Chapter II: Visit to Ingleside

THE architect employed by the building committee had submitted a plan for the new church,—Gothic, high spire, and stained-glass windows. It was accepted, the foundation laid, the walls, which were to be of native stone, raised to the height of seven feet, when a letter was received from Mr. Angus, enclosing a slip cut from a London newspaper.

"A very innocent-looking paragraph," exclaimed Mr. Asbury to his wife. "But what a stir it will make in the parish!"

It was the announcement of an urgent call given to the Rev. Harold Angus, of New York City, United States of America, to settle over the —Church, —Street, London, at a salary of one thousand pounds.

In addition to the printed paragraph, Mr. Angus had written,—

DEAR FRIENDS,—

Mail going out. Only time to say that the call alluded to, and the enclosed slip, in which it was announced, came to hand by the same mail, and was wholly unexpected. Fearing you might see it copied into a New York paper, I forward it, and will write more at length by next steamer.

H. ANGUS.

Before the close of the day in which the letter was received, few belonging to the First Church were ignorant of its contents. Mr. Asbury was right. The news created a great excitement, not only in their own parish, but throughout the town. A meeting of the voters in the First Church was called to express their opinions in regard to the subject of the paragraph.

After the opening exercises, Mr. Asbury stated the object of the meeting. Mr. Rand then started to his feet, and with a quick glance around the room, said, in a loud voice,—

"I'm as deaf as a post, from a cold I got down on my medder, and I can't hear a word you say; but my wife, she's heerd that some folks 't other side of the water are trying to get our pastor away from us, and she told me to come here and vote it right down. It's a shame, anyway, for Christians to be a-pulling and a-tearing of one another. We've got the first right to Mr. Angus, and I vote that we hold on to him, and let them get a minister nearer home. That's all I've got to say. If it's more salary than we pay him, I guess I can help make up the difference between what they'll give and what we do."

A hearty laugh followed this speech, and, as Mr. Rand had expressed in brief the wishes of all present, the meeting soon adjourned, after a unanimous vote "to hold on to their pastor," and make the question of salary satisfactory to him.

One of his neighbors having screamed this result into Mr. Rand's ear, he mounted his farm-wagon with a significant nod of his head.

"All right!" he shouted, at the top of his voice. "I darsn't go home till I knew the parish would hold on to him. My old woman would—you know." His voice was lost in the distance.

Perhaps if the good farmer had known the contents of a letter which at this very hour was being carried by wind and steam across the Atlantic he would have been still more jubilant as he sat eating his supper of cold corned beef and greens, and telling his wife, between the mouthfuls, the news he had learned at the meeting.

Mrs. Asbury made her visit to Marion at the time she had promised, taking Ethel with her. Of course all the Grantbury news was rehearsed, in the course of which the pastor's name was frequently mentioned. Ethel, meanwhile, had succeeded in coaxing Gypsy, a pet spaniel belonging to Mrs. Mitchell, to allow herself to be dressed in one of her dolly's cloaks.

"Now," she said, "we are going to sail on a voyage to Europe, to see Mr. Angus. You must sit very still, doggy, because it's Sunday. I shall teach you a hymn by and by,"—

"'I must not play on Sunday.'"

"When we get to Europe, I shall let you go with me to Ingleside, you know. There is a pretty garden at Ingleside, with an arbor all covered with grape vines. If you are good till we get there,— sit still, Gypsy,—oh, how naughty you are to pull off your nice cloak!"

By this time Gypsy thought she ought to be released, and jumped from the sofa, where Ethel had placed her, at which the little girl burst into a merry laugh.

"What is she talking about?" asked Marion, in a low tone.

"Where is Ingleside, Ethel?" inquired her mother.

"Why, don't you know? It is Mr. Angus's home, where his grandfather used to live. When he was a little boy, his mamma let him go there sometimes; and he had hens and little goats to play with. We talk about it when we are taking a walk, you know."

"What a pretty name Ingleside is," remarked Marion, without raising her eyes from her work. She was making a fine dress for Frances, Ethel's favorite doll, and of course the excitement of this was what made her cheeks look so rosy.

During Ethel's visits Marion invited Geenie Cheriton to take a drive with them and pass the rest of the day with the little girl. They all gave a sigh of relief, however, when James started with him for his home, and Mrs. Asbury said,—

"I wonder how Mrs. Douglass can endure that child's noise. It is such a pity that he should be ruined by indulgence."

"I wouldn't be that boy's nurse for a fortune," exclaimed Hepsey, who was putting up the toys Geenie had pulled about. "They'll have a time with him if he lives."

Mr. Lambert called during Mrs. Asbury's visit, and was introduced to the guests. He seemed greatly attracted by Ethel, who fixed her large violet eyes seriously upon him. He succeeded at last in coaxing her to his side, when they had quite an animated conversation. Before they parted he gave her a beautiful little charm, whist he unhooked from his watch-chain.

This was the first time Marion had seen him since her discovery that Mr. Regy, of whom she had heard so much, was only the double of her old friend. She longed to ask him about it, but would not before strangers. She contented herself with inquiries about Neddy Carter, who was soon to be admitted to the mission school.

Only two days after Mrs. Asbury's return to Grantbury, Marion received a thick letter with a foreign postmark,—Leyden, Yorkshire. She retired quickly to her own chamber, and sat down with blooming cheeks to its perusal.

I have no intention of copying the letter, but will say that, after giving her an account of his visit to his home,—a visit which almost overwhelmed him with its painful memories,—and visiting the graves of father, mother, and brother as they lay side by side under the old yew-trees, he took the cars for Ingleside, his father's ancestral home in Leyden. He told her he found only an old servant, a retainer of the family, who received him as one from the dead. His grandfather had four children born here,—one son and three daughters. When he died, in Harold's twelfth year, his property was divided equally between them, except Ingleside, which was always to be kept in the family, and after the death of his daughters to revert to his oldest grandson.

Estelle Angus, for whom Stella was named, made a will and left her namesake her heir. Mary and Sarah died without making a will, and the property came to Harold, as the nearest of kin. It was not a great fortune that he found awaiting him, Mr. Angus told Marion, but, with the money left in the bank by his father, it was sufficient to enable him to carry out some cherished plans.

One of these plans was to build a pretty home on a certain knoll in Grantbury (the very one Mr. Asbury had given to the church), to be called Ingleside; but there was one word from her which must come before the new Ingleside could be built.

Then followed certain statements in regard to a diagnosis recently made of his heart, which conveyed to the young lady a pretty accurate idea of what the word must be, in order that the English cottage be erected.

By this time Marion, by certain unwelcome symptoms, which had forced themselves on her notice was aware of the strength of her own attachment for her pastor, and, being naturally frank and outspoken, she wrote the word (a very short one), which, could he have known it, would have set good Farmer Rand's mind at rest in regard "to holding on" to his pastor.

In a note added to his letter, immediately following the receipt of the call from the London church, Mr. Angus added:—

"I have just forwarded to Mr. Asbury an invitation to settle in our great metropolis. Would you prefer to live in England? Of course I could not give the parish an idea of what my answer will be till I hear from you. Am I presumptuous? You first taught me to be hopeful. Am I too daring to hope now?"

Early one morning soon after this, Mrs. Douglass sent Marion a note, requesting her to call at her earliest convenience.

On entering the house where Mrs. Douglass had rooms, Marion met in the hall a dashing young man, dressed in the height of the fashion, with a lighted cigar in his hand. She would have passed him without notice, but for a bold stare, which sent the indignant blood to her cheeks.

The knock at Mrs. Douglass's door was for a minute unanswered; then Mrs. Cheriton opened it, her eyes still flashing defiance, her head thrown back, but looking more brilliantly beautiful than the visitor had ever seen her.

Mrs. Douglass had evidently been under some strong excitement: her eyes were red with crying, and her hands trembled.

Eugene came forward with a rush to meet the lady. He was dressed for a walk and insisted that Marion should accompany him.

"I am on my way to my music scholars," explained the visitor, taking the little fellow in her arms. "Some time you shall go with me."

"I'm going to walk with you," said his mother haughtily.

"How can I aid you, dear friend?" asked Marion, when the outer door had shut upon the others.

"Did you meet a gentleman as you came in?"

"I did. I can guess that he is Mr. Cheriton."

"Oh, no! no! Would that he were here. Juliette is so young: she does not consider; she is—I am pained to say so—she is imprudent. Arthur has no right to leave her unprotected. She wrung her hands in great distress, her eyes full of tears.

"Who is he?"

"His name is Alford. Juliette accompanied one of our fellow-boarders to the theatre, and was introduced to him there. He has been here every day since. She has just promised, in my presence, and contrary to my wishes, to go to the theatre with him to-night. I am powerless to prevent it. What must I, what can I do?"

"Alford," repeated Marion. "Do you know his Christian name?"

"There is his card,—C. W. Alford, New York City."

"A very indefinite address. Will you let me take it? I will make inquiries concerning his character. I am sorry to say I was not favorably impressed with his appearance."

"But Juliette has a husband. Whatever his moral character may be, she must not receive attentions from him. If the poor child has a father living—" A burst of tears interrupted her.

"She has a heavenly Father," urged Marion, deeply moved. "He will never lose sight of her for a moment. His eye sees her when no earthly eye can follow her, and His arm can protect her from harm. Dear Mrs. Douglass, don't weep so. Let us ask His guidance."

Seldom had the young Christian poured forth such earnest petitions for help as now. Realizing, as she did, the impulsive passion of the young wife, the excuses she would make to her conscience,—that her husband had forsaken her,—the impossibility of earthly effort to restrain her, Marion called upon God to appear for them in their trouble, to touch the heart of the young mother, to put barriers in her path to ruin, to fill her soul with purer joys.

Feeling as she did at that moment, perhaps as never before, how sheltered and protected her own life had been, how brightly the future was opening before her own path, her tears gushed forth afresh at the thought of the dangers threatening this beautiful, unprotected child-wife. She prayed too that the absent husband might be brought to a sense of his wrong-doing in forsaking her whom he had sworn to cherish, and return to them with new purposes and new resolves. Nor did she forget the absent father, so long unknown to those connected with him by the closest ties. She prayed that if he were still an inhabitant of earth, God, who knew all things, would lead him back to them, to be their comfort and joy.

"O Miss Howard!" cried the afflicted mother, clasping her hands, "what a blessing that we can go to our heavenly Father and tell him all our sorrows! I have an assurance that He will answer; that He will in some way protect my dear, deluded child. It may be by my death. I would willingly give up my life, could I be assured of her safety. It may be that He will touch Arthur's heart, and bring him home to his family. I would submit to any privation, any inconvenience, to have him, her lawful protector, with her."

"Or," added Marion, "He may restore to you the husband you have so long mourned. A father would be a great blessing to Juliette now."

"A Christian father," murmured the lady, raising her eyes to heaven. "Every day my prayer for him is, Lord, if he is living, lead him to Thyself."

After a short silence, the lady added, "I thank God I can say with truth that, since the hour my husband left me, believing I was lost to virtue, I have always maintained the strictest reserve toward all of the opposite sex. I was young, and often called handsome. I believe my husband had been proud of my beauty. I could play the piano and guitar as an accompaniment to my voice; but I only played for my parents and most intimate friends. I have always tried to impress upon Juliette, both by example and precept, that a wife so unfortunately situated must be doubly guarded in her conduct. Character is a plant which must be kept in good soil, free from blights and mildew. It must be watched and tended with care. It is too sacred to be trifled with."

Mrs. Douglass wept as she talked, and Marion, desirous of soothing her, said,—

"Mrs. Cheriton's love for Eugene is a great preservative."

"Yes, that is true," sighing. "Poor boy! He needs a father's restraining hand."

"We have asked our heavenly Father to preserve them both from all evil, and I believe He will," rejoined the visitor, hopefully.

God did answer the prayers so earnestly offered, but in a way entirely unlooked for.