Chapter VI

SHOW-DAY came at last, and Miss Chatterton, albeit she did not like to be unfashionably early, was quite unable to restrain her anxiety for a few moments' talk with Mr. Mitchelson, and to see the arrivals.

"I am too soon, I know I am," she said, with an apologetic tone and coaxing manner; "but, dear Mr. Mitchelson, you will forgive an old woman, to whom a bustle is naturally a trial. It is so very pleasant to see the people dropping in, one or two at a time, instead of elbowing one's way through a crowd. Not that in such a place as this, and with such perfect arrangements, there can be any crowding; but you know what I mean, I am sure, and can sympathise with a person of my years."

Miss Chatterton liked to speak pathetically of her years, though she would have objected to this being done by any other person.

Mr. Mitchelson was too polite, and too politic also, to give offence to one in whom he recognised considerable powers of mischief. He answered, with much tact, that no one but Miss Chatterton herself would think of pleading her years as an excuse for avoiding a gathering of the kind, especially when her daily activities amongst the poor were taken into consideration.

Miss Chatterton looked pleased. "You are very good to allude to them; a person of my years, and with comparatively small means, can do but little. Still, the 'willing mind,' you know—I declare, here come the Priory people. Not at the gate yet—" for the master of Rathlands gave a little forward movement. "They are only just entering the drive, but thanks to some new eye-glasses, I can see as far as other people to-day. Perhaps even farther than some people," she added, with a knowing look. "What a pity our Mr. Gilmour is not back! I am afraid our pretty Miss Elsie's thoughts will be wandering 'to Norroway, to Norroway,' instead of being kept within even the wide bounds of Rathlands. But I ought not to tell secrets, only I did happen to be in the lodge when the young clergyman went from the Priory gate, poor fellow! And cast such longing, lingering looks at the fair damsel who—"

"I really must be excused, Miss Chatterton; my guests are coming in quite rapidly," said Mr. Mitchelson; and once more Miss Chatterton was left without a listener, though by no means ill-satisfied at the result of the shaft she had already let fly.

She had a good deal of the wisdom of the serpent, and knew the effect of hinting at much, and absolutely revealing very little.

For once, however, Miss Chatterton had made a grand mistake. Mr. Mitchelson had never for a moment thought of Elsie Manning as a future mistress for Rathlands. The very fact of her likeness to his dead wife would have stood in the way, even had his affections been perfectly free; but even in the few short weeks since his arrival at Rathbury, he had found a magnet which drew him to the Priory.

The magnet was the elder sister, not Elsie, and Mr. Mitchelson was taking every opportunity of finding out whether the mind and disposition of Mrs. Manning's second daughter corresponded with the fair exterior which had so attracted his attention. He wanted not merely a mistress for his house and a graceful hostess to sit at the head of his table, but one who should help him to turn to good account the wealth of which God had made him a steward. For the first time since the death of his young wife, a new image had stolen into his heart, but on that day no observer could have guessed this.

Courteous and attentive to all his fair guests, Mr. Mitchelson was most careful to do nothing which might gratify prying eyes or give food for gossiping tongues to occupy themselves upon.

There were some things which even Miss Chatterton's new eye-glasses did not permit her to see, some persons into whose thoughts she was unable to glance, and whose intentions she had utterly mistaken. Her blunder was only the beginning of the little chapter of misunderstandings which commenced on that day, and which might have spoiled the future happiness of several lives.

To the astonishment of everybody, Mr. Gilmour arrived at the Park rather late in the day, and quite unexpectedly. The fishing had been unsuccessful, owing to bad weather, heavy rains, and flooded rivers; his friend had been summoned home, and, as only a few days remained of the term of absence originally agreed on, they determined to return together.

Uncle Edward, who had stolen away from Rathlands Park to enjoy an interval of refreshment, was dozing in his easy chair at the Priory when Mr. Gilmour was announced. The kind old gentleman's eyes beamed at the sight of his favourite, who began to apologise for having disturbed his nap.

"My dear Gilmour, do not say a word; I never was more glad to be aroused from sleep in my life. I was actually dreaming a most unpleasant dream, and I wake to see the man of all others whom I most wished for standing before me. It is absurd for a man at my time of life to be eating at irregular hours in refreshment tents and going in for floral exhibitions; no wonder I had evil dreams. Of course, you have heard what is going on? promised to go back to the Park after a rest, and you shall go with me. I quite reckon on making you acquainted with Mitchelson, who also looks forward to knowing you. We will drive to the gates, and then you shall give me your strong arm to lean on, and tell me what you have been doing with yourself since you left us."

Nothing loth, Mr. Gilmour accompanied his old friend and—shall it be said? All the more willingly because, by so doing, he would sooner see again the sweet face towards which his mind's eye had been turning longingly ever since he parted from it at the gate.

Elsie was one of the first they met—Elsie and Mr. Mitchelson together. By one of those chances, if we may call them such, that sometimes alter destinies, the giver of the festival was in the act of escorting her to see the contents of a tent which had escaped her notice, and in which were to be found a choice collection of prize cabbages, etc., from cottage gardens.

She had been inquiring for these, knowing well that at her next visits to certain of her village friends, she would be catechized by them as to the said cabbages, and expected to speak critically as to their merits. Her bright face was beaming with enjoyment, and Mr. Mitchelson was listening with evident amusement, when Elsie, lifting her eyes, saw before her Douglass Gilmour.

What a pity it was that the eyes were so quickly dropped! If she had only met those which were seeking hers, and read in them the gladness which their owner felt at this speedy realization of his hopes, surely doubts must have been scattered to the winds, Mrs. Manning's little talk would have gone after them, as if it had never taken place, and Elsie's own heart searchings would have awakened only a smile at the mistake she had made in ever cherishing a doubt.

But she did not see the look which no true heart could have mistaken, and so, when Douglass, brimming over with pleasure, took her hand, Elsie's manner was shy and constrained, and the poor little commonplaces she uttered were so unlike the old manner that Douglass shrank within himself and became constrained in turn. He did not join her and her companion, though invited to do so by Mr. Mitchelson, for there was no seconding glance from Elsie, no lifting of the fringed eyelids, or a look from under them which said, "Come, and I, too, shall be glad."

So he seated himself by Uncle Edward, saying that he was rather tired with his journey, but would visit the tents by degrees, and talk over the respective merits of the exhibits with his old Rathbury friends a little later on.

Then the rector appeared on the scene, and after cordial greetings to his young lieutenant, he took off Uncle Edward; and then the malignant Fates approached Mr. Gilmour, represented by Miss Chatterton.

"So you are back again," she said, "and before the appointed time. What little bird of the air carried a message over the seas which hastened your coming?"

"Are you sorry to see me, Miss Chatterton? If so, I shall feel bound to go away again; I am sadly disappointed, for I quite expected a welcome and a little pat for having come back to my work somewhat earlier than was needful."

"Confess, now, it was the little bird's message which brought you!" said Miss Chatterton, wagging a warning finger, and trying to look jocose.

"The message was to my fellow-traveller, and was not of a cheery character, I regret to say; it came by the usual prosaic medium of the post. I did not care to linger behind and return alone, so here I am, quite ready for work again."

Miss Chatterton gave a little shake of the head, thus politely intimating that she should believe as much as she chose, then said—

"We have got our great man back again, you see; he is burning with zeal and brimming over with good intentions towards Rathbury, and, I suppose, means to cram three years' good doing into one, in order to make amends for neglect and absence."

"I believe Mr. Mitchelson has never neglected to furnish the means for helping his poor neighbours, though Mr. Harvey has been the channel for conveying it to them."

"Ah, yes. It is so easy merely to give money when we have more than we know what to do with. But personal effort, the kind word and look which sweeten even the smallest gift, are often more valued than coin or domestic comforts. No one knows that better than you do, Mr. Gilmour. Well! We must not look back, but be thankful for present favours; we have Mr. Mitchelson amongst us, and, if I am not mistaken, he has found something sufficiently attractive to keep him here."

Miss Chatterton's second shaft was more skilfully aimed than her first. It went straight home, and so, after a very short interval, did Mr. Gilmour.

He gave a hurried glance through the tents, then pleading the weariness consequent on a long journey, he hastened to his rooms, feeling as if the sunshine were gone out of his life, and regretting that his engagement with Mr. Harvey would bind him to Rathbury for the greater part of a year to come.

Weeks passed on and shaped themselves into months. Everybody saw that Mr. Gilmour was an altered man in many ways; more than ever devoted to his work, he was more solitary in it. The little wall of separation of which Miss Chatterton had so successfully laid the foundation on the day of the Flower Show, had been growing in solidity. It might be an invisible one to outer eyes, but it was an equally real thing to Elsie and himself.

She, poor child! Helped the structure by laying thereon the materials for its increase. First doubt of Gilmour's real sentiments, then self-reproach for having too easily yielded her young heart to his keeping; then the mistake about Katie; then the sense of sisterly love and self-devotion, to which she looked as her one consolation amidst the wreck of her happiness.

And Douglass Gilmour also helped to raise the barrier higher and higher, for when Elsie and he met from time to time, he was just the courteous Christian gentleman to her as to all the rest, and no more.

Yes, the barrier grew. There was no more a bending of the tall head beside the slight girlish figure sauntering down the path in the summer sunlight; no little lingerings by the gate to say "Good-bye," and making these two little monosyllables last a long time in the saying. Indeed, the sunlight itself was rarer now, for summer and autumn were gone, and the keen wind was whisking the last sere leaves from the boughs and sending them whirling along the walks, as if to banish even the memory of what had been the golden glories of the earlier year.

Winter in two faithful hearts, and Miss Chatterton rejoicing—rejoicing that the girl whom she disliked was, in the words of the old proverb, "coming to the ground between two stools;" for Elsie to give poor Gilmour the cold shoulder and not win Mr. Mitchelson was the very fulfilment of her desires. She hated pride, and she actually persuaded herself that for Elsie's young heart to bleed would be an excellent thing for, and greatly improve, her mental and moral condition. It would do her good, and she would be humbler, and of necessity the better afterwards, though it might hurt at the time.

Gilmour counted the months and weeks which must be bridged over before he could leave Rathbury, and though he knew it was the very place in which he loved to labour, and felt that he could be useful and happy in it, he began to think he might as well leave England too. The missionary spirit had ever been strong in him, only he had thought to find enough scope for its exercise in the miserable lanes and alleys which are to be found in every manufacturing town and amid its toiling thousands.

There was just one consolation when he let his thoughts dwell upon Elsie—with every day that passed, he and the master of Rathlands had been brought nearer together. They respected each other's characters and learned to talk as friend talks to the friend whom he would have chosen for a brother, were the choice of relatives left to us. And when Mr. Mitchelson gave a little hint first, and then plainly said that he meant to try and win a wife from the Priory, the brave listener clasped his hand, stifled his own pain, and thanked God that the girl whom he had hoped to call his own would have so noble and so good a man to stand by her through life.

Aloud he said, "I wish you God-speed, Mitchelson; Elsie Manning is worth any trouble to win. If there is a man in the world good enough for her, it is yourself."

"But, my dear fellow, I never had a thought of winning Elsie. It was Katie who from the very first crept into the place which death had made void—Katie, and Katie only. Can you as heartily wish me God-speed now?"

Could he? The young man sprang to his feet with an exclamation that startled his friend not a little.

"I have been the blindest of idiots!" he said, "I thought it was Elsie, and—"

"You have been weaving a web of doubt and misery for yourself, and I have been little better, for I fancied that Katie—I see daylight now, for you as well as myself. My dear Gilmour," he added, "did Miss Chatterton ever give you any hints or advice matrimonial?"

Mr. Gilmour answered the query by a hearty laugh. He could laugh now, and from that moment the two men understood each other better even than they had done before. More than this, they seemed to realize, as by a momentary inspiration, how much mischief might result from Miss Chatterton's mode of showing her interest in young people.

If that lady could but have known it, she had lost her offensive amour. Henceforth she might let fly her arrows, but they were pointless and powerless to wound any of the characters who make up our little love story. A few honest words have robbed them of their venom; two outstretched hands, clasping in friendship and with a mutual understanding, have swept away at once and for ever the wall of separation built up by a mother's anxiety, a maiden's misgivings, and a couple of miserable half-truths.

Having made up his mind, Mr. Mitchelson was not slow to act, and Mrs. Manning had the happiness of knowing, before twenty-four hours were over, that Katie at least was likely to give her a son-in-law who possessed every qualification she could desire in person, position, character, and means.

It was Katie herself who, hiding her sunny face on Elsie's shoulder, told her sister how she had been wooed and won.

"I am the happiest girl in the world," she said; "not because Beckett Mitchelson is rich, but because he is the only one I have ever cared for or could love. But mother is so delighted, and Uncle Edward too. I just want Elsie's congratulations to make my gladness complete."

The embrace of the two young arms was close enough. Elsie clung to Katie and kissed her tenderly, but not a word could she utter. In place of words came tears. The revulsion of feeling was too great, and, as the scales fell from her eyes, she could only weep—half in sorrow, for the needless pain she had endured; half in joy, that she might once more open the darkened windows and let in the sunlight of re-awakened hopes, and faith, and love.

The tears startled Katie. Holding Elsie from her, she looked at the drooping tear-stained face, and, dismayed at the sight, exclaimed—

"Elsie, Elsie! Surely you are not sorry at my news? I thought you would be the first to rejoice with me."

"And I do, with all my heart. Sorry! I wish I could tell you how glad I am. How I wished I had talked to you, instead of keeping silent through these four miserable months! We never had any secrets between us before, only I could not speak about this one thing. Mamma gave me a little lecture about—But I cannot tell you, even now! Only, Katie, it made me think it was not Mr. Mitchelson—indeed, he was not at Rathlands then—but somebody else, that—So I was cold and distant, and everything has gone wrong."

The bits of broken sentences were not calculated to convey a very clear impression to Katie's mind, but happy love is a wonderful enlightener, and the elder sister took in the situation instantly.

"Poor Elsie! And poor Gilmour! It will come right; it is sure to come right. He will not run away from Rathbury now; or, at any rate, he will not go by himself. And you, darling, have been bearing all this weight by yourself!"

"Not by myself, dear," said Elsie; and Katie knew that the wounded heart had gone for healing and asked for strength to endure in silence, rather than a feather-weight of the burden should fall on her sister's shoulders.

A little rap at the door at this critical moment, and a maid appeared, saying that Mr. Gilmour was in the drawing-room; Mrs. Manning was engaged, and would one of the young ladies please to see him?

Elsie shrank away like a frightened fawn, and insisted that her sister should see the visitor.

"I could not go like this, Katie. Look at my eyes!" And Elsie convinced herself by a glance at the mirror that she really was not presentable.

It must be owned that no sooner was Katie out of the room than she did her utmost to make herself so, but she received no summons, and when her sister returned, it was only to say that Mr. Gilmour had really seen Mrs. Manning and offered his congratulations, and that the rest of his business referred simply to the Christmas decorations, which were to be commenced at 7 p.m.

"I have promised we will both be punctual."

"I did not mean to go, Katie."

"But you will, dear?"

And Elsie did go.

I think it must have been on the walk home that the very last vestige of the barrier between Gilmour and Elsie vanished, never to be rebuilt. But before that, Miss Chatterton's sharp eyes had observed a change in both these young people. She took an interest in the decorations, and had brought her niece to help.

All in vain. The young clergyman held his head erect when he returned the questioning look which came from behind the new eye-glasses, and he did not mind a bit for their effect in sharpening the wearer's vision.

"You may have done mischief once," said Gilmour's eyes, in return, "but we have seen through it, and you can never do it again."

And he assumed a pretty, protecting air towards Elsie, as if claiming a double share of privileges, to make up for all he had lost during that sad season of doubts and blunders.

Miss Chatterton could not understand it, for Mrs. Manning was radiant, Uncle Edward beaming in his fatherly way on his young favourites, and Mr. Mitchelson prepared all the twigs for Katie's deft fingers to twine and shape into letters and wreaths. On Elsie's cheek was the old bright colour, though they had been growing paler and paler for months past.

There was a mystery somewhere, and twenty pairs of eye-glasses would not have helped Miss Chatterton to unravel it.

Douglass Gilmour did not wait for leave from Elsie, but quite unceremoniously drew her hand through his arm, and, so to speak, walked off with her. And I think it was near the gate where the lingering "Good-bye" had been said four months before, that these thoughtless young people forgot all about north wind and threatening snow.

Forgot that the table was spread invitingly within, and that the fire blazed cheerily behind the closed shutters and velvet curtains. Forgot all, but that each loved the other with a pure, true, whole-hearted affection, and looked forward to spending their lives together.

And Douglass Gilmour reverently lifted his head towards heaven, and thanked God for having, after a season of probation, given him the desire of his heart.

Katie's marriage was not to be long delayed, and Douglass pleaded that the two weddings might take place together.

"We are not like Katie and Mr. Mitchelson," said Elsie. "He is rich, and you and I—"

"If not rich, are not poor enough to need to wait. I have enough to supply all our real wants, and to render our marriage sufficiently prudent to satisfy Mrs. Manning."

Probably this fact had its influence with the mother; but, to do her justice, she had guessed more than any one else of what had been passing through her child's heart, and would not now have hindered her marriage by throwing needless obstacles in the way.

And Miss Chatterton, when she knew the state of affairs, took some credit to herself, and when she called at the Priory, reminded Mrs. Manning that she had predicted—almost—what had come to pass.

"I always said that one of these dear girls would be the wife for Mr. Mitchelson, and just the person to make him happy. And you are going to have, the handsome curate for your other son-in-law. Not the same in point of wealth, but a worthy young man; and looks go a great way with some girls when they are not tempted by worldly advantages. No doubt Mr. Mitchelson will be able to help his brother-in-law to something."

Mrs. Manning replied, rather coldly, that Mr. Gilmour would require no help from Mr. Mitchelson; and the odious woman actually replied, with a knowing look, "That accounts for everything," and went off before Mrs. Manning had time to express her feelings in a fitting manner. Miss Chatterton got the last word, and all these foolish people who have played their parts in this little love story were too happy to be angry. They actually forgave Miss Chatterton, feeling that the mischief-maker is more to be pitied than those who suffer at her hands. It is always the injured who are readiest to pardon.

Hush! The keen wind is carrying the sound of Christmas bells from the church tower to the Priory hearth, where the yule log already blazes. They are only harbingers of wedding bells to follow before the new year becomes old.

I said my story ended at Christmas. Not so; I was mistaken. The best love story only begins when true hearts have been laid open, hands and lives united, and the two, as man and wife, commence yet more solemn duties; no longer twain but one, in the sight of Him who made them to be helpmeets for each other.

A CUCKOO IN THE NEST.