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.

"Look me in the face," he said; but Sara would not.

Then she gave a weary little sigh.

"Love is very strong," she said, "but if it is only love for this life, it is not worth much. What good would love do if you and I were drowning? Supposing I got safely to a rock, and you were still struggling in the water, if you refused the rock, would our love be worth much?"

He dropped her hands.

"You are as cold and hard as ice!" he said bitterly. "I will say no more."

In silence they retraced their steps to the house. Then just as he opened the gate for her, Sara put her hand on his arm. It was dusk, but he saw that tears were in her eyes.

"Forgive me for having hurt you," she said; "you can have the assurance that I am if anything more unhappy than you are at present. I would give a good deal to be able to give you the answer you would like."

"You are wrapped up in unassailable self-righteousness," was the quick reply, "too celestial to mate with men on the earth!"

He had hurt her now, and he knew it, but he was in a seething state of wild rebellion and bitter disappointment. He went straight off to his study and stayed there, and Sara shut herself into her room and had a very miserable hour.

"I have allowed myself to love him," she moaned; "and now I am dealing him a real blow. How I long to go straight down to the study and into his arms! If only he had the one thing! He is so unselfish, so honourable, so chivalrous and kind to women in need! I could trust him so utterly and entirely! And yet I know it would spoil his life and mine if we married each other. He would shunt all the religious work off on me and never give it a thought. If he has to tackle it alone, isn't it possible that it may lead him to think more seriously! Oh, I hope it may, for I feel as if I have now destroyed something in his soul, and I must, I do, seem a self-righteous prig! How difficult it is! If he only knew that I am deliberately shutting the gate of golden romance and love in front of me. I have only now a lonely old age to look forward to, and I love him. I can't do anything but love him with all my heart and with all my soul."

Tears would have been a relief to her, but she fought them bravely, this was no time for tears. Mrs. Laird was expecting her even now in the drawing-room to pour out afternoon tea. She must go down, and wear a bright face as usual.

She was rather relieved when she did go to find that Ina was out. Mrs. Laird and she were quite alone. Graham sent in word that he was busy and did not want any tea. Sara was glad of the message. Not so his mother. Instinctively she knew something was wrong. She looked across at Sara in perplexity.

"Did you not come in together, Sara? Is he upset at your going away? Has anything passed between you?"

"A good deal," said Sara, gently; "and we are both unhappy in consequence. Your son has made me an offer of marriage, dear Mrs. Laird, and I have refused him."

Mrs. Laird uttered a little piteous cry.

"Oh, Sara, it has been the hope of my heart lately. Don't say that you mean it! I longed for him to speak to you before. He has loved you ever since the first day that you entered the house; he told me so. But he has been diffident of himself, and with his rare unselfishness was afraid of your refusal, and then feared for my sake that his proposal would drive you away from us. He has been so happy lately. He hoped the congenial work waiting for you might induce you to look upon him more favourably. He has such humble ideas of his own power to attract, and he is so proud and reticent that a refusal from you will be very bitter to him. Don't you love him, dear? I have seen a look in your eyes sometimes when he is speaking that makes me think you must."

Sara knelt down by Mrs. Laird's chair, and tried to speak calmly.

"Oh, dear Mrs. Laird, I know how I am disappointing you, but much as I like and admire your son as a friend, I could not make him my husband. We should not be suited to each other. We should not make each other happy."

"Why not? He worships the ground you tread on, he has never given me a day's anxiety in his life; a good son makes a good husband. Is he not good enough for you?"

Tears rose in Sara's eyes, and could not be repressed.

"I fear you will not understand," she whispered; "I could not marry any one who did not put God first in his life. I am not a woman who can marry easily. I am no mere girl, and I have my ideals. No happiness comes to those who are not absolutely one in the matter of eternal things."

Mrs. Laird was speechless. But she stooped and kissed Sara.

"That will come," she said with conviction; "a mother's prayers will be answered. Is that your only reason for refusing him?"

Sara nodded. She could not speak.

"Never mind, my dear. I have learnt to wait, and I can wait still. You will pray for him with me."

Ina came in at this moment, and their talk was interrupted.

Sara was busy for the rest of the day packing and leaving instructions for Ina and the servants.

The next morning the post was late, and letters were opened at the breakfast table. Graham made an exclamation as he read one of his. His mother's quick eyes had seen that it was from Eva.

"I must go up to town at once," he said. "I was going to drive you to the station, Miss Darlington. I think now that I shall accompany you to town if you will allow me."

Sara murmured that she would be very pleased, though she hardly felt so.

"Is it business?" asked Mrs. Laird. "You have heard from Eva, have you not?"

"Yes, it is her business. She is staying in town and wants to see me. It is rather important."

So very shortly afterwards Graham was driving Sara to the station, and though both were silent, both were thinking of the first drive when they met each other for the first time. It was a cold foggy day. He was very particular about her comfort, and when they were settled in the train, wrapped his own plaid round her knees to keep her warm. Then, when they were really off, he spoke.

"A night's rest has made me ashamed of myself," he said; "I want to apologize for my lack in courtesy yesterday—I promise you I am not going to refer to the matter again. You have a perfect right to act in life as you think best. And I bow to your decision. For my mother's sake there need not be a break in our friendship, need there?"

Sara looked up at him and smiled.

"No," she said; "and I shall go away the happier for feeling that there is no bitterness between us."

Peace was made. Though they did not talk much, all awkwardness disappeared between them, and when they arrived at Euston Station, it was with mutual good will that they parted.

And then Sara found herself in her brother's house again, being welcomed with tears from Lacy, and with real gratitude and affection from Arnold. He took her straight upstairs to the nursery, and himself took his baby son out of his cot and put him in her arms.

"He has suffered, poor mite, from being motherless, and the first days were torment to me, hearing his incessant wail for her. But now he is all right, nurse tells me."

Sara bent down and kissed the tiny puckered face.

"I will do my best to be a mother to him," she said softly.

The baby opened his eyes and looked up, then a faint smile came to his lips.

"There!" said the old monthly nurse triumphantly. "He has taken you into his little heart, ma'am."

And Sara felt that from that moment she had taken him into hers.