A happy woman
happened. Millicent Conway had come into their lives; and Arnold had
quickly lost his heart to her.
"But, my dear girl," said Miss Grafton, slowly, "is it necessary to cut
yourself aloof from your brother? Does he wish it?"
"I am afraid I do." Sara's head was raised in the air, and a heightened
colour was in her cheeks. "It never does for sisters-in-law to live
together, and Milly and I have hardly a thought in common."
"But 'anybody'—a shop girl—could become a companion help. It is really
a waste of material for you to sink to that. With your culture and
education you could do so much better. How did you hear of this?"
"I saw the advertisement in the paper. It attracted me. I don't
know why. I have spent my days in taking care of a helpless man.
I shall miss my vocation if I do not take care of somebody. And I
wanted something at once. And though I answered other advertisements,
this was the only one that had a satisfactory result. She required
one reference, and my clergyman's proved quite sufficient. The
advertisement ran like this—I know it by heart—
"'Wanted at once by lonely widow; a gentlewoman as companion, also
to help in light household duties. Must be patient, capable, and
resourceful.'
"I like the word 'resourceful,' don't you? There's an adventurous sound
in it! Well, I answered it, and this is the reply."
She took a letter out of her pocket—
"'Mrs. Laird has received Miss Darlington's application, and begs to
say that she requires a young woman of good birth to wait upon her,
as she is a great invalid. Her duties would be light, but though Mrs.
Laird keeps two indoor servants, she expects her companion to bring
her comfort and cheerful society. She does not wish a young or flighty
girl, and she wants some one who is good-tempered and forbearing. If
Miss Darlington is not happy in the country, she had better not come.'"
Miss Grafton gave a little laugh.
"It does not sound an attractive post."
"It does to me. I love making people happy and comfortable. And I want
hard things to tackle. I have been leading a very luxurious lazy life."
"My dear Sara, you are always busy. You have a district and a Sunday
school class."
"Yes."
For an instant Sara's bright face shadowed.
"I shall feel leaving them. But I am panting for a fuller life, Miss
Grafton. And my opportunity has come."
"Shut up with a cranky invalid in desolate country," exclaimed Miss
Grafton. "You had much better come and live with me."
Sara looked at her friend with tenderness in her eyes.
"What would your dragon say?" she asked lightly. "No, Miss Grafton, you
are too happy and resourceful in yourself to need me. You have taught
me to be happy, I want to pass the teaching on. I don't know why my
heart goes out to the lonely and sad ones of the earth, but it does."
"And what remuneration do you get for this post? That is, if you think
fit to tell me."
"Forty pounds a year. A nice little addition to my income. I would have
gone if she had offered me twenty."
There was silence. Then Miss Grafton said—
"And what are Lacy's views?"
"I have not told her yet."
"Surely you have made all these arrangements very prematurely?"
"I knew what was coming. I wanted to have my plans ready, because I
cannot stand any discussion and argument about a course which I am
determined to take."
Miss Grafton gave a funny little shake of her head.
"A stout heart, and a strong will, are more the characteristics of a
man than a woman."
Then sudden tears came to Sara's eyes. She knelt down by Miss Grafton's
couch, and kissed her.
"Oh, you don't know what a wave of homesickness and desolation has come
over me to-day. I'm so alone, so unwanted, a superfluous woman on the
face of the earth. If I can't comfort and help this lonely widow, I
don't know what to do next!"
Miss Grafton looked at her with moisture in her eyes. Then she said
softly—
"'The works that I do, shall ye do also.' And those works cannot soon
be finished."
Sara got up.
"I must go. And I know this is the time for your evening meal. Shall I
ever be such a little saint as you?"
She left the room as a tall hard-featured maid entered, the maid who
had lived with Miss Grafton all her life, and who would have laid down
her life for her.
When she got home, she went up to the smoking-room again. She had
letters to write, and accounts to make up, but she was not left long in
peace. Lacy came in to make up the fire, and lingered purposely.
"May I speak to you, ma'am, please?"
Sara wheeled round her chair.
"Why, Lacy, what a lugubrious face! What is the matter?"
"I'm only looking ahead, ma'am, and thinking of the time when a new
mistress will be head of this house. And if you will be going to make
your home elsewhere, I hope you'll take me with you. I've been with you
since you were ten years old, and I can't take to new ways and faces at
my time of life."
"But, my dear Lacy, you know you dote upon Mr. Arnold, and he will be
the head of the house, not his wife. You must stay with him, you really
must. You look after his comforts like no one else, and I am going to
stay in a house where it would be impossible to have you."
"But couldn't I be your maid, ma'am? You are going away. I guessed you
would. Ladies always take their maids with them on visits."
Sara began to laugh at the idea of a "companion help" arriving with her
maid. And then she sobered down, and talked soothingly and persuasively
to Lacy, getting her to promise to think of making no change for the
present.
When Lacy eventually left her, it was dinnertime. She dined alone, and
her thoughts were sad. She did not wait up for her brother's return,
which she usually did, but went early to bed. And so ended an eventful
day and epoch in Sara's life.
CHAPTER II
AN UNCOMFORTABLE HOUSE
IT was pitch dark. The air was cold and frosty. Sara wrapped her fur
coat tightly round her as she stepped out on a tiny platform of a
very deserted-looking railway station. One porter with an oil lamp
swinging in his hand went to the van to get her luggage. She had missed
a connecting train on her journey North, and instead of arriving at
her destination at six o'clock, had arrived three hours later. Very
weary she was, and yet cold and nipping as the air was, she welcomed
it gladly after the long hours of waiting in stuffy waiting-rooms with
coke fires, and being cooped up in carriages with fellow passengers who
insisted upon having the windows shut.
"Is anybody or anything waiting for me?" she asked the porter.
"Ay, there'll be a 'mon' outside," was the laconic reply.
She groped her way through the tiny booking-office to the road beyond.
Through the darkness a high dog-cart with a restive horse could be
dimly seen.
The driver raised his cap to her. In a few moments, she was perched up
by his side, and the porter hoisted up her luggage behind. Then they
set off at a smart canter along a hard frosty road.
"Do you want another wrap?" the driver asked her.
His voice was low and gruff, and Sara hardly caught the words.
"I am quite warm, thank you. I hope I have not kept you waiting. I
missed my train at the junction. The London train was very late."
"So I heard."
The man's independence of manner made Sara resolve on silence. Up and
down hills, passing dark shadowy firs, then out on a lonely bit of
moor, and then they began to climb a steep, wild hillside. The darkness
began to lift; clouds rolled away, and a silvery moon appeared.
Sara looked about her. The cold clear air exhilarated her. She saw
that they were climbing up round the side of a mountain, a deep ravine
fell away from them on one side; below was the gleam of a shining
winding river. Then suddenly they took a sharp turn, and Sara made an
exclamation of delight. Such a scene of surpassing beauty was before
her that she knew she would remember it for the rest of her life.
The moon was shining across a lake. The bare brown branches of larches
and firs that bordered its banks were frosted, and looked like delicate
lacework against a silver sky; the hills on the farther side stood like
sentinels guarding a treasure. Wild and weird it was in the moonlight,
almost foreign with the wonderful woodland growth around it. Then a
flock of wild ducks flew across with their shrill cry, and owls hooted
as if in response to their appeal.
Sara in her excitement touched the driver's arm.
"Stop, just stop for a moment! I have never seen anything like this!"
The driver pulled up without a word. In perfect silence Sara gazed
upon the scene below her. She felt as if she had been transported to
another world. The taciturn driver beside her, the steaming horse, the
flickering lights on either side of them from their lamps, and the calm
serene moon making a silver road across the rippling waters of the
lake. Was it only a few hours back that she had left foggy, bustling
London? It seemed impossible. She drew a long breath of enjoyment.
"Oh," she cried impulsively, "I wish we could stay here for ever! It is
enchanting! Exquisite!"
Then the driver spoke in tense, short tones.
"The finest scenery in the world would never content a soul."
"It would content mine!" said Sara.
He whipped up the horse; a thick-wooded road soon hid the lake from
their view.
And Sara began to ponder upon his tone and words.
"A superior man," she mused, "possibly a friendly farmer. I will try
and find out who he is."
Presently she asked—
"How much farther is it? Where does Mrs. Laird live?"
"We shall have to get round to the other side of the lake, about five
miles yet."
"And are—are you in her employ?"
How she could have asked the question Sara afterwards wondered.
He answered shortly—"I am her son."
"I beg your pardon. It was very kind of you to come to meet me."
He made no reply, and Sara relapsed into surprised silence. She asked
no more questions.
Somehow she had imagined the "lonely widow" to be absolutely without
kith or kin. A son had not entered into her calculations. Soon they
began to go downhill, the road seemed interminable. Sara's back began
to ache, and she was conscious how very tired she was.
When at last they stopped at a gate, she gave a long sigh of relief.
Her driver gave a peculiar whistle, and in a minute or two an old
man holding a lantern appeared. He opened the gate and walked by the
horse's head up a short drive. It was impossible to see any house. No
lights flickered in the windows. Sara stumbled down with cramped stiff
limbs; she was ushered into a gloomy entrance-hall. One dim and smoky
oil lamp hung from the middle of it.
A door was pushed open, and Sara found herself in an untidy,
comfortless-looking room. The fire was dying out; the remains of a meal
were on the table. A brown collie rose from the hearthrug, and stuffed
his nose into his master's hand, then he inspected Sara, and after
sniffing all round her, returned to his former position.
Mr. Laird made an exclamation under his breath, then he strode across
the passage. And Sara heard him say in a peremptory fashion—
"Where is Mrs. Thwaites? Is there no supper? Do you know the fire is
out? Come and light it at once."
Then an untidy sleepy-looking girl appeared at the door with an armful
of kindlings. Mr. Laird followed her and said—
"Will you excuse me, Miss Darlington? I must go up to my mother. She
will not settle to sleep until she has seen me."
Then he disappeared. Sara threw off her fur cloak, and with it her
weary languor.
"We are very late," she said to the girl. "I suppose you had given up
expecting us. What is your name?"
"Izzie. Yes, miss, I dropped right off to sleep. I was up soon after
four this morning. And Mrs. Thwaites went off to bed. She had the