Chapter VI

A FEW minutes before dinner-time, Mary Baxendell came for me, and we went down together. In the drawing-room were her father and mother, and an extremely handsome, stately-looking lady, in black velvet, and wearing some fine diamonds. I could not help noticing that her hair was whiter than her face would have led me to expect, for her complexion was fair, and the colour on her cheeks might have been envied by any girl. She looked still more remarkable from the fact that her eyes, eyelashes, and eyebrows were very dark.

"Aunt," said Mary Baxendell, drawing me towards this lady, and doubtless considering that she had special vested rights in her governess, "this is Miss Anstey."

A tall young man, who was looking out at a window, and whose back was towards us as we entered, started as Mary mentioned my name. Almost before the aunt and I had exchanged salutations, Mary cried, "Cousin Lawrence, let me see your face, please."

The young man turned in compliance with this unceremonious request, and in the face thus presented I saw—Mr. Marsden!

Which were playing me false? Eyes or ears? I understood how my bewilderment had been caused when Mary continued—

"Miss Anstey, this is my cousin, Mr. Lawrence Marsden."

I had only heard him called Mr. Marsden at the farm, Mrs. Jennings not being likely to mention his Christian name. He and his friend addressed each other as "Marsden" and "Winn," whilst Mary Baxendell invariably spoke of him as "Cousin Lawrence," and of his mother as "aunt."

Mary opened her eyes very wide when she saw Cousin Lawrence's face light up with pleasure and my own flush crimson as we shook hands, and Mr. Marsden said, "Miss Anstey and I have met before, and I am very glad to meet her again."

For myself, I hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. I thought of the stately lady in velvet and diamonds with some trepidation; but when I turned my eyes in her direction, I saw that she was smiling benevolently, and that there was absolutely a gleam of half-suppressed amusement discernible about those fine eyes of hers.

There were but the six of us, so Mrs. Marsden paired off with Mr. Baxendell, Lawrence took his aunt, and Mary and I linked arms and went together. I was, however, fated to sit next my acquaintance of the farm, for Mary was placed next her aunt on one side of the table, and I was between Mr. Baxendell and Mr. Marsden.

My younger neighbour was very considerate. He made no allusion to our former meeting, and for this I was grateful. Being such a small party, the talk was general, and I soon felt quite at ease. I even lost my dread of Mrs. Marsden, and could hardly believe that this lady, of whom every one seemed so fond, could possibly be the mother of whom the two friends talked on that moonlight night in the porch at Roundtree Farm. That she doted on her Lawrence there could be no doubt, and in my eyes he had never looked so attractive as when paying those little tender attentions to Mrs. Marsden that every mother delights to receive from a stalwart son.

We had yet two clear days before Christmas, and, to please Mary, Mrs. Baxendell had left the decorations to be prepared under her superintendence.

Of course, my pupil and I worked together, and Mr. Marsden, while pleading want of skill, offered to do his best to assist us.

"I am not sure that your best will be good enough, Lawrence," said Mary; "but we will give you a trial."

Then he humbly suggested that he might save our fingers at the expense of his own, and he cut holly into suitable sprigs, fetched and carried and nailed devices and twisted wreaths until even Mary was fain to praise his willingness, if not his skill.

This was at High Lea, the church work having been done by other hands, and more of them, mostly before we came. While the house decoration was in progress, Mr. Marsden made frequent sly allusions to "green stuff," and brought in many of the expressions Mrs. Jennings was accustomed to use in our hearing at the farm.

Mary innocently attacked her cousin on this subject, and said she wondered where he had picked up such odd expressions, whereupon he demurely suggested that she should ask her favourite referee, Miss Anstey.

"As if she would know!" replied Mary, contemptuously; and Lawrence rejoined, "Miss Anstey is such an encyclopaedia of knowledge according to you, Mary, that I quite thought she knew everything."

Whilst the decorations were in progress, Mrs. Marsden saw how much we three young people were together, yet neither interfered nor frowned upon us. On the contrary, there was that humorous expression to be seen on her face at intervals, and I caught her exchanging looks of a highly significant character with her son.

Sometimes I fancied these looks had reference to myself, and then I felt my face grow hot, and wondered if the mother and son could possibly be amusing themselves at my expense. I was angry at the thought almost as soon as it was conceived, and ashamed that it could have been allowed to enter my mind. Before Christmas Day came, however, I felt almost ready to run away a second time from Mr. Marsden. It was so hard to be constantly in this man's company, knowing as I did from his own lips how he once cared for me. And, alas! Knowing that each day he was taking more complete possession of my thoughts and affections. How was this state of things to end? Would he now be just the pleasant friend of another brief holiday, and then go his way and let me go mine, wherever this might lead?

I think I would rather have died than let any human friend look into my heart then, and I kept up bravely whilst in company with others, though no more miserable coward than myself ever moistened a pillow with nightly tears, or dreaded the coming trial of a new day when alone.

On Christmas morning I felt better than I had hoped to do. Every one was so kind. I had prepared some little gift for each of the family, the guests, and servants. They were simple matters, the work of my own hands; and I was truly thankful that no person in that home of wealth humiliated me by the bestowal of anything costly. A little purse, a letter-rack, a paperknife, and an ink-stand were given me by the three Baxendells and Lawrence Marsden.

Mrs. Marsden actually bent her stately head and kissed me, after thanking me for a dainty woollen kerchief of my own work and design. Then she added, "I have something for you, my dear, if you care to accept it. Do not estimate its value by its size, for it is rather a ponderous article, and might be in everybody's way, if I gave it just now. You shall see it this evening. I have found a similar article valuable, and I hope you may, too."

I thanked Mrs. Marsden for her kind intentions, and then we all went to church and knelt together at the Lord's table. This sweet service did me more good than can be told, and after joining in it, I was enabled to shut out determinedly all memories and thoughts that would have interfered with the joyous celebration of Christmas in the household. I returned to High Lea looking and feeling happy, in a renewed sense of God's great love in Christ Jesus, and of His unchanging faithfulness.

There was much to occupy my attention. Children came for gifts, neighbours were entertained, and it was only after they all left, that Mrs. Marsden bestowed her Christmas gift, in this wise: she drew me into Mrs. Baxendell's boudoir, a charming little room off the large drawing-room, and bidding me sit by her, said:

"Christmas is the time for a fireside tale, my dear, and I want you to listen patiently whilst I tell one. It is about a mother and son who tenderly loved each other, for the husband and father was gone, and these two were associated alike in thought and work. I suppose all mothers look with a jealous eye at their lads, even when there are several, but when there is but one, he is all in all to a widowed parent."

"Well, this mother's great anxiety was that her son, when he grew to man's estate, should mate worthily, and perhaps she watched him too closely if his eyes wandered in the direction of any girl with whom he was in company. Perhaps, too, her very eagerness for his well-being was a little selfish, and stood in the way of his comfort. Only she did not know this at first."

"Again and again the mother interfered, less by word than with a sort of management by which she contrived to carry him away from neighbourhoods which she thought dangerous. But I daresay the young man smiled as he yielded, knowing that he was heart-whole, and that the change mattered little to him."

"You must not think that the mother wanted a rich or titled wife for her son. He had wealth enough for both. But she dreaded the thought of his being married for the sake of it, and not from the true love and esteem which alone can make marriage happy."

"She saw, too—more's the pity that such should ever be—that girls showed themselves eager to attract the young man's notice, and practised little airs and graces, and threw themselves in his way, even mothers openly lending themselves to such scheming."

"The young man saw these things too. He was not blind, and he kept aloof and never committed himself by word or deed. He was courteous to all, but waited until he should see the girl whom he might endow, not with his worldly goods alone, but with the richer gift of a whole, true, pure heart—such a girl as he could reverently take to his own heart and home, as a most precious gift from God."

"He met this girl by a strange incident, in a far-away spot and at a farmhouse. Do not start, dear child; hear me out. He wished to tell her what was in his heart, but love for the old mother made him determine first to speak to her, and he hoped to go back to the farm carrying her consent and blessing along with his love story, to its object. He was half afraid, too, for you must know that he did not quite understand the old mother with whom he had passed his twenty-five years of life. He thought she might wish him to choose a girl who had riches as well as worth. Whereas, what the mother wanted was a girl of this kind: well-born and educated, pure-minded, modest, requiring to be sought before she was won, bright in temper, unselfish in disposition, brave where courage was needed, and yet thankful, as woman should be, to lean on a strong arm, if it pleased God to give her one in the shape of a good husband. And the mother thought that the girl could not be all these things unless she had the love of God in her heart, and thus shining out in her daily life."

"Money immaterial, she wanted her son to have the fortune in his wife."

"The son saw the girl I told you of, and took great pains to make himself acquainted with her life-history, both before and after she ran away from the farm."

"For she did run away, and certain circumstances enabled him to guess why, but he knew her whereabouts, and bided his time. Dear me! I shall not be able to finish my story," said Mrs. Marsden—for, utterly broken down by emotion, I was sobbing audibly—"in fact, the last chapter has still to be written, and I must offer you my Christmas gift."

Mrs. Marsden opened the door, and Lawrence entered. "Here it, or I should say 'he' is, my dear. I do hope you will take him with a mother's blessing, and when the last chapter of the story is completed, you must turn story-teller, and let me know it."

Mrs. Marsden kissed me affectionately, put my trembling hand in the firm grasp of her son, left the room with less than her usual stateliness, and closed the door behind her.

"Lois, my dear, will you accept the mother's Christmas gift, and will you let me keep the hand she has placed in mine? You are the one love of my whole heart, Lois. Can you give me what I ask, darling, your love in return?" So spoke Lawrence.

No wonder I found it difficult to reply, but I did manage once to look up in his dear, honest face, and to tell him, though with trembling lips, that he was the one love of my life too. And he was content. This Christmas Day was my fifth milestone.

My story has grown to a greater length than I intended, so I will finish it as briefly as possible.

Lawrence told me that after I left the farm, he found out which room I had occupied, through seeing it undergoing the process of scouring and scrubbing, which invariably followed the departure of a visitor. He asked to see the room, in case he should bring another friend to Hailsby-le-Beck, and thus took the bearings of the porch. By putting two and two together, he judged that I must have heard the talk between him and Mr. Winn, and that my flight was the consequence of it.

About my address at Hillstowe, he had no difficulty. People who write little, exercise their memories more than those who do, and both Mr. and Mrs. Jennings remembered the name of the vicarage under whose roof I lived.

Then Lawrence knew that I must be his cousin's teacher, and having talked matters over with his mother, they joined in inquiries about my family and personal history, which satisfied them. The result was the little plot by which we all met at High Lea, and into which Mr. and Mrs. Baxendell had heartily entered, Mary Baxendell being the only member of the family who knew nothing of her aunt's intended Christmas gift.

There was no question about my teaching again. When I left High Lea it was in Mrs. Marsden's company. I stayed with her at Nethercourt during her son's absence, for a previous arrangement took him—much against his will—to the Continent for a couple of months.

In the summer, Lawrence and I met again at Mrs. Baxendell's, then I stayed for some weeks, first with my friend Mrs. Goulding, and lastly with the Barrs, their rectory having been enlarged in the meanwhile.

I was not married until the following autumn, for I wanted Lawrence and his mother to be better acquainted with me before I became connected with them by the closest ties. During the interval, I paid many visits, including one to my old nurse at the lodge, and one, in Mrs. Marsden's company, to Roundtree Farm. I do not speak of Lawrence's companionship. It goes without saying that where I was, he was also to be found as often as possible, the maternal wing being extended over me in loving fashion. In this respect, Mrs. Marsden anticipated the relationship, and was as a true mother to me from the day she bestowed her Christmas gift in such a whimsical way.

She always declares that it was my running away from her son that won her heart, and that if I had not shown Lawrence that I must be sought and wooed before I was won, he might not have been so eager to follow.

We were married at Hillstowe Church, Mr. Barr officiating, and Dot, my erewhile baby, acting as the very smallest of a troop of young bridesmaids, led by Mary Baxendell. Mrs. Marsden herself gave me away, on the principle that by so doing she should give public effect to that which she did in private, when she bestowed Lawrence upon me.

I could tell of many subsequent events—of continued friendship with the Barrs, of Mary Baxendell's wedding, five years ago, the bridegroom being Herbert Winn, Lawrence's best man at ours; of the fact that Lady Minshull and I have been on visiting terms for five-and-twenty years, and that dear Mrs. Marsden still lives, and is the most indulgent and handsomest of grandmammas and old ladies. But even these happy particulars do not stand out with the same prominence in my life's story as those I have already told about. And I think most girls will agree with me, that the day of days in my life was that which gave me him who has been the beloved husband of eight-and-twenty years. I reckon that on it, I passed my sixth milestone.

FINISHED AT CHRISTMAS.