Chapter XIV: "the Right Man"

"Maid choosing man, remember this:
You take his nature with his name;
Ask, too, what his religion is,
For you will soon be of the same."
COVENTRY PATMORE.

IT was a bright frosty morning in December. Heather and Bluebell had just returned from a walk, and were standing over the study fire chatting to Mrs. Fisher, who, with her inevitable knitting, was seated in her easy chair.

Bluebell was just giving a laughable account of the village shop being thrown into the utmost confusion by her request for a reel of red silk, when the door opened, and Abigail said in tones of severity—

"A gentleman has called, and is in the drawing-room. Here is his card."

Heather took it, and she exclaimed in tones of delight, "It is Cyril! Ask him to come in here, Abigail; it is so much more cosy."

Abigail's face was a study, but she withdrew in silence.

And a moment after, Cyril was ushered in.

"Aren't you surprised to see me?" he said, after the first greetings had been exchanged. "The fact is, I remembered your station, and as I have to go twenty miles beyond it on business, I thought I would have a break, and come and see how you were getting on. Why, Minnehaha, you look perfectly blooming, and not a bit conscience-stricken for your—ahem—shall I say discreet retreat!"

"The past is past, if you please," said Bluebell, trying to copy Heather's dignified air, but failing to impress her audience. "We only live in the present. That was what I was taught in good society."

Cyril looked at her quizzically, then turned to Heather.

"Well, Regina, don't you think it was time for her to return to you? How have you been occupying your time in this secluded spot? I must tell you, I have walked from the station. It's a good three miles, I suppose, but I wanted to stretch my legs. And on the way, I overtook your country postman. We began to compare notes upon our boots, and agreed that leather and humanity were sadly deteriorating. When he heard whither I was bound, he became most interested, asked me some searching questions, and took stock of me from head to foot. Then he began to give me his views upon 'our young leddies.' I can tell you, I've heard more about your ways and doings from his lips than I should ever have learnt from your own!"

"Watty doesn't think much of us," said Heather, laughing. "In fact, he has a very poor idea of the world in general."

"So I gathered; but he holds one person in great esteem!"

"Himself? Yes, one soon discovers that."

Cyril stayed to lunch, and it was a cheery, pleasant meal, in spite of Abigail's increased severity of face and tone as she moved in and out.

Afterwards, the girls took him round the garden, which, in spite of its wintry appearance, charmed the critical visitor.

"It has an old-world atmosphere, and so has your house. I understand you both better, now I have seen the home in which you have been brought up."

"I always thought our home had none of the picturesque beauty of most old-fashioned places," said Bluebell, slowly. "But now I have been away from it, in spite of much that is hideous, I like it better than I did."

"You think you could be reconciled to a country life?" said Cyril, with a quick glance at her.

"No," said Bluebell, laughing and tossing her head; "I can't vegetate. It wants great minds or little minds to live contented in the country, and I have just a medium commonplace one, which must be taken out of itself, and amused and interested by external circumstances. There! I am talking like an old wiseacre! Come down to our farm. It will be a nice walk before tea."

"I must write letters," said Heather, hesitatingly; "I'm afraid I shall not have time to do both."

"We shall be back for a cup of tea," said Bluebell.

And she walked off with Cyril, talking and laughing with him in the freest and most careless way.

For a minute, Heather stood at the garden gate and watched them. Then she resolutely hastened to the house, and tackled some business letters with a divided mind.

Mrs. Fisher had retired to her room for her usual afternoon nap. An hour passed, and Heather rose from her writing-table, her business done. She took a seat by the study window, which overlooked the meadows. Something in Bluebell's manner, since Cyril had arrived, gave her uneasiness. Was it only from seeing an old friend again that gave her eyes such brightness, and brought such soft flushes to her checks? She remembered how Cyril and she had always chaffed and laughed with one another; how more than usually reckless and audacious Bluebell had always been in his company; and she laughed at herself for imagining anything different now.

Presently, from the window she saw two figures crossing the meadows, and she watched them as they came nearer.

There was a little droop and softness in the poise of Bluebell's figure that again awoke misgiving in Heather's heart. She saw her stop and pick something from a hedge, she saw Cyril spring eagerly to her assistance, two heads very close together, and a pause in the gathering. Then she turned away, ashamed of overlooking them, and wondering if this was for her sister's good.

Half an hour later, and she heard voices in the hall. Still, she did not go to meet them. And when the door opened and Bluebell came in search of her, she did not move from her seat.

Was this the right man, after all?

A moment later, and she was told. With arms clinging round her neck, her soft cheeks pressed against hers, Bluebell told her story. And it was enough to look at her softened, radiant face to know that she was happy.

"He came on purpose, Heather. I never thought he cared, and he never thought I did. And when Sir Herbert was pestering me, he kept back. And if I had married him, I should never have known what I had missed! Aren't men stupid! I used to think you were fond of him, and so I wouldn't let myself think of him. But it is all right now, and oh, isn't it delicious to have a right to let your feelings go, instead of bottling them all up, and thinking them wicked!"

Bluebell rattled this off incoherently, then subsided into tears.

"I want to be good, Heather. He has been talking quite differently from what he did. He says he never really scoffed at real religion, only at shams, and he has been with some friend who has made him see things quite differently. I told him I was a butterfly, but he seems to think I shall steady down. Do you think I shall? Oh! Here is Abigail—what a nuisance! Tea is in, I suppose."

Bluebell dashed away to her room, and Heather went into the drawing-room, feeling almost bewildered at this sudden confirmation of her fears.

She found Cyril alone, standing on the hearthrug, his back to the fire.

He looked at her with a queer smile. "Well, Regina?"

"I can't congratulate either of you yet," said Heather, trying to speak calmly. "It has been such a surprise to me that I cannot get accustomed to the thought of it. It never entered my head till I saw you together to-day."

"Are you averse to me as a brother-in-law?"

There was a silence, then Heather spoke with kindling eyes—

"I would rather have you as a brother-in-law—than—than many others in town. But, Cyril, frankly I tell you, I see things differently now from what I did. And I long for Bluebell to have some one to help her on the upward path. Not to drag her down to a dead level of stagnation, and—and mere pleasure-seeking!"

"Is that my life?"

"It was ours in London."

Cyril looked at her with his keen eyes, in silence, for a minute.

"The old influences have been at work with you, then, and have prejudiced you against society life?"

"No; I think it is quite a new influence that has crept into my life," said Heather, smiling—"an influence that has brought me real happiness at last."

There was another pause, then Cyril said—

"You know that I never consider myself a society man, as you term it. I have too much to do when in town, and Minnehaha is quite willing to spend most of the year in the country. We shall not be butterflies of fashion."

Heather was silent, then he said in a lighter tone, "Your venture back here has been a success, then? You do not regret it? Won't you be pining for more life soon?"

"I have got as much as I can hold here," said Heather, turning upon him such a radiant look of happiness that Cyril wondered, and said no more.

He had to leave very soon, but promised to come down again before long. His last words to Heather were—

"I will try and be to Minnehaha what you desire. I, too, like yourself, have had a new influence creeping into my life. It has made a great difference to me."

Bluebell insisted upon Heather accompanying her to the station to see Cyril off. As the two girls were walking back, they met Watty, who was generally to be found loitering along the high-road. His wife was a good laundress, and was always well supplied with work, so he did not see any necessity for doing anything besides his letter-carrying.

"Ah," he said, with a knowing look, as the girls stopped to speak to him, "and which is it of you he be after?"

"Which do you think?" asked Bluebell, with twinkling eyes.

Watty rubbed his left ear reflectively.

"I said to him, as we be a-joggin' along this mornin',—

"'And what be your business in these parts? 'Tis to be hoped ye're an honest man if ye be after the young leddies, for them Londoners are mostly thieves and vagabonds, and the gentry a wild lot, I've heerd tell!'

"And he were bound to agree, for he wished me to think well of 'un. I sez to him,—

"'If 'tis Miss Bluebell ye've come after, ye can have 'en, and welcome, I sez, but she'll lead a sober man a dance, and want tight reins and a strong hand wi' 'er. But if 'tis Miss Heather,' I sez, 'well, there be several parties in this 'ere village that will have a word to say on that p'int. And ye won't earn their goodwill by carryin' of her off; not but what she be rather a haughty-headed young wiman with a will o' her own, and needs a deal o' managin', but her heart and purse goes well together, and she have a care for the poor and destitoot.'"

"And what did he say?" asked Bluebell, quite unabashed by the old man's speech.

"Well, he appeared to be a-considerin', and I gave 'un a bit more profitable talk, for which he thanked me, and us went our ways. I sez,—

"'I wish you well, sir, but b'lieve me, a maid is a risky treasure, and 'tis them that is single that is blest!'"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Watty," said Heather, severely, "with such a good wife at home, to speak so! Where would you be without her?"

Watty chuckled dryly.

"Ah, well. Her does her best. And I will allow she might be worse, but I have 'er well in hand. Which be it, young leddies, which be it?"

"You had the honour, Watty," said Bluebell, drawing herself up with great assumption of dignity, "to speak to my affianced husband this morning. Miss Heather is still going to remain amongst you to manage you all. I don't wish her joy of it; good afternoon."

They passed rapidly on, and Watty gazed after them for a moment in silence.

"Well, my reckonin' were not far out! So there 'll be weddin'-bells soon, and a good hearty supper after, if Miss Heather does her part well. I must just step into the office and tell Mrs. Carpenter. She allays thinks she's first hand for news, but this 'll take the feather out o' her cap, I reckon!"

Abigail received the news in grim silence.

Bluebell was content to have her silent, and she did not ask her for congratulations.

But when Heather happened to go into the kitchen late in the evening, Abigail came forward.

"Is this match to your likin', Miss Heather?" she asked sternly.

"My opinion has not been asked, Abigail," Heather answered gently. "Bluebell must please herself. She will not stand dictation from me. Mr. Carter is an upright, honourable gentleman; we have known him intimately for a long time, and he will make a good husband."

"And is this all you can say? Have you no thought for their immortal souls? Is he a servant of the Lord, Miss Heather? One that my late departed mistress would have approved of? Will he be for following righteousness, or the wicked ways of the world? Is Miss Bluebell to be allowed to yoke herself to an unbeliever, I ask you?"

Heather looked a little troubled.

"I know all you feel, Abigail, and wish I could reassure you. You must remember, Bluebell does not see things in the light that we do. But from what I know of Mr. Carter, I feel sure he will lead her right, and not wrong. This is in confidence to you. Some time ago, Mrs. Carter wrote to me saying that Mr. Carter was in Scotland with a friend who was very religious. I am sure he must have influenced him, for Mr. Carter seems graver, and talks differently about serious things now. In fact, he told me as much when I spoke to him, and I am hoping very much that he will lead Bluebell to think differently too. We must pray for them both."

She left the kitchen, and Abigail said no more. Just before going to bed, Heather put her arm round her twin sister affectionately.

"And are you perfectly happy now, Bluebell?"

"Perfectly!" said Bluebell, with emphasis. "Oh," she added impetuously, "I can't tell what a nightmare Sir Herbert was to me! The feeling that he could not and would not see a joke, the heavy stolid conversation he tried to make, and the awful oppression I always felt in his company! Now, with Cyril, it is all sunshine; I always felt I could go to the wilds of Africa and be happy with him. You need have no fears about us, Heather. We shall be a well-matched couple, without being a too sentimental one!"

"And what do you intend your married life to be?"

"To be? I don't quite understand you. We shall be up in town a good part of the year, so I shall see plenty of society, and the rest of the year, we shall be in the country, and I shall have nice people staying with us. And if I feel very good, I shall visit our tenants and look after their welfare."

"It sounds delightful," said Heather, earnestly. "But, Bluebell dear, you can never be really happy living only for your own pleasure and amusement. Don't start a married life without God. You will only drift farther away. I don't say much to you, but I do long that you should know what real religion is!"

"I don't want Abigail's religion!" said Bluebell, flippantly.

"No one wants you to have her religion. Your nature is quite a different one from hers. I don't want you to have any one's religion but Christ's."

Bluebell sighed.

"Well, I will some day," she said, "when I get tired of life. But I want to enjoy it at present."

"You will never, never enjoy it until you are a true Christian," said Heather, with kindling eyes. "I couldn't have believed the difference it makes in one's heart. Do I seem unhappy, Bluebell?"

"No, I can't say you do; I've never seen you so bright. But don't worry me any more. I told you my soul was asleep, and I want it to stay asleep for a little. I hate feeling uncomfortable. I mean to be really good later on, but not just now."

She changed the subject as she always did, and Heather only prayed the more.