outside world that is pitying you.  "Those poor girls," I
hear on all sides, "after the very marked way in which old Miss Dane
told everybody they would be heiresses at her death.  It is most
incomprehensible."'

It is no laughing matter, Hugh,' said Clare gravely.  'We are going to
try and make the best of it; but when we think of James, our blood
boils!'

'Well, darling, you will never know actual want, that is my comfort.
How I wish I could offer you a home now!  but I have been advised so
strongly to go with this party that I feel I ought not to refuse.  It
will only be a matter of six months, I hope, and then I shall take you
away from your country retreat altogether.'

'I sometimes wish----' Clare stopped.

'Well, what?'

'I was going to say I wish you were not in the army, but that is wrong.
I do so much prefer a settled home to the incessant change in the
service.'

Captain Knox's brows clouded a little, for he was a keen soldier, and
was devoted to his corps, which was the Royal Engineers.

'But, Clare, I have heard you say before that you do not care for a gay
town life, nor a quiet country one; so what do you like?'

'I don't know what I like,' she said, laughing; 'generally it is what I
haven't got.  Don't mind my grumblings.  I shall be so tired of the
country, and the dull monotony of it all, by the time you come back,
that I shall fly to you with open arms, and entreat you to take me into
the very midst of garrison gaiety.'

Captain Knox smiled, though he still looked perplexed.  Clare's moods,
and contradictions of humour, were inexplicable to a man of his frank,
straightforward nature.  Yet she was so sweetly penitent after a fit of
discontent, and so delightful in her waywardness, that he only loved
her the more, and found, as so many others do, that woman is a problem
that few masculine brains can solve.

Whilst the two lovers were enjoying their _tête-à-tête_, Elfie had
crept upstairs to see Nannie, and a gravity had settled on her usually
sunny face as she entered her nurse's room.

'Have you come for a chat, Miss Elfie?' inquired the old woman,
brightening at the sight of her.

'Yes, Nannie.  I have been thinking over my verse that you gave me.  I
can't get it out of my head.  It is a very lovely one, but very
difficult to put into practice, I should think.'

'Why, surely, no, my dear!  And for you 'tis easier than most.'

'That is because I always say I find it is easy to be happy.  But,
Nannie, delighting oneself in the Lord is a very different thing.'

'Ay, but the lark that rises with his song, and the flowers that turn
their faces to the sun, or soft refreshing showers, don't find it
difficult to delight themselves in the air and sunshine.  I think, Miss
Elfie, you are one of the Lord's dear children, are you not?'

Elfie's face flushed; then sitting down in a low chair, she rested her
head against Nannie's knees.

'Yes,' she said softly.  'I told you how different everything had been
with me when last I was home, Nannie.  That German governess was such a
help to me.  But what I feel is this: I enjoy everything in life so; it
all seems so bright and sunny to me, that I feel the pleasure I take in
everything may be such a snare.  I ought to have my enjoyment in the
Lord apart from it all.  And I sometimes ask myself if I could be happy
shut up in a prison cell, away from all I love, and--and I almost think
I couldn't.  Nannie smiled.

'You are a foolish child.  Do you think the Lord loves to put His
children in miserable circumstances and keep them there?  Your youth
and your gladness and your hopes are all gifts from Him.  He loves to
see us happy.  Doesn't the sun, and the brightness, and all the lovely
bits o' nature, come straight from Him?  He didn't make London with its
smoke and fog and misery, 'tis us that have done that.'

'But I like London,' put in Elfie.  'I love the shops and the people
and the bustle, and at first I didn't like the idea of the country at
all, but now I am beginning to.'

'Wherever you may be, Miss Elfie, delight yourself in your
surroundings, unless they be sinful; but be sure o' this, you can
delight yourself in the Lord in the midst of it all, and have no need
to separate Him from all your innocent joys.  Doesn't your verse say as
much?  Will the Lord take all that is pleasant away from you, if you do
His command?  No; "He will give thee the desires of thine heart." Could
you want more proof of His love?  You may later on in life have another
lesson to learn, but 'twill come easier then, and you'll be able to say
with Habakkuk, "Although everything else fails, yet I will rejoice in
the Lord."'

Elfie was silent.  Then she got up and kissed her old nurse.

'You're an old saint; you always do me such a world of good.  I think
you have given me the best verse of them all, and I will try and make
it my motto.  Now I must go.  I only ran up to have a peep at you.'

A Country Home

  'If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep
  Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep,
  Go to the woods and hills.  No tears
  Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.'--_Longfellow._

The day had come when the four sisters took their leave of London.  The
sale had taken place, as they only took enough furniture for their
small house, and Nannie had taken a tender and sad farewell of her
charges.

'I feel,' said Gwen, after they had watched her driven away in a cab
with all her little belongings, 'that Nannie does not expect to see any
of us again.  She has given us her dying blessing, like Jacob did to
his sons.  I wonder if her verses will prove prophetic.'

Captain Knox went with them to the station, to see the last of Clare.
He cheered her up by saying he would run down and see them before he
went abroad, and the sisters were all doing their best to be cheerful.
They had sent down two young maids the day before to get things
comfortable, and both Agatha and Gwen had been backwards and forwards
arranging their furniture, so that they did not feel they were going
into a comfortless house.

'I always like everything new,' asserted Elfie.  'I feel quite excited
to see what it will be like.'

'I think it is a dear little place,' Agatha said.  'I am sure we shall
be happy there.'

But their arrival at Brambleton station was in the midst of steady,
driving rain, and a wind that threatened instant destruction to open
umbrellas.  A fly was found, and they were soon driving along the
country road, all distant scenery being obliterated by mist and wet.
Clare's spirits sank at once.

'What a dreadful day, and what miserable country!'

'I hope the house won't be damp,' Agatha said anxiously.

Then Gwen laughed.

'Oh, for pity's sake, don't all begin to croak!  We do have wet days in
London.  If Jane and Martha have done their work properly, we shall
soon forget the wet when we are inside.'

Slowly the fly lumbered along, and darkness had set in when they at
last reached their new home.

Mrs. Tucker, who was keeping the maids company, came bustling to the
door, and when they saw the cheerful little dining-room with its
blazing fire and well-spread table for their evening meal, the wind and
wet outside were forgotten.

Elfie ran in and out of the rooms, delighted with the quaintness of it
all, and Clare grew quite enthusiastic over the carved wood decorations.

'He must be an artist,' she exclaimed.  'How could he go off and leave
it all to strangers?'

The rooms, though lacking as yet in all the details of comfort, were
quite habitable, and the late dinner was a merry meal.

'We shall be a community of women, with no opportunities of getting
away from one another occasionally; that is what I object to,' said
Clare, leaning back in her chair, and looking at her sisters rather
meditatively.  'If we quarrel, it will be dreadful, and I am perfectly
certain we shall never agree on every point.'

'_You_ will not on _any_ point,' said Gwen, a little drily.

'We have the country round us,' put in Elfie, 'and there must be some
people to know; it is only just at first we shall be shut up to
ourselves, I expect.'

'As to the people, there will be the villagers, of course,' said Gwen
briskly; 'but we needn't count upon many friends in our own class of
life.  The big houses round here won't be desirous of the acquaintance
of four unknown females with a very small income.'

'I always thought,' said Elfie, 'that country villages contained a
clergyman and family, a doctor, and a squire.  Isn't that the case
here?'

'No; this is a kind of suburb of Brambleton.  There is a vicarage, but
I don't know anything about the clergyman.'

'Well, I hope we shan't all die of the dumps,' said Clare, shivering
slightly, as a fresh blast of wind howled and shrieked in the old
chimney.

'Oh, that dreadful wind, how I hate it!  It seems like a bad omen to
have such a welcome when we get here.'

'Rubbish!  Go to bed, if you don't like it, and put your head under the
clothes.  Of course we notice the wind more in the country because of
the trees.'

Clare did not get much sympathy from her sisters, and she soon left
them and went up to her bedroom.  There was a bright fire burning, and
some of her own pretty things were already being unpacked by the busy
Jane, who was perhaps more attached to her than to any of the others.

'Captain Knox thinks her the best of the bunch,' said she in confidence
to Martha, when on the subject of 'our young ladies,' 'and so do
I--Miss Agatha is rather commonplace, to my mind, though she is a good
mistress, and Miss Gwendoline is always catching up one and taking
one's breath away.  Miss Elfrida is very pleasant, but she's always the
same.  Now Miss Clare's never two days alike; she's that gentle and
appealin' sometimes, that she makes me love her, and then she's miles
away in the clouds, and very cross, and then her spirits get so high
that she's ready for any mischief--and there's no knowin' how to take
her.'

'Isn't the wind dreadful, Jane?' said Clare presently.  'We couldn't
have had a more dreary and depressing day for coming here.'

'It's terrible lonely, miss.  How you young ladies will put up with it
is more than Martha and me can imagine!  My home is in the country, so
I don't mind it.  I never could abear London with its fog and dirt.
Mrs. Tucker has been telling me and Martha queer tales about the
gentleman who lived here.'

Clare wrapped herself in her dressing-gown and sat down by the fire.
She rarely checked Jane's flow of talk, and perhaps that was why the
maid liked her.

'What kind of tales?'

'Mrs. Tucker says he ought to have the property here called The Park,
for he is the eldest son, and his younger brother, Major Lester, has
taken it all, for Mr. Tom Lester offended his father by marrying a
foreign lady, and he struck him out of his will.  Mrs. Tucker says she
believes the quarrel last autumn was about Major Lester's son, who is
missing somewhere abroad, and who Mr. Tom Lester hates.  And did you
hear about the cupboard downstairs?  Mrs. Tucker says she never has
been inside it herself, for Mr. Lester only used to open it late at
night, and he's gone away and taken the key with him, and says it isn't
to be touched.  I says to Mrs. Tucker that there might be anything in
the cupboard, and Martha says she's afraid to go near it, for you do
hear such dreadful tales about locked cupboards, and skeletons inside
them, don't you, miss?'

'Only in your penny novelettes, that do you more harm than good, Jane!'
said Clare a little shortly.   I think if Mrs. Tucker is such a gossip,
we shan't care to have her about the house.  Where does she live now?'

'She's going to stay with her married sister in Brambleton, miss, and
she's going out cooking if she can.  I says to Martha that her tongue
runned away with her, we could hardly get in a word, she talks so; but
she's a very good-natured person, and has given Martha and me a lot of
information about the neighbourhood.'

Clare did not respond, but soon dismissed Jane, and then sat for some
time in dreams before her fire.  At last with a little sigh she took
hold of her Bible, to have her usual evening reading out of it.  She
turned to Nannie's Psalm, and listlessly scanned the verse that had
been given her.

'Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him.'

'Rest!' she mused; 'it is the one thing I never have really
experienced.  I always seem to be wishing for, and wanting, what never
comes to me.  I don't suppose any but a very old person who has lived
her life, and has no hopes left, can rest and wait patiently.  I don't
know why I always seem waiting for something big to come and satisfy my
life.  I remember when first Hugh spoke to me, and we were engaged, I
hoped I should be perfectly satisfied and happy, but in some ways he
has disappointed me.  He is so--so humdrum and easily pleased, and
wrapped up in his profession.  I wish he were more intellectual.  I do
love him, of course I do, but he hasn't filled my life as I thought he
would.  He doesn't understand some of my thoughts about things.  I
often wonder why I can't be as easily pleased with everybody and
everything as Elfie is.  Nannie would say it is because my religion is
not real.  I don't feel I could rest in the Lord.  He seems far away,
and there are so many difficulties, and sometimes I get to doubt
everything!  I wish I had Nannie's faith.'

She sighed again, and her thoughts came back to her present
surroundings.

'I never shall like it here, I am sure; only it is no good to say so.
It is such a depressing house, with not a sound outside, except this
howling wind.  I think it was a very doubtful venture coming down to a
place where we know no one.  Perhaps in the summer it will be better.
I will try and not be discontented, but I feel to-night as if evil is
coming upon us, and this awful wind seems to moan like a human being in
the chimney.  I think I will get into bed, and follow Gwen's advice.
Oh dear, I wish I wasn't so easily depressed!'

But a sound night's rest made impressionable Clare view things rather
differently the next day.  The rain and wind had disappeared, and as
she looked out of her window the first thing, she saw a cloudless blue
sky, and the green meadows and pine woods in the distance, all lying in
still bright sunshine.  She opened her casement, and the fresh spring
air fanned her cheeks, and brought her scents of the sweet country
round her.  She came downstairs to breakfast radiant; not even Elfie's
sunny face could eclipse hers.

'It's delicious!' she exclaimed; 'I am longing to explore the garden.
Is it as well stocked with fruit and vegetables as the advertisement
led us to expect?'

'Yes, I think it is,' said Gwen; 'but of course everything has been
very neglected.  Mrs. Tucker assures me a nephew of hers always worked
for Mr. Lester, and would be glad to come to us for the same wages.
What do you think, Agatha?  Can we afford eight shillings a week?'

Agatha looked a little worried.

'Oh, there is plenty of time to think of the garden later on.  There is
so much to do in the house.  I hope you will all help in the unpacking
to-day, or we shall never get straight.'

'Household cares already beginning!' said Elfie, laughing.  'Now I vote
we all take a holiday this lovely day, and explore our surroundings;
there's time enough to put the house straight later on.'

'Agatha will be miserable till every pin finds its place,' said Gwen.
'I promise that I'll work like a horse all this morning, but this
afternoon I will have for pleasure.'

And this was how they finally settled it; and all four spent their
morning in putting up curtains, hanging pictures, superintending the
carpets and rugs being laid down, and sorting out and distributing the
linen, plate, and china as it was needed.

Clare and Elfie sang as they worked, Gwen directed, scolded, and joked
in turn, and Agatha was the only one who seemed to feel it a grave and
solemn responsibility.

But they sat down to their luncheon with light hearts.

'We only want to fill the house with flowers to make it look really
comfortable,' said Clare, 'and I mean to go and look for some this
afternoon.'

Agatha could not be persuaded to leave the house.  Housekeeping was her
forte, and she declared she would never sit down in comfort, till her
store and linen cupboards were in perfect order.

The three others wandered first through the garden, and Gwen declared
her intention of taking the whole of it under her superintendence.

'You don't know a thing about it,' said Elfie, saucily.

'Then I can learn.  We are not going to live in the lap of luxury here,
as you will soon discover.  Our two maids will be rather different to
our staff of servants in London.'

'Well, I tell you what I will do,' said Elfie: 'I'll help Martha with
the cooking; I did a lot in Germany.  I'll send you in the most
delicious tea-cakes and biscuits for afternoon tea, and I'll teach her
how to cook her vegetables after the German fashion!'

'Defend us from German grease, and odious mixtures of sweet and sour!'
exclaimed Clare.  'Make us the tea-cakes, but leave the vegetables
alone.  Now take us down the village, Gwen, and let us see the church.'

They left the garden, and picked their way down the muddy lane until
they reached the village street.  Clare and Elfie were delighted with
all they saw, especially with the old church.  It had a typical country
churchyard, with a large yew tree inside the old lych gate.  The door
was open, so they went in, and, though plain and rather bare in
appearance, it possessed a beautiful stained window at the east end,
several old tombs, and a handsome-looking organ.  Elfie pressed forward
eagerly to look at the latter, and found to her delight that it was
open.  Music was her passion, and she was almost as skilful at the
organ as at her piano or with her violin.

'I must try it,' she whispered; 'do blow for me, one of you!'

Gwen complied with her request immediately, and strains of Mendelssohn
and Handel were soon filling the church.  Clare was wandering dreamily
round listening and enjoying it, when suddenly a harsh voice behind her
startled her.

'And may I ask who has given you permission to touch the organ?'

'I am not touching it,' Clare responded, coolly, gazing in astonishment
at the apparition before her.

An old lady with a cap awry on her head, green spectacles, and a large
shawl flung round her, stood tapping the ground impatiently with a
walking-stick.

'I don't wish to meet with impertinence; your party are taking an
unwarrantable liberty.  I wish, if my brother persists in keeping the
church doors open, that he would keep a chained bulldog inside!
Nothing else will keep you tourists in your place.  And here am I
without a bonnet, defying St. Paul's command, and getting a fresh
attack of rheumatism, and perhaps palpitation of the heart, by my haste
and exposure!  Will you have the goodness to tell your friends to leave
that organ alone?'

Elfie, hearing voices, now turned round and left her seat at once.

Clare was not trying to soothe the old lady, but rather seemed to enjoy
her irascibility.

'No, madam, we are not tourists.  Are you the verger's wife?  You must
excuse my ignorance, but we are strangers in this part.  Perhaps you
can tell us a little about the church; it seems a very old one.  How
many years has it been standing?'

For answer the old lady raised her stick and tapped her slightly on the
shoulder with it.

'Leave the church, young woman, and don't try to make me violent in the
house of God!'

They were in the porch by this time, and Elfie and Gwen joined them.
Elfie at once tried to make peace.

'I am very sorry,' she said contritely.  'I am so fond of the organ
that I could not resist trying it.  Please forgive me; I will not do it
again unless I have permission.'

She smiled so sweetly as she spoke that the old lady seemed a little
softened.

'You will never get my permission,' was all she said; and then she
hobbled away like some malignant fairy, disappearing through a little
wicket gate at the end of the churchyard, and making Gwen exclaim, 'She
must be the clergyman's mother or aunt.  Well, we have had a pleasant
introduction!  What will Agatha say?'

CHAPTER IV

Bluebeard's Cupboard

'O most lame and impotent conclusion!'--_Shakespeare_.

Agatha was naturally very vexed when she heard from her sisters what
had happened.  She was sometimes laughed at by her friends for her
devotion to the clergy, and all her hopes of doing good were centred in
the country church and its organizations.

'It is most unfortunate,' she said; 'I was hoping that perhaps some of
them might call before Sunday, but really after such an encounter they
may totally ignore us.  It was not right to do such a thing, Elfie,
without permission.  I can't think how Gwen could have allowed it.'

'Well, really, I am not up in propriety and etiquette in such matters,'
was Gwen's rather impatient response.  'We are not in town now, thank
goodness!  In the country you are supposed to have a little freedom.
If they don't wish people to try the organ, they should not leave it
open, or they should chain a bulldog to the organ stool.  Wasn't that
her suggestion, Clare?  My dear Agatha, don't fuss yourself.  This old
woman must be quite a character, and would abuse anybody, I feel
certain.  We didn't tell her who we were, so if she comes to call on
you, we will keep out of the way.  She seemed half blind, so I don't
expect she would recognise us again.'

'Jane says she lives alone with her brother, who is unmarried,' said
Clare, 'and she is quite a Tartar in the village, though she is very
good in relieving the villagers' wants.'

'What does Jane know about it?'

'Oh, she gets her gossip from Mrs. Tucker, who also told her that Miss
Miller sees better through her green glasses than most people do
without any glasses at all!'

'Mrs. Tucker talks a lot of rubbish, I expect,' said Gwen, rather
loftily; then, changing the conversation, she said, 'I am going to
unpack my books now.  Who will come and help me?  I am longing to fill
up those empty bookshelves in Mr. Lester's study.  What a good thing he
left them as fixtures!'

'I will help you, if you like,' said Clare.  'Are you going to take
sole possession of that study, may I ask?'

Gwen looked across at her rather queerly.

'Not if you dispute it,' she said, with a little laugh.  'Agatha is in
love with the drawing-room.  She has already arranged a corner for
herself there; her writing-table in the west window, her work-basket
and books in the corner by it, and her pet canary is now singing
himself hoarse at the view he has from the window.'

'Yes,' Agatha replied, 'it is an ideal old maid's corner, and that is
where you will always find me, when my housekeeping duties are not
keeping me away.'

'I wish we could have a sitting-room each,' said Clare; 'we get so in
each other's way.'

'You can share the study with me when you want to be quiet,' said Gwen.
'I won't have you there if you talk!'

'You're quite the owner of it already, then?  And what are you going to
do, Elfie?'

'Oh, I shall be everywhere.  Agatha never minds my music.  I shall be
practising a good deal, and if I'm voted a bore, I shall take my violin
up to the bedroom.  You and Gwen are the blue stockings, so the study
will be given over to you.'

This seemed satisfactory.  Gwen was a great reader, and possessed
already a most valuable library.  She wrote essays for some periodical
occasionally, but would never bind herself to any steady contributions,
and she was never so happy as when deeply engrossed in some ancient
histories of Egypt or Nineveh.  The buried past had a fascination for
her, and perhaps she of all the others had most reason for regretting
the departure from London, for her constant visits to the reading-room
at the British Museum had been a keen delight and pleasure to her.
When quite a schoolgirl she used to say, with that masterful toss of
her head, 'I am quite determined that I will understand and master
every "ology" under the sun!'

And Gwen and her 'ologies' had been a perpetual joke in her family ever
since.  She had dabbled in a good many sciences--geology, astronomy,
architecture, physiology, botany, natural history, and archaeology all
had their turn, and she certainly seemed to get a good deal of interest
and amusement out of them all.  She announced to Clare, as a little
later they were seated on the study floor surrounded by pyramids of
books, that she intended to give her thoughts now to gardening and
agriculture.

'I have some delightful old books on horticulture, which I shall read
up,' she said enthusiastically; 'and there is an old Dutch writer
amongst them who gives the most minute directions for laying out a
flower and vegetable garden.  I have told Agatha I shall take the
garden into my charge.  I am certain I shall succeed with it.'

'Do you ever doubt your capability for doing anything?'

Clare put the question gravely.

'No, I don't think I do, except teach a Sunday school class!' said
Gwen, laughing.

'I sometimes feel I am incapable of living even,' said Clare dreamily.

Gwen stared at her.  These two understood each other better than one
would have thought possible with such opposite characteristics.  Clare
admired Gwen's intellect, and there were times when Gwen knew that
Clare had depths of which she knew nothing.  Reason and practical
common sense had full sway in the one, imagination and mysticism in the
other, and none of these qualities were tempered with real religion.

'You must be in the blues!' exclaimed Gwen, with a laugh.

'No,' said Clare, looking up, 'I am not, at all.  I am longing to be up
and doing, and leave some mark behind me as I go.  Is that Browning you
have in your hand?  Just let me look up a passage!'  Gwen laughed again
as she handed across the book.

'No hope for any more help from you, if you once get hold of him!'

And for an hour Clare sat amongst the piles of books with her fair head
resting against the carved cupboard, and not a word or sign could Gwen
get out of her.

Elfie spent her time in helping Agatha to unpack, and it was a very
tired little party that gathered round the drawing-room fire that
evening.

'I wonder,' said Clare, 'if we shall find we have made a mistake in
coming here.  It seems so very quiet, and different to either London or
Dane Hall.  When we used to stay there with Aunt Mildred, there was
always such a lot going on that it didn't seem quite like the country.'

'My dear Clare,' said Agatha quietly, 'you would be much happier
yourself, and would make others happier too, if you always made the
best of your circumstances.  I remember you used to complain at Dane
Hall of the frivolity and empty-headedness of aunt's visitors, and
would say it was a mere waste of life to live as we did!'

'Oh, don't be so prosy, Agatha!' Clare returned impatiently.  'If you
were dropped into a workhouse ward, you would look round and remark how
comfortable you were, and how at last you had found your vocation!'

Elfie laughed aloud at this, but Agatha leant back in her chair and
looked into the glowing coals in front of her with a smile that showed
she was not destitute of humour.  'I daresay I might,' she said.  'I
always love a community of old women, and if I could have chats with
them, I am sure I should enjoy myself.'

'Well, I only wish I could be so easily contented,' said Clare, in a
tone that showed she would be very sorry for herself if she were.  She
soon went off to bed, and Elfie followed, and then the two elder ones
drew their chairs together and had a confidential talk over ways and
means.

Agatha, though apparently apathetic at times and of a yielding
disposition, had not always been so.  When she first came home from
school, she had all the bright hopes and restless longings of a young
girl, and her aunt did all in her power to make life pleasant and
bright for her.  She went out into society, and was a general
favourite, owing to her sweet temper and extreme unselfishness.  Then
one came on the scene who attracted her heart from the first.  He was
an earnest, whole-hearted Christian man, a vicar of an East End parish,
and it was his influence that made Agatha view life in a different
light.  She vexed her aunt at first by gradually withdrawing from
gaieties, and it was only with great difficulty that she was given
permission to visit in the slums.  The vicar was soon her betrothed,
and Agatha had a few months of perpetual sunshine.  But hard work, and
a not very strong constitution, soon brought about a serious
break-down, and he was ordered to the south of France to recruit his
health.  The parting was a sad one, and Agatha had wild thoughts of
marrying then and there, and going with him as his wife and nurse.  But
this Miss Dane strenuously opposed, and poor Agatha had to bear the
strain of five months away from the one who needed her so badly.  He
died, and for a time she was broken-hearted; but gradually she came to
prove the reality and comfort of her religion, and then, taking up the
interests of those around her, she had cheerfully buried her own
sorrow, and became the mainstay of her aunt and her household.  Perhaps
Agatha felt most keenly being shut out from her aunt's dying room, she
certainly uttered with heartfelt fervour morning and evening, 'Forgive
us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us.'

And she had never trusted herself to mention her cousin's unjust
dealing to anyone; even her sisters had little idea how deep her
feelings were about it.

The next few days were very busy ones.  Saturday brought Captain Knox,
to stay with them till Monday, and Clare showed him over house and
garden in the best of spirits.  'It is rather strange,' he said, as he
sat at dinner with them that night, 'but one of my sisters knows a lady
in this neighbourhood, and she thinks you will like her.  She lives
somewhere on the outskirts of Brambleton.  A Miss Villars.  She is a
charming woman, I hear, very comfortably off, but rather eccentric in
the way she spends her money.  My sister wrote to her when she knew of
your arrival here, so you may have a visit from her soon.'

'Is she an old maid?' asked Elfie; 'because we have seen one, and, I
was going to say, don't want to see another.'

Clare related their adventure in the church, and Captain Knox was much
amused.

'I do not think there is anything queer about Miss Villars, except that
she is a very religious woman.'

'Is that queer?' questioned Clare, a little wistfully.

'No,' Agatha said very quietly; 'it ought not to be.'

'But it is in the sight of the world,' retorted Captain Knox; 'that is,
if your religion in an aggressive one.'

'Well, of course it ought not to be aggressive,' said Gwen briskly.
'Religion is a matter to be lived, not talked about.  It only concerns
oneself, and no one else.'

'That is a very selfish creed,' said Agatha.  'If you possess something
good, you ought to wish to pass it on.'

'But not to thrust it on people who don't want it.  I am thirsty, and
like a glass of water, but need I insist upon your drinking it, when
you are not thirsty at all?'

'Gwen loves an argument,' said Captain Knox good-naturedly.

'I am not good at arguing,' said Agatha, 'only, knowing that thirst can
be a blessing, I think we should try to make people thirsty.'

'How do you mean?' asked Clare with interest, 'thirst is not,
generally, a very happy experience.'

'Doesn't it say, "Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after
righteousness, for they shall be filled"?'

'Oh, come, Agatha, we don't want a sermon with our dinner.  You are not
given to preach, so don't be trying to show us that you know how to be
aggressive.'

Gwen's tone was a little scornful, and Agatha said no more; but as
Clare was pacing up and down in the verandah with Captain Knox, a
little time after, she suddenly said, 'I think I am a thirsty person,
Hugh, only I never can tell what it is I am thirsting for; tell me, are
you perfectly satisfied with yourself and with life?'

Captain Knox looked down at the sweet, pensive face of his betrothed.
'I shall be, Clare--on our wedding day.'

Clare frowned.  'You never will be in earnest about anything; you
always turn my thoughts into ridicule.'

'Indeed I do not.  But I am a plain, matter-of-fact soldier, and live
on earth; you are in dreamland half your time, or in the clouds.
Clare, darling, I cannot bear the thoughts of Africa sometimes; how
shall I be able to stand being away from you so long?  And time is
slipping away so fast; only a fortnight more before I am off.'

'You will come down again before you start, of course?'

'Oh yes, I certainly intend to do so; but I have a lot to do in
town--it may be only the last day that you will see me.'

Clare sighed, but said nothing, and then Captain Knox said suddenly,--

'Is Agatha very religious, Clare?

'No, I don't think so--not particularly.  She is fond of church and all
that, but she doesn't often speak out as she did at dinner to-night.
Now, don't let us be gloomy; come indoors, and I will show you
Bluebeard's cupboard in the study, It is well worth looking at, for it
is beautifully carved, and I am going to try and copy it.  You know how
I love carving.'

She took him to the study, and there, by the aid of a lamp, they
examined the old oak cupboard in the deep recess at the side of the
fireplace.

'The strange thing is that there seems to be no lock or opening at all
to it,' said Clare.  'I have spent hours in trying to find out where it
is opened.  Do you think one day I shall touch a spring, the doors will
fly open, and there we shall see his headless wives?'

She was laughing now, and full of animation.  Captain Knox passed his
fingers lightly across the carving.

'I expect one of these carved bits is movable,' he said.  'It is a
handsome bit of handicraft.  What is this along the bottom, a scroll
with writing?'

'That is what I say it is; Gwen says not, but I am sure those
hieroglyphics mean something.'

It looks like Arabic characters,' said Captain Knox with interest.  'I
believe it is so.  Here, stop a minute; let me copy these in my
notebook.  I shall be studying Arabic on my way out, and if I find I
can translate this, I will let you know.'

'Perhaps it is a clue to the mystery,' said Clare, with shining eyes;
'I am dying to know what this cupboard contains.  Mrs. Tucker said she
never saw it opened the whole time she was here; but Mr. Lester told
her once that he prized this cupboard more than anything else in the
house.  She thinks, foolish woman, that it is full of gold!  I only
hope she won't spread that notion about Brambleton.  The next thing
will be that we shall have thieves in the house, and perhaps be all
murdered in our beds!'  Captain Knox laughed at her fears, and soon
after, they joined the others in the drawing-room.

CHAPTER V

A Quiet Sunday

  'O day most calm, most bright,
  The fruit of this, the next world's bud.
      *      *      *      *
  The week were dark, but for thy light,
  Thy torch doth show the way.'--_G. Herbert._

The sisters, accompanied by Captain Knox, made quite a sensation in the
little village church when they entered it on that Sunday morning.  The
old sexton fussed about as if all the seats were occupied; but
eventually they were shown into one just beside the pulpit stairs.
Miss Miller glared at them through her green spectacles, and Elfie felt
miserably conscious that she had recognised them.  There were a few
other gentle-people in the church besides themselves, and a very fair
sprinkling of farmers and villagers.  The service was simple and
hearty; the village schoolmaster played the organ, and Mr. Miller, a
fine-looking, grey-headed man, delighted Agatha at least, by his
earnest, faithful preaching.  Coming out into the churchyard, Agatha
was stopped by Miss Miller hastening up to her.  She was dressed in
black silk; but her bonnet, a wonderful erection of lace and ribbon,
was quite awry, and she seemed agitated.  She spoke jerkily, and Agatha
had difficulty in preserving her usual equanimity of mind.

'Excuse me, but I believe you have taken Mr. Tom Lester's house--a most
unsatisfactory parishioner he is, and not at all what he should be.  I
am hoping to call on you this week.  Who is the gentleman? your
brother?  No?  A great pity, then, for a houseful of women is only a
hot-bed for scandal and gossip.  We have too many women by far in this
neighbourhood--a bachelor parson always draws them.  Have you any
acquaintances in the neighbourhood?  Ah, so much the better.  There is
service at half-past six this evening; I hope you will be regular
attendants.  You live in a godless house; take care that the atmosphere
does not affect you.  Mr. Tom Lester never entered the House of God
after I spoke to him about the irreverence of his yawns during the
sermon!  Good-bye, and I hope you will prove pleasant neighbours.  That
remains to be seen!'

She darted away as quickly as she came; and Elfie, who was walking with
Agatha, gave one of her merry, rippling laughs.

'Isn't she an odd character?  We shall have a good deal of fun out of
her, I am sure!  I am thankful she did not recognise me, or at least
had the good taste not to appear as if she did.'

'I wonder,' said Agatha thoughtfully, 'if that old man who sat behind
Miss Miller was our landlord's brother.'

'Oh, he was much too nice-looking; I imagine the other Mr. Lester is an
awful old curmudgeon.  He has got his property unjustly, I
consider--the eldest son ought to have it.'

'Cousin James is not an old curmudgeon,' put in Gwen, stepping back to
join in the conversation; 'supplanters and usurpers generally carry all
the world before them, "like green bay trees," as the Psalmist says.  I
am sure our Jacob is most prepossessing in manner and appearance, like
his namesake.  History repeats itself!'

'Don't be bitter after church,' said Agatha, in her quiet voice.

Gwen laughed.  'I'm not bitter.  I feel I can snap my fingers at him
now!  Hugh says he saw him in town the other day, and he said with his
pleasant smile, "When we are quite settled at Dane Hall my wife will
ask the girls down.  They will be glad of the change, I expect, after
their seclusion in the country!"  Wasn't it truly kind and considerate
of him?'

That first Sunday in the country was a very pleasant one to the
sisters, Clare went off for a long walk with Hugh in the afternoon;
Agatha settled herself in a wicker chair with her books in the sunny
verandah overlooking the meadows and distant pine woods; and Gwen and
Elfie wandered off across the fields, enjoying the sweet spring air,
and noting all the spring flowers peeping out of the hedgerows.

'Yes, I'm thankful we are out of town,' said Gwen emphatically,
standing up and drawing in long breaths of content and satisfaction.
'If I were starving, I would rather be in the country, because one can
be clean.  It's the oppression in the atmosphere that is so sickening
in London, and never being able to get away from people!'

'This is an ideal Sunday,' said Elfie, turning her radiant face upwards
and watching a lark soaring out of sight; 'I don't think I shall miss
the concerts in town, with such music as this around one!'

Then after a pause she said, 'I suppose becoming lazy and
self-indulgent is a danger in the country.'

'We are not rich enough for that,' responded Gwen with a short laugh;
'at least, I know I have my work cut out for me.'

'I wasn't meaning actual daily duties, but our responsibilities
regarding others,' said Elfie, a little shyly.

Gwen shrugged her shoulders.  'I suppose you feel you ought to be in
Sunday school this afternoon, is that it?  I dare say Miss Miller will
give you some parish work, if you ask her.  Are you going to follow in
Agatha's steps?  I saw her from my bedroom window this morning stop a
carter going by from the farm, and hand him some tracts.'

Elfie laughed.  'She's a good old thing; she never says anything about
her good deeds, but I know she will soon be fast friends with all the
farm labourers who pass up and down.  You see if next week she doesn't
know all their names and family histories!'

They were crossing a fresh meadow now, and as they came up to a stile,
they saw in the next field a most picturesque little cottage standing
in the midst of a mass of apple blossom.  It was a low white-washed
building, with thatched roof and latticed windows, green shutters
opening back upon the wall.

The girls went up, and leaning against the gate, looked at it
admiringly; then started at the sight of two oldish women sitting
opposite one another in the old-fashioned porch.  They were dressed
exactly alike, two lilac sun-bonnets hiding their faces; their figures
were thin and angular, and each had a book in her lap.  Their dark-blue
serge gowns, white aprons, and little red worsted shawls over their
shoulders, were duplicates one of the other.

'It's like a book,' whispered Elfie.  'Do let us speak to them.  We can
ask them where the footpath leads to!'

Gwen opened the gate, and accordingly put the question.

Both women started to their feet, and one came forward.

'Where does this footpath lead to?  Why, to our cottage, and no
further, miss.'

She spoke respectfully, though rather shortly.

'I am afraid we have trespassed,' said Elfie, in her sweet, bright
tone; 'but we are strangers here, and are trying to find our way about.
What a lovely little cottage you have!'

'It's a tidy little place,' the woman responded, with an approving nod.
'Perhaps you'd like to come in and sit for a bit.  Patty and me don't
care for Sunday visitin', but you'll be the ladies from Jasmine
Cottage, I reckon?'

'Yes,' said Gwen, 'we will come in for a minute before we go back.'

They followed her into a spotlessly clean and tidy kitchen.  Patty drew
forward two chairs, and began to speak rather breathlessly.  'My sister
and me saw you in church to-day.  We said you were the new family; and
Deb is very good at upholsterin' and alterin' carpets, and doin' plain
needlework, and we thought maybe you'd be wantin' help that way, for
Deb goes to work by the day at most of the big houses round!'

'Tis the Lord's Day,' said Deb, giving her sister a sharp nudge with
her elbow; 'we'll not be talking business now.  Sit down, ladies.'

Gwen and Elfie exchanged amused glances.  Then Gwen said,--

'Well, we won't transact business now; but we want a workwoman badly,
and if you will come to the cottage tomorrow my sister will show you
any amount of carpets that need refitting.  But if I had a cottage like
this, away from all sound and sight of any human beings, I think I
wouldn't trouble to go out carpet-making!'

'You would if you wanted to keep your cottage,' said Deb brusquely.
Then, taking off her sun-bonnet and smoothing down her grey hair, she
sat down on an old oak settle beside the little cheery blazing fire,
and grasping her angular knees with each hand, she looked at Given a
little defiantly.

'Eight and forty year come next Christmas have Patty and I lived
together here, and never a year have we been behind our rent since
father died; but it have been done by downright hard labour.  And if
you and your people want new-laid eggs, or fresh spring chickens, or
honey from the comb, why, 'tis Patty that will supply you, as also milk
and butter from an Alderney cow.'

''Tis Sunday!' ejaculated Patty, as she stood by the fire with arms
akimbo; and at this retort Gwen and Elfie laughed outright.

'And do you ever go away from home?' asked Gwen curiously, after a
slight pause, in which Deb looked very discomposed.

'We are continually away,' said Deb, looking up and speaking very
shortly.  'I know every gentry's house in the neighbourhood, not to
speak of Brambleton, where Patty goes reg'lar once a week to market.
But as to sleepin' away, that we never mean to do till we be taken to
our last restin'-place!'

'And are you great readers?  I am afraid we disturbed you from your
books when we came in.'

Patty took up her book, which was on the window-ledge.  ''Tis Bunyan's
book, _The Pilgrim's Progress_.  Father give Deb and me a copy each
when we were fifteen years old, and we have read it every Sunday
afternoon since.  We don't always get very far, for 'tis a sleepy time
in the afternoon, but a page or two is always edifyin' and improvin' to
the soul!'

'It's a lovely book!' said Elfie enthusiastically; 'you must know it
nearly by heart.'

The sisters smiled at each other.

'We do that,' said Deb.

'I suppose you have visitors from the village here occasionally?' asked
Gwen.

Deb frowned grimly, then looked her questioner straight in the face,
with hard-set lines about her mouth, as she replied,--

'We keeps ourselves to ourselves, miss.  You are both young ladies, and
haven't lived long enough to have it cast up in your teeth that you're
not wed; but there be those who scorn us for choosin' to keep by each
other, and not do as most young maids do.  Patty and me have had our
chances, but Patty's lad couldn't take us both, and 'twas the same with
my lad, and neither of us could bear to be away from the other.  We've
always grown together, Patty and me--we came into the world together,
and we pray the Lord He'll take us out in the same manner; and we know
each other's ways, and when we don't agree, there's no one else to
interfere.'

'Do you ever disagree?' asked Elfie, smiling.

Patty nodded her head solemnly.

'Ay, we ain't quite the same make through and through,' she said, in
her little breathless way, 'and words run high at times.  I keep to my
opinions, and Deb keeps to hers; and if we have an extra hard dispute
on, we know how to settle it!'

'How? with fists?' asked Gwen, looking from one hard-featured woman to
the other with the greatest interest.

Deb looked up grimly, and said, as she raised her hand in emphasis,--

'Patty have never had a blow from me since we were children, nor I from
her.  When our tongues run away with us, one locks the t'other out, and
when we get cool again the door is opened!'

'I would rather be inside than outside on a winter's day,' said Gwen,
laughing heartily.  'Now come, Elfie, we must be off.  I shall pay you
another visit before long, to learn about bee-keeping.  I see your
hives are just like ours, and we know nothing about such things!'

'And I'll be very glad to tell you,' said Patty eagerly, 'for I've
tended bees since I were a child, and know all their tricks, and as to
their swarmings.'

''Tis the Lord's Day,' put in Deb grimly, and Gwen and Elfie promptly
took their leave.

'Aren't they old dears?' said Elfie enthusiastically; 'they seem to
live in quite another world.  Imagine reading _The Pilgrim's Progress_
all your life, and no other book beside the Bible!  Do they ever see a
newspaper, I wonder?'

'It isn't often one meets such a couple; we shall get a good deal of
entertainment out of them, I expect.  What an awful existence!  Is it
what we shall come to years hence, I wonder?  And yet I, for one, am
quite certain that will not be my lot.'

'What?' inquired Elfie, 'the old maid's existence, do you mean, or the
little secluded country cottage?'

'Neither.  I have my plans and purposes; and not all Jacob's
machinations and schemings will frustrate them.'

'What are they?' inquired Elfie.

'Ah, well, I had best not say.  I mean to see you all thoroughly
comfortable and settled here, and then break them to you.  I have
plenty of resources and interests to take up my time, so am in no
hurry.'

'You always were a wonderful one for plans!  Let me guess.  You are
going to start a magazine, and be the editor of it!'

'No, thank you.  Magazines are as plentiful as pins just now; they
appear and disappear like sky-rockets!'

'Is it a way of earning money?'

'No, of spending it; but I am not going to tell you.  I generally find
I can carry out my plans successfully, if I don't take too many people
into my confidence!'

Elfie was silent for a few minutes; then she said, with a little sigh,
'I wonder how old Nannie is getting on?'

'What has put her into your head?'

'The verses she gave us.  Don't you remember?'

'I'm sure I forget what mine was.'

'"Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring
it to pass,"' said Elfie softly.

'Nannie never could stand my independence.  I believe she thought we
ought not to have taken this cottage without first having prayer about
it!'

'Agatha did pray about it,' said Elfie very quietly.

'Well, I didn't, and I was the one to find it, and it has turned out
quite a success.  I never can understand such narrow views of life as
Agatha takes.  Prayer is all very well in church, or in great crises,
but in everyday life I think it is perfectly unnatural and unnecessary!'

Elfie did not answer.  She felt too inexperienced to argue the matter
out with Gwen, though she totally disagreed with her.

They reached home, and found Clare and Captain Knox before them.
Afternoon tea was had in the drawing-room, and afterwards, before
evening church, Elfie brought her violin out, and Agatha went to the
piano, whilst the others gathered round and sang some hymns with them.
The evening closed quietly and peacefully; and as Captain Knox said
good-night to his betrothed, he added, 'I am so glad I have seen you
all here.  I shall picture your quiet Sundays when I am in the wilds of
Africa, and it will do me good!'

CHAPTER VI

A Departure

  'The heart which like a staff was one
  For mine to lean and rest upon,
  The strongest on the longest day,
  With steadfast love, is caught away,
  And yet my days go on, go on.'--_E. B. Browning._

Miss Miller came to call with her brother a few days afterwards.
Agatha and Elfie were busy putting some finishing touches to the
drawing-room when they arrived.

Miss Miller looked round the room, when she was seated, with some
interest; and then she said abruptly,--

'Too much furniture, and too many useless ornaments, my dears.  A
drawing-room ought to be for use, and not for show.  Who arranges your
flowers?'

She might well ask, for none but an artist's hand could have grouped
together so harmoniously the daffodils and primroses, with trails of
ivy and fern in their beds of moss.

'Clare does,' responded Elfie brightly, sitting down by her side,
whilst Agatha turned to the vicar.  'She went out this morning and
picked them in a wood close to us.  Aren't they lovely?'

'Not Major Lester's wood, I hope.  He will not be best pleased to have
any one from this house trespassing in his places.  Miss Dane, do you
know the history of your house?'

Agatha looked up, a little startled at the sharp voice.  'I did not
know it had any history,' she said.

'It is best you should know facts.  No, Wilfrid, you need not stop me;
they will hear our village gossip fast enough.  To begin with--your
house used to be the old vicarage.  It was built on the site of an old
monastery.  Our church is four hundred years old.  The monastery came
to grief long before the church.  When old Squire Lester died, most of
us thought the Hall would go to Mr. Tom.  He had always been erratic
and restless, spending most of his time abroad, and the squire never
forgave his marriage with a French artist's daughter.  He disinherited
him, and made his second son leave the army and come home.  A couple of
years after, Mr. Tom returned, having lost his wife, and bringing a
little son with him, a boy of four years.  The old squire seemed to
relent a little then, and was always having the child at the house.
Mr. Tom, as we call him here, settled in this house, and was on
friendly terms with his father till his death.  Major Lester then took
the property.  He had an only son, too; and the boys, being of the same
age, were much together; but their fathers would hardly speak to each
other, and were angry at the friendship between the boys.  I remember
being at Major Lester's the very day of the sad event.  I was calling
on Mrs. Lester, and we heard a violent altercation going on in the hall
between the brothers.  Mr. Tom had come up for his son, who had made
him anxious by his non-appearance at home the night before.  The lads
had been out for a night's rabbit-snaring with the gamekeeper, and
Alick had slept at the Hall without the major's knowledge.  I don't
know why this should have led to such a violent quarrel, but Alick was
summoned from the stables, where he was found with his cousin Roger,
and forbidden ever to put his foot on Major Lester's property again.
Then and there the lads were separated; but as Mr. Tom marched off with
his son, he shouted out to his brother, "You'll live to see my son
stand in Roger's shoes yet, and the property will come back to the
rightful heir!"

'I remember Mrs. Lester turning to me, and trembling like a leaf: "He
will murder Roger!  The dreadful man!" she exclaimed; "that is the only
way the property will come to Alick!"

'The very next day both boys were missing.  Mr. Tom seemed quite as
distracted as his brother, but he declared he knew nothing of them, and
for a month no tidings were received, in spite of all the detectives at
work.  Then came a letter from Alick, written for both of them, saying
they had taken their passage together for Australia, and had already
got the promise of being taken on a farm; for they were made so
miserable at home by the quarrels of their fathers, that they had
"determined to clear out of it," and nothing would separate them from
each other.  They have not been in this neighbourhood since; but last
autumn news came that Roger had disappeared.  Alick wrote, giving
details:--"I think Roger was sent on some confidential errand by the
farmer, for he had money with him, and they fear that he was robbed,
perhaps murdered on the way."  Mrs. Lester, who was never very strong,
took to her bed, and died a fortnight after the news was brought to
her.  But before she died she emphatically declared that Mr. Tom and
his son had decoyed Roger out of the country to make away with him; and
Alick was solely responsible for his death.  She persisted in this
until the major more than half believed it; and two days after the
funeral he came down here, and had another most violent quarrel with
his brother.  It almost came to blows; and Mr. Tom decamped altogether
within a week from that time.  I only tell you the story.  Some people
here think badly of him, and his disappearance looks suspicious.  Of
course he gave out that he was going to Australia to find out the
rights of it; but Major Lester does not believe this.'

'I wonder Major Lester does not go out himself,' said Agatha, feeling
strangely interested in this story.

'He is too crippled by gout to do so.  He has put the matter into the
hands of the police out there.  It's a sad story.  The major is most
regular at church, and highly respected in the neighbourhood.  Mr. Tom
is most erratic; I believe he has been seen in the Methodist chapel
occasionally, but won't put his foot inside our church; and he is no
loss at all to the neighbourhood, for he lived the life of a recluse.
I always look upon this house as an ill-omened place.  I didn't tell
you that the last vicar who lived here died of delirium tremens.  He
was a disgrace to his profession, but that was thirty years ago.  The
new vicarage was built shortly after.'  Miss Miller paused for breath,
and her brother remarked, 'You must not prejudice the Miss Danes,
Deborah, against their house.  It is a quaint place, and its past need
not be recorded.'

'We are charmed with it,' said Agatha simply; 'and we have moved into
it at the right time.  Spring in the country is always so delightful.'

Miss Miller was more agreeable when visiting than Agatha had hoped for,
and though she insisted on the monopoly of the conversation, and gave
the good vicar little chance of putting in a word, yet Agatha felt that
they would be pleasant neighbours.  There was a good deal of discussion
over the Lesters' history, but Gwen dismissed the subject in her usual
way.

'Major Lester is another Jacob.  There's nothing more to be said, and
Mr. Tom is a much-abused and misunderstood man!'

Agatha began to settle into her new life very happily.  She became
engrossed in housekeeping for several hours every morning, and was
delighted to hear of a seamstress who could come in and work by the
day.  Deb Howitt was sent for, and she proved a skilful and industrious
needlewoman, and amused and interested all who came in contact with her
by her quaint remarks.

'Yes,' she remarked to Gwen, who had strolled into Agatha's bedroom one
morning, and found Deb seated on the floor shaping a refractory carpet
that would not fit, 'my sister is the stay-at-home, and I bring her the
news of the world as I pick it up when I'm out visitin'.  It's
surprisin' the stories of high and low life that I hear.  I take it all
in, and think it over while I'm stitchin', and come to many a wise
conclusion before I take it back with me and talk it over with Patty.'

'And what conclusion will you come to about us?' asked Gwen.

The old woman nodded her head with a meaning smile.

'Ay, well, ye're a house full of women, and there's an astonishin'
little scoldin' and quarrellin'.  I should say, taking the cluster of
you together, that the one at either end keeps the peace in the middle.'

Gwen laughed delightedly.  'You are right: Agatha and Elfie are the
peace-makers, Clare and I the disturbing elements!  What else?'

But Deb shook her head, and would say no more.

Clare and Gwen shared the study very amicably together, but both were
out of doors a great deal--Gwen tackling the untidy garden with a great
deal of energy, but little experience; and Clare wandering about the
lanes and fields, doing little, and dreaming much.  Then came Captain
Knox's farewell visit, and it was a very short one.  He appeared at
seven o'clock one evening, just as the sisters were sitting down to
their high tea, which meal they had substituted for the orthodox dinner
to which they had been accustomed in London.

Clare's cheeks grew pale as she greeted him.  'How long have you?' she
asked, a little breathlessly.

'Till eight o'clock to-morrow morning.  I must catch the 8.30 train
from Brambleton.  We sail to-morrow afternoon.'

It was rather a silent meal, and being a rough, stormy night Clare took
him off to the study directly afterwards.  She was in the mood that
pleased her lover best: sweet and gentle, and showing more affection
than she was wont to do, for she was not demonstrative usually.

'Hugh,' she said later in the evening, after sitting still and letting
him do most of the talking, 'I wish I were going with you.  I feel as
if this parting is going to be a long one.  I can't bear this wind and
rain to-night--it makes me feel as if something awful is coming; it was
just the same the first night we were here.  I have a kind of
presentiment about your going, as if something evil is coming upon us.
Couldn't you give it up?'

Captain Knox smiled a little, though his face looked troubled as he
drew her closer to him.

'My darling, you would not really wish me to.  We must look forward to
six months hence, when I return, and then, Clare, I shall wait no
longer.  You must come to me for good and all.'

Clare did not reply for a minute, then gently slipping her hand into
the strong one near her, she said, very wistfully, 'Hugh, don't you
think we should both have more comfort if we had more religion?  I
haven't enough of it to satisfy me, I think.  Now Agatha trusts
everything in her life to--to God, and is never worried or anxious.  I
can't do that, and oh, I'm so unsatisfied!  You don't know how restless
and wretched I feel sometimes!  I should like to be able to pray for
you properly when you are away, and feel that you were praying for me.'

Captain Knox was silent for a little, then he said quietly,--

'I have a certain amount of religion, as you know, and you couldn't
have too much for me, at least as long as you keep it to yourself.  I
think every woman is the better for being truly religious; but we men
who knock about amongst all kinds of evil, well, we can't expect to be
very devout.  It is soon knocked out of one.  Pray for me as much as
you like, darling; I need it!'

'I can't help thinking of Nannie's verse she gave me one evening,' said
Clare, with a little sigh: '"Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for
Him."  It sounds so nice; but I don't know how to do it.  And I am sure
I shall need patience till you come back again!'

'We must write to each other, and think of next autumn.  I shall not
forget to send you the translation of those characters on that old
cupboard.  I am convinced they are Arabic.'

'Oh, bother the cupboard!' was Clare's petulant retort.  'It is too bad
you are going away for so long, and you take it so coolly.  I don't
believe you mind a bit!'

Here she burst into a passion of tears, and poor Captain Knox, who was
controlling his feelings for her sake, almost gave way himself.

It was not a happy evening, and Clare cried herself to sleep that
night, feeling that she was the most unfortunate, wretched girl in the
world.  She crept down the next morning with a white face to give him
his early breakfast, and then drove to Brambleton station with him; so
no one saw the last parting.  When she returned, she went upstairs to
her room, and shut herself up for the rest of the morning.

'It is a pity Clare did not show her affection for him more when she
was with him,' said Gwen impatiently, when Agatha came to her in the
study, and wondered if she should go up and try to comfort her.  'I
often marvel at Hugh's infatuation for her.  I don't believe she knows
what real love is.  She is so taken up with her own feelings and moods,
that she has no time for his, and I think he is far too good for her.
If she is so discontented before marriage, what will she be afterwards?
He will have a miserable time of it, I am afraid!'

'You are too hard upon her!  I daresay his absence will prove to her
how truly she loves him, for I am quite sure she does.'

'I have no patience with her!' said Gwen shortly; and then she buried
herself in her book again, whilst Agatha went away and shed some tears
herself over Captain Knox's departure.

CHAPTER VII

Unrest

  'Thou hast made us for Thyself,
  And our hearts are restless
        till they rest in Thee.--_St. Augustine._

Some weeks passed.  The girls were perfectly satisfied with their quiet
country life.  Elfie brightened the whole house with her music and high
spirits.  Agatha soon found her way to the nearest cottages, and was
friends with all the farm labourers who passed by the house, and Gwen
tried to manage everything and everybody.  Clare shook off her low
spirits, but was uncertain-tempered, and would never settle at any
occupation for long at a time.  Still, she delighted in the country
round, and would return from her rambles with her arms full of Nature's
treasures, making the little house beautiful with her lovely flowers
and greenery.

Miss Miller fussed in and out, and was very glad of Agatha's help in
parish matters; even unbending so far as to give Elfie permission to
play on the organ in church, which, of course, delighted her.  Agatha
was informed that she could visit as freely as she liked, but that no
relief was to be given, except through the vicarage.

'I look after everybody myself.  I know the deserving and the
undeserving, and they know me!  I won't have anything given to my
parishioners without my knowledge.  My brother leaves it all in my
hands.'

One afternoon Miss Villars called, and found only Clare at home.  She
was a sweet-looking, attractive woman, and Clare, with her usual
impulsiveness, lost her heart to her at once.  She confided to her the
history of her engagement, and parting with Captain Knox; and the visit
lengthened into nearly an hour before Miss Villars took her leave.

Clare went into raptures about her, when talking to her sisters
afterwards.

'She is not a bit goody or eccentric, as Hugh hinted.  She talked and
laughed as naturally as any one; and she has such a lovely face.
Dresses very quietly, but with good taste; and is such a graceful
woman!  She is quite the nicest person I have met for a long time.  I
am dying to see her in her own home.  I am sure it must be a charming
one.  She drove over in an open carriage with a handsome pair of
horses; and has offered to take us for drives whenever we like.'

'We really must afford ourselves a small trap,' said Gwen.  'We cannot
do without it in the country.  If we had a donkey, it would be better
than nothing!'

'_I_ wouldn't go in a donkey-cart,' said Clare, with disdain.

'Then you could stay at home.  Agatha, what do you say?  We have a
stable.  How much will it cost, do you think?'

When once Gwen took a matter in hand, she generally carried it through;
and very shortly after, the sisters were the proud possessors of a
little two-wheeled trap, and a small rough pony.  This was a great
convenience as well as pleasure to them, and when Clare had a fit of
the blues, she would go off to Brambleton and do some shopping, and
return quite interested and eager to tell all she had seen and heard.
She met Miss Villars on one of her expeditions, and she asked her to go
and have a cup of tea with her before she returned home.  This Clare
willingly did.  She had not been to the house before, though Agatha and
Gwen had; but she found it quite answered her expectations.  It was an
ideal old-fashioned country house, and Miss Villars was a perfect
hostess.  She introduced Clare to a delicate-looking girl staying with
her: 'This is Miss Audrey Foster, who enjoys the country quite as much
as you do.'

'It is paradise to me,' said the girl enthusiastically.  'I am a
Londoner, and have never stayed in the country before.'

Clare looked at her, and noted that her shabby serge dress and pale
pinched face seemed strangely incongruous with her surroundings.  But
when she had left the room shortly afterwards, Miss Villars said: 'Miss
Foster is the eldest daughter of an East End vicar.  She has not had a
holiday or any change from home since her school-days; and she is
mother and governess to five younger brothers and sisters.  I hope to
send her back a different creature.  It is a great pleasure to give
pleasure to other people, is it not?'

'I don't think I ever have,' said Clare frankly.

'Ah, well, my circumstances have made it easy for me to do so.  My
house is too big to live alone in it, and so I have relays of young
visitors who need a little brightness in their lives.  It is so sad to
think of some young lives being cramped and dwarfed by their
surroundings; and some natures utterly sink beneath the burden of
household cares and anxieties, that ought not to touch them at all in
youth.'

'You are very good, Miss Villars, are you not?'

Miss Villars laughed brightly.  'Not at all, my dear child.  I wish I
were.'

'I wish I were too,' said Clare, with sudden impulse.  'You look so
happy--I wish I knew your secret.'

'"Happy is that people whose God is the Lord,"' said Miss Villars
softly.

Clare sighed.  'I never have found religion make me happy, Miss
Villars.'

'No more have I.  It is only the Lord Himself who can do that.  Do you
know Him as your Friend and Saviour?'

Clare had never had such a question put to her before.  'I don't know
Him at all,' she said earnestly; 'God seems such a long way off.'

'You know how you can get near Him?'

'By being very religious, I suppose.'

'The Bible doesn't say so.  It says this: "But now in Christ Jesus ye
who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ.  For
He is our peace, who hath made both one, and hath broken down the
middle wall of partition between us."  Think that verse over, dear, and
look it up in your own Bible.'

'But,' said Clare, hesitating a little, 'I don't think I want to be
brought nearer to God.  That has no attraction for me.'

'Then you will never know real happiness.  Any soul away from its
Creator knows no peace.'

Clare was silent, and then Miss Foster entered the room again, and the
subject was changed; but Clare had plenty of food for reflection as she
drove home.

It was a lovely afternoon in June--so warm that for once the four
sisters were together in the shady verandah outside the drawing-room
windows, taking their ease and waiting for their afternoon tea.  Agatha
was the only one who was doing anything, and she was stitching away at
some small garment for one of the farm carter's children.  It was a
still, drowsy afternoon; the very bees seemed too lazy to hum, and were
settling sleepily on the rose bushes close to their hives.

'This is the most sleepy time in the day,' observed Gwen, leaning back
in her low wicker chair, her head resting on her arms behind it, 'I
could go to sleep in five minutes if I chose; there is not a creature
moving for miles round us, I expect.'

'I love the stillness,' said Clare.  'Every one in the country has time
to rest.  How different it is in London!'

'I think we're all living very lazy lives,' said Elfie, as she picked a
climbing rose beside her and placed it in her belt; 'I feel as if every
day here is one long holiday!'

'Well, we are not at school,' returned Clare; 'and I beg to state I
have not been idle to-day.  Attending to the flowers in the house every
morning is no joke!  I was nearly two hours over them; then I wrote
letters and took them to the post before luncheon, and I have been
mending a dress, and tidying my cupboards since.'

Gwen laughed a little derisively.  'You will never die of hard work,
Clare.'

'I think it is harder work doing what I have done, than sitting still
in the same chair from ten o'clock to one, and simply reading and
writing!'

'Ted was asking for directions in the garden,' said Agatha, looking up;
'but when I peeped inside the study, Gwen, and saw you had one of your
writing crazes on, I knew it was no good coming to you.'

'No, he has plenty of work, and I shall be occupied in the morning for
some time now.'

'Why have you taken such a fit of it?' asked Clare.  'You're writing as
if for your life.'

'I want money,' was the brief reply.

'What for?'

'That I shall not tell you at present.  I want it so much, that I am
even condescending to write silly stories, which I despise myself for
doing.'

'Oh! that will be delightful,' exclaimed Elfie.  'Couldn't you read us
one now, to pass the time?'

'I will read you a kind of conundrum I have dashed off this morning to
amuse some sentimental goose like Clare!'

'Thank you,' said Clare imperturbably; and when Gwen sauntered into the
house to get her manuscript, she said, 'Gwen is preparing some surprise
for her family.  You mark my words; before long she will unfold a
startling plan of action!'

Gwen reappeared very soon, and settling herself in her easy chair,
began to read in a lazy and slightly mocking tone as follows:--

'The princess walks in her garden alone.  Her face is sad, and her
steps are slow.  She reaches a low moss-covered wall, and leaning upon
it gazes dreamily and wistfully upon the busy crowded city below.
Sounds of toil and labour meet her ears.  The busy multitudes are all
engaged in the various occupations of their spheres.  And whilst the
ringing laughter, the joyous mirth, of some is borne upwards by the
breeze, it is mingled with the sobs and bitter weeping of the neglected
and oppressed.  Stretching out her soft white hands, she clasps them in
piteous yearning.

'"My soul craves for it," she cries.  "Since first I became conscious
of its absence I am longing to find it.  If I could devote a lifetime
to it, and obtain it at last, I should die content!"

'She stands in the deepest recess of a lonely forest.  Far away from
the city, no human habitation is near.  Her feet are on the
moss-covered ground, soft as velvet to the touch.  Above is a canopy of
green, through which the pure blue heavens appear, and the rays of the
setting sun are giving the stately elms and rugged oaks a golden beauty
of its own.  She is leaning against a copper beech, and her soft brown
hair is kissing the shining bark.  Her blue eyes are turned upwards,
full of expectancy and hope.  She stands like a beautiful statue.  A
squirrel darts up a tree close by, and rabbits sport amongst the fallen
leaves.  The birds are carolling forth their evening hymns of praise,
and Nature seems to be parading its loveliness.  But her face is
sorrowful still, and she shakes her head dejectedly.  "It is of no
avail," she murmurs; "even here in such a scene I cannot obtain my
heart's desire!  I yearn more for it day by day, and yet with the
crushing longing within my breast I seem further away than ever from
it!"

'She turns, and retraces her steps to the home of her forefathers.

'A luxuriously furnished apartment; cool and refreshing after the glare
of the sun outside.  The Venetian shutters are closed.  Sweet-scented
flowers are filling the room with their perfume.  The sound of
children's happy voices, as they roam through the meadows and play in
the new-mown hay, the humming of bees, sipping their honey from the
full-blown flowers, come in at the open windows.  Upon a couch in the
darkest corner of the room lies our princess.  She is not asleep; her
hands are folded listlessly across her breast, her lips are moving.
Now burying her face in the cushions, she exclaims:--

'"No, I have it not.  Methought I might find it even here.  No
happiness for me until I experience it  All the gold I possess would I
gladly give to have the exquisite pleasure of obtaining and realizing
it!"

It is night-time.  She stands upon the summit of a hill alone, and her
figure looks weird and ghostly in the silver moonlight.  Her head is
thrown back, her lips parted breathlessly; her whole attitude bespeaks
eager and intense expectation.  She is waiting and watching for the
desire of her heart.

'She overlooks the city, now wrapped in slumber.  Green plains stretch
away in the dim distance, and the moon throws its light upon her
upturned face, making fantastic shadows around her.  Hark!  From yonder
tree the nightingale trills out her midnight song.  She listens and
does not move, but hears it to the end.  It ceases, and the wind rushes
through the long grass at her feet, and shakes the leaves above, even
venturing with its lawless impudence to buffet her fair brow, and
scatter her brown locks across her eyes.  A deep sigh escapes from her
heaving breast.  "It is hopeless.  I am well-nigh despairing.  Whither
shall I go?  I will not be conquered.  I must find, and will find it
soon!"

'Again we see her.  In a grotto, deep in the heart of the earth.  She
is seated on a rock, and all is darkness save a faint ray of light that
creeps through a small crevice overhead.

'No one is near.  No living creature but herself, and she is still
seeking and waiting for what she has not found.  Water is trickling
drop by drop from the moist roof above; the atmosphere is damp and
close, yet little she heeds the discomfort of her surroundings, and
heavy sighs come from her lips.  She looks up at last, then wends her
way still further into the innermost recess of the cavern.  She stands
beneath a deep vaulted roof, in deeper darkness, but in drier
atmosphere, and here she pauses, a light coming into her sad blue eyes,
and for the first time a smile hovering about her lips.  A quiver of
excitement, a thrill of suppressed awe vibrates through her nervously
strung frame.  "At last," she murmurs; "if nowhere else, I shall find
it here."

'Her heart throbs violently, and in vain she places her hand upon it to
still its beating.  Moments pass in anxious hope, then suddenly she
sinks to the ground in a passion of sobs and bitter weeping.

'"No, no, poor weak fool that I have been," she breaks forth, in
disdainful self-contempt; "never in this life shall I obtain it, for
outward circumstances influence it little.  How vainly deluded I have
been hitherto!  Little did I imagine that the very longing and craving
of my heart for it, would thereby prevent my possessing it!"

'She leaves the cavern, and returns to her home a wiser woman.'

Gwen folded her manuscript up quietly, adding indifferently, 'Now what
was it she wanted?'

'I should say, "Work,"' remarked Agatha in her matter-of-fact way.
'She seems to have been a most idle young person.'

'Rest and contentment,' murmured Clare, looking at Gwen with dreamy,
thoughtful eyes.

'Sleep, perhaps,' suggested Elfie.

'You're all wrong.'

'Tell us then.'

'She wanted silence.'

And humming an air, Gwen walked into the house without another word.

Elfie began to laugh.  'What a queer subject!  Gwen never does write
like other people.  There is no moral at all.'

Neither of the others spoke for a little.  Then Agatha said, folding up
her work, 'It may take in certain magazines, but I think she writes far
better when she keeps to facts, not fancies.'

'It has a moral,' said Clare, looking away over the meadows.

'What is it?' asked Elfie, regarding her curiously.

'Failure is in self, not circumstances!'

After which slow denunciation, Clare also moved into the house, and
when she reached her bedroom she murmured to herself, 'And I know all
my unrest and discontent come from within me.  It is not my
surroundings.  Miss Villars must be right.'

CHAPTER VIII

Entertaining a Stranger

        'In all things
  Mindful not of _herself, but bearing_ the burden
    of others.'--_Longfellow._

It was Sunday evening.  Agatha sat by the drawing-room window, her
Bible on her lap, and her thoughts far away from things of earth.  All
the rest of the household were at church, and she was enjoying the
stillness around her.  The sun was setting just behind the pine trees
in the distance, and shedding a rosy glow upon their slender stems; the
hush of night seemed to be falling on all Nature, and Agatha was so
wrapped up in her thoughts, that she did not notice the figure of a man
quietly and swiftly approaching the house.  She was the more startled
when a voice broke upon the stillness; and she looked up to see a man
standing close outside the window.

'Pardon me, madam, but will you kindly allow me to enter?  I wish to
have a few words with you.'

Visions of housebreakers, robbing, and perhaps murdering, if their
wishes were denied them, flitted through Agatha's perturbed mind.  She
knew she was alone in the house, and beyond the reach of any help; she
also realized that all the three French windows leading out to the
verandah were open; but, nevertheless, she showed a brave front.
Without rising from her seat, she looked the intruder straight in the
face.

'Perhaps, if you will make known your errand, I will comply with your
request.  You are at present a perfect stranger to me.'

Her visitor smiled.  He was an elderly man, with a stoop in his
shoulders, and a rather shabby great-coat buttoned tight up under his
chin.

'My errand might startle you,' he said; 'I wish to get at something in
the study cupboard.'

Poor Agatha's heart beat loudly.  'That you cannot do without the
owner's consent,' she replied sternly, 'and he is at present abroad.'

Then with a little old-fashioned bow the stranger took off his hat.

'No, madam, he is not abroad.  He is before you!'

Agatha stared at him.  She saw rather kindly-looking blue eyes peering
at her through thick shaggy eyebrows; a care-worn, smooth-shaven face,
with a very broad intellectual brow, and a smile that somehow or other
disarmed her suspicions.

'Are you--are you sure?' she faltered stupidly.

'Sure that my name is Thomas Lester, and that instead of being a tramp
or burglar molesting a lonely woman, I am now respectfully soliciting
admission into my own house?  Yes, madam, I assure you on the honour of
a gentleman that I am no impostor!'

Agatha rose at once.  'Then please come in, and forgive my suspicions.
I never heard of your return.'

'No,' he said, stepping inside and quietly taking a seat; 'I came back
hurriedly, and did not wish my visit here to be known.  That is why I
chose to come down from London to-day, for I knew my respected brother
would be safely and piously conducting his devotions in church.  Have
you made his acquaintance, Miss Dane?'

'No, he has not called upon us.'

'And you have seen nothing of my son?  Do you know my story?  I see by
the book that you are reading that you must be a good woman.  I know
you are a brave one by my reception.  May I confide in you a little?'

Agatha looked up sympathetically.

'We do know something about you,' she said; 'quite enough to make us
feel very sorry for you.'

Mr. Lester then told her again much of what she had already heard, with
additions, which drew out her sympathy still more for him.  He told her
that when he reached the farm where his son had been working, he found
he had left it, saying he was going to track out his cousin, and would
never come back till he had found him.

'My journey was fruitless, and then, after making many useless
inquiries, I fancied he might have returned home, as my last letter to
him had urged him to be home again without fail before this summer
would be over.  So I came back, and find from my agents in London that
he must be still abroad.  My journey out there was a failure; both lads
are swallowed up in the Australian bush, but I don't believe they are
dead, and I am convinced that Alick will never come back without
tidings of his cousin.  Their affection for each other was absurd,
preposterous, and utterly out of place.'

He paused, and Agatha asked anxiously:---

'Are you going back to Australia again?'

'I don't know.'

'Perhaps you wish to return here?'

'Not at all.  I never will, until things are on a different footing
between myself and my brother.  He has insulted me openly in this
neighbourhood; even daring to hint that I have plotted to get rid of
his son!  No, I came to get something I want out of my locked cupboard.
I conclude you will have no objection to my doing this?'

'Certainly not'; and Agatha rose and led him to the study.  She left
him there, but as she turned away she heard him quietly lock the door
behind her; and again she felt a nervous thrill run through her, as she
wondered if he were an impostor after all.

Half an hour later he came back to her in the drawing-room.

'I am going to do a foolish thing,' he said; 'I cannot tell what impels
me to do it, but the very thing I was going to take away I am
deliberately going to leave here with you.'

'I would rather you took it away, whatever it is,' Agatha said hastily.

'It will not be in your way.  I see you are careful tenants, and as
long as you keep my wishes respected about that locked cupboard, it
will be safe; far safer than if I carried it about with me, as I
thought of doing.  If you wish to correspond with me at any time, my
agents in London will forward anything to me.  I will give you their
card.  One thing I am going to leave with you, and this shows the
confidence I place in you.  It is the secret of opening that cupboard.
I have sealed the directions up in this envelope; and I want you to
give me your solemn promise that you will keep it as I give it to you,
in trust for my son.  When he returns, he will be sure to find his way
down here.  Be kind to him, and give him the envelope.  I have never
confided to him the secret of the cupboard, and I wish him to open it
as soon as he arrives.  It is most important he should.

'You may wonder at my trusting a comparative stranger with such a
charge, but I am a good reader of faces, and I do not think you will
fail me.  Promise me you will keep this envelope from the knowledge of
any one, even from your sisters; and promise me you will do what I
desire about it!'

But,' objected Agatha, 'we may not live here always.  If we leave
before your son returns----'

'My son is bound to come back before the end of this year, if he is
alive.'

'Then will he wish to come and live here?'

'No.  Neither my son nor I will ever live here again, I fancy.'

'Then where will you be when your son returns?'

'I do not know.  In my grave, perhaps.  I have told you my agents'
address.'

So, after a little hesitation and a great deal of wonder, Agatha gave
him her promise to act as he wished.  Seeing he looked tired and worn,
she asked him if he would have any refreshment, but he refused.

'You need not make my visit known throughout the neighbourhood,' he
said, standing up and buttoning up his coat; then glancing at her
Bible, which lay open on the table by her side, he added rather
sarcastically:

'If you want a Bible study, Miss Dane, discover the answer to a
proposition made in the Book of Jeremiah.  I believe it's in the first
verse of the twelfth chapter.  You see I know my Bible well.'

'And so do I,' said Agatha, smiling, 'though not so well as I ought.
And I can tell you that the same proposition troubled David; but he
solved it in the sanctuary.'

'Is that a hint to me?' said Mr. Lester, a little taken aback by her
quick reply.

'No; though don't you think it a pity to hold aloof from God's worship
on the day set apart for it?  Even the heathen are more respectful to
their false gods.'

'I did not expect to receive a sermon here,' he responded, with a
little dry smile.

'No, and I would not presume to give it,' said Agatha, smiling in her
turn.  'And don't be surprised that I knew your verse in Jeremiah so
well.  I came across it the other day, and thought it fitted in well
with a favourite Psalm of ours, the thirty-seventh.  We have had an
experience something like yours, and it would make one bitter
sometimes, if one did not remember that our circumstances are being
shaped by God Himself.'

Mr. Lester said nothing, but held out his hand, and Agatha took it,
feeling strangely drawn to him.  They shook hands, and then, as Mr.
Lester stepped out into the verandah, he turned.

'Remember your promise, and offer a prayer sometimes for a disappointed
old man who fears he won't live to see his hopes fulfilled.'

He disappeared in the fast-falling twilight, and Agatha sat in her
chair, gazing before her as if in a dream.  Her sisters found her
strangely preoccupied when they returned; but when they were enjoying a
cold supper together, and the maids were out of the room, she told them
of her strange visitor, begging them to say nothing of it to any one,
and purposely omitting to tell them of the envelope entrusted to her.

'Are you perfectly certain he was genuine?' said Gwen anxiously.  'It
was a very risky thing to let him have sole possession of the study!
Why did you not offer to stay in the room with him?'

'How could I?  He locked himself in!'

'Worse and worse!  He might have been taking impressions of the locks,
and will break into the house another night by the study window!'

Agatha shook her head with a confident smile.  'He was a gentleman, and
had a true face; I am not at all afraid of him.'

'It is quite an adventure,' said Clare, flushing up with excitement.
'Now, what do you think he wanted to get at in the cupboard?  Is it a
treasure store, or does it hide some ghastly secret?  I really think I
should have peeped through the key-hole, and seen how he opened it.  It
would have been such an opportunity.'

'Did you dismiss him with a tract?' asked Gwen mockingly.

'No, I had not one by me,' said Agatha simply.  'I feel very sorry for
him.  He is in great trouble about his son.'

'And you are sure he does not want to come back and turn us out?  It
would be very awkward if he did.'

'He seemed quite certain on that point.'

Gwen heaved a sigh of relief.  'I think I will tell you what I purpose
doing, she said rather solemnly; 'or shall I put it off till to-morrow?'

'"'Tis the Sabbath,"' quoted Elfie, mimicking old Deb Howitt's tones.

'If it is anything startling, I would rather you kept it till
to-morrow,' said Agatha; 'I have had quite enough to startle me
already.'

'Oh, very well,' responded Gwen unconcernedly; 'my news will keep.'

But she was disappointed that no one seemed curious enough to press her
for more information, and the next day, after working hard all the
morning in the garden, went off to see the Howitts in the afternoon.

Gwen had taken a real liking to the sisters, and would often drop in
upon Patty, and have a cup of tea with her when her sister was away.

It was a warm day, and she was glad to reach the cottage, with its
shady orchard round it, after the blazing meadows she had crossed.

Under an old apple-tree, on a low stool, she found Patty sitting,
knitting furiously away at a grey worsted stocking, and muttering to
herself as she did so.

'What is the matter?' Gwen asked gaily, as she took a seat on the grass
by her side; 'you look quite agitated!'

''Tis one of our bad days,' said Patty, looking up and shaking her head
dolefully.  ''Tis generally the wash-tub that does it, and Monday is
our washing day.  I did mean to be careful that my lips didn't offend,
but 'tis no good when she's of an argumentative turn!  Yes, miss, she's
locked me out, and I hope she's enjoyin' herself, for on Mondays I
always bakes a cake for tea.  Deb never did have a light hand for such
things, and she's a-messin' in there with my flour bin, and pilin' tons
of coal on the fire, for I've been watchin' the smoke, and I can tell,
and if I'm kept out here till dark, I'll maintain a promised wife comes
before a sister!'

'Is that the discussion?' asked Gwen, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

'Now let me put it to you, miss, and she'd no business to begin it over
the wash-tub, for it wants a cool head and a quiet mind to tackle such
things.  She was tellin' me of a case that was told her up at
Thornicroft Manor, which is three mile the other side of Brambleton;
and the housekeeper knew the parties concerned, being first cousin once
removed to the young man.  He was engaged to be married to an orphan
girl, a-tryin' to earn her livin' by dressmakin', but makin' a very
poor thing out of it.  And they had kept company for six years, and
then his mother died and left his only sister on his hands.  But mind
you, miss, they were a-goin' to be married, and had fixed the day
before his mother took ill, and then what does the young fellow do but
break it all off with his girl, sayin' he was only able to keep one
woman, and that would have to be his sister!  Now what do you think,
miss?  I say it was a cryin' shame of him, and Deb, she will have he
did right, for his sister was delicate, and flesh and blood come first,
she says.  We argued it up and down, and she cried him up, and I cried
him down, and we gets hotter and hotter.  We couldn't keep off it after
we left the wash-tubs and was a-havin' a bit of dinner; but I sticks to
it that a promised wife comes first, and then, with a shove, I found
myself out of doors, and the key locked behind me!'

Gwen laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.  Old Patty's intense
interest in the unknown young couple, and her warm partisanship for the
little dressmaker, together with her tragic tone and injured demeanour,
were too much for her gravity.

'You are two foolish old women,' she said at last.  'I suppose it is
love of your own opinions, and not the fate of these strangers, that
makes you so combative.  Which of you has the stronger will?'

'Ay, we're wonderful alike in temper, more's the pity, but I consider
myself a fitter judge of right and wrong than Deb, who goes about and
hears so much that it's all hearin' and no meditatin', whiles I sit
here, and has the time and opportoonity to weigh the matters in and
out, without the clack of many tongues to confuse my brain and make me
say a man is a saint when he is a fool, not to say a sinner!'

Nothing that Gwen could say would calm the old woman, and when she went
up to the cottage door, Deb remained conveniently deaf to all her
knocks.  She came home, and gave a graphic description of the quarrel
to her sisters; but when their obstinacy was being condemned, Agatha
said in her quiet way:

'Well, Gwen, you ought to have sympathy with them, for if any one ever
goes against you, I am sure you feel as they do.'

'You mean I am fond of my own way and opinions, and won't bear
contradiction!  Oh, Agatha, how you love to preach to us all!  I won't
say you are mistaken, for I am not going to get up an argument, and I
want you all to be especially agreeable while I lay a plan of mine
before you.'

'Now for it,' murmured Clare; and both Agatha and Elfie leant back in
their chairs, the one in anxious, the other in amused anticipation of
what might follow.

CHAPTER IX

Gwen's Resolve

  'How little thou canst tell
  How much in thee is ill or well!
  Nor for thy neighbour, nor for thee,
  Be sure!'--_Clough._

Gwen cleared her throat.  She sat in a low wicker chair by the open
window of the drawing room, and for a minute her eye wandered out into
the back garden, which looked in perfect order, and hardly needed the
incessant hoeing and weeding of a lanky youth, who was now resting on
his hoe and leaning against the wall in a sleepy attitude.

'We have now been here three months, and after the satisfactory evening
we had with our accounts, Agatha, last week, we have come to the
conclusion that we can live here well within our income.  This being
the case, and all anxiety for the future----'

'You're talking like a book,' interrupted Elfie saucily; 'don't purse
up your mouth so, and look so superior, and like Cousin James.'

'Very well, then, I will come to the point at once.  I mean to go out
to California and pay Walter a visit, and I want to sail before the end
of this month.'

There was a dead silence.  Then Agatha said a little drily, 'And you
will want your 100 pounds to do that, of course?'

'No, I don't.'  Gwen's tone was a little sharp.  'I have some in hand
from my writing.  I can see from your faces that you don't approve, but
I've had it in my mind for a long time, only I have waited to see how
things would go.  Cousin Jacob's treachery was a bitter blow, as I was
afraid you would want me at home to look after you all----'

'We're not the poor fools you think us,' put in Clare indignantly.

Gwen went on as if she had not heard her: 'And now I have got the
garden into such excellent condition, and you are all shaking down and
finding friends and occupations for yourselves--Agatha, the vicar and
the villagers; Clare, her sweet Miss Villars; and Elfie, divided
between the church organ and her music at home--I shall not be needed
or missed.  I don't mean to be away for years, but I am sure from
Walter's letters that he is not doing as well as he should.  He wants
shaking up, perhaps starting in a new groove; and, honestly, I want to
see life in the Colonies.  It will do me good, and I hope I shall do
him good.  I may be back in six months' time.  That is my idea--to pay
him a visit, and then come back to you here.'

'I suppose we should all like to visit him,' said Clare crossly.  'Why
shouldn't one of us go, and you stay at home?  I am sure a winter here
will finish me.'

Walter seems such a stranger to us,' said Elfie, 'that I wonder if he
will like it.  He was always at a boarding-school, and we only saw him
for the holidays, and then he went abroad directly he left school.  I
hardly know anything about him.  Has he any idea you are going, Gwen?

'I will write by the next mail and tell him.  I know him a little
better than you do, Elfie, for you were but a child when he left
England.  He has often said how he would like one of us out there to
keep house for him.  Of course, he will be delighted.'

'I am sorry you want to go,' Agatha said slowly.

'Why?  Is there any good reason why I should stay at home?'

Agatha was silent, and though the younger girls plied Gwen with
innumerable questions, and were full of excitement about it, she said
nothing, and presently walked out of the room.

Gwen looked after her with a mixture of doubtful perplexity and
annoyance.  She and Agatha had always been much together, and she
valued her opinion, though determined not to be swayed by it.  She felt
this silence meant disapproval, and was by turns uneasy and indignant
at it.  It was not till after Clare and Elfie had retired to bed that
night that Agatha referred to the matter.  And Gwen little knew that
she had been kneeling at her bedside praying for guidance in offering
her advice, for more than an hour that evening.

'Well,' said Gwen, with a little laugh, as she reclined in her
favourite wicker chair, and looked up at her sister's grave face, as
she turned from her writing-table to speak, 'what does Madam Prudence
say to my scheme?'

'I think it is too important a step to take hastily,' said Agatha.

'My dear, I have been thinking of it for months; there has been no
haste in the matter.  Removal of objection number one!  Now for number
two!'

'I think,' said Agatha slowly, 'that you are quite as likely to
unsettle Walter as to settle him.  He is not doing very grandly, but he
keeps out of debt; and it seems to me that it is only by steady
perseverance that fortunes are made nowadays.  Then you may seriously
inconvenience him by giving him such short notice of your intentions.
A man living by himself on a small farm is not prepared to receive
ladies at a day's notice.  He may be away from home when you arrive.
Oh yes, I know you are not going to be influenced by what I say, but I
do ask you to look upon it as a serious matter.  And, Gwen, you know I
don't often "preach," as you term it, but I do wish you would practise
the verse old Nannie gave you just before we left London.  It is an
important step.  Do commit it unto the Lord.'

'I am not religious,' said Gwen, a little lightly.

'Do you never mean to be?'

'I don't know.  Every one has a different nature.  It is natural for
you to be good.  It is natural for you to trust and lean upon religion,
because you have such a humble opinion of your own judgment and powers.
Now I feel--I can't help feeling--a confidence in myself.  It may be
conceit, but it is natural for me to trust in my own judgment, and plan
my own course of life, and until disaster attends my attempts I shall
continue to act for myself.  Of this I am certain!'

'Ah, don't say that!' exclaimed Agatha; 'it would be sad if disaster
were to follow this step of yours.  I hoped, from your advocating a
country life, that you would be content to settle down here quietly.
If it is the dulness of the place that is driving you abroad, I am
sorry we ever came here.'

'I am never dull anywhere,' Gwen said quickly; 'I have too many
resources.  It is not that at all.  I have wanted to go out to Walter
for a long time, and now I have made enough money to do it, nothing
will stop me.'

'You are so sure of yourself,' said Agatha, sighing.

'Yes, and I am not ashamed of it.  We can't be all alike, and
self-confidence is a great blessing sometimes.  It saves one from an
infinite amount of care and worry.'

Agatha was silent.  As is often the case with sisters, there was great
reserve between them on matters that lay closely to their hearts, and
though Agatha longed to warn Gwen of her besetting fault, she hesitated.

Gwen continued with alacrity: 'I have made inquiries about steamers,
and hope to sail the week after next.  I have very little preparation
to make, for I am not given to much luggage.'

'And you mean to go out quite by yourself?'

'Why not?  In these days chaperons are unnecessary.  There are always
some nice people on board who befriend single women.  I am not a young
girl.'

'You are not very old,' said Agatha, scanning the bright, handsome face
with its wilful mouth and determined chin; 'and as I know vanity is not
a failing of yours, I may say that you are too good-looking to be going
about the world alone.'

Gwen laughed.  'Oh, you poor old thing!  Why will you try to mother us
all, when you cannot manage it!  You may be perfectly certain I can
take care of myself.  Now shall we go to bed, or have you any more
objections to make?'

'I wish you would pray over it,' were Agatha's parting words; and when
Gwen got to her room that night she pondered over them.

She was not actually irreligious.  She read her Bible occasionally, and
went through a form of prayer by her bedside every night; but religion
had never touched her heart.  It was but an empty name to her, and she
was too secure in her self-confidence and pride to ever feel her need
of anything outside herself.

She drew her Bible towards her now, and turned to the 37th Psalm.  She
first glanced at the verse Nannie gave her, then read the psalm through
carefully and steadily.

'It exactly describes Cousin James,' was her inward thought.  'I wish
we could always see the good righted in this life, and the wicked cut
off.  I am afraid I could not follow out these precepts in my life.  It
is all waiting and trusting and doing nothing oneself, but letting God
do it all for one.  It is a psalm that must bring wonderful comfort to
Agatha.  Of course, I shall be able to pray that my visit to Walter may
be for good, but I am sure it will.  It is not as if I am meditating
some very wrong course of action.  If they really wanted me here, I
would not think of leaving them.  I am going out for Walter's good.  Oh
dear! how often I wish I had been the man in our family!'

With such thoughts as these she presently bent her head, and asked a
blessing on her undertaking, and then turned into bed, feeling very
virtuous at having done so.

There was a great deal of talk between the sisters about Gwen's
proposal, but not one of them now thought to dissuade her, and the only
unpleasant criticism she had to bear was from Miss Miller.

Elfie and Gwen met her in the village, and she stopped them at once.

'What is this I hear?' she demanded, tapping Gwen on the shoulder with
her stick.  'Are you going off to find a husband abroad, because you
haven't been able to pick one up here?  I thought you young ladies
would be disappointed when you came to know our neighbourhood.'

'Our friends and acquaintances are not limited to this small corner,
Miss Miller,' retorted Gwen, holding her head proudly; 'we should be in
a poor plight if they were.  And if we felt dull, London is not out of
reach.  I am going out to my brother.'

'So I have been told.  You are going to live amongst bushrangers and
savages.  It shows a refined and modest taste to go where you will be
the only woman.  But I am surprised at nothing in these days, when
everything is topsy-turvy, and society at its worst.  Women vie with
one another in being conspicuous, and girls go about the world in men's
clothes!'

Elfie began to laugh, but Gwen said haughtily,--

'Since it does not surprise you, Miss Miller, I wonder you mention it
at all.'

'Husband-hunting!' growled Miss Miller; and she hurried past them
without another word.

'She is an impertinent woman!' said Gwen wrathfully.

'I think she is an old dear,' said Elfie merrily.  'You never hear
people speak out their thoughts as she does!  I always wonder what she
is going to say next.  The other day I was leaving a message for Agatha
at the vicarage, when she came out with Lady Buttonshaw, who had been
calling there.  She said good-bye to her, and then added with great
severity: "It is a good thing for you to be without your maid for a
little.  I shall not hurry Emma Gray to go to you.  A woman might as
well turn into a fashion-block as allow her maid to clothe and unclothe
her as your maid does you!  Bestir yourself, my dear.  Find out on
which side the buttons on your boots are, and how many hairpins are
necessary for the erection of your pretty hair!"  Lady Buttonshaw only
laughed as she walked away.  I suppose everybody knows that her bark is
worse than her bite!'

Gwen had a different criticism pronounced upon her departure by old Deb
and Patty.  She went to wish them good-bye, and their surprise was
great when she told them where she was going.

'Is it among the wild beasts and heathens?  Well, you're a brave young
lady to venture out all alone.  But I should be terribly afeared of
losin' my way.  Are there signposts all the way?'

'There, Patty, you ain't showin' off your knowledge to talk so!  Miss
Gwen will go all the way in a steamer, and her brother will be meetin'
her when she comes to land.  It's the steamers are so tryin' to flesh
and blood.  Mr. Giles told me all about it when he went to America with