Chapter XVIII: Whether or No

"ALMOST a fortnight since you have been near us. But there is reason, I know," said Miss Carmichael.

She had received Beryl with her frank cordiality of manner, giving a kiss of welcome, and at once making her visitor feel at home. Hester, who was present on Beryl's entrance, slipped away almost immediately, seeming to know by intuition that a "tête-à-tête" with Miss Carmichael was wished for. Beryl looked grave and absorbed, as if something were weighing on her mind.

"You have all been in sad trouble lately," said Miss Carmichael.

Beryl sat opposite, gazing straight before her, not at Miss Carmichael, but at the wall beyond. "Yes," she said.

"How is Mrs. Fenwick?" asked Miss Carmichael.

"I don't think anything is the matter with Aunt Di. Pearl is ill—at least not well," said Beryl. "She cries so, we can't do anything with her, and she won't eat."

"Poor little girl. Only sixteen," mused Miss Carmichael. "And Mrs. Cumming?"

"She doesn't write," said Beryl. "Aunt Marian says she is pretty well. I don't know what they are going to do yet. Escott is so depressed."

"The twin brother?"

"Yes. But I don't hear much," repeated Beryl. Then she sat silent again, and Miss Carmichael sat watching her.

"What is it that you want to say to me, Beryl?" broke the stillness suddenly.

"I don't know whether I can," said Beryl, turning crimson.

"I think you can. It will go no farther without your leave."

"Not even—"

"No, not even Hester. I never repeat what is told me in confidence."

Beryl moved her fingers uneasily, and said no more.

"Come and sit here," said Miss Carmichael, drawing a chair close to herself; and when Beryl obeyed, she laid a hand on the girl's arm. "Now I think you will be able. Hettie will not come back yet. If she does, I will send her away again."

"Aunt Di wants me to be confirmed," said Beryl, "blurting" it out, as Mrs. Fenwick would have said, without preface.

"You have not been confirmed yet?"

"No. Mrs. Brigstock asked me if I would, and I said 'No.'"

"Why?"

"I couldn't. I'm not fit."

"And you do not wish it now?"

"No—yes,—I wish it—no, not really," said Beryl confusedly. "I don't know what I wish exactly. But I don't think I ought."

"Ought to be confirmed? Why not? Because you are not fit?"

"I know I am not," said Beryl. "I don't feel as I ought—and I never shall."

"I don't feel as if I had reached anywhere near the bottom of the matter yet," said Miss Carmichael pleasantly. "What makes one 'fit' for it, my dear?"

The pause following was longer than she expected, but Beryl evidently meant to give an answer, and at last it came:—

"One ought to 'want' to be—to do—to be—good."

"I should say more. One ought to be heartily bent upon serving Christ thenceforward."

"I meant that," said Beryl, in her shyly gruff tone.

"I am going to ask you a plain question, my dear. Is it your wish to be Christ's faithful soldier and servant unto your life's end?"

Another pause, and Beryl's usually staid features were working painfully. "I can't," she said. "I 'can't,' Miss Carmichael—"

"You cannot become His servant? But you are promised to Him already."

"Yes, so Escott said. I didn't think of it before. I have been thinking a great deal since," said the girl earnestly. "But I can't see what is right. If I am confirmed, I must go to—to—the Holy Communion."

"Is that your difficulty?"

"I couldn't go," said Beryl, her colour deepening. "I could not. It would not be right. Nobody ought to go who can't forgive somebody else."

Miss Carmichael suddenly found herself in possession of the clue she wanted. "And that somebody else is—"

"Mrs. Fenwick," Beryl said very low.

"What injury has Mrs. Fenwick done you?"

"She—stole Pearl from me."

"I don't understand. Try to be clear, my dear child."

"It is only that," said Beryl, breathing quickly, "Pearl and I did love one another so much. And she came between and stole her from me. She 'meant' to do it. We had nobody else before except one another;—and I have nobody now. Pearl does not love me."

"And you—do you love Pearl?"

Miss Carmichael had not expected the answer which came. She scarcely realised how great the effort of this conversation was to Beryl's reserved nature, or knew how much strength of will and passion lay beneath the composed exterior. Beryl broke into tears, and sobbed aloud.

"Poor child!" Miss Carmichael said in her tenderest tone.

Beryl was direfully ashamed of herself. She gulped and choked, and struggled back to calmness as speedily as might be. "I didn't mean—" she gasped, "I never do cry,—and I didn't know—"

"You will be better for it afterwards. Tears do one good sometimes."

But when self-command was regained, she said, "Now tell me more."

"I have told," said Beryl, in a voice which to anybody else might have appeared both hard and curt. "There isn't anything more. Only I have lost Pearl—and I can't forgive Mrs. Fenwick. I never have all these years, and I never shall."

"'But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Heavenly Father forgive you your trespasses,'" said Miss Carmichael.

"Yes, I know. But I 'can't,'" repeated Beryl, somewhat sullenly.

"And you are content to leave it so," said Miss Carmichael. "For how long, Beryl?"

Beryl was silent.

"Till the end of life?" asked Miss Carmichael slowly and sadly. "That would be very terrible."

"I may feel differently some day," said Beryl.

"But if not? Life is uncertain. Think of poor young Cumming."

Beryl's face changed. "Yes, I know," she said huskily,—"I think it is 'that'—I think that frightened me,—and I do want to be different, but I don't know how."

"There is only one possible 'how.' Come straight to Christ, and tell Him all."

"I thought I must forgive her first."

"Yes, we all want to make ourselves a little better before we ask for His healing. No, my dear. There is no first except coming to the feet of Jesus. To be at His feet, and not to forgive others, is out of the question; and to attempt to come to Him, while determined not to forgive, is useless. But you may be willing and yet powerless, and then He will give you power."

Tears dropped again. "I'll try," whispered Beryl. "But I don't think I can ever like her."

"Possibly not. Liking is a different matter. She may not suit your personal tastes. But if you would be Christ's servant, you must forgive her,—you must not harbour malice."

"And about Confirmation?"

"Think it over, and come to me again."

"I can't. Aunt Di gave me ten days, and the ten days are just at an end. She says I am old enough, and she doesn't like me to put off any longer."

"Well—then send in your name as a candidate. You can go to the classes, and consider the matter prayerfully, and you and I will have some more little chats. If I were you, I would call at the Vicarage and speak to Mr. Bishop alone."

Beryl looked alarmed. "I couldn't say to him what I have said to you."

"There is no need. Simply tell him that Mrs. Fenwick wishes it, and that your own mind is not fully made up, and ask his permission to attend the classes. If you would rather write a note, that would do as well,—or nearly as well. By and by Mr. Bishop will of course see you alone; and unless he thinks it right, he will not admit you. If you still feel doubtful when that time comes, tell him so frankly, and he will help you to a decision."

Beryl's sigh spoke of some relief.

"But I am sure I could not explain in writing," she said.

"Some people find writing easier than speaking. Then try to see him. Why not go now?"

Beryl looked at the clock. "There would be time," she said unwillingly. "I needn't be home for half an hour. Only I do so dislike going."

"We must do a good many things that we dislike, in this world."

"And you think I ought?" said Beryl.

"I think it is the wisest course you can take."

"I should have time," repeated Beryl, standing up, with an air of reluctance. "Only I must be home in half an hour. Aunt Di will be going out, and she will want me to sit with Pearl."

"You have to win back Pearl's love," said Miss Carmichael.

Beryl shook her head hopelessly. "But I like being useful," she said. "Sometimes reading aloud a story to Pearl keeps her from crying for a little while, but she seems as if she could not care for anything. And I think Aunt Di makes her worse. She doesn't seem to understand Pearl at all."

"Then Pearl has the more need of you, my dear."

Another shake of the head. "Pearl does not think so," said Beryl.

"We must have patience. And now you are going to Mr. Bishop?"

Beryl said "Yes" soberly, and walked away.

Miss Carmichael watched her through the garden, and earnestly hoped Mr. Bishop might be at home.

Half an hour later, Beryl entered Mrs. Fenwick's drawing-room, to find the little lady chafing at her continued absence.

"I told you to be back sooner," she said. "That comes of letting you go to waste your time at Miss Carmichael's. I have been ready to start for a quarter of an hour past."

"It is four o'clock exactly," said Beryl. "You told me to be back at four."

"Oh, don't argue, pray. There is nothing I detest like argument. Where in the world have you been? I saw you leave Miss Carmichael's an immense while ago."

"At half-past three," Beryl said, with rather irritating composure, wearing her most stolid look.

"Where have you been since?"

"Only to the Vicarage—to give in my name as a candidate."

"You had no business to go to the Vicarage. That was not necessary. And you told me you would not be confirmed."

"I said I could not in a hurry. I wanted to think first," said Beryl, in a suppressed voice. "You gave me ten days, and the ten days are gone. I told Mr. Bishop I could not be quite sure yet, but he will let me go to the classes, and I am to decide by and by."

"I don't know how I am to spare you for the classes. With Pearl like this, and Marian away, I can't have you perpetually absent. It makes a perfect slave of me. I am sure it is a lesson not to burden one's self with other people's children. I am sick of it, for my part."

Beryl was silent. She really did not know what to say.

"Mind—I am not going to have this sort of thing again," said Diana sharply. "You are not to act without asking my leave."

"You told me I must be confirmed," said Beryl resentfully.

"I have not spoken of it since all this trouble. That alters circumstances. And you know very well that I did not say a word about your going to Mr. Bishop. I am not at all sure that I can let you attend the classes the next few weeks. You will have to do as you are told. My own belief is that we shall have Pearl downright ill in a few days. I don't know what is the matter with her."

Diana rustled to the door, and paused.

"Did Miss Carmichael advise you to go to Mr. Bishop's?"

Beryl was no adept in the art of fencing. She said only, "Yes."

"Miss Carmichael had better take care what she is about," responded Diana, in a quiver of passion. "I always did think her a meddling person. Mind, Beryl,—I will not have interference. And I will not have gossiping about my concerns. I never saw anything like it. You had better take care."

Beryl thought that the question of Confirmation was more her own concern than Mrs. Fenwick's. She had no opportunity to say so, however. The next moment she was alone.