Chapter XV: Lionel's Desire

SALOME was alone except for little Sydney, who lay on her lap asleep.

Marian's tap had been light, and as usual she entered without waiting for an answer, as was the mutual custom in the three houses on the cliff. Before she had taken a step into the room, however, she paused abruptly. It was so very unusual to find Salome sitting doing nothing, nursing one of them, that she saw in a moment something was amiss.

Her look asked the question, and Salome answered in an even quiet tone which did not disturb the sleeping child:

"Yes, dearie, he's been poorly all night. I think it's the bronchitis that the lamb had last winter."

"I had come to have a chat, but I'll go," said Marian, trying to speak just as Salome did.

"It'll not wake him, dear missey; he's that tired out."

"When did it begin?"

"In the middle of the night, about twelve."

"Is he very bad?"

"I don't know 'bout that, dearie, but he's better than he was. I hope de dear Lord will soon bring him round."

Somehow those few words quieted Marian's alarm. If the dear Lord knew, and had the charge of it, that was everything.

"Salome," she said presently, bringing her eyes back from a long gaze into the fire, "what do you think it means to be pure in heart?"

"As how, dearie?"

"When it says, you know, 'Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.' What does that mean?"

Salome thought for a few moments, then she said slowly, as if to herself, "'Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil.'"

"Yes," said Marian eagerly; "but how can one know if one has a pure heart?"

"I was lookin' at that tumbler, dearie, there in the sun. I think de pure heart might be somethin' like that. See, there is not a spot nor a mark upon it, and the sun shines right through it and into it, and for all that, 'dere's not a speck on it, because it's been washed clean, and nothin' dirty has come near it since."

Marian's eyes followed Salome's, but she did not interrupt her by answering.

"And so with the heart, dearie. It ought first to be washed (you know how as well as me—in de Lord's precious blood), and then it ought never to get 'near' to nothin' dirty. It ought to love to have de light of de blessed Spirit going through and through it; it ought never willin'ly to think of anythin' wrong; it ought to fly away from thinkin' of wrong as it would from de fire. And then, if so be in this sorrowful worl' de pure heart gets soiled, it ought to go to de fountain dat very minute and get washed 'gain. I don't know no way of keepin' pure, but gettin' washed very often."

Salome's dark eyes glistened, as she spoke, with what looked very like tears.

"Dear Salome," said Marian, affectionately stroking her dark hand.

"And I'll tell you somethin', dear missey—in p'portion as de heart is pure, it will be always wantin' to get washed. My 'sperience is that 'tis de clean people as likes to be washin', and not de dirty people. And if that's true on this earth, it's true in better things."

"I should like to be pure in heart," said Marian thoughtfully. "But, dear Salome, somehow I do not feel as if it were 'only' washing it wanted."

"Why no, missey, you're quite right 'dere, only old Salome doesn't speak so plain as she should. Doesn't it say in de Book, 'Thy word is very pure'? It is keepin' close to what de Word says that makes us know whether we are keepin' pure or not."

Sydney stirred uneasily, and Salome reached out for his medicine, and then asked Marian if she would mind telling his mother that he was awake.

Marian kissed the flushed little face, and softly left the room, meeting her Aunt Greta outside.

"My dear, they are enquiring for you; they did not know where you were. Alick and Lionel are going for a walk, and want you to go."

"I do not mind," answered Marian, "if mother does not want me."

"She sent word by Lionel that you could go."

"That is all right then," said Marian, putting on her hat and running down stairs.

"Courtenay is coming too," said Alick, who was waiting in the narrow hall; "he will join us in a minute. He had to go round by the stables."

"Let's ask Fortescue," said Lionel; "there he is coming out from Sunnyside. Whatever has taken him there so early, Marian?"

Marian coloured and hesitated, which was so unlike her usual straightforward manner that Alick said:

"If there is anything, we ought not to ask, do not trouble about it, Marian."

"I—he—I think he will tell you himself," stammered Marian. "He has had a letter—"

"From that old father of his?" asked Lionel.

Marian had only just time to say "Yes," before Mr. Fortescue came up.

The boys quickly asked him to join their walk. And Marian, finding they would be such a company of gentlemen, said she thought they would be better without her. This nobody would allow. And as she always did walk with them, she thought it was making a fuss to persist, and turned down the path with Alick.

"Is it a secret about Fortescue?" he asked.

"Oh, I do not think so, but I believe he will tell you himself. He told mother so this morning."

"It looks like good news, at any rate by his manner."

"Yes," said Marian soberly.

Courtenay came out from his gate as they went into the lane, and then they set off at a good pace; he and Mr. Fortescue keeping for the whole walk somewhat behind the others, apparently in deep conversation.

That evening, after dinner, when Margaret's drawing-room looked its very cosiest; when the curtains were drawn, and the log of wood blazed brightly; when Mrs. Bruce sat in her handsome dress on one side of the fire, and Margaret with her sweet, pale face near her, Courtenay pulled forward a large stool and seated himself between his wife and her mother, laying a hand on each.

"Mother," he said softly, "is that purse of yours very full?"

Mrs. Bruce smiled brightly. It was a pleasant topic.

"Not very full," she answered, "because Margaret and I took it into Norwich a little while ago. But it will get full in time again."

"Do you still mean Lionel to have what you have been saving for him?"

She looked surprised, and then said, almost reproachfully:

"Why, of course I do, Courtenay. I haven't forgotten that, though I do so many things."

Margaret got up and kissed her tenderly.

"No, indeed," she said, "mother thinks of it every day. Why do you ask, Courtenay?"

"I only wanted to be sure. Then, dear mother, there is an opportunity for you to do what you have been planning. The time has come for Lionel to go away from home. My father sent for me this afternoon to consult me about it."

"Did you tell him about what I have saved for him?" asked Mrs. Bruce eagerly.

"No, mother, I left it till I had been able to talk to you. But I did say this—as I felt sure you would wish it—that we had thought of a plan, about which I would tell him this evening when I had your permission."

"You need not have waited for that, my dear. You knew me well enough for that, did you not?"

She looked troubled, and sat for some time rather mournful, which Margaret quickly perceived, and tried to turn her thoughts to other things.

But her mother could not leave the subject till she had talked the matter out.

"Not but that when you knew me in the old days I was different to this, Courtenay. I do not wonder that you distrusted me."

"Dear mother," he protested, "indeed it was not that. But how could I let you use your money for my brother without feeling it very much? You have always been most generous. Pray do not be troubled."

She gave him her hand; and her brow cleared while Margaret kissed her again, and told her she was the dearest—dearest mother in the world.

"Ah," she said regretfully, "I let my opportunity go when I had it, now—"

"'Now,'" answered Margaret soothingly, "you have learned your Lord's will, and do it. That is everything, dear mother. He has pardoned all the past, and He gives you grace for the present. What can you want more than that?"

Margaret's tender face looked up in the troubled one reassuringly, and her eyes were bright with hope.

Mrs. Bruce returned her caress, and rose from her chair with a decision in her step of a purpose formed.

"I am going in to see Mr. Malden," she said. "It is late, but he will not mind."

"But, mother," said Courtenay, smiling, "you have never heard all about it. I must tell you. I did not even tell Margaret before dinner, so that you might hear it together. There's a piece of self-denial on my part, because I tell Margaret everything!"

Mrs. Bruce had seated herself again, and prepared to listen attentively. Her listening attitude often affected her daughter as much as anything she did. It was so patient, so different from the old energetic impetuosity which she had left far behind.

"Well, mother; well, Margaret, there are to be great changes at Sunnyside, and at the cottage for that matter. Fortescue has had a letter from his father seeking a reconciliation, and it now comes out that his father is a wealthy man in Scotland, and can amply keep his only son and daughter, so that Fortescue will have no reason to work any longer unless he likes."

"I see," said Margaret; "and so the time has come for our boys to go into the great world?"

"Just so," answered Courtenay, sighing a little.

"He is 'able to keep,'" said Margaret, reading his thought. "None of us could have steered our course, even so near the harbour as we have already got, but for His keeping. Courtenay, we are all very apt to think we do it ourselves; but the more I understand of myself, the more glad I am that I am in 'His' hand, and not in my own, and 'no one shall pluck me' thence."

"Yes," answered Courtenay, thinking of a bygone day when Satan did his best to pluck him away. "Yes, dear, that is very true. We must trust more."

"And is my dear boy to go away from me?" asked Mrs. Bruce rather sorrowfully.

"I am afraid he must, dear mother," answered Courtenay.

"Could he not learn here? What is it he has to learn now?"

"More things than I can tell you," answered Courtenay. "But do you not remember, mother, you were going to give him the thing he wanted most?"

"So I was, but I did not think it would take him away from me. Who will read to me now?"

"I shall, darling mother," said Margaret.

"Yes, my dear, I know that. You do everything—everything; but he—he 'learns.' We learn together."

"And I want to learn," whispered Margaret in a broken voice. "I know so little yet. I might read to you all day, and yet have plenty to learn at the end."

"Not all day," answered Mrs. Bruce simply. "I should get tired; but never mind, I have thought of something."

Margaret looked enquiringly at her. "May I know?" she asked wistfully; for the tone was strange, and the eyes were far away.

"Not yet," she answered, with a peaceful look. "Not yet, Margaret. Have you anything more to tell me?"

Margaret sat down again, but she was very quiet; while Courtenay wondered at the sudden serenity that settled on the sometimes troubled face of their mother.

At last Margaret roused herself. "Courtenay, what will Alick do?"

"That is not decided. His father talks of his going to London with Lionel and taking some situation. I have told him if any premium is needed, you and I will see to it. I was sure you would wish that."

"Yes, indeed," answered Margaret, brightening.

"Then let us all go to Sunnyside now and 'have it out,' as the boys say. Uncle Chantry will not be there of course, because of this frosty air; but we can go over to the cottage afterwards. I hope, love, it will not be too cold for you?"

"Oh, no! I will wrap up warm. Mother, what shall Collins get for you?"

When they reached the hall at Sunnyside, Lionel was just rushing across it after Marian. They both paused, astonished at seeing Mrs. Bruce and Margaret out on so cold an evening.

"Have the stars fallen!" laughed Lionel. "I say, grandma, what shall I do if you catch your death o' cold?"

He came up to her affectionately, with the half rough, but wholly tender, chivalry which everyone delighted to see in him towards the old lady, and took her shawl from her shoulders.

"Not both of them, my dear," she said.

"Oh, are there two? I see; here is this white jim-crack one that you look so sweet in. Now, grandma, don't you wear that because you look so nice in it?"

She answered his saucy smile by a quiet one. Then, in a tone in which a little mischief lurked, she added, "I wear it because my shoulders are cold."

She put her arm round Lionel and drew him towards his father's library, saying, "My dear boy, I want to have a little talk with you. Will you come in?"

Lionel, used to humour her, nodded his head and led her in, Courtenay and Margaret following.

"Father," said Margaret, advancing, "my mother was so anxious to tell you of a little plan of hers that she could not wait till Monday, so we have come over. Do you mind?"

"Mind, my dear?" asked Mr. Malden. "Come and sit down; you are always welcome."

Mrs. Bruce advanced to his invalid chair and seated herself near him. She looked very pale, and Margaret secretly trembled lest this sudden excitement should be too much for her.

"You—Courtenay says you are going to send him away," she began abruptly.

"Me?" asked Lionel, "Away. Where?"

"Stay, dear mother," interposed Courtenay very gently. "Let us ask my father whether he would rather hear your proposal in private first? I am sure Lionel will not mind."

Mr. Malden, who had been looking at her earnestly, spoke at once:

"I have so much confidence in Lionel that I think we may discuss his future 'with' him. I feel sure he will not be too set on one plan or another, but will be guided by my wishes."

"I will try to, father," answered Lionel, colouring under the glance of so many eyes.

"No plan can be decided on in a hurry," pursued Mr. Malden, "and Lionel has not yet even heard that we talk of a change. He only knows that Mr. Fortescue probably leaves us very soon. Dear Mrs. Bruce, we will gladly listen to what you have thought."

She had not been attending much to this conversation, but had been stroking Lionel's hair over and over, and looking in his face with a gaze that made Margaret's heart ache. Somehow it made her feel as if she were once more looking on her own little Janet for the last time.

When, however, Mrs. Bruce heard herself addressed, she seemed to bring back her thoughts.

"My dear boy," she said, "will you tell grandma what you would 'like' to do if you had your free choice?"

Mrs. Malden looked up quickly, and then down again. "Poor Lionel, there was not much choice for him," she thought.

"I—do you mean in earnest?" answered the boy, looking from one to another.

"Yes, in earnest," answered Mrs. Bruce, hurrying on to her secret; "because I have been saving up for you for ever so long, and there is ever so much in the bank. Margaret will tell you so too, because she has helped me do it. I know I'm right in this, though I do forget some things."

"Be anything I like?" asked Lionel slowly, turning pale with emotion, and looking first at his father, and then all round, to see if he were dreaming.

"Yes, what you like," answered Mrs. Bruce, still stroking his head with her delicate fingers.

"Courtenay—" began he appealingly.

But Mrs. Bruce was the one to bring out the long hidden secret. She turned to Mr. Malden, and put her hand on his:

"I am an old woman, and I have plenty to spare; and once I had a little boy who only stayed with me for a few hours—I think I had—I can remember 'that'—"

Margaret looked up suddenly.

"And he might have grown up like this boy. I always feel as if he were my own, and I want to do something for him, to provide for him, as I should have done for my own little boy if he had not gone away. This dear boy wants to be a missionary. What was it, Courtenay? A—"

"A medical missionary," answered Courtenay.

"And I want to give him the money to do it. It is all put away in the bank, and I have altered my will—Margaret knows about it, and agrees to it—and so—"

All the time she was gazing in his face. "So you must go away from me—and I—"

She broke down. She put her arms round the boy's neck, and clung there.

And he burst out sobbing, and rushed from the room.

And so it was settled for Lionel to have his heart's desire.