Chapter XXVIII: A Confession

AVICE and Kitty were soon comfortably settled in the farm, and Avice was fast regaining her health and spirits. But, as Kitty said, there was a change in her. She was gentler, more diffident of herself, and wholly devoted to Hope. She threw herself into the village interests with all her heart, and soon proved a welcome visitor to those she went to see. Avice was at her very best with the poor. Her gentle consideration, great tact, and ready sympathy, made her a general favourite. She confided to Hope that she could never have believed that she could feel so happy again as she did now.

"It is not that I don't miss dear father. I am always conscious of the blank, but there are so many others even in this country village who have worse troubles than I have, and I do enjoy my work amongst them. Only, Hope, will you pray for me? I don't want to put my work first before God. I hope I have learnt my lesson. But I feel it will always be a snare to me."

Autumn went, and the cold North-country winter set in. Mrs. Dane came to spend Christmas, and in the New Year, Hope went back with her for a short stay in London. Mrs. Dane had taken a flat there for the winter, and her youngest son was living with her.

In town, Hope saw many of her old friends again. She smiled as she realised how many of them were anxious to renew their acquaintance with her. Minnie Chesney—now Mrs. Aubyn—begged her to come and stay with her in her town house in Park Lane.

"I always liked you, Hope, and I am very much alone. My husband owns a racing-stable, and you know how that engrosses a man! Of course I have plenty of visitors always coming and going, but they're not the same as old friends. You can't think how delighted I was to hear of your marriage! That was an awful poky little hole in which you buried yourself away after your aunt's death. I was thankful when you were out of it. How is that queer step-brother of yours—the one who tried to farm? Oh, he is abroad again? What a relief for you! I always think those kind of young men are so much better in the colonies. It makes it so uncomfortable for their friends when they come home. And now tell me about your Yorkshire home and your good husband. I hear Brunsworthy Hall is a delightful old place. Some one was talking of it the other day. Is Mr. Dane all right after his accident? I hope it didn't affect his head in any way. We were so sorry for you, when we heard of it. You really seemed one of those unfortunate people who have one trouble after another all their life. I think you've done so wisely in leaving Mr. Dane at home and coming up to town alone; men are such a nuisance hanging round with nothing to do, and making rows if any other man dares to have a word to say to you! And those kind of men who are keen on their country places are much better left there, I say. They never seem to want a change, as we poor wives do!"

Hope listened to her, and tried to respond in a friendly manner. She asked after Hester.

"Oh, she is abroad with mother. They have gone to the Riviera. Poor old Hester! She would rather be back amongst her bees and flowers any day. But she's a real good sort—is determined to do her duty, and mother bullies her accordingly. She'll never be a social success now; she has had her day, and it's a shame to trot her out so."

Hope gave a sigh of relief when Minnie Aubyn took her departure.

The one visit she did enjoy was that of Lady May, who promised she would shortly pay her a visit in Yorkshire.

"I have such a lot to tell you," she said to her. "It seems such ages since we met, and I long for one of our old talks."

"And so do I, May. I have often thought of you."

"I am really happy at home; not doing anything great, you know, as I used to wish I could, but just the little every-day things as they come, and taking opportunities as they're given me. I have some nice things to tell you, and several girls I met abroad are my greatest friends now."

"I shall hear all about it when you come to stay with me," responded Hope, "and I hope that day will be soon."

Jim Horrocks of course came to see Hope, and amused Mrs. Dane with his frank speech and brotherly solicitude for her daughter-in-law.

"There isn't a bit of harm in me," he assured her. "I'm not one of those who make hash of a married woman's life. I really take a brotherly interest in Hope, and I'm as safe as—as you are! All I want is that your son should duly appreciate her, for he's a lucky man and ought to know it! And I'm not going to give up a life friendship because she's married. He'll have to include me in his shooting-parties, and he'll soon see whether he'll keep me on his guest list. Hope will, I know. She never could forget me! And really, you know, Mrs. Dane, if any soul on earth could make me into a religious man, Hope could! I believe in her religion. I knew her before she got it, and I've known her ever since, and she has had some stiff reverses, but she's been as sure and steady as a rock all through, and as happy as a sand-boy! That's the kind of religion a man admires, not a go to church at six o'clock in the morning after a carousal all night, and a long face one part of the season and a short face the other. For steady consistence and real grit, give me Hope, and I wish I was like her!"

But much as Hope enjoyed seeing many of her friends, her heart was with her home and husband, and she counted each day to her return. When she eventually turned her face northwards, she resolved that the next visit to town should be made with her husband, and not without him. And when she reached their country station and found him awaiting her on the platform, she sprang towards him with impulsive eagerness.

"Oh, Lancelot, how glad I am to be home again!"

"I have been like a lost dog without you," he rejoined; "I have worked hard to make the time pass, and have got through a tremendous lot of business. Now I mean to take a short holiday. We'll have a second sort of honeymoon."

"Lovely! Now tell me all the news."

She was tucked up in warm rugs, driving in the high dog-cart, which she and her husband loved.

"News? We don't move as fast as London does in these parts, you know."

"Have you had any visitors?"

"Sir Thomas and Lady Melton have come home, and called the other day. They knew my father well. You will like them, but they're quite characters. They both hunt still, though they have turned seventy, and they do everything together."

"As we shall, when we're their age, I hope," said Hope laughing—"not the hunting, but being together, I mean."

"Kitty is in a state of excitement and longing to see you. I told her that she must not bother you to-night, but that she might come up the first thing to-morrow morning. She has heard from Brian, and he wants her to go out next month. I believe she went off to buy her wedding-dress to-day."

"Oh, Lancelot, you shall not laugh at her. Dear little Kitty! I can fancy how happy she is!"

Hope enjoyed every bit of that drive home, and when she entered the house, she went from room to room like a child, to see how nice everything was looking.

After dinner, she went into the library, and there, over a wood-fire, she and Lancelot talked together as if they had been separated a year, instead of a month.

"It feels so airless in town," Hope said; "when I get home again, the air is life-giving. Do we get the sea breezes here, Lancelot? It feels like it to me. How far off are we from the sea?"

"Too far for that," he said, smiling, "though my forefathers are supposed to have come across here from Denmark. They landed in their vessel at Flamborough Head, and journeyed across the wolds till they lighted on this spot. The house is not identically the same, for it was burnt down in the sixteenth century; I suppose we were called Danes by the English, and our name stuck to us."

"How interesting! Do tell me some more."

"I will look up our pedigree. It is in this room somewhere."

"I should like to know the origin of a good many surnames," said Hope reflectively. "My own, for instance; do you think one of my forefathers was a saint?"

"I expect so. What constitutes a saint?"

"Generally some special act of grace, or a lifetime of self-denial, does it not? I am sure I have not inherited the saintliness, nor have any of my family."

"I won't agree to that. Since I have known you, self-denial has been your characteristic."

"Don't flatter me, Lancelot. I had such a terrible tumble last year. I have never told you yet, but when I thought that you were dying, I lost my faith and rebelled, and behaved in an altogether awful way for a Christian! I look back to it now as a kind of nightmare. I simply raged in my soul against God's will. I feel as if I can never atone for those days of bitter black rebellion."

"My poor little wife!"

Lancelot laid his hand tenderly on hers, and added:

"I was only conscious when I came to life again, as it were, of your face bending over me. And if ever peace and serenity was stamped on a face, it was upon yours."

"Yes, it was all right then. I had seen my wickedness, and—and had confessed it. You must remember, Lancelot, that I had had no real test in my life before; I had had troubles and disagreeables, but nothing touching my inmost soul. I was reading about Abraham's test to-day. He never faltered even when the apple of his eye was the sacrifice demanded. I was tested, and found wanting. It ought to make me walk humbly for the rest of my days. I think I will make a full confession to you whilst I am about it. It was only a few days before we were married that I was reading that hymn over to myself:

"'Peace, perfect peace'

"And I thought then that I had been carried triumphantly through it, from first verse to last, that I had found it quite true. Peace of forgiven sin through the blood of Jesus. Peace in 'thronging duties pressed,' 'with sorrows surging round,' 'with loved ones far away,' 'our future all unknown,' 'death shadowing us and ours.' Of course I was thinking of my dear father's death then. And though I knew the peace was none of my making, there was a kind of self-satisfied self-righteous feeling in my heart.

"Then came the real test, and I believe it was sent to me to make me realise that I was not the perfect being I imagined myself. Why, Lancelot, you've no idea of the desperate wicked thoughts, that assailed me when I thought God was taking you from me! I felt almost inclined to sell my soul to have you restored to me."

Lancelot drew his wife to him.

"Sweetheart, forget that time. God forgets when He forgives."

"Oh," said Hope, with a little shudder, "how near we are to evil, Lancelot! I could not have believed I would have so utterly lost faith as I did. I shall never feel sure of myself again."

"I suppose we are meant to see that we must always watch and struggle against temptation. How does the hymn end?"

Hope, with her head resting on her husband's shoulder, repeated softly:

"'It is enough: earth's struggles soon shall cease,
And Jesus call us to Heaven's perfect peace.'"

_Printed in Great Britain by_
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON