A happy woman
others. I cannot and will not speak of it again.
"At present, I am sure you are happy with dear Ina, and when she
marries, do you think you could come and pay me a little visit? I think
I shall be still here if all goes well. It is not like your hill and
lake country, it is like living in one of those pretty pictures we see
depicting rural life. The church is just as picturesque as it should
be, I see its tower peeping through the elm trees which surround it,
and which of course contain a rookery. The rectory is close to it, a
cob-walled house with thatched roof very like our farm. There is a
mill, and a river, and buttercup meadows, and much pasture land about
us. In the distance from my window, I get a glimpse of a stately white
house amongst trees, the Hall, Mr. Shiplake tells me. The Squire is
very typical of his race, I should think. He hunts in the winter, and
is very keen on farming. Mrs. Shiplake tells me he is the cleverest
farmer in the county. He is a widower with a grown-up daughter. His son
is in the Navy. I don't expect I shall see anything of them.
"I have discovered that there is an old friend of my father's living
near this. An Admiral Burke and his wife. They have a pretty place
about three miles away. But I am quite content to enjoy the country in
solitude. I have books and work, and my darling little Oliver for the
comfort and joy of my heart. You inspire me to be photographed. There
is a country town four miles away. We will borrow the jingle and drive
over one day and see what a country photographer can produce!
"Oh, dear Mrs. Laird, I am chattering away, but I feel for you, how I
feel for you! And yet I know God has you in His keeping, and He Himself
will guide and cheer you every step of the way.
"Your loving
"SARA."
After sending this cheerful letter, Sara abandoned herself to her
feelings, and she had a very miserable day in consequence.
The next day was Sunday, and in the quiet peaceful little church she
received the peace of mind and consolation which she so much needed.
The Rector was a middle-aged man with a careworn face, but when he
preached, his shining eyes and intensely earnest voice made his
congregation realize that his religion was a living vital force within
him. Sara was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice any of the
congregation. She came home with the Rector's text ringing through her
head.
"'One thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and
reaching forth unto those things which are before.'"
And for the rest of that day a quiet happy light glowed in her grey
eyes, as she thought over some of the things which were "before her."
On Monday afternoon Sara was with the baby in the orchard, when Mrs.
Shiplake came hurriedly out to her.
"The Rector's wife has called, please ma'am. I showed her into your
sitting-room. 'Tisn't often her comes our way. Her 's not one who
favours us workin' folk with her visits. But her went so far as to step
inside my kitchen and say how clean it looked! I was fair inclined to
tell how drab an' dusty I thought her hall when I was left standin'
there when I were after arrangin' for my niece's baby's christening! I—"
Sara stopped the breathless flow of talk.
"Will you call nurse, please, Mrs. Shiplake? She is ironing, I believe.
She had better come out here. It is a shame to take baby in."
And then with a little sigh, Sara went into the house. She was pale
to-day, with dark circles round her eyes, but in her cool linen dress
and with her free easy step, and high lift of her head, Sara could not
but look a very graceful and attractive woman.
Young Mrs. Peel put out her hand in a very friendly fashion. She looked
a mere girl in her short white skirt, showing a good deal of slim
ankle. She wore a white panama hat, and soft white silk shirt with pale
blue tie. She was a handsome girl, dark-haired and eyed, with warm
colour in her cheeks.
"How do you do, Miss Darlington? I know all about you, but never
meant to call upon you till I saw you yesterday in church, and then I
suddenly wanted to come."
"I don't think I saw you," said Sara, smiling upon her in her usual
caressing fashion; "and if I had, I should never have guessed you were
the Rector's wife."
"No, I'm generally taken for his daughter, but there's only ten years
between us in age. 'An old maid and a baby,' I said to my husband in
disgust when I heard you were coming. Last summer Mrs. Shiplake had two
artists lodging there, and they were great fun! But you're not an old
maid, and you're not a rustic, and in church yesterday, I determined to
get my next hat trimmed like yours!"
She laughed, and in sheer sympathy, Sara laughed too.
"That's right. I don't shock you? Of course you'll know without saying
that it was before the service began I was thinking such vain thoughts!
But I'd better tell you at once that I'm not a model rector's wife. And
I told him when I married him that I would not be his curate. If I keep
his house, and give him good food, and see that his clothes are mended,
and cheer him up when he is downhearted, is not that enough? I don't
know why I am running on like this. Now do tell me why you came down to
this quiet spot."
"For the same reason that other lodgers have come," said Sara, gaily,
"from love of the country, and pure air; and the longing to get out of
smoky foggy London."
Mrs. Peel settled herself comfortably into the one easy-chair, and
crossed her legs in careless fashion.
"Yes, that was what I felt once. I was born and brought up in a London
vicarage; and I used to think the country must be a dream of delight.
There were five of us girls. We lived in a high-terraced house, and
a backyard by way of a garden. My husband was my father's curate. He
worked himself to death nearly, and then when he was told he must get
away from town if he wished to live, he was presented with this living,
and he asked me to come with him. I saw a photo of the house and
garden, and that decided me."
She paused, and looked swiftly across at Sara.
"I don't know why I am talking of my own affairs like this. You won't
be interested."
"But indeed I am. I was interested in you the first moment I saw you.
It is sweet of you to be so friendly. Please tell me more."
Sara looked as interested as she felt.
The young wife rattled on—
"Well, I came; we had a delicious honeymoon, and then we took
possession, and for the first six months it seemed one long battle
against dilapidation, bad drains, dry rot, and unwholesome water! Last,
but not least, a batch of bills that would have frightened a Croesus.
Country servants, oil lamps, rats and mice, a mouldy fusty church which
always reeked of damp, and suspicious unfriendly villagers soon cured
me of romance. I've lived here for five years, and I hate and detest
it!"
She looked frankly rebellious, and yet her youth and beauty and fresh
audacity had a rare charm to Sara.
"My dear child," she said, "in another five years, you may learn to
love it."
"Never, never! Why was I ever induced to marry a parson? He is too good
for me, Miss Darlington, miles too good! He thought he would make me
as good as himself, but he couldn't. The continual stream of services
worry me; I am a perpetual thorn in his flesh. He is getting like them
all, a mere mechanical church machine, going round and round on a
treadmill of penance and duty, an austere mystic, and I who am still
flesh and blood tied to him by unbreakable bonds, oh, what am I saying?
I love him still, of course I do. But I hate visiting the poor, I'm
not fit to teach in Sunday school, and there are times when I hate the
sound of the clanging church bell.
"The only relief to me is to get up to the Hall. May and I are great
friends, but even she thinks I ought to be quite content with my life.
As if I could be! We see no one, we go nowhere. In summer we have a few
clerical garden parties, and if we are invited to the places round, the
county look upon us as quite a different class to themselves.
"'Who is she?' 'Oh, a parson's wife.'
"Interest dies away at once. And of course amongst my kind—other
parsons' wives, you know—I'm everything that is shocking. Dear me! I
can't conceive what you must think of me talking to you like this! But
I don't seem able to help myself!"
She stopped speaking, and looked at Sara with a mixture of defiance and
wistfulness in her eyes.
"I am so glad to hear it all, glad to think you will let me into a
corner of your life. Now I wish I could help you! But you have youth
and health, and love for your husband. Couldn't you try to find the
only thing that would make your life a joy to you instead of a burden?"
"What do you mean? What could make stagnation different? Oh, don't let
us talk any more about myself! Tell me a little of your history. Do
you know that this morning a poisonous little reptile of a creature,
a village dressmaker who goes out to work at various parsons' houses,
suggested to me that there might be a mystery about you? Such a
handsome young lady, and single, and an infant baby! Can't you hear
her? I jumped down her throat, and was glad to be able to say that
Admiral Burke was a great friend of yours. Has he called yet? He told
us that you and your brother were a devoted pair before your brother
married. What a sad thing for him to lose his wife and only have this
infant in her stead! I wish—"
She stopped and thought better of uttering her wish.
"What are you going to do with yourself here?"
"Read a great deal," said Sara, smiling at her visitor. "Write some
letters, and fill up my other time with sewing, and playing with baby.
What do you do with yourself? Have you any hobbies?"
"Yes, one. I paint—but not landscapes—figures and miniatures. I believe
I could have been an artist, if I had not married. Then I should have
been some good. Here I am a failure."
"You musn't say that to me," said Sara, briskly; "failures are such
miserably depressing things. Why, you have hope and buoyancy in your
face! I should think the villagers love a visit from you, don't they?"
"I hardly ever go near them. I told you, I hate visiting the poor. We
haven't an idea in common. I did try to paint one of their children
once, and what do you think the mother said after a few sittings?
That she wasn't going to have her child tired out, just to bring more
money to the rich. She said if she wasn't to be paid for it well, she
shouldn't let her come. So I sent the child home at once. I suppose she
thought I was going to paint a picture and sell it. I wonder if you
would let me sketch you one day? You, and the wonderful baby! I saw
you with him in the orchard as I came up the garden. You made quite a
picture!"
Sara promised to give her a sitting, and she promptly arranged that she
would come over the next day and make a start. Then she got up to go.
Sara asked her to stay to tea, but she said she had promised her
husband to be back to tea with him.
"You must come to us. Come to tea with us to-morrow, after I have
started my sketch. You see how unconventional I am; I ought to wait
till you return my call. But I'm lonely and dull, and the very minute
I saw your face, I wanted to know you. And now I'm going, and I've
talked, as usual, of nobody but myself, and I know nothing of your
interests, your life! You must talk to-morrow and I will listen.
Good-bye."
Sara walked down to the garden gate with her visitor, rather breathless
at the sudden onslaught which had been made upon her time and interest.
But she had noted the lonely wistful spirit behind the heedless
self-centred talk, and her heart warmed to the young wife. She was glad
that she had called.