A happy woman
And then she rose from her knees, if not comforted, at least
strengthened to take the path that stretched out in front of her.
She broke her news very gently to Mrs. Laird, who burst into tears and
clung hold of her pathetically.
"Am I to lose you altogether? Don't tell me so! But I must not stand
in your way. Of course an infant, especially a boy with all his
possibilities, is more important than an old woman fast nearing the end
of her journey. But oh, my dear Sara, you have been like a daughter
to me! And I feel that I cannot face a fresh life amongst strangers
without you by my side. What a dreadful blow it is! How shall we manage
the move without you? You see how selfish I am."
"I can't bear to go," acknowledged Sara, "but does it not seem as if
things have been arranged so as to keep you from missing me too much?
Ina is such a dear helpful girl and so fond of you. And she is very,
very capable, your son has told us that. She will do everything for
you. Dear Mrs. Laird, you will not be alone; you are leaning hard upon
the One Who will never leave or forsake you. You don't know how you
will be helped and guided through all that lies in front of you. And
then you have your son who is always such a tower of strength. Why, in
the face of all these, I am quite a superfluity."
Sara gave one of her happy laughs as she finished speaking, and Mrs.
Laird's careworn face lightened a little.
Ina took the news with courage, but there was blank dismay in her eyes.
And when Graham heard of it, he was almost angry in his remonstrances.
"Your brother can get somebody else to go to him. Why should he summon
you to him when we are all needing you at this time? Are you always to
be at his beck and call? He turned you out of your home, now he wants
you back again. But you are not bound to go!"
"Oh, Mr. Laird, you must remember he is my only brother. Think of the
helpless baby."
"What does a widower do who has no sister?"
He walked away from her as he spoke; he could not trust himself to
speak.
Sara found it would not be an easy matter to leave this new home of
hers and all who had learnt to value her. She wrote to her brother
saying she would come in a short time. She knew as long as the monthly
nurse stayed in the house there would be no immediate hurry. And then
she set to work to make all her necessary arrangements for the comfort
of Mrs. Laird when she should be gone.
After the first outcry, every one was very quiet. Mrs. Laird seemed to
be buoyed up by some secret hope. Ina was anxiously learning to take
Sara's place, and do all her little tasks of labour and love for the
old lady's welfare. And Graham was absorbed in winding up his estate
accounts, and in initiating a fresh agent into Sir Malcolm's affairs.
A fortnight passed, and then Sara came to her last day. In the
afternoon she went over the hills to say good-bye to Agnes Cleave.
The poor woman had tears in her eyes when she parted with her.
"You've brought me new life, miss, since you befriended me. Now I go
to church, and have no shrinking from any of those I used to know. And
I'd like you to know what a treasure my Bible is to me! And even father
listens and enjoys a chapter out of it the last thing every night. You
were quite right. You said the Bible would show me what the end of my
journey could be. And I'm looking forward in glad hope to it now."
"I'm so glad," said Sara. "And now you will try and instil that same
hope into your father's heart. Or rather ask that God Himself will do
it."
Agnes nodded.
"It's an awful blow—your going away! Won't you ever be in these parts
again?"
"Perhaps we may," said Sara; "who can tell? Will you write to me
sometimes, Agnes, and let me write to you?"
"I'm no scholar, but I'll be proud to do my best. May God bless you,
miss, for the sunshine you have brought to my soul!"
CHAPTER XIV
A SUMMONS TO TOWN
SARA sped down the hill again, with an ache in her heart for all that
she was leaving. And then a longing came over her to pay a last visit
to the lake. She made her way down to it, and gazed dreamily and rather
sadly across its waters. It was a cold grey afternoon, but she always
loved to see its unruffled surface in the stillness of winter-time. The
black branches of birch and elm stood out against the cold silver sky
like delicate lacework; the rich tints of amber and ruddy brown of the
rushes and dead bracken, the brilliant green moss of its banks, and the
soft purple blue of the firs and pines in the background all made a
delightful picture of colour to her eyes. Suddenly she was conscious of
some other person near her, and turning quickly round, she saw Graham
coming towards her.
"I have followed you here," he said; "all day I have been trying to
speak to you, but you have eluded me. Am I disturbing you now?"
"No," said Sara, quickly, "I am only saying good-bye to my dear lake.
I don't know why I love it so. I think it's because of its still
aloofness, its unchangeable beauty, and its attitude of patient
waiting."
He did not speak for a moment, then he said—
"That was the first spark of warmth that crept into my heart, when
you looked at it as if you loved it. Do you remember our first drive
together?"
He did not wait for an answer.
"I expect you will think me a laggard for putting off till to-day what
I have been burning to say to you for months and months. I have grown
so used to sternly repressing my feelings that it is difficult to
make the plunge. You know what a fresh sphere awaits us in the north.
I can go to it gladly and joyfully, and take up all the burdens and
difficulties that I know await me, if you can give me the hope of your
coming to me later.
"And if you don't feel for me as I feel for you, Sara—I hardly can
hope that you do, for there is little in me to attract a woman of your
sort—will you bear this in mind, that there is work to be done there
which I cannot do, but which you can? I cannot think of anything more
sublime than for you and me to work together, you doing the spiritual
part, teaching and helping and befriending the poor and ignorant, and I
the sterner harder business part of the whole concern.
"I can't pretend to be what I am not. I am not a religious man. Nor
do I think I ever shall be, but I honour and reverence those who are,
and no woman to my mind fulfils her part in life unless she is. I
shall fail in carrying out my cousin's wishes if I tackle her work
single-handed, but I shall not fail with you by my side. Will you give
me yourself? Will you let me have the right to stand by you and keep
you and guard you through life as the most precious treasure a man can
have given him?"
It was a strange declaration of love. Perhaps if Graham had put his
passion and love foremost, and his work last, Sara would have been
sorely tempted to yield. As it was, she turned to him very sorrowfully.
"Oh, Mr. Laird, what can I say? I do thank you for the honour you have
done me. But I fear it cannot be."
"Why not?"
He moved closer to her, and his words snapped like steel.
"I could not live the life you describe to me, I working in a perfectly
different sphere to you, and both of us without any unity or sympathy
with each other in the vital questions of life."
"We have been living in the same house with each other for a full
year," he said; "and speaking for myself, I have never been so happy
before in my life. Why should we not continue to do the same?"
"But would it be the same?"
"No," he said, with a break in his voice; "of course it would not. But
believe me, I could and would make you happy. You would have perfect
liberty to do what you chose or thought best. Oh, Sara—I may call you
so, may I not? Don't answer me in a hurry. If you doubt my sympathy, I
swear here that you would have it in full. And think of my mother's joy
and happiness! It would give her a new lease of life. May I tell you it
has been her crowning desire to have you as her daughter? It will break
her heart, I believe, if you refuse."
There was silence, then Sara said softly—
"Your greatest inducements are work and a mother-in-law; a woman wants
more than that. But it is as well that you should put it so, for I feel
it is easier to refuse."
"You shall not refuse me on that account!" Passion and fire shot from
his eyes. "I have kept my own feelings in the background because until
I had your leave, I was not going to unlock my heart. You know without
my telling you that you are enshrined there. A man who comes to my age
without falling in love with a woman is bitten very deeply when his
time comes. I told my mother long ago you were the one woman in the
world to me. But what had I to offer you! Now I can at least offer
you a comfortable home and a life free from money anxieties. And I
want you, Sara, I want you! I would move heaven and earth to win your
love! Is it quite impossible? Is your heart absolutely indifferent to
me? Do you know that to have you in the same room with me is heaven?
Life itself is darkness without you. Are you going to make religion
the paltry reason for refusing me? Your principles are utterly at
fault, if because I can't feign to believe in all that a woman finds so
easy, you must separate yourself from me. Don't you realize what your
influence has been in our house? If you take it away from me—I will be
personal—shall I be nearer your God and heaven?"
"What do you believe?" Sara asked desperately. She was walking slowly
along the lake and he paced by her side.
"I believe in the Creator of the Universe, but I cannot associate Him
with my daily life. I can't believe He manages and guides me in all I
do. I live an upright life—at least I have a try at it—and as far as
the other world goes, nobody knows anything about it. Let theologians
surmise and disagree as they always do, it has nothing to do with
me. You are not going to tell me that this matter of religion is the
obstacle to our union?"
"I am afraid it is," said Sara, slowly. "If I married a man—and I could
not do that unless I loved him with all my soul—life in this world only
would not content me. I should want to be with him always, and if he
did not attempt to desire to know God in this world, he most certainly
would not care to live in His Presence in the next. And I should never
be able to talk with him of the things I loved best. I should always
have to keep back the thoughts of my heart, and we would drift further
and further apart. You have planned out two separate lives for each of
us, lived in the same house, but as far apart as the north and south
poles. I would be in one life, you in another. You would be bored to
death by hearing any details of mine, I should feel that I had my
province, and must keep in it; and you would keep in yours. No, Mr.
Laird, I have the greatest respect and confidence in you—but we cannot
join our lives together. I grieve to refuse, for you are offering me
much, but I dare not do otherwise. It would mean misery and disaster to
both of us."
"Then I say, as I said the other day, you good people are Pharisees of
the deepest dye."
Tears came to Sara's eyes.
"It sounds so, but if you only saw into my heart, you would think
differently. What can I say? Marriage is bound to be a failure if the
two bound together have not the same aims and objects in life, if they
do not revolve round the same centre."
"Oh, leave all these theories alone, let your heart speak, not your
head. Love is the foundation for a happy marriage. Do you love me? Look
me in the face, and tell me the truth."
He had got in front of her, and seizing hold of both of her hands drew
her with a gentle force towards himself.
Sara stood perfectly still with downcast eyes, but he felt her hands
tremble in his.