Chapter VIII: A Man's Determination

SARA went to Colonel Fleming's "At Home." Mrs. Laird said she would like her to do so.

It was a very warm afternoon when she started in the high dog-cart with Graham. She wore a lavender muslin gown, and a shady straw hat. He glanced at her, as she stood on the steps waiting for the trap to come round. There was something peculiarly dainty and fresh in her appearance in spite of the extreme simplicity of her dress. She caught his gaze and laughed.

"I hope I am dressed suitably for the occasion."

"You will want a dust-coat or cloak," said Graham, gravely.

She held up one with a smile, and he took it out of her hands and helped her into it.

Then as they drove off, he said—

"This is rather different weather to when you last drove with me."

"Yes," said Sara; "I shall not soon forget my arrival in these parts. What a strange, eerie, and interesting time it was to me! Do you remember the mistake I made about you? I took you for an exceedingly taciturn groom!"

"I had driven so many ladies backwards and forwards," said Graham apologetically, "that I felt very depressed that night."

"You did not think me suitable," said Sara, amusement in her tone.

"No, I did not, and I do not now."

"Oh, I am sorry. I hoped I was giving satisfaction."

"It is a false position for you to be in. And candidly, I wonder that you stay."

"But I am very happy, so why should I not? And I am truly fond of your mother."

"You are very good and patient with her."

Sara did not speak for a moment, then she said—

"Don't you think it one of the good things in this life to be able to mitigate even in the least degree the sorrows and discomforts of others? I do. And when your mother's eyes brighten, and a smile hovers about her lips, I feel as happy as a sandboy! I want to get her out more. Do you think we could persuade her to drive with you across the hills? Couldn't you take her to see the old herb doctor?"

He shook his head.

"She won't see people just yet. I wish she would. Have you been much with old people, Miss Darlington?"

"No, I don't think I have. But I do love them. A little old Miss Grafton is one of my greatest friends in town. I love their placid detachment of things and people, and yet their keen interest in all the little details of life which escape the younger people who are more self-engrossed."

They turned then to talk of the country round them. Sara found that Graham was interested in all nature studies. He told her some of his experiences in the hills in India, and gave her an account of his game-hunting there. She felt quite sorry when the drive came to an end.

Colonel Fleming came out to meet them with a beaming face.

"Good creatures to be so punctual! I'm actually getting nervous. Miss Darlington, come and look at my tea-tables. I hope my housekeeper has provided enough. How do people know how much will be required? It's a mystery to me."

Tea had been laid under a group of old elms on the lawn. Sara looked at the bountiful spread, and assured him that he had enough cakes and sandwiches for a hundred.

"You think so? I'm so glad. I made Mrs. Larkins double everything half an hour ago. You see, I've never gone in for this style of thing before. And I want to do it well."

The guests began to arrive, and soon there was a very fair sprinkling of people scattered about upon the lawn. Colonel Fleming had made a very pretty garden for himself, and the old farmhouse looked most picturesque in its setting. Miss Ferris and her brother, Sir Malcolm, were there, and Sara was introduced to the squire of the district for the first time. He was a short, stout man with very little powers of conversation, and Sara found him distinctly heavy.

Mrs. Jeffery and her little girl were some of the latest arrivals. The child soon discovered Sara, and followed her about like a shadow.

Her mother paced a shady shrubbery path for a long time with Graham. Sara came across them once talking earnestly. The young widow's face was very sweet and appealing, she seemed to be pleading for something which Graham, with set frowning face, was denying her. Sara was walking with Miss Ferris when she met them. Mrs. Jeffery gave her a stiff little smile of recognition; Graham never lifted his eyes from the ground.

"My dear," said Miss Ferris, bluntly, "we have interrupted unadvisedly."

"Oh, they're cousins," said Sara, indifferently.

A little later, Colonel Fleming insisted upon taking her over his house. Little True accompanied them. Sara admired the plain dark-panelled hall, with its oak table and settle by the fire. It was essentially a man's room. The dining-room led out of it, and was furnished in the same severe style. Above the fireplace was the portrait of a charming girl in riding dress.

"My mother, God bless her!" said Colonel Fleming. "And painted by a first-rate artist too. I don't mind telling you, Miss Darlington, but her eyes looking down upon me when I sit over my wine prevents my making a—a beast of myself. Do you understand? A man dining alone, with nobody to keep him company, soon makes a god of his cellar. And she and I understand each other, and I know when I must draw in. Now then, come into the drawing-room. It has been aired and trimmed up, but I never use the room myself. I sit mostly in the hall."

The drawing-room was appalling in its stiff decorum: chairs against the wall, shrouded to hide light, windows close shut, curtains and the crimson damask suite from which holland covers had been removed made Sara feel hot to look at them.

"I suppose this room appeals to ladies most," Colonel Fleming said, with a wistful note in his voice, "but a man doesn't need a state room like this, so I never use it."

"I don't think I should use it either," said Sara, thoughtfully; adding, with a little laugh: "I mean if I were staying as a visitor in your house."

"Oh, I would," exclaimed True, dancing up and down as she clung hold of Sara's hand. "I would have canaries in all the windows, and dogs and cats about the floor, and then when it got dark, I would light up all the candles, and get somebody to play the piano, and I would dance to the music. It would be lovely!"

"I can see you and the cats and dogs all dancing together," said Sara, with a merry laugh.

The child did not laugh. But she looked up into Colonel Fleming's face gravely.

"Why don't you get a lady to come and live in this room? If I was bigger, I might come. But there are lots of ladies who would like a nice room like this."

"Ah!" said Colonel Fleming, laughing. "But then they might interfere with my rooms, and that would never do. Now we'll come back to the garden and lock this room up. It is too hot and fusty to use to-day."

"Like Bluebeard's cupboard it is," cried True.

And then she ran off in search of her mother, whilst Sara was taken over the rest of the house.

As they rejoined the company on the lawn, the Colonel said—

"So glad to get Graham out amongst us to-day. He has been slowly fossilizing, but you're waking him up at last."

"Oh, I have very little to say or do with him," said Sara, indifferently.

She glanced at Graham, as he stood by Mrs. Jeffery's side. She was eating an ice which he had brought her, and he was smiling at True's earnest talk.

The child was leaning against her mother.

Then Sara was introduced to a local doctor's wife, and afterwards the vicar of the parish came up and claimed her attention.

She did not see Graham to speak to till the guests were departing. They were the last to leave, for Colonel Fleming had begged them to help him till the end.

When the dog-cart came round, the Colonel helped Sara into it and said—

"I am hoping my party has been a success, but I'll own up to being confoundedly glad it's over!"

"You have given pleasure to all of us," said Sara.

"Get Mr. Laird to follow my example," said Colonel Fleming as they drove off. "It's your turn to show hospitality next!"

Graham gave a short laugh.

"The skies will fall before we go in for entertaining," he said to Sara.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "Your mother may wake up one day, and want to do it."

"She is certainly taking more interest in life. Now I want you to get her to do something. Mrs. Jeffery is most anxious to let bygones be bygones. She wants to come over to lunch one day, and see my mother. In fact, I should like her and the child to come to us for a few days before they leave this neighbourhood. I want my mother to be willing to receive her."

"You take my breath away," said Sara. "It was only the other day you told me if Mrs. Jeffery were to call, that your mother was not to see her. And now I have heard the story, I think it would be the height of folly for them to meet at present."

She felt Graham instantly stiffen, as he sat beside her.

"I am the best judge of that."

"No, excuse me, you are not. No man understands a woman. Your mother is not strong enough either mentally or physically to be put under such an intense strain. Think how it will reopen all the anguish and remorse! Why, it is cruelty to think of it! I am fond of dear little True, but to have a child in the house, in your mother's state, would be madness, especially as she is the child of Mrs. Jeffery."

Sara spoke hotly. She felt up in arms against such a proposition.

But Graham resented her impulsive speech.

"Miss Darlington," he said in very determined tones, "you may be sure I have my mother's welfare at heart as much as you. But she is softening, and I am convinced that were she once to see my cousin, and hear her speak of the past, she would see it with different eyes. Mrs. Jeffery's life has been a very unhappy one, and my mother's attitude towards her has intensified that unhappiness. My mother used to adore children, and True, I firmly believe, would bring balm and peace to her heart and be a veritable little peacemaker. We do not want to encourage my mother in this morbid animosity towards one who has really been an innocent victim of her dislike. I have promised to have my cousin and her child the end of next week. And I never break a promise."

"Oh!" cried Sara. "You are going to undo all my work, and plunge your mother into the depths again. I must protest! I will! Your cousin ought to have known better than to make you give her such a promise. You are vexed with me. You think I have no right to object. But I do. I shouldn't be human if I did not. And if you still persist in bringing her to the house, I warn you that I shall circumvent you if I can!"

Graham compressed his lips but said no more, and the rest of their drive was taken in constrained silence: Sara in seething rebellion against his decision, Graham in real annoyance at her attitude.

When Sara alighted from the trap, she stood with flushed cheeks and a proud poise of the head.

"We are angry with each other now," she said, "but do not let your mother see that we are. And do not, I implore you, touch upon this plan before her to-night. Let her have some sleep. She needs so much, and she will have none after she knows."

"You are exaggerating," said Graham, coldly, "but I have no intention of saying anything to my mother about the matter to-night."

Sara heaved a sigh of relief and went upstairs.

Graham shut himself into the dining-room. As he paced up and down, with a furrow of anxiety and impatience across his brow, he caught the sounds of Sara's bright cheerful voice in the room above. Once he heard his mother's feeble laugh. He knew that a minute account of the garden party was being given, and a certain regret crept into his heart that he was not there to join in the talk. Then, he gave himself a mental shake.

"A very masterful young woman! She may manage my mother, but she will not manage me."

He contrasted her with the sweet plaintive young widow who, with a hand laid lightly on his arm, had said—

"Graham, if I could regain your mother's love and friendship, I should be a happy woman. It is like a heavy burden weighing my spirit to the ground. Let me only see her, and I know, I know I could make my peace with her."

Sara only came downstairs in time for the evening meal, and she talked as usual upon various subjects. The one topic that was in both their minds was not touched upon again.

Graham sat with his mother afterwards, and her improved brightness and animation only made him more determined than ever to keep his promise to Mrs. Jeffery.

"It could not harm her, and Eva is sweetness and gentleness itself. She will have the tact necessary when seeing her."

When the next morning came, Sara spoke to him at breakfast.

"Will you let me plead for a redecision on your part upon having your cousin here?"

"No," he said; "I have weighed the matter well, and you are unduly alarmed. I am convinced it may be the very best course to take with my mother now. The final touch that will bring her peace and comfort of mind. She is much better in health now—more reasonable in every way."

Sara was mute.

He looked across at her, and his tone softened a little.

"I will do this if you like. I will invite Mrs. Jeffery over for the day, and leave it to my mother to decide as to whether she should come for a few days as our guest."

"Well," said Sara, drawing a deep breath, "I have lain awake all night trying to see a gleam of light in your suggestion, and my instinct and, may I say, my common sense is dead against it. But I will not fight you. I am here to help your mother, and I will do my best to see her through it. When are you going to speak to her about the visit?"

He hesitated.

"I think you might do that."

"I am afraid I must refuse."

He looked at her with a cold smile.

"I expected a refusal, but I gave you your opportunity. I had better speak to her at once before I go out."

Sara made no reply.

He left the room and went upstairs.

Sara stepped out into the garden. She found herself gripping the back of a garden seat, and wondered at her own agitation.

"If only he had waited a little longer, till she was out in this beautiful air and sunshine! Oh, I hope he will be gentle and patient with her!"

She waited in suspense, then she heard the trap coming round, and as she turned towards the house, Graham came out and stood upon the doorstep.

"It is all right," he said quietly, meeting her anxious gaze. "Mrs. Jeffery comes to lunch on Friday next."

She said nothing, but with swift step passed him, and made her way at once to Mrs. Laird's room.

The old lady was sitting in her easy-chair by the window. Her breakfast tray was on the table by her side.

Her hands were grasping the arms of her chair, but they were trembling, and her sad, haunting eyes met Sara's with infinite pathos.

"Come to me. I want you badly."

Sara knelt down by her side, and spoke with her usual brightness.

"Isn't it a lovely morning? Shall we have the bath-chair round in an hour's time, and enjoy the air?"

"Oh, my dear, my dear, don't you know? Hasn't Graham told you? That woman is coming here—under our roof—to eat our bread—to force herself upon me after all these years. How can I bear it? Will you help me? You are my only help, my son is against his own mother!"

She leant back in her cushions with a little moaning sigh.

"Dear Mrs. Laird! I have been told about it, but you need not fret. She is not worth it. Can you not show her that the past is past, and is not to be reopened? As you are never down to lunch, you need not see her for more than a moment or two. She seems—if I may say so—to crave for your forgiveness and affection. And I will be with you when you see her if you would like me to be. I will not leave you alone."

"Yes—yes, you must be with me. I distrust her, I cannot help myself. And Graham seems distressed to think I can't forgive. He is so honourable himself, so big-hearted, that he cannot understand a woman's feelings. Oh, Sara, my dear, I was beginning to have such peace, such comfort, and now the darkness is coming back."

"No, no, don't think such a thing for a moment. Ask yourself: Who has given you this peace? Where does it come from?"

Mrs. Laird put her trembling hand on Sara's soft brown head. A little smile came to her lips.

"You told me it says that no man can take it away from me, but Graham has been perilously near doing it this morning."

"He cannot touch your soul. You have given that right away into God's keeping."

"So I thought I had, and the past with it. But the past is to be reopened. She will confront me with the consequence of my evil temper. Is it blotted out?" Then she added under her breath—

"'There is plentiful redemption,
In the Blood that has been shed.'"

Sara smiled, but the quick tears of pity and sympathy were dimming her eyes.

"Do you know," she said brightly, "I think you are bravely going to crush the last of your shadows underfoot. You have always had a secret dread of meeting Mrs. Jeffery again one day. Now, when you will have seen her, this dread will leave you. A week hence, you will look back and smile at your fears. And if you could make up your mind to forgive her and tell her why you can do it now, it may do her all the good in the world!"

"But she has a child!"

Sudden terror leapt into her eyes.

"I told Graham she should not torture me by bringing her child here! He did not press the point. That would be too much for me to bear! You'll prevent that, Sara! Oh, my head! My head!"

She sank back exhausted.

Sara soothed her. But that was a trying morning, and Mrs. Laird was too upset to go out in her wheel chair.

Graham came home to lunch.

Sara met him with no reproaches. She simply said—

"Would it be possible for Mrs. Jeffery to come to lunch to-morrow? I think it would be better for your mother if she did."

"Perhaps she would be able to do so. You mean the sooner she comes the better?"

"Yes, the waiting and suspense is very wearing for your mother."

"I thought she was very calm and reasonable about it when I talked to her."

"You must not let True come. I have promised that she shall not."

He looked at her. And the faintest smile came to his lips.

"I did not know you could speak so disagreeably," he said.

"I feel disagreeable," said Sara, meeting his gaze with calmness. "I am really anxious. And I wonder why men's instincts are so faulty. But we won't discuss the subject."

"No, we will not," Graham said. "Are you going out this afternoon?"

"I don't think I will leave your mother to-day."

"Then I will ride over myself to the farm. I thought that perhaps you could have taken a message."

Sara mentally congratulated herself upon escaping such an errand.

She spent the afternoon with Mrs. Laird, but persuaded her to come down and sit in the garden. The old lady was still much perturbed. Sara read aloud to her, hoping to distract her thoughts from the unhappy past.

But Mrs. Laird did not 'listen, and at last put her hand on the book.

"Stop reading, and talk to me. I suppose Graham has gone over to see Eva?"

"I think he is going to ask her to come to-morrow."

"Is it not an extraordinary thing that a woman of her type should make every one believe in her? And, Sara, the conviction has come to me this afternoon, that she will follow her former tactics, and turn my only son against me."

"Oh no, no. You must not think such a thing. Your son is devoted to you. Think of all his loving care—"

"And sacrifice! I know now that he has sacrificed himself for me all these years. I used not to care, but I do care now. I was struggling with my selfishness and resolving to fight with my fears, and come out amongst people again for his sake, but now, oh, I can't think! You have seen her, you say she is a sweet attractive woman. I know how weak, how blinded men are! Do you think my cup of sorrow is not yet full? Shall I be forced to welcome her as a daughter-in-law?"

"I think you are very wrong in entertaining such a thought. Now, shall I sing to you? Shall I fetch my guitar?"

Mrs. Laird sighed heavily.

"I don't think that even your music could cheer me to-day."

But Sara made the attempt, and her sweet little songs brought some relief to Mrs. Laird's brain.

The weary day was over at last. Sara laid her head upon her pillow with a prayer that strength and grace would be given for the morrow.