Chapter IV

When Sunday came, Helen said to her cousin, rather wistfully: "Will you go to church with us to-day, Marion?"

"Not to-day, I believe, if you will excuse me," answered Marion. "If I go anywhere--which is doubtful--I suppose it ought to be to the church I was brought up in."

"I thought you always said at the convent how much you preferred Catholic services," said Helen, in a disappointed tone.

"Well, at the convent, you see, one had not much choice," replied the other, laughing; "and, then, the services were charming there--so poetical and beautiful. That chapel was a picture in itself. But, from the outward appearance of your church here, I should not judge that it possessed much inward beauty."

"No," said Helen, reluctantly, "it has not much beauty; but, then, the Mass is everywhere the same, you know."

"For those who believe in it, very likely," was the careless rejoinder. "But I am an outsider. I believe only in what I see; and when I see beautiful ceremonies, I enjoy them for their beauty."

"It is just as well, in that case, that you should not go with us, my dear," said Mrs. Dalton, from the head of the table--for this conversation took place at breakfast. "Ours is a very plain little chapel, the congregation being small and poor. If you are in search of beautiful ceremonies, the Episcopal church will be more likely to gratify you. They have a new Ritualistic clergyman there, who has introduced many new customs, I hear."

"I see no particular reason why I should go anywhere," observed Marion, truthfully. "It is a very pleasant day for staying at home."

But she was not destined to stay at home on this particular Sunday, which was the beginning of a change in her life. After breakfast, while they were enjoying the freshness of the summer morning on the veranda, and before any chime of bells yet filled the air, Miss Morley made her appearance, fully dressed for church parade; and, after a general greeting, said to Marion:--

"I have come to inquire if you would like to go to church with me this morning, Miss Lynde. I have heard Helen say that you are not a Roman Catholic."

"I am not anything at all," answered Marion; "and I confess that I do not, as a rule, see the need of church-going; but, since it is such a pleasant day, and you are so kind as to come, Miss Morley,--may I ask what church you attend?"

"Oh, Netta is an Episcopalian!" interposed Helen. "She will take you to a handsome church, filled with well-dressed people, where you will have pretty ceremonies and nice music to amuse you."

"Satire is not in your style, Helen," said Marion, putting out her hand to give a soft pinch to the round arm near her. "But, since you give such an attractive description, I believe I will go with Miss Morley."

"Then we have not much time to spare," said that young lady, with a glance at her dress, as a concert of bells suddenly burst out.

"Oh, I will be ready in a few minutes!" exclaimed Marion, smiling.

Her simple toilet was soon made, yet its very simplicity enhanced the striking character of her beauty; and when she followed Miss Morley up the softly-carpeted aisle of the Episcopal church, every eye turned on her, and everyone wondered who she could be. To herself, the atmosphere which surrounded her was very agreeable, speaking as it did of wealth and refined tastes. Beautiful architectural forms, polished woods, stained glass, a pretty procession; sweet, clear voices singing to the rich roll of a fine organ; and a congregation which gave the impression of belonging altogether to the favored classes of society,--these things she liked, independently of any religious association or meaning.

Indeed, as a religious ceremony, the service seemed to Marion very much of a failure, so recently had she witnessed the divine Reality of worship. She missed the thrill of awe which had come even to her when the Sacred Host was lifted up to heaven in the Mass; and her keen, unprejudiced mind realized how entirely what she now saw was only the mutilated remnant of an older and grander ritual. "It is a pity that the Catholic religion is so exacting, and that so many common people belong to it," she thought; "for it is the only one with any reality about it, or any claim to one's respect."

Nobody would have suspected these reflections, however, from her outward deportment. She went through the service decorously, and listened with exemplary attention to the sermon, which was by no means contemptible as a literary effort. Her beautiful face--conspicuously placed in one of the front pews--somewhat distracted the attention of the young clergyman, and he found himself now and again looking from his MS. to meet the large, dark eyes fixed so steadily on him. But Marion herself was distracted by no one, although she was aware of the appearance and manner of everybody in her immediate neighborhood.

Among the rest, she observed a lady who sat near, and more than once glanced inquiringly toward her; a lady of specially distinguished and fashionable appearance. "She does not belong to Scarborough," thought Marion, noticing (without appearing to do so) some of the details of her costume. And her conclusion she soon found was correct. When the services were over, and the congregation, passing out of church, interchanged salutations as they went, Miss Morley acknowledged a greeting from this lady; and Marion, as they walked on, said: "Who is that handsome and elegant woman?"

"Mrs. Singleton," was the reply. "She is very handsome and very elegant, is she not? But she does not live in Scarborough; she is here only for the summer."

"I felt sure of that," thought Marion--though she had too much tact to say so. "Who is she?--where does she come from?" she asked.

"She is one of _the_ Singletons," answered Netta--"at least her husband is,--and you know who they are. They appear to have ample means, and live in a great many places. She has just returned from Europe."

"And why has she come to Scarborough?" inquired Marion, in a tone not altogether flattering to that place.

"Well, chiefly, I believe, because the climate here agrees wonderfully with an old gentleman who is her husband's uncle, to whom they seem to devote themselves."

"Is he wealthy?" asked Marion, with unconscious cynicism.

"Oh, very!" replied Netta, with simplicity; "immensely rich, I believe, and has no children; so he lives with the Singletons, or _they_ live with him."

"The last most likely," said Marion, whose knowledge of life was largely drawn from its seamy side.

The conversation ended here, and she thought no more of it. But on the evening of the next day Miss Morley came into the drawing room where the family group were assembled after tea, and, turning to Marion, said:--

"Do you remember our speaking of Mrs. Singleton as we came from church yesterday, Miss Lynde? She seems to have been as much impressed by you as you were by her. I met her on the street this morning, and she stopped me to ask who you were. I suppose I must not venture to repeat all that she said of your appearance, but I may tell you that she has some connections named Lynde, and that she is very curious to know if you belong to them."

"I am sorry that I can not satisfy her," said Marion, who showed no signs of being as flattered as she really was. "Family genealogies have never interested me. If my uncle were here now, he could tell her all that she wished to know."

"So that elegant Mrs. Singleton is in Scarborough again this summer!" cried Helen, with interest. "Is the same old gentleman with her, and do they still keep up an establishment with so much style?"

"Oh, yes!" her cousin answered. "They have taken the Norton House for the summer, and have brought a beautiful carriage and horses, and servants, with them. Not many people have seen the old gentleman yet. I hear that he is feebler than he was last year."

"Then no doubt Mrs. Singleton still laments touchingly how sad it is for old people--for their own sakes entirely!--when they live too long," said Paul Rathborne, who was present as usual.

"At least she does not devote much of her time and attention to him," responded Mrs. Dalton, "unless report greatly belies her."

"Why should she?" said Rathborne. "He has an expensive, highly-trained nurse for his special service, besides a staff of servants. What could she do for him, except worry him? Oh, no: it is not on account of any demand upon her time or attention that she thinks he lives too long, but because he keeps his fortune in his own hands, and will until death relaxes his hold of it."

"How awful," exclaimed Helen, with a shudder, "to want anybody to die! I cannot believe that Mrs. Singleton does. She seems so kind and pleasant."

"And you think everyone must be kind and pleasant who seems so?" said Rathborne, with a covert sneer. "My dear Helen, it will not do to judge the world by yourself."

"Why not?" asked Helen, innocently. "Why should I not believe that others are honest and sincere as well as myself?"

"Well, really there does not seem any reason on the surface, except that experience proves it otherwise," he answered, with a laugh.

"I hope it may be long before experience proves it to me," said Helen. "I can not bear to think badly of people. It seems to me that it would break my heart to be forced to think badly of any one for whom I cared."

If one heart present felt a twinge of compunction at those words, there was no sign of it; but Mrs. Dalton looked at her daughter with a sudden glance of something like apprehension.

"You should not talk in such a way, Helen," she said. "A broken heart is not a thing of which to speak lightly."

"I did not intend to speak lightly," answered Helen. "I meant what I said very seriously. I do not think I could bear it."

"That is foolish," continued her mother. "We must bear whatever God sends."

"I do not think Helen will ever have to bear a broken heart, or anything like it," observed Marion. "I am very certain that she is made for happy fortune."

"No one in the world, who lives for any length of time, can know unbrokenly happy fortune," said Mrs. Dalton, gravely. "But I do not think it well to discuss such personal subjects."

"Then we will discuss the rich old man who has a highly-trained nurse and a staff of servants," said Marion, laughingly. "Tell me"--turning to Rathborne--"what is his name?"

"Singleton," replied that gentleman. "Have you never heard of him? He is a very rich man; and Tom Singleton--the husband of the lady you have seen--hopes to inherit his wealth."

"He is his nearest relative?"

"Oh, I presume there are other nieces and nephews, but he is a favorite of the old man."

"Have I not heard something of a disowned son?" asked Mrs. Dalton.

"A disowned son!" repeated Marion. "I did not know that people out of novels--and even in novels it has gone out of fashion--ever disowned their sons now."

"As I have heard the story," said Rathborne, "it is more a case of the son disowning the father. He refused to comply with his father's wishes in any respect, and finally broke away and left home, going off to South America, I believe. He has not been heard of for a considerable number of years, and Tom Singleton says there is every reason to believe him dead. Of course the wish is father to the thought with _him_, but others have told me the same thing."

"Perhaps his father drove him away by harshness, and remorse is what is the matter with him," said Netta Morley, solemnly.

Rathborne laughed. "From my knowledge of old Mr. Singleton," he replied, "I should not judge that remorse preyed upon him to any great extent. The son, I have been told, was a wild, rebellious youth, whom it was impossible to control--one of those unfortunate human beings who seem born to go wrong, and whom no influence can restrain."

"Where was the poor boy's mother?" asked Mrs. Dalton.

"She died when he was very young. But, with all due deference to the popular idea of a mother's influence, I think we see many cases in which it fails altogether."

"Yes," said Mrs. Dalton. "But even if her influence fails, her patience is more long-suffering than that of any one else, and her love is more enduring. Perhaps this boy might not have been lost if his mother had lived."

"If we begin with 'perhaps' we may imagine anything we please," remarked Rathborne, in atone which Marion had learned to understand as expressing contempt for the opinion advanced.

"Without indulging in any imagination at all, so much as is known of the Singletons is very interesting indeed," she said, in her clear, fluent voice. "If I see any of them, I shall look at them with much more attention from having heard this romantic story of a lost son and a great fortune."

"I think you are very likely to see Mrs. Singleton," observed Netta. "She spoke as if she desired to make your acquaintance."

"That is a great compliment--from her," said Helen. "What an impression you must have made, Marion!"