Chapter XXXIII: Together Again

MRS. ESCOTT CUMMING was much the same that Pearl Fordyce had been—sweetly pretty and winning, but indolent, easy, unpunctual, seemingly content to live an aimless life, pleased to be petted and made much of, and by no means anxious to take up work or responsibility.

Beryl had a sense of disappointment, having somehow expected a change. She could see that Millicent was not satisfied, and she noted that Escott indulged in an expostulatory "My dear!" not seldom, in place of counting his little Pearl a human angel. He loved her intensely, but he had a high ideal of what the womanly life should be, formed on the model of his mother's life, and Pearl's did not by any means correspond with his ideal. Her little vanities, her petty tempers, her wilful moods, did not cause him to love her less, but they did cause him to love her differently. The quality of his affection changed, not the quantity. He was watchfully tender and thoughtful as ever, but in his heart, Escott crept quietly back to the boyish feeling which he had had of old, and which Ivor had never lost, that "there was nobody in the world like mother."

Yet he did not regret his choice. Millicent might and did regret it secretly for him, but he did not for himself. He knew he would not have been happy without Pearl. She disappointed him often, yet she was so winning and fair as to be a great delight in his life. How long that delight would last, with nothing more stable to sustain it, was another question. Not four months had as yet elapsed since the wedding-day.

Foreign travel, and the happiness of winning Pearl, had done much for Escott's health. He was a delicate man still, liable to attacks of illness, and compelled to be careful in his habits of life, after a fashion which rather teased his little wife, for Pearl liked men to be dashing. But he was an invalid no longer. His invalidish ways had been totally dropped in the south of France, and love of study was resuming its old sway over him.

The confidential talks with her sister, to which Beryl had looked forward, did not come about quickly. Pearl was pleased to be with Beryl again, but she seemed rather to shrink from "tête-à-tête" interviews. Diana's conduct was evidently a distress to her, yet she said little in reference to it. Her talk was chiefly about her new dresses and trinkets.

This did not last. Three weeks passed, during which Pearl settled into her new home, and Beryl remained at Miss Carmichael's. No news had been received from Mrs. Fenwick, beyond one brief note to Millicent, in which she carelessly or wilfully omitted to give her address. Marion Crosbie, on hearing what had passed, travelled post-haste to Hurst, only to find herself powerless to take any further steps. She, like Beryl, was rendered homeless by Diana's action. She took up her abode under Mr. Crosbie's roof, and there waited, with the best patience she could muster. Millicent was mistress of the house still, and Pearl lived in it as a petted child. Beryl sometimes wondered how Pearl liked the position.

Pearl's reserve broke down suddenly one day. Beryl had found her for once alone, and Pearl took Beryl to her own room, walking listlessly, as if she had not much spirit or interest in life. She wanted to show her sister a new brooch, she said, which Escott had given her—"such a dear little brooch, just suited to her complexion."

Beryl took the brooch into her hand, looked at it absently, then lifted her eyes to Pearl's pretty face, and said quietly, without having had the least previous intention of so doing:—

"Pearl, are you happy?"

Pearl gave a startled glance, and the pink tinting of her cheeks grew crimson. She hesitated a moment, and then, in a quick low voice said, "No."

Beryl's arm stole round her waist affectionately. "Why not, Pearlie?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose—I suppose it isn't in me," said Pearl, with slight sobs catching her breath. "I haven't been happy a long long while. I've always been wanting—something—and it never comes—and it never will now. O Beryl, I wish I were you. Yes, I do," repeated Pearl, as Beryl drew her in front of the looking-glass, where two faces were reflected side by side: one a lovely little picture as to outline and soft hues; the other solidly sensible and plain. "Yes, I do. Being pretty doesn't make one happy,—and you are happy and I am not."

"But, Pearl, darling, what is it that you want and can never have?" asked Beryl, as the sweet face dropped tearfully on her shoulder; and her heart beat fast with the joy of having her own Pearl clinging to her once more.

"I don't know,—oh, I don't know," said Pearl sorrowfully. "Everybody is so kind,—but it doesn't seem enough, somehow. I sometimes think I shouldn't be much missed if I were to die. You would be sorry, I know; but Escott has mother, and she does so much for him. Of course she would let me do things, if I asked her; but they seem to come naturally to her, and I haven't got into the way of being useful. I never was useful, like you. Aunt Marian thinks I waste my time, and Escott wants me to be different—I can see he does. He said once lately that he used to think I cared more about—about religion. I don't seem to have cared much about that or anything, for a long while—ever since Ivor died."

Pearl sobbed again. "I told Escott, when he wanted me to marry him, that he and Ivor had always been such good dear brothers to me, and that I had liked Ivor best,—and he said he knew it, and he only wanted me to love him for Ivor's sake. It was only a silly girlish feeling, Beryl, and poor Ivor didn't know it; but somehow nobody ever satisfied me like him. But of course that is all over now, and Escott is the best and dearest of husbands. Only I am not fit to be his wife. He and mother are so very very good, and I am not good at all. I do feel as if I wanted—something!" concluded Pearl.

"I think you do," said Beryl. "I think you have a longing in your heart for JESUS, Pearlie." She spoke the holy word in a low and reverent tone. "Nobody else can make one satisfied."

"I suppose it is that, perhaps," said Pearl more quietly. "That was what made poor Ivor happy at the last."

"I never heard much about Ivor's death. Was he happy?"

"O yes. Mother can't speak about him often, even now. He didn't say much, for he couldn't. But he did not seem the least afraid, and he was so quiet and patient. And just at last, when they thought him almost gone, he opened his eyes and whispered—'The blood of Jesus cleanseth!' Mother and Escott are always so glad of that."

Pearl was crying, and Beryl caressed her anew.

"I think it is ever since then that I have not been happy," said Pearl. "Partly, Ivor being gone—and partly thinking about its being so sudden. I should have been so frightened, if it had been me."

"Only you know there is the Blood that cleanses," said Beryl softly.

Pearl looked perplexed and pitiful. "Yes, of course I know the text," she said. "But it doesn't seem to comfort me like other people. I suppose I don't believe properly. It all seems like a great blank."

Beryl was not quick at speech, and she had to consider.

"One may know the text, and yet not know the 'thing,'" she said at length. "It wouldn't be enough to have learnt the text, Pearlie, and yet not to have had the real Blood-washing. Don't you think it is that you want?"

"I don't know; it all seems a blank," repeated Pearl.

"I suppose, when the blind man was standing and begging, it all seemed a blank to him," said Beryl. "And yet Christ was there—quite close to him; and when he heard Christ's voice, and when he did as he was told, he was cured."

Pearl's eyes grew wistful. "I should like Him to be near to me," she said.

"Then I am sure He is," said Beryl. "Near—and just waiting till you speak to Him."

"I can't—'speak,'" said Pearl almost tremblingly. "What do you mean, Beryl? I do say my prayers, of course—every morning and evening."

"Yes, but just saying prayers isn't enough," said Beryl. "It must be real asking, Pearlie—telling Him what you want."

Pearl made no answer, but moved away, and began putting her new brooch into its little box. Then she said, "Shall we go downstairs now?"

"If you like," Beryl answered.

Pearl lingered still. "I can't think what makes you so different," she said.

Beryl could not suppress a smile of pleasure, but she only said, "Can't you?"

"No; you used to be so 'gruff,'" said Pearl. "I was half frightened of you, I think. I like you to talk to me now. You don't mean to leave Hurst, do you?"

"I can't tell yet," said Beryl quietly. "I must find something to do. I asked Miss Carmichael to look-out for me, and she promised to consider what would be best. I am very very happy with her, but of course I must earn my own living."

"I think it is quite 'horrid' of Aunt Di to turn you off like this," said Pearl indignantly.

"I think Aunt Di is very unhappy, Pearl. You see, she is so used to having her own way that she can't stand contradiction. I pity her, and so must you. She hasn't many real friends, and I am sure she must feel lonely. She has disliked so much being alone, the last few months, and now she has nobody except Pearson."

"I am very glad you did not go with her," responded Pearl. "I want you to talk to me again, as you have done to-day. And, Beryl, I do really mean to try."

With which shy and vague utterance, Pearl turned quickly to go downstairs.

But Beryl did talk to her again, after the same simple and earnest fashion, not once or twice only, and not without avail. After years of heart-separation from her sister, she had now the great joy of being allowed to help in the guidance of Pearl's faltering steps towards and along the pathway of life.

Nobody else knew much about the matter. Only after awhile, both Millicent and Escott saw something of a change in Pearl, saw her to be fighting against inertia, listlessness, and temper, and found her no longer coldly irresponsive on matters which touched them most deeply.

Pearl was able at length to say one day to her husband, "Escott, I think I am learning to live to God now, and I want to have more to do for Him. Beryl has been helping me, and I should like you to help me too."

But other events happened meantime.