Chapter XII: "too Good to Last"

"AND now can we talk?"

"As much as ever you like."

Sara was taking the young guest for her first walk across the hills.

Ina was not as a rule a good walker, but the keen bracing air invigorated her, and though Sara had to adapt her pace to hers, she was enjoying her fresh experience of striding through the dead heather and bracken. It was a still October morning. Curlews swooped and circled round overhead, there was a fresh moist smell of earth, occasionally they disturbed the sheep who were cropping the short turf, and Snooks who was with them darted in and out of the furze bushes in the vain hopes of putting up a rabbit to chase.

Ina lifted her head, and drew in long breaths of the sweet pure air.

"Oh, how I hate chimneys and smoke!" she said suddenly. "How good it is not to see a sign of either up here!"

"Tell me about your life," said Sara; and Ina began at once.

"I love Aunt Anna—she lets me call her 'Aunt,' though I'm no real niece—but I have got weary of all her work. Is that wicked of me? I can't tell you how unselfish she is, but I wonder if ever God will be able to make her rest in heaven. She will never rest here. And she has had trouble upon trouble. I often wonder why people are allowed to deceive her so! I have reasoned it out to myself sometimes, and I feel as if every professing Christian must be a hypocrite!

"And then I realize that in Aunt Anna's single-heartedness, she lays traps for impostors. If she engages a servant, she must have a Christian one, she says, and as she gives good wages, they pretend to be what they are not, for the sake of the place. She is always getting hold of reclaimed drunkards and putting them into places of trust and responsibility, and then they break out, and there is disaster at once.

"And then Mr. Wylde, her late secretary, he is an arch hypocrite, and has been behaving in a perfectly shameless way, actually enticing members of her young men's club to come to his house and play cards and drink. I can't tell you what we have gone through. She hasn't had one honest strong man amongst all her dependents. And then Mr. Laird came. Isn't he wonderful? So quiet and capable and strong, with such keen quick sight of right judgment. In one day he discovered what Mr. Wylde was like, and he was sent away in twenty-four hours!"

Ina paused for breath. Her eyes were glowing. She was quite enthusiastic.

Sara listened and sympathized; the girl talked on and told of the busy life she had had since she had left school.

"Have you had no young companions of your own age?"

"I have never been young," said Ina, with a little wistful smile, "not since I left school. Aunt Anna has some nieces, but they are smart up-to-date girls who despise her, because she is old-fashioned and good, and they look upon me as a poor dependent. You see I am always so busy that I haven't a chance to know young people. I have friends amongst the colliers, and I see servant girls and shop girls who come down to our Home of Rest, but I can't exactly make friends of them. I don't think I care about people much. I never meet anybody who takes any interest in me. But there is no reason why they should."

"Isn't there?" said Sara with a smile as she put her hand on her shoulder. "Why, I was interested in you from the first moment I saw you!"

A swift bright colour came into Ina's cheeks.

"Oh," she said, "you are so kind. I can't tell you what I feel like. You are all such fascinating people to be with! Mrs. Laird with her sad eyes and sweet smile, and clinging affection for Mr. Laird and for yourself, and he—well, I've told you what I think of him, he's like a chivalrous knight, thinks no trouble too much for a weak defenceless woman. And you're a princess—I love to watch you moving about. I watch for your smile and that lovely little laugh of yours: you're the happiest person I've ever seen! Do you believe in people distributing their auras around them? You make everybody in the room with you comfortable and glad. Mr. Laird inspires one with safety and confidence; you with joy and hope. And when I'm in the room with both of you, I feel as if I were in heaven!"

"My dear Ina, what a romantic little person you are!" Sara was much touched.

This quiet girl had keen observation as well as imagination. She had not yet lost her youthful enthusiasms, though she was strangely worn and old in other ways.

And then suddenly, as they breasted the summit of the hill on which they were, they came across Colonel Fleming riding on his stout old cob. He dismounted at once and came forward in his usual impulsive genial way.

"Upon my word, I'm in luck! Was thinking of you, Miss Darlington, and wondering whether Graham were back!"

Sara introduced him to Ina.

He shook hands with her.

"Don't know who you are from Adam, but you look a good sort. A friend of Graham's, eh? He seems to have a good many friends when he gets away. Oh! Do you come from Dalby? Where he has been putting his finger into a very muddled pie, eh? And what do you think of our neighbourhood?"

"I think it is all perfectly lovely!"

"That's right. Then you'll be happy here. But you look like a wraith! And I suppose Miss Darlington has trotted you up here to whip some colour into your cheeks. I'm coming over this afternoon—want to look up Graham on business! Do you know what I call Miss Darlington behind her back? Balm. Just Balm. You'll soon find out what a good name it is for her."

If Ina was astonished at Colonel Fleming's rapid flow of talk, she did not show it. But she smiled up at him, the first real smile of appreciation and pleasure since her arrival.

And then Sara and Colonel Fleming had a little talk together about local matters, and presently Ina was addressed again.

"Do you like horses? Ever ridden?" Ina was quietly stroking the nose of the Colonel's old cob.

"Yes, I used to ride when I was a little girl. We had an old pony."

Sadness came into her eyes at the recollection of her childhood.

Colonel Fleming looked at her, then at Sara.

"Look here, will you come out riding with me? I have a quiet old rocking-horse, who will carry you anywhere. If you've come down here to get strong, there's nothing like riding over our hills, now is there, Miss Darlington?"

"I think it would be delightful for her. Wouldn't you like to ride, Ina?"

Ina's face flushed and paled by turns.

"I think I would," she said.

"That's good. Now we'll settle it right off. To-morrow afternoon sharp at half-past two, I shall be at Felstone Corner with a mount for you."

"But," gasped Ina, "I have no habit—nothing to ride in. And Mrs. Laird might not like me to do it."

"Habits be bothered! I've seen women on horseback in shorter skirts than you're wearing at present, and nobody will see you on these hills. Make yourself a guy, nobody will care. And as for Mrs. Laird, she'll let you do any mortal thing you have a mind to, dance on your head if you care to try!"

Ina laughed, and Sara joined her.

And then the girl promised to be ready; and the Colonel mounted his horse and rode away.

"I think I'm in a fairy tale," said Ina with sparkling eyes. "I seem to be in another life altogether."

She was a different girl when she returned to the house, bright and animated and interested in everything about her.

In the afternoon, Sara made her rest.

They had a pleasant evening together in the drawing-room. Sara brought out her guitar and sang to them, and Ina played on the piano. She was a good musician though she acknowledged that she had never time to practise.

And then Graham began to talk to her about his cousin's work. In the course of conversation, Ina mentioned their new vicar, who had lately married and settled in a house close to them.

"Surely," said Sara, "you see something of him and his wife, don't you?"

"Not much," said Ina. "Aunt Anna doesn't care for his wife. She isn't a bit like a clergyman's wife. Won't do anything in the parish, and dresses very smartly and plays golf and bridge. She says she's not 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.