A happy woman
going to be her husband's curate. They don't seem very suited to each
other, they don't care for the same things."
"And that means tragedy," said Sara, with deep feeling in her tone.
Graham looked at her.
"Why?" he asked. "A woman's tastes are different to a man's as a
general rule. But they get on together none the worse for that."
"Ah, but," said Ina, hesitatingly, "Mrs. Arran despises good people and
parish work, and she laughs at it all, and wants her husband to be a
military chaplain in India, because then she says they would have no
parish."
"I wonder why she married him," Sara said thoughtfully. "Marriage is so
irrevocable, two people pulling different ways tied together for life!
Oh, it's dreadful to think of! And it's so often done. One with his
hopes in heaven, the other with her hopes on the earth. How can they
live happily together?"
Graham stirred in his chair.
"I don't agree," he said, and his tone was rather abrupt and impatient.
"If one of them has an ounce of real religion worth having, he'll
impart it to the other."
"I've never known that happen," said Sara, sadly, "and I've known
several ill-matched couples. It's generally just the other way. I
don't know why. But the power of evil seems greater than the good. I
know such a nice girl who married an atheist. She thought she would
influence him, and he assured her that she would, but she did not, and
instead, lost her own faith. She's a miserable woman now."
"Then do you mean to say that no man ought to marry a woman unless he
and she think exactly alike from a religious point of view?"
Graham's keen eyes were bent on Sara as he spoke. His tone was very
impressive.
"How can two walk together, unless they are agreed?" quoted Sara,
softly.
"You good people are very pharisaical!"
And taking his pipe out of his pocket, Graham got up and left the room.
They heard him go into his smoking-room, and bang the door rather
violently.
And Sara knew that she had vexed him.
She did not see him again that night.
And at breakfast the next morning, he was noticeably stiff in manner
towards her. But no one could resist Sara's sweet gaiety for long, and
he was no exception to the rule.
The next day Ina went off for her ride with Colonel Fleming. She was a
little nervous at the thought of it, but Sara encouraged and cheered
her. She lent her a loose covert coat of hers, and some leggings, and
watched her ride off with mixed feelings of envy and delight. She could
not forget the days when she rode out, and Colonel Fleming had never
offered her a mount, much as she would have liked it.
Ina came back from her ride in glowing spirits.
"I do like Colonel Fleming. What fun he is! He is just like a
schoolboy. He wants me to go again to-morrow. May I?"
She appealed to Mrs. Laird, who at once agreed that she could.
"My dear Sara," she said when the girl had left the room; "it is a
great relief to me to see how easily she is amused and entertained,
and she is very willing and helpful. She tidied out a drawer for me
beautifully this morning. She asked me to give her something to do."
And before many days had passed, Ina had made herself quite at home.
She adored Sara, and loved nothing better than to work with her in the
garden, or sit sewing with her indoors. She was always ready to wait
upon Mrs. Laird, and showed her many little polite attentions. Graham
had the effect of awing her; she was rather silent when he was in the
room, but she confided in Sara that she thought he was like one of the
strong silent heroes in story books, who worked miracles of strength
and valour, when appearing to be absolutely immovable and passive.
One day Colonel Fleming did not come for the ride, but sent a message
that he would like to see Graham. And in the evening, after Ina had
gone to bed, Graham told them the reason of his summons.
"Poor Fleming has just heard of his wife's death. It has rather upset
him."
"But he has been divorced from her for years, has he not?" asked Sara.
"Yes, her death has reopened all the past. He can't regret her, and yet
actually asked me if he ought not to get a black tie."
"Poor man!" said Mrs. Laird, pityingly. "He can't forget that he was
once happy with her. Shall I write him a note of sympathy?"
"For goodness' sake, no, mother! He will want no allusions to it.
Perhaps I ought not to have spoken. You must pretend you do not know."
For a few days Colonel Fleming remained in seclusion, then he appeared
again, and happened to meet Sara in the garden.
She saw a change upon his cheerful-looking face. There was a softness
and serenity in his eyes that had not been there before. He gripped her
hand silently.
"I have been down in the valley," he said to her, "but I am up and out
of it now, ready to have a smack and a thrust at Apollyon again, when
he comes my way! How's Miss Godwin? What a good horsewoman she is! And
what a life she is leading with that little tyrannical saint of hers!
Can't you get her out of it? She wants a rescuer. Don't your ears burn
sometimes? You should hear the histories we tell each other of what you
do and say!"
"I'm sorry you can't find a more interesting topic of conversation,"
Sara said, looking at him with her bright smile. "She's a dear little
thing, isn't she? So grateful to every one for giving her pleasure.
I shall be quite sorry when she goes back, but her visit cannot be
prolonged much longer. She is impatient to be back—says she is wanted."
"Rubbish! Keep her till she gets a little more flesh upon her bones.
She hasn't had a chance as yet."
Ina happening to come up at this moment, he turned to her.
"Talk of an angel! Well, did you hear what we were saying? That until
you were more respectably clothed with plump fat we shouldn't let you
stir from Felstone Corner! Have you been wondering at my absence? Joey
is eating his head off in the stable. I've been busy, and distracted
and rather down in the dumps, but I'm as cheery as a cricket now, and
am coming round to-morrow sharp at two, for the days are getting short.
Will you be ready?"
"Oh yes," was the joyful response. "Thank you so much. I have missed
my rides, but I wonder you can find time to take me out at all, with
all your farm to see to. And do you know that I feel I could ride over
these lovely hills quite alone now? So if you would trust me with Joey
one day, then you need not be dragged away from your work!"
"Couldn't trust you!" said the Colonel, emphatically. "Why, Joey might
take it into his head to take you near the cliffs: and landslips are
too frequent there for safety. Nobody drags, me, I assure you! I come
off as blithe as a bird!"
The rides continued, and then one afternoon when Ina was out, a
telegram came for Graham.
"Miss Harrison very ill—wants you."
Happily he was in when it arrived. He made all arrangements for leaving
that night.
Mrs. Laird was very distressed about it.
"Poor Cousin Anna! I am sorry for her, but you cannot be continually at
her beck and call. She is always having attacks like this. That child
has told me so."
"This is from her doctor," said Graham, gravely, and he went on
preparing for his journey.
When Ina came home from her ride, she was told. In an instant, she
decided that she must go too.
"I must! I must! I'm always with her when she is ill. I know how to
nurse her. She will miss me. Oh, how I wish I had not left her! I shall
never forgive myself if anything happens to her."
"Graham is going to-night!" said Mrs. Laird, gently. "By the night
train. Men can travel so much easier than women. It would be too great
a rush for you!"
"A rush! I could pack up in a quarter of an hour. If Aunt Anna is ill,
I would cross the ocean to get to her if necessary. Oh, Mr. Laird, you
won't refuse to take me?"
"Of course I will not," was the quiet reply. "Pack up your boxes
and have a good meal before you start. I must ride over and see Sir
Malcolm. But I don't think there will be anything to detain me."
Mrs. Laird, seeing the girl's distress, made no further objections.
Sara helped her to pack, and Ina flung her arms round her neck in
parting.
"Oh, you've been so good to me! I've never been so happy in my life. I
knew it was too good to last."
"But you're glad to be going to Miss Harrison?"
"Oh yes, yes. I feel selfish in enjoying myself here whilst she has
been struggling to keep well. She always goes on till she drops. Her
doctor says she never husbands her strength. Oh, Miss Darlington, will
you pray hard that she may get better? My heart will break if she is
taken from me! I am always so afraid of it! And oh! I do thank you for
all your kindness and goodness to me. I have never been so happy in my
life before."
She drove away by the side of Graham, looking back at the ugly little
farmhouse with smiles and tears.
And Sara went indoors wondering what life held for the quiet unselfish
girl who had left them as suddenly as she had come.
Mrs. Laird called to her. She was sitting knitting by the fire in the
drawing-room.
Sara went across to her; and Mrs. Laird laid her hand caressingly upon
her arm.
"You and I are left together, Sara. We shall be very happy, shall we
not? I am learning to give my son up to other women who need him. I
have kept him to myself for so long that I dare not try to do it any
longer."
Sara kissed her affectionately.
"He will be a great comfort to his cousin," she said. "Let us hope she
will get better, and then he will soon return to you."
Mrs. Laird shook her head doubtfully.
"I have a presentiment that she is not going to live, but if anybody is
ready to leave this world, I should think she must be. Her whole life
has been given to good works, and to real self-denial."
Mrs. Laird proved right in her surmise. Two days afterwards, she
received a wire saying that her cousin had quietly and peacefully
passed away.
CHAPTER XIII
COUSIN ANNA'S HEIR
GRAHAM LAIRD was away a fortnight. He had been left sole trustee to
many of Miss Harrison's charities, and he and her lawyer had a great
deal of business to transact together. Mrs. Laird insisted that Ina
should return with him, and make her house her home for the present,
until she settled what she was going to do.
And so one wild stormy evening in December they returned together.
Ina was very quiet and sad that first evening, but seized hold of Sara
when bedtime came.
"Do come and see me the last thing, will you?" she entreated; and Sara
promptly promised that she would.
Graham and his mother were talking very earnestly together when Sara
left them. She knew there would be much to discuss, and felt that they
would like to be alone.
Ina welcomed her rapturously.
"I can't tell you what it is to be back, I have so much to tell you.
Dear Aunt Anna has left me £500 a year. Just think of it! I can't
believe it. Why, I have never had a penny to call my own! But I
truthfully would rather have aunt back than enjoy her money; and, Miss
Darlington, I don't know what to do, nor where to go! She does not seem
to have expected me to stay on up there, and continue all my work, for
she has left all her philanthropic schemes to different people. Her
People's Clubs to the vicar, and her Rest Homes to her doctor, and I
believe Mr. Laird has been left nearly all the rest."
"Tell me about her," said Sara, gently; "did she know you?"
"Yes."
A flood of colour rose into the girl's cheeks.
"She was quite conscious, you know, and yet she spoke so strangely. I
hardly like to tell you. Mr. Laird was in the room, she sent for him
and for me together, and then she turned to him:
"'I leave her in your charge,' she said.
"And Mr. Laird nodded. Then she looked at me, and then her eyes went
back to him again.