Chapter VIII: An Altered Outlook

"In any repentance I have joy—such joy
That I could almost sin to seek for it."
Clough.

"WELL, I've come over at last! I heard that Mrs. Burke was receiving visitors."

It was Vi Dunstan who spoke, and Rowena replied: "She has only seen the rector as yet, but I'm sure she will be glad to see you."

"What an awful thing it is! Di and I have been quite upset over her; but we hate sickness in any shape or form, and always keep away from it. We hear the poor thing will never be the same again. Is it true?"

"That is quite true. But you will find her very cheery. Come along. It does her good to see visitors. She will know then that you haven't quite forgotten her!"

"We think it's partly our fault for not keeping her for the night that awful day. It was such a ghastly accident."

Rowena led the way upstairs. It was March now, but Mrs. Burke had not yet left her rooms. A room adjoining her bedroom had been furnished as a sitting-room, and she was carried in there every morning, where she lay on her couch, as she was still unable to walk.

Vi greeted her affectionately, and Rowena left them alone. Mrs. Burke had often wondered that neither of the girls had been over to see her.

"You look better than I expected," Vi said, after she had expressed her sympathy. "I don't believe anything would ever upset your serenity. You look jollier than ever. You must hurry up and get well. Di and I were saying that this part stagnates unless you are down here to stir us up and keep us going!"

"I shan't be able to do that any more," said Mrs. Burke gravely.

"Never say die! Rheumatism is a thing that comes and goes, doesn't it?"

"It won't leave me, I am afraid. I wonder how much you care about me, Vi? I don't expect you'll understand, but an accident like mine makes one think. I've stared death in the face, and it has altered my life. I see now that this world isn't enough. I want another."

Vi gave an embarrassed laugh.

"I can't fancy your taking to Pi jaw! How you've always mocked at such things!"

"And now I'm going to love them and uphold them," said Mrs. Burke with emphasis. "If you give me a wide berth because of it, I shall understand, but I hope you won't. I shan't preach to you; I shall only try to live out my religion. The fact is, Vi, I used to believe in these things once, and then I gave it all up, and it made me extra bitter and reckless against the people who believed in it still. Of course, you'll say I've taken to religion, because I've had to give up all my gaieties. It does seem mean, on the face of it. But I only know that I am twice as happy as I ever was before."

"You look A 1," said Vi.

She seemed slightly uncomfortable at this talk.

"Of course, I know who's talked you over," she said, after a minute's silence. "It's Miss Arbuthnot; she nearly talked me into it once. At least, she didn't talk much, but she suddenly hit the nail on the head fair and square, and left me to think it out. Well, I'm glad you've something to cheer you! We're a pretty dismal house at present. Have you heard the news? Bob is going to be married."

"Oh, my dear, I'm sorry for you!"

"Isn't it rotten? And it's to that Dolly Duccombe of the Gaiety. She's an awful little bounder. Di and I are pretty sick! Out of the house we have to go before next June. I mean to take on old Colonel Sheringham. He's proposed to me five or six times, so I shall still be in the neighbourhood. What Di means to do I don't know."

"Are you really going to marry Tom Sheringham? My congratulations. He's a nice man. I always liked him; but what will the General do?"

"He'll have to go; so that will be another turn out. The house is the Colonel's, not his. It's pretty dreary for us all; and now the hunting is stopping! We're always like bears with sore heads when that's off. When is Miss Arbuthnot going to be married?"

"Oh, don't ask! It's awfully good of her staying on with me. But I know that I shall have to lose her soon."

Vi chatted away for a good half-hour. When she left, she said:

"I'll tell Di to come and see you. And she might be the better for a preach on her iniquities. She's knee-deep in debt, and doesn't know how to pay her bills. Ta, ta!"

Mrs. Burke was relieved when the visit was over. She had rather been dreading it, but her warm heart still went out to the two girls, especially now when they were experiencing, for the first time in their lives, what it was to lose their home.

They were the only ones of her old friends who still stuck to her. The rector and his daughter Maude came round very often. The days were long and monotonous to Mrs. Burke. She had never worked, and got tired of reading. Sometimes Rowena found it hard work to keep her cheerful.

Easter was coming round, and then Mrs. Burke called Rowena to her one morning.

"I mean to have an Easter party. I am well enough to enjoy young people. Will you write to my sister and tell her to bring her grandchildren here? And then, after they are settled in, wouldn't you like to go to your people?"

"I should, very much," said Rowena frankly; "but I can wait."

"And is your Scotch General content to wait? How he must hate me! I'm a selfish woman, Rowena, and the habits of a lifetime can't easily be discarded. I am selfish still. It will be a black day for me when you leave me."

Rowena wrote to Mrs. Panton; she was still in the North, but had been in constant correspondence with her sister; and she gratefully accepted the invitation to stay at Minley Court.

The little party arrived at the close of a bright spring day. Mrs. Burke received them upstairs in her room. There were tears in her sister's eyes as she embraced her. And Mrs. Burke remarked in her cheery way:

"There's nothing left of me to be afraid of. I'm just an old rheumatic cripple, and there will be nothing in my house now to shock or distress you. Now introduce me to my great-nephew and nieces."

George Holt was a handsome boy, slight in make but very upright. The elder girl Bertha was fair, with a sweet, sunny face. The young one, Milly, was a bright little tomboy. Her short curly hair and piquant mischievous face attracted Mrs. Burke at once.

Before very long the young people were chatting to her as if they had known her all her life, and she was, in her genial happy way, promising them all kinds of joys through the holidays—ponies to ride, expeditions to the sea, and boating on the river. Their delight in their new surroundings amused and pleased her.

"We never knew you had such a lovely house," said Milly. "Why it seems like a palace to us! You should just see our lodgings that we have left. Granny was miserable in them—they were so dirty."

"You must all make yourselves at home," Mrs. Burke told them. "Don't ask what you may do, but just do it, if you want to."

It brought much enjoyment to her hearing the young voices about the house. Rowena found her gazing out of the window one day following, with real enjoyment, the antics of George and Milly as they chased each other over and round the flower-beds, a couple of dogs yelling at their heels.

"It keeps me young to have them here, Rowena," she said rather pathetically. "Couldn't I keep them altogether? Must they go away to school?"

"George ought to, of course," said Rowena. "I don't know what your plans are. But you might have a resident governess for the girls and keep them with you, if you would like them."

Mrs. Burke laughed.

"That ridiculous child Bertha tells me she has finished her education. Finished at sixteen! And her French is too awful for words. And her general knowledge hopelessly deficient. But her music is delightful. She has inherited that from her grandmother. Would a governess drive me wild, I wonder?"

"Have over a daily governess from Crossington," suggested Rowena. "It's a big town, and must contain some teachers. She could come in by train, and you would get rid of her between four and five in the afternoon."

"That would be a good idea. I feel inclined to deluge these children with luxuries—they have had to go without so much. And my sister Helen too—she's a mere shadow. I believe the whole batch of them have been at starvation point these last two or three difficult winters. I want to make it up to them now."

"Happy woman!" murmured Rowena, half under her breath, but Mrs. Burke caught the words.

"Well, I am happy," she said; "a good deal happier than I have ever been before. But why do you make that ejaculation at this present moment?"

"Because you have the means and power to give such happiness to others," replied Rowena quickly. "Only don't err on the side of spoiling them. Their grandmother told me she was afraid of it."

"Oh, Helen is a born Spartan; thinks it wrong to have anything comfortable, rejoices in cold baths and open windows all through the winter. But she and I understand one another. I shall make her have a home with me. She has really no money to start one herself."

For a moment Rowena wondered whether the gentle Mrs. Panton would be happy in her sister's house, but later on she had a talk with her. Everybody confided in Rowena, and she found that the sorrowing widow had no desire to start another home.

"It would be no home to me now that he has gone. I am only waiting till I can join him; and if I can be of any use to poor Caroline, I will gladly stay with her. It is very generous of her to offer us all a home. Do you think my noisy young people will be too much for her?"

"I think they will be the greatest comfort and cheer to her. She has always loved the young; and I should let her have her way with them. She won't do them any harm by giving them as much pleasure as she can. You know I must leave her before long. If I can feel you are settled in here, I shall go much more happily."

"She won't let me help her by writing her letters, and you do that for her. Who will do it when you go?"

"I am trying to get her to tackle her correspondence herself. She will have the time now, and it will give her occupation. But I think, when I am gone, that you will find she will be glad of your help."

Rowena had a busy time before she went to her sister-in-law. She managed to find a suitable daily governess who would come over from the nearest town, and teach the two girls. At first gentle Bertha ventured to remonstrate.

"Am I to do lessons with Milly when I have been teaching her for the past year?" she asked her grandmother.

"My dear, accept your aunt's offer gratefully. You are old enough now to realize how little you know. I have not been able to educate you properly. You will not be learning the same things as Milly, and you will be thankful, later on, to have had this chance of improving yourself."

Milly, of course, was delighted. She was a quick, clever child, and had been rather too much for her sister.

"It's so ripping staying on here," she informed Mrs. Burke. "I was so afraid I would be packed off to school. I pinch myself, sometimes, to make sure it is true. Do you think we shall tire you out if we stay on?"

"I don't think so," said Mrs. Burke, with her old jolly laugh. "You'll keep me young, Milly. I've always hated a house full of middle-aged sober people who are past making jokes and playing the fool."

Milly hugged her on the spot.

"You are a delicious great-aunt. George says you might be only twenty, to hear you talk."

And, of course, Mrs. Burke was human enough to be delighted with such a compliment.

The day came when Rowena went down to Sussex to her sister-in-law's home. Geraldine welcomed her warmly, and her gentle old mother received her with old-fashioned sweetness and courtesy. The children were grown almost beyond recognition, but the little boys, Buttons and Bertie, remembered her, and flung themselves into her arms.

"You are looking thin and worn," commented Geraldine. "Mother, we must feed her up, and treat her like an invalid. She must not go to her bridegroom a bag of bones."

Rowena put her hands up to her cheeks, with her happy laugh.

"Spare my blushes; I am not going to be married yet."

"How long are you going to keep him waiting? Now come and sit down and let me talk to you for your good. You have a most unhappy trait of attaching yourself like a vice to any people you meet or places in which you may find yourself. Look at your year in that God-forsaken place, Abertarlie. Who but you would ever stick out a whole winter there?"

Rowena's face grew very soft and grave.

"Not 'God-forsaken,' Geraldine, for I found Him there!"

"My dear, I know; it was the desolation of it drove you to seek consolation in religion. Now you have attached yourself to this old freak Mrs. Burke. I never approved of it from the first. If I had not known she was treating you well, I would have moved heaven and earth to get you away. You have forsaken us for her. You are even making Hugh Macdonald step aside and take the second place. He must be a saint to wait so patiently."

"My dear Geraldine, we have only been engaged four or five months. He is not a young man, nor am I a very young woman. There is no occasion for us to rush into marriage so precipitously."

"The fact that he is not a boy is in favour of a speedy marriage, I consider. You are both quite old enough to be certain of your own minds. He has been too long alone, and that nice child of his wants a woman to look after her."

"She is very happy with her governess."

"Don't go on making excuses for yourself, but tell me if you have fixed the day. The sooner you leave that old woman the better. You are simply a nurse-attendant to her. It isn't good enough. She has her sister now, and doesn't want you."

"I am conceited enough to fear that she will always want me," said Rowena, with a little sigh. "I am really fond of her, Geraldine, and so is she of me."

"Yes, I know all that; I believe if you were shut up with criminals of the deepest dye you would tell me that you were becoming most attached to them, and felt that you could not live with anyone else. It is your fatal adaptability to your environment. There! With that big word, I've finished."

"Well, listen to me then. Hugh wants me to come to him in June. We mean to have no honeymoon, except that perhaps we may stay a few days in Edinburgh on our way down. And you and I must fix the date. Somewhere in the middle of the month."

"That's something; now I see light. And what kind of wedding do you mean to have?"

"A very quiet one. No friends asked at all. Neither of us wishes it. If you will have me here, I would like to walk into your little village church early one morning, with only you in attendance, and he would like it, too."

Geraldine only looked half-satisfied, but Rowena had her way.

She spent a very pleasant fortnight with her sister-in-law, and in that time got a simple trousseau together. Mrs. Burke had given her a most generous cheque for a wedding present, but she displeased her sister-in-law by the modesty of her requirements. In her worldly wisdom Geraldine said:

"My dear Rowena, you must be handsomely dressed as Hugh's wife. He has one of the biggest properties in that part of the Highlands, and you must not shame him, by going to him in gowns that a minister's wife would choose. He will only have to supplement your trousseau afterwards, if you don't go to him with a thoroughly good outfit, and that is most galling to a woman's self-respect, I always think."

"Yes, I see your point," said Rowena humbly, "and I will get all that will be suitable; but as for taking fashionable ball gowns down to Abertarlie, it's ridiculous!"

"Don't you intend to be sociable? For two or three months in the year at least you will be in the habit of meeting your neighbours. Do you know that the Arnold Rashleighs have taken Ted's old lodge?"

"No, I had not heard it. I don't know them. Who are they?"

"She was a McTaggart of Loch Filley. She has two daughters, and a son in the Blues. His mother lives in this part. Quite nice, they are, but not Hugh's sort. Thoroughly up-to-date, and the girls rather strenuous. Think women ought to be in Parliament, and that sort of thing."

"Oh dear, I was looking forward to stealing over there, and having a chat with old Granny Mactavish. But I suppose the lodge is empty most of the year."

"Of course; and I hope you'll bring Hugh to town for the winter. Don't bury yourselves down there all the year round. You've served an apprenticeship with Mrs. Burke in gadding about, so you'll know how to make him sociable. He used to be a very nice fellow before he married. That marriage soured him. I still think he's not quite good enough for you."

Rowena let her sister-in-law ramble on. She and Geraldine were sincerely fond of each other, but held very different views on most subjects, and she did not take the trouble to defend herself from many of the charges that were brought up against her.

She returned to Mrs. Burke when the fortnight was over, and found, to her great delight, that her household was working very smoothly. Mrs. Burke still kept the house-keeping in her own hands, but she was allowing her sister to take over many of Rowena's duties.

George had just been sent to a good public school, and the governess, Miss Cummings by name, had started lessons with the girls. Mrs. Burke herself was getting stronger, and could now hobble up and down the garden paths with the help of two sticks. She was extraordinarily patient and content. Rowena marvelled at it.

"My dear, I never was a discontented woman," Mrs. Burke said to her one day. "I had one phase of it just before my marriage, but that did not last. You know I am one who seizes with both hands all the good that can be got out of life. I have had some years of the world's best, and though I seized as much of it as I could hold, and carried a smiling front to all outside, I was gradually made aware that there was something better still. After you came to me, I saw that I had seized the shadow and lost the substance. And then, as you know, in the most wonderful way I have got hold of the substance again. I have seized it with both hands and, please God, I will never let it go. Of course, I am happy and content; I'm permeated with content now, and don't miss my old life in the least little bit. I'm only-sorry for the shadow-seekers—Vi and Di especially. Di was over when you were away, and she is perfectly miserable at leaving her home. Can see no comfort anywhere. Vi is engaged to her colonel, so is not to be pitied, but Di was badly hit some years ago over a worthless and inconstant lover, and I don't think she will marry. They will be very badly off, I fear, from what they tell me. They have very little, independent of their brother."

"Have her over as much as possible," advised Rowena, "and show her that life is a much grander thing than she has ever thought it yet."

And Mrs. Burke promised to do so.

Time slipped by, and then came the last day of Rowena's stay with her old friend. It was necessarily rather a sad one, and yet, when Rowena looked back and thought of the difference in her friend's outlook when she first knew her, she could not but feel deeply thankful for her present happiness.

"I will write to you," she said, as she was wishing her good-bye; "and you will write to me when your poor hands permit it. And one day you will come and stay at Abertarlie with us, and I will show you the beauties of our glen and lochs."

Mrs. Burke smiled ruefully.

"Well, if your good general bears me no malice for my rude behaviour to him in town, I will come. I think I would really enjoy his conversation now. How different the whole world has become to me!"

As Rowena sat in the express train to town, her soul was full of thankfulness for this bit of her way, and she murmured to herself:

"I always liked her from the first. I knew that sooner or later she would be led back to her old faith, and it has strengthened my own to see her so happy and whole-hearted now. I never, to my dying day, shall regret my time with her."