Chapter XXVII: Visitors

IT was not till the autumn came that Kitty and Avice came together to pay Hope a visit.

She met them at the station herself, and was struck by the change in both of them. Kitty had lost her childish look; she was slighter in figure and taller, was as impetuous and eager as ever, but not so thoughtless in her speech, and seemed to have learnt self-control. Avice, from being a fresh complacent-looking girl, had become a nervous fretful invalid, full of her own aches and pains and sensitive feelings. Hope was quite shocked to see her.

She talked cheerfully to them both, took them to their comfortable bedrooms, and then as usual poured out her disappointment into her husband's ears.

"I must tell you a private little idea of my own," she said to him. "You know how difficult I find it to visit as much as I should like amongst our villagers here. I thought that perhaps when Kitty goes out to Canada, Avice could come here and be a kind of district nurse and visitor. If she liked to be independent, she could lodge in the village. It is what she loved doing—visiting the poor, and having classes and meetings for them. Our Rector would be only too delighted. But now I have seen Avice, my castle has tumbled to the ground. She seems quite crushed by her father's death, as if she has no spirit left, and such a discontented whining voice! I am quite astonished at the change in her."

"Don't be hard on the girl. It's just the sudden cessation, I expect, of all interest in others that has brought about a reaction."

"Yes, perhaps you are right. She has lost more by her father's death than Kitty has."

At dinner that night Kitty chattered away in her old style; but though Lancelot did his very best to entertain and interest Avice, he could hardly win a word from her. He had to attend a village meeting that evening, so Hope was left with the two girls. Conversation became very heavy in the drawing-room. Avice seemed to be a dead weight upon the atmosphere. At last she said she would like to go to bed, and it was with a sense of relief that Hope accompanied her upstairs. When she was in her bedroom with her, she stooped down and kissed her.

"Good-night, Avice," she said tenderly. "I can't tell you how I feel for you. I have gone through the same trouble myself so recently, that I know a little of the blank that there must be in your life."

"Thank you," was the uncivil reply. "Everybody tells me the same, but I don't know that it alters my feelings much to be told that my loss is one common to all."

For one moment Hope felt quite vexed, then she replied:

"No, it does not alter the fact of your grief, of course. You must tell me, when you are more at home with me, what your plans are for the future. I hope you will sleep well. Good-night."

She would have been astonished could she have seen Avice, when the door was closed, fling herself upon her bed in a tempest of sobs.

"I wish I had never come. I never cared for her. She was always so uninteresting, and now she seems to glory in her position here, and gloats over my misfortunes. I know she never liked me. I hate her pity and patronage. Oh, I wish I were dead! I have nothing to live for. Everything has been taken from me. No one understands me, and no one cares what becomes of me!"

Poor Avice was going through a very bitter experience. From being the centre of a circle of admiring and devoted people, she was suddenly displaced from her pedestal, and became a mere unit, and a very insignificant one, in Kayminster.

She had never cared for making friends with her equals. She had always posed as a saintly benefactor to her inferiors, and their homage was her chief delight in life. Now that was swept away from her, she felt like a rudderless boat; she had no goal in life, no purpose, no hope. Her work had come first and not her God. Hope would have pitied her much more if she had known the real misery of soul that was hers.

When she reached the drawing-room again, she found that Kitty had drawn up two low chairs to the wood-fire, and was anxiously waiting for her appearance.

"Why, Kitty, aren't you thinking of going to bed, too?"

"Indeed I'm not! I'm simply thirsting to have you to myself! Now come and sit here, and let me pour out, or I shall explode! I'm so thankful your thoughtful husband has taken himself of to-night. It is too good an opportunity to lose. Oh, Hope, what a darling you are! First let me give you a hug, if I dare. You're so regal in your satin gown. I've never seen you in evening-dress before. You look so queenly! Doesn't Mr. Dane sometimes long to give you a good squeeze when you look so lovely? I do!"

Hope laughed merrily as she submitted herself to one of Kitty's "hugs."

Then the girl seated herself beside her, and began her confidence in eager excitement.

"I've heard from Brian that he is building a house in his spare time. He has a grant of land of his own, and he is going to work at this house all the winter. Then in the spring—next spring—I'm to go out to him, and I've been sending him plans for all the rooms. We shall have to work awfully hard, he says, but I shall love it. I wriggle with delight when I think of it! Now that's my tit-bit of news, the bit that keeps my spirits up. And I'm collecting—oh, you'll laugh, but I know what it takes to stock a kitchen—I'm collecting with any odd pence that I can save, such a medley of articles, which I keep in what I call my kist. A tin toasting-fork, a cake-tin, a pepper-box, a tin spoon, an egg-whisk—all a penny each. Then I have bits of flannel and odd dusters—you've no idea what a lot you can get with a few coppers. Avice looks on and laughs at me—metaphorically, I mean—I wish she did in truth, for she's so depressingly dismal that I don't know what to do with her.

"Oh, Hope, you have no idea what our life is like in lodgings! Avice hardly ever speaks to me. She sits and mopes. I made her come to the cathedral services once or twice, but she says it makes her too miserable to go there. I wonder if it would have been better to have stayed on in our village in lodgings; but the fact was, that we heard almost directly who was going to have the living. The Vicar of Nutton, about ten miles off, was offered it, and his wife is one of the most energetic and managing of women! Avice never liked her, when she used to meet her at the clerical meeting, because she always tried to give her good advice, and we both felt we had better be gone before she arrived. And if you don't breathe a word, I believe a certain curate has made Avice very unhappy. He was always consulting with her and kind of carrying on—you know the style, paying her great attention, &c.—and now since father's death, he hasn't come near us, or sent her one line. I believe she was really fond of him, but he can't afford to marry. Anyhow, he's behaved like a brute, and I hate him!"

Kitty paused for breath.

"I wish," said Hope wistfully, "that I could get at your sister's heart. I feel so dreadfully sorry for her."

"She hasn't a little idea about money," went on Kitty. "She thinks we ought to be just as comfortable in lodgings as we were at home, and is quite cross with me because I won't let her buy chickens for dinner at three shillings each! I asked her if she would like to be a kind of deaconess, or join a sisterhood. I thought that would just suit her, but do you know, she hates women of her own class, and said she would be miserable with a lot of old maids! She made me laugh, I couldn't help it; and then, of course, she gets cross. She thinks I'm as hard as stone, because I get up a laugh now and then; but I'm sure it would be a black world if everybody who lost a relative never laughed again! Besides, I tell her that laughing keeps you in health, some doctor told me that once; and if you're poor, the great thing is to keep well, for doctors and drugs are so expensive!"

So Kitty talked away, sometimes showing real earnestness of feeling, sometimes as nonsensical as a child. When she went to bed at last, she gave Hope another squeeze.

"There's no one like you in all the world, I know there isn't! And if I had only been a man, I would have walked in and snapped you up in front of Mr. Dane's nose. Is he really as good as he ought to be to you? I shall watch him very closely, and if he isn't, I shall let him know it!"

Before many days were over, Kitty was like one of the house. She knew every human being and every animal for a couple of miles round, and was on friendly terms with them all. Her fresh young voice, and cheery whistle and laugh, was heard the first thing in the morning and the last at night. She was delighted when Lancelot gave her a quiet cob to ride, and in spite of very little previous experience, tenaciously kept her seat in various experiments, which filled Hope with fears for her safety.

When she remonstrated with her for attempting to leap a gate, Kitty retorted:

"My dear Hope, a colonist's wife must know how to jump anything! I'm training myself for the future, and I want to swim a river with him, if your husband will let me. You see, I want to be an all round sort of wife to Brian. I know you won't be shocked, but I'm going to take a lesson to-morrow in felling trees. Your woodman is going to show me. They're cutting down trees in your big wood. Dan Murphy is an Irishman, and his wife's name is Kitty, so he's the greatest friends with me. He says Yorkshire breeds the stoniest lot of men and women in the world, but they're real good sort if they take a fancy to you! His wife is a Yorkshire girl, so of course he knows. He has got a small axe that he says will just suit me, but I mean to have a try with a big one. I've plenty of muscle—always had! I want to be able to take a hand in anything with Brian. We're not going to be a pair in tandem, but abreast in everything!"

Whilst Kitty was thoroughly enjoying herself, Hope tried hard to win Avice's confidence. She drove her out. She sat under the trees upon the lawn, and read and worked with her. She took her to visit some of the cottagers in the village, and did all she could to awaken her interest in things around her. But it was all in vain. Avice responded civilly but listlessly to all that was said, and relapsed into gloomy thought when left alone. She announced one morning that their visit must come to an end; and though Hope would have liked to keep them longer for Kitty's sake, she did not like to press them to stay, when she saw that Avice was not happy with her.

Lancelot suggested that Avice should go, but that Kitty should stay on. He genuinely liked the latter, and told his wife that they had better offer her a home till she was married. But Kitty herself would not hear of this.

"I am bound to stay with Avice. She can't get on alone. I don't know how it is, but she seems to have lost her backbone."

The last evening of their stay, Hope went to Avice's room after she had retired for the night. She sat down and talked about Kitty and the future, and was glad to find that Avice was more responsive than usual. She was just on the point of leaving her, when the girl turned abruptly to her.

"You have been very kind to us," she said, with a little choke in her voice. "I should like to thank you. I feel this is a judgment upon me for never trying to do anything for you, when you lived near us. I have been brought myself to poverty and—and I know how bitter it is, perhaps even more than you did! You must have always realised that it would be only for a time until you married, and of course that is what comforts Kitty. For me—"

She stopped, then astounded Hope by bursting into tears.

In a moment, warm-hearted Hope had thrown her arms round her, and was almost crying in sympathy.

"Oh," sobbed Avice, "everything has gone from me. Home, father, and work; every one I know and care for, all swept away! What is the good of living! I wish I were dead!"

Hope did not reprove her for this outburst; she was delighted that the icy reserve had melted at last.

"You feel exactly as I did when I thought my husband was dead. Oh, Avice, I was so wretched and so wickedly rebellious; I do know, indeed, how you feel. But I don't believe God will leave you like this. He will send you comfort. It is just a very dark rough bit of road, and it is going to lead you out into brighter sunshine than you had before! God is testing you as He tested me. I failed miserably, but you must not. Look up, and take courage, and believe that God is leading you on to better things. I know He is."

Hope's voice rang with such confident assurance that Avice's sobs ceased.

"Ah," she said, hiding her face in her hands, "I don't love or believe in God, as I should. That is the trouble. I have been a hypocrite all my life, and have only just found it out. I always taught others beyond my own experience, and preached lessons of resignation and submission to them when I had never learnt them myself. I feel God has cast me off in disgust, and will have nothing more to do with me."

Kitty impatiently waited for Hope to come and wish her good-night. But she waited a good hour before Hope appeared.

When she stooped over her in bed, her eyes were full of tears.

"Why, Hope, what's the matter? You're looking so happy, and yet you're crying! What has happened? Tell me!"

"I can't tell you all, Kitty. It would not be right. I have been having a long talk with Avice. Poor girl, she has opened her heart to me at last. And, Kitty, I'm not going to let you go to-morrow. We'll wire to your landlady. I've been making plans in my head. If you live in lodgings, why should you not both live near me? I know a delightful farm close by, where the good woman would make you both thoroughly comfortable, and do you much cheaper than any landlady in Kayminster. Then Avice could help me in the village. I want to start a mothers' meeting, and a band of hope, and coal and clothing-clubs. She could teach me all this, and I should profit by her experience, and we should be all working together."

"Oh," said Kitty, sitting up and thumping her pillow in excitement, "how delicious it sounds! But first, Avice will never agree; and then I must be earning my own living."

"Go to sleep. I mean to carry my plan out. It's all nonsense about your earning your own living. You and Avice can live in this way for next to nothing."

She would not discuss the matter further with Kitty then, and she never told her what had passed between herself and Avice; but the next day the telegram was sent, and Avice herself, with a smile upon her lips, went to the farm which Hope had mentioned, and made arrangements for herself and Kitty to board there.

"Hope, you're a marvel!" Kitty exclaimed. "You have bewitched Avice. She is not herself at all. I'm quite frightened at the sudden change in her. I hope she isn't going to die!"

"You see," she further explained to Lancelot, when he and she happened to be alone in the library that afternoon, "I ought not to be so astonished, for Hope is what I call a very contagious person; but Avice always seemed proof against her, and now she has simply been knocked down flat by Hope's wiles, straightened out, and built up again on totally different lines. Fancy Avice saying to me, as she did this morning,—

"'Oh, Kitty, I've been all wrong all my life; I wonder if I can begin over again!'

"And this from the pink of perfection, the 'angel' of the village! You know, Mr. Dane, when first I saw Hope, I knew she was born to fascinate. There was something in her eyes when she looked at you, and I suppose some people are just like the sun—they can't help warming you through, whether you like it or not. Brian told me Hope's face, when he came into his tea tired out, was better than a tonic, and if Avice hadn't purposely kept out of her way at King's Dell, she would have been different long ago!"

"You credit Hope with a great deal," said Lancelot, with mirthful eyes. "Go on; tell me more of her wiles."

"Of course, you are as pleased as punch with my discernment," said Kitty audaciously. "Hope is bound to do people good all along the line, because she is so happy. Why, that old Squire Spencer, as they call him, is waking up to take interest in his property at last! Of course, people say it is his sister's doing, but he would never have had her to live with him if it hadn't been for Hope. He told me so when I went to wish him goodbye. He said,—

"'That Hope St. Clair is making a great mistake by marrying that Indian fellow. She had missed an opportunity of being a wealthy woman.'

"'Ah,' I said, 'she doesn't believe in money much.'

"'I know she does not,' and he spoke quite sadly. 'Well, we shall see one day if she is right or not. Anyhow, I believe in her enough to follow some of her advice, else I would never have got rid of those Hadleys and invited my sister down.'"

Kitty paused, for Hope had entered the room.

"We're talking about you. I'm just telling Mr. Dane how you take people in hand. The Manners consider all their happiness due to you!"

"Oh, Kitty, don't be so foolish," Hope shut her up promptly.

But Kitty said in a loud aside to Lancelot:

"You wait till she leaves us together again, and I'll tell you a few things about her. Things that Brian had told me, and he ought to know the truth about her if any one does."