A happy woman
of a garden seat, and wondered at her own agitation.
"If only he had waited a little longer, till she was out in this
beautiful air and sunshine! Oh, I hope he will be gentle and patient
with her!"
She waited in suspense, then she heard the trap coming round, and
as she turned towards the house, Graham came out and stood upon the
doorstep.
"It is all right," he said quietly, meeting her anxious gaze. "Mrs.
Jeffery comes to lunch on Friday next."
She said nothing, but with swift step passed him, and made her way at
once to Mrs. Laird's room.
The old lady was sitting in her easy-chair by the window. Her breakfast
tray was on the table by her side.
Her hands were grasping the arms of her chair, but they were trembling,
and her sad, haunting eyes met Sara's with infinite pathos.
"Come to me. I want you badly."
Sara knelt down by her side, and spoke with her usual brightness.
"Isn't it a lovely morning? Shall we have the bath-chair round in an
hour's time, and enjoy the air?"
"Oh, my dear, my dear, don't you know? Hasn't Graham told you? That
woman is coming here—under our roof—to eat our bread—to force herself
upon me after all these years. How can I bear it? Will you help me? You
are my only help, my son is against his own mother!"
She leant back in her cushions with a little moaning sigh.
"Dear Mrs. Laird! I have been told about it, but you need not fret. She
is not worth it. Can you not show her that the past is past, and is not
to be reopened? As you are never down to lunch, you need not see her
for more than a moment or two. She seems—if I may say so—to crave for
your forgiveness and affection. And I will be with you when you see her
if you would like me to be. I will not leave you alone."
"Yes—yes, you must be with me. I distrust her, I cannot help myself.
And Graham seems distressed to think I can't forgive. He is so
honourable himself, so big-hearted, that he cannot understand a woman's
feelings. Oh, Sara, my dear, I was beginning to have such peace, such
comfort, and now the darkness is coming back."
"No, no, don't think such a thing for a moment. Ask yourself: Who has
given you this peace? Where does it come from?"
Mrs. Laird put her trembling hand on Sara's soft brown head. A little
smile came to her lips.
"You told me it says that no man can take it away from me, but Graham
has been perilously near doing it this morning."
"He cannot touch your soul. You have given that right away into God's
keeping."
"So I thought I had, and the past with it. But the past is to be
reopened. She will confront me with the consequence of my evil temper.
Is it blotted out?" Then she added under her breath—
"'There is plentiful redemption,
In the Blood that has been shed.'"
Sara smiled, but the quick tears of pity and sympathy were dimming her
eyes.
"Do you know," she said brightly, "I think you are bravely going to
crush the last of your shadows underfoot. You have always had a secret
dread of meeting Mrs. Jeffery again one day. Now, when you will have
seen her, this dread will leave you. A week hence, you will look back
and smile at your fears. And if you could make up your mind to forgive
her and tell her why you can do it now, it may do her all the good in
the world!"
"But she has a child!"
Sudden terror leapt into her eyes.
"I told Graham she should not torture me by bringing her child here! He
did not press the point. That would be too much for me to bear! You'll
prevent that, Sara! Oh, my head! My head!"
She sank back exhausted.
Sara soothed her. But that was a trying morning, and Mrs. Laird was too
upset to go out in her wheel chair.
Graham came home to lunch.
Sara met him with no reproaches. She simply said—
"Would it be possible for Mrs. Jeffery to come to lunch to-morrow? I
think it would be better for your mother if she did."
"Perhaps she would be able to do so. You mean the sooner she comes the
better?"
"Yes, the waiting and suspense is very wearing for your mother."
"I thought she was very calm and reasonable about it when I talked to
her."
"You must not let True come. I have promised that she shall not."
He looked at her. And the faintest smile came to his lips.
"I did not know you could speak so disagreeably," he said.
"I feel disagreeable," said Sara, meeting his gaze with calmness. "I am
really anxious. And I wonder why men's instincts are so faulty. But we
won't discuss the subject."
"No, we will not," Graham said. "Are you going out this afternoon?"
"I don't think I will leave your mother to-day."
"Then I will ride over myself to the farm. I thought that perhaps you
could have taken a message."
Sara mentally congratulated herself upon escaping such an errand.
She spent the afternoon with Mrs. Laird, but persuaded her to come down
and sit in the garden. The old lady was still much perturbed. Sara read
aloud to her, hoping to distract her thoughts from the unhappy past.
But Mrs. Laird did not 'listen, and at last put her hand on the book.
"Stop reading, and talk to me. I suppose Graham has gone over to see
Eva?"
"I think he is going to ask her to come to-morrow."
"Is it not an extraordinary thing that a woman of her type should make
every one believe in her? And, Sara, the conviction has come to me this
afternoon, that she will follow her former tactics, and turn my only
son against me."
"Oh no, no. You must not think such a thing. Your son is devoted to
you. Think of all his loving care—"
"And sacrifice! I know now that he has sacrificed himself for me all
these years. I used not to care, but I do care now. I was struggling
with my selfishness and resolving to fight with my fears, and come out
amongst people again for his sake, but now, oh, I can't think! You have
seen her, you say she is a sweet attractive woman. I know how weak, how
blinded men are! Do you think my cup of sorrow is not yet full? Shall I
be forced to welcome her as a daughter-in-law?"
"I think you are very wrong in entertaining such a thought. Now, shall
I sing to you? Shall I fetch my guitar?"
Mrs. Laird sighed heavily.
"I don't think that even your music could cheer me to-day."
But Sara made the attempt, and her sweet little songs brought some
relief to Mrs. Laird's brain.
The weary day was over at last. Sara laid her head upon her pillow with
a prayer that strength and grace would be given for the morrow.
CHAPTER IX
A DIFFICULT MEETING
THE next morning Sara was too busy to spend much time in thinking.
Visitors had not been to any meal in the house for years, and Mrs.
Thwaites and Izzie seemed quite unequal to the occasion. Sara was
in the garden gathering flowers, then dusting and arranging the two
sitting-rooms, and finally out in the kitchen helping Mrs. Thwaites,
who was a very indifferent cook, to prepare an appetizing little
luncheon.
Mrs. Laird was very quiet and resigned. She refused to come down to
lunch, but said she would see Mrs. Jeffery afterwards. The piteous,
nervous look in her eyes haunted Sara. She felt that she would like to
have taken Graham by his two broad shoulders and given him a thorough
good shaking.
Mrs. Jeffery arrived at half-past twelve, and walked about the garden
with Graham till lunch was ready. She greeted Sara pleasantly, but a
little indifferently. And when they sat down to lunch, confined her
remarks to Graham.
At last, Mrs. Laird's name was mentioned.
"I hope it will not distress her to see me," Mrs. Jeffery said in her
sweet plaintive voice. "If she only knew what a longing I have had to
see her again! And she is really much better in health now, is she not?
I dare say time has healed things."
Then Sara spoke. It was quite unpremeditated, and afterwards she
wondered that she had done so.
"Mrs. Laird is better, or she would not be able to see you to-day," she
said. "But time has not effaced the past. And of course, your presence
here reopens much. She is agitated and perturbed in consequence. But
I believe you could do much to ease her mind. I hope you will be able
to do it. She is certain to refer to the past. If she does, will you
assure her of the fact that she never laid her hand upon her little
grandchild when her accident happened. She did not touch her, as you
know."
Graham looked up quickly.
There was a quiet challenge in Sara's eyes as she faced Mrs. Jeffery
that brought the colour to the young widow's cheeks.
"No, of course she did not touch her," she said hastily. "I was in the
hall below, and saw the child fall."
"Just assure Mrs. Laird of that," said Sara, quietly. "Though she
knows the fact herself, in her ill health she has sometimes imagined
otherwise; and it is good for her to be reassured on that point."
"But—" began Graham.
Sara flashed such an imperious frowning glance upon him that he stopped
short.
"Perhaps my mother would rather not talk of the past at all," he said a
little lamely.
But neither Mrs. Jeffery nor Sara responded to this.
Half an hour afterwards, Sara was sitting by Mrs. Laird's side, when
Mrs. Jeffery was brought in by Graham.
It was a tense moment for all, and perhaps Mrs. Jeffery was the one who
saved the situation.
"Dear Cousin Rachael, thank you for seeing me. Please don't get up. I
have so often wanted to ask your forgiveness for my unwise behaviour in
the past."
She had both Mrs. Laird's hands in hers as she spoke, and in a pretty
foreign fashion bent her lips to them and kissed them.
Mrs. Laird made an effort to speak, but could not.
Graham hurriedly began to make conversation.
"Eva has been living at a farm on the Fells, mother. Her little girl
is delicate, but she is now going to Brighton with her mother. Do you
remember our first visit to Brighton—when we were boys? We had had the
whooping cough." He stopped.
The allusion to his brother brought a shadow across his mother's face.
She sank back in her chair. Then she said—
"Will you wait downstairs, Graham? There are too many of us in the
room. I feel I cannot breathe. No, Sara, do not leave me. You are the
only one I want. Now, Eva, what is it you want to say to me?"
Sara was surprised at the quiet composure of her tone.
Mrs. Jeffery looked a little disconcerted.
"I don't know that I want to say more than I have already said. I want
you to be friends with me again."
She glanced nervously at Graham as he was leaving the room. She had not
imagined that he would desert her at this juncture.
"I think," said Sara, slowly, "that you were going to tell Mrs. Laird
that you saw that she did not touch the child when she fell. That she
never laid her hand upon her."
Mrs. Laird lent forward in her chair. Her dark sad eyes were fixed
intently upon the young widow. "I should like to hear the truth," she
said.
"Of course, Cousin Rachael, you did not touch her. Why should you
imagine that you did?"
Mrs. Jeffery spoke feverishly. She had spoken hastily downstairs
without a thought of the consequences of her admission. Now she began
to remember more of the past, and wondered if Mrs. Laird did. She was
not left in doubt.
"I imagined I might have done so though my heart told me I did not,
when you told my son that you saw me strike her down. But let the past
be past, Eva. May you find, as I have done, the source of peace for
misdeeds of words and acts. You cannot undo what you have done, but you
can be sorry for it. And I am not going to judge you. If you have a
child, train her to guard her lips against hypocrisy and untruths."
Sara had turned away whilst Mrs. Laird was speaking. She felt
uncomfortable at being forced to be present at this interview, and
stood looking out of the window upon the blue lake and encircling hills
in the distance.
She heard a little sob come from Mrs. Jeffery.