Chapter XXII: Duty a Good Mistress

"Calmly we look behind us, on joys and sorrows past,
We know that all is mercy now, and shall be well at last.
Calmly we look before us—we fear no future ill:
Enough for safety and for peace, if Thou art with us still."
H. L. L.

HEATHER stayed with her sister till after the funeral. And Bluebell, after the first violence of her grief was over, was strangely calm and self-controlled. Only once, when her husband called her by his pet name, "Minnehaha," did she turn upon him almost fiercely—

"Never call me that again, for there will be no more laughter for me."

Heather was urged to stay with them longer, but she felt that husband and wife would draw the closer together after she left.

"I have my husband to think of," she said to Bluebell, as they were talking in Heather's room one evening.

"Oh, I always think you are only half married," said Bluebell, with a little of her old impetuosity; "he has his sister."

"But his sister is not his wife."

And Heather's tone was regal.

"Do you really love him?" asked Bluebell.

But when she saw the light that sparkled in Heather's eyes, she sighed.

"Well, we must part. Cyril wants to take me abroad; I suppose I must go. Do you know, I have been thinking about our two selves a great deal. I suppose we were children of many prayers. We never had a temptation to speak of, until we forsook our quiet nest and plunged into gaiety. I think I had more qualms about it at first than you had, but it was strange how we drifted apart. I suppose God was calling us both back; you listened, and I shut my ears."

"No," said Heather; "I often wonder at it myself. I only went home because I thought it was my duty, not because I thought our gay life was wrong."

"Well, I shut my eyes to duty. I tell you honestly, Heather, I have been quietly fighting against God ever since our first season in town. I knew in my heart, before that year was over, that the world was swallowing up all my ambitions, my desires, and my affections. I knew I could not serve two masters, and I deliberately chose the world. When I was going to be married, you impressed me tremendously. I felt I ought to be different, but I put it off. When my darling came to me, I almost prayed I might be given the strength to change my life. But I still clung on to everything that made life pleasant to me. And I have found out this for myself, Heather, I am not judging any one else. I suppose I am too impetuous. I must throw myself heart and soul into everything I do. But—I cannot live a society life and be at peace with God. The two things don't go together. Some people say they can. I think they must be satisfied with a very little religion, not the sort that goes deep down into your soul, and affects every fibre of your being. I have been fighting, as I say, against God all this time, and I knew it."

"I think your religion must have been more than a mere form in our girlish days," said Heather, looking at her sister thoughtfully.

"It was. I often used to wonder if you felt it as deeply as I did."

"No; it seemed to come upon me quite as a fresh revelation."

"I was watching yesterday morning a few sheep being turned into an enclosure in the Park," said Bluebell, gently. "I noticed the ones who had to be driven and beaten before they would enter, and those who ran in without any trouble."

There was silence.

Then Heather said—"You think I have run in without any trouble?"

"Yes; and I have had to be driven. I am seeing the love of it dimly. Prosperity would never have drawn me, I am afraid."

Tears filled Heather's eyes at the quiet pathos of it. She kissed her sister, saying in a whisper—

"Thank God we are both inside. May we keep there."

The next day, Captain Vaughan came to fetch his wife.

They were at Paddington Station, just starting, when he asked her rather abruptly—

"Would you like to go round and have a look at your old home again? It would be a little trip, and would not take us much out of our way."

"I should love it," she exclaimed enthusiastically, "I should like to call at the farm and see Annie and her husband."

"And some of the old village characters, eh?"

"Yes," Heather said, a pink colour coming into her cheeks; "I should like to have Watty's opinion of my husband."

So, that afternoon, in the sweet summer sunshine, Heather and her husband walked up the old village street.

"It seems one of the strangest things in life," said Heather, thoughtfully, "that if you go away from a place for ages, you come back to it and find the people doing exactly the same things at the same time with a clockwork regularity that makes you almost start. You wonder if all your life since has been a dream. Look, there are Watty and Ralph gossiping on the old bridge. Watty has still got his letter-bag, and Ralph his paper."

They walked up to them, and much disturbed their equanimity.

"Sakes alive!" ejaculated Ralph. "'Tis Miss Heather and her man! Well, to be sure, what a sight!"

"Yes, here we are," said Heather, in her old bright tone, and with the little imperious toss of her head; "and what do you think of us?"

"Do you remember me?" asked Captain Vaughan, with his cheery smile. "The wayside lodger who came down to fish one summer?"

"Ay, ay," said Watty, shaking his head knowingly, "us knowed ye was after a bigger fish nor ye could drag out o' this 'ere bit o' river! An I sez to Ralph here, when you was a-gone, that ye had the looks of a adventurer after matrimony!"

How they laughed! And then Watty seized his bag, more eager to spread the news of Heather's appearance than to stay and see her himself.

"Time is flyin'. 'Tis only folks like Ralph here that can afford to dawdle with leisurable people holiday makin'. Good arternoon to ye, sir. Good arternoon, Miss Heather."

He lounged off, his bag swinging from side to side.

And after a little chat with Ralph, Heather made her way to the farm.

Annie and George were delighted to see them, and insisted upon their having a cup of tea before they left.

Then they went to the old house, which was still empty, looking more desolate and forsaken than ever.

Heather's thoughts went back to that dreadful day when she had sobbed out her heart upon the old dial, and Captain Vaughan guessed a little what was passing through her mind.

"We mustn't let this be a sad day," he said.

Heather looked up at him with misty eyes.

"No," she said, smiling, "it is not going to be. God has been too good to me for me to be sad."

"I wonder if you will love the Priory as much as you do this?"

"I think I do more. The associations with this one are not altogether happy ones. We used to look upon it almost like a prison when Abigail was cross. Now let us come and see her."

So to the cosy little thatched cottage they went, and Abigail opened the door herself. Rachael was away visiting a friend. Abigail was delighted and tearful, which made Heather wonder if she were getting softer with increasing age. She had heard of Bluebell's trouble, and turned to Captain Vaughan with fervour—

"Ay, sir, you have the best of the two, but I'm thankful Miss Bluebell has seen the error of her ways. I never forget to pray for them, both night and morn. And Miss Heather has chosen well, for we've heard you are on the Lord's side yourself, sir. We always hoped—Rachael and me—that Miss Heather would meet with a sober, God-fearing man. She always from a child had a stern idea of duty, and would go straight on without a falter, as I hope she will to the end of her life. The only crooked turn she took was when her poor, misguided cousin persuaded her to go to London. But she saw her mistake, and came back to us, and I wish her and yourself happiness, sir, with all my heart!"

When they had said good-bye to the faithful old servant, and were walking through the quiet lanes to the station, Captain Vaughan turned to his wife and drew her hand through his arm.

"Did you take your husband from a sense of duty, little woman?"

"I was once afraid duty had led you to propose to me," said Heather, laughing.

"Well, duty is a good mistress."

"But love is better," urged Heather.

"We will have a combination of them in our life. It was your following duty so conscientiously that first made me wish to have you always by my side. I have found the old saying true—

"'Duty only frowns when you flee from it.
Follow it, and it smiles upon you.'"

They walked on. The evening sun was setting across the meadows in front of them, and presently they stood still and watched it slowly fade away. Heather's face was soft and wistful as she watched its glowing rays. Then her eyes met her husband's, and she smiled in perfect trust.

"I suppose all earthly joys fade sooner or later," she said.

"And then we shall be gathered into the land where our sun shall rise to set no more."

THE END

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