Chapter XXIII

JEAN GRAHAM'S illness verified Dr. Crawford's prediction, and proved sufficiently serious. It was found necessary to secure the services of Helen Fraser, who gladly came to Steynes-Cote to help in nursing her old fellow-servant.

It was only occasionally that poor Jean's mind wandered, and she alluded to the trouble which had laid her on a sick-bed. Her old habitual reticence with regard to her one secret seemed to exercise an instinctive influence over her during her hours of unconsciousness, and the sound of an unfamiliar voice would always put a stop to her wandering talk.

This was Mrs. Crawford's first experience of sickness, and, to the delight and surprise of her husband, she manifested many excellent qualifications for a nurse's work, of which he had never before suspected the existence. He told her so, and very sweet were such words of praise in the ears of the girl-wife.

"I did not know of them myself, Andrew," she said. "I am afraid, if any dormant powers of mine have been roused to action, necessity and Grace Steyne must have all the credit."

"You do yourself less than justice, Ida," replied the doctor; "you have only just begun to understand the need for exertion on your part, and you have striven to supply it heartily and cheerfully. Grace has undoubtedly taught you a great deal, but your own instinctive tenderness and consideration for the sorrows of another have done more still towards developing the qualities I rejoice to see whenever we meet by poor Jean's bed."

It was when the invalid was showing signs of recovery that Dr. Crawford praised his wife's nursing. Long before that Mrs. Prattely had returned to Shelverton, and, having been informed of the state of affairs at Steynes-Cote, had besought her husband's permission to offer her neighbourly help.

"Go and welcome, my dear," said Mr. Prattely. "Do not imagine that I shall object to your offering assistance where it is wanted. What I objected to was your tendering help which was not needed, and encouraging a young wife in habits of uselessness, inaction, and dependence upon others."

"Then you will not mind, dear James, if I bring one or two of the children back with me, in order to relieve Mrs. Crawford."

"Bring three if you choose, Maria; but remember, I draw a line at the baby," replied Mr. Prattely.

"As if I could think of such a youthful visitor! Thank you, dear James; if I can, I shall bring back Doris and the elder boy. I am afraid things will be rather at sixes and sevens at Steynes-Cote. It makes a terrible difference when such a useful creature as Jean Graham is not only compelled to give up work, but requires to be nursed and waited on. Fraser says that his wife is helping, and that Bennett, the head nurse, was sent off at an hour's notice."

"And a good riddance too," said Mr. Prattely, with considerable energy. "That woman's face ought to have been like a danger-signal to any mother who thought of engaging her. I am truly glad that the responsibility of introducing Bennett did not rest upon you."

Mrs. Prattely assented, and then went off with willing feet on her neighbourly errand. After a couple of hours' absence, she returned alone, a little to her own disappointment, and, though he did not own it, her husband's also. She was, however, brimming over with satisfaction about something, and was not long in telling Mr. Prattely what had given her so much pleasure.

"The children are coming to see us to-morrow, James," she said, "though only for the day. There is really no need to remove them, for Jean Graham's illness is not of an infectious kind, and, though serious, the danger is now over. It seems the poor thing had been over-wrought, owing to some family trouble whilst in Scotland."

Mr. Prattely was glad to hear that Jean was improving, but he had no time to say more than this, for his wife continued, "And, James, I do believe that Jean's illness and the recent upset about the nurse will be productive of real good at Steynes-Cote. I was perfectly amazed to see how Mrs. Crawford, poor thing! has roused herself to meet this domestic emergency. She told me about everything in such a sweet, frank way, reminding me of the time when Doris was born, and I went to stay with her during the doctor's absence. She said I must have found out long ago that when she married, she was not in the least fit for the solemn responsibilities pertaining to a wife and mother, and that, indeed, she had only just been awakened to them. She blamed herself for having left her little ones in such unsafe hands, all for want of proper inquiry and care on her own part, and said that she could not be thankful enough that they had escaped without serious harm.

"I began to sympathize with Mrs. Crawford about Jean's illness, and she actually said that all the trouble which had come of late, the sickness amongst the rest, was a perfect godsend to herself, though she was grieved for the sufferings of her faithful servant. And she wound up in this way,—

"'You will remember, dear Mrs. Prattely, how you pitied me in those early days, as if I ought to be petted and to live an idle, self-indulgent life, all because my father had been a man of title. And you told me, too, how you had called me 'poor thing' for being the wife of a country doctor. I was a poor thing indeed, to live such a butterfly life, instead of striving to be a helpmeet to the good man who had chosen me, and of whose love my great ambition now is that I may in time be worthy.'"

"Bravo, Mrs. Crawford!" interposed Mr. Prattely, with enthusiasm. "You must never call her 'poor thing' after this, Maria."

"Indeed, my dear James, I wish I had never done it. My pitying Mrs. Crawford, instead of congratulating her on the many blessings by which she was surrounded from the first, was a great mistake. You said so, James, and you were right. I am an old wife, but old wives will always find they have something to learn as well as young ones, and I am not ashamed to take a lesson from my husband's lips."

"My dear Maria, only my lips can pay you for such an acknowledgment and the implied compliment." And Mr. Prattely gave his kind-hearted wife more than one lover-like kiss.

"I have a little more to tell you, James," said she, after this pleasant interlude. "You will remember that Mrs. Crawford always comforted herself, when she had indulged in any little tasteful extravagance, by thinking that the interest of her five thousand pounds would meet all such expenses. It turns out now that Dr. Crawford has never had a penny except one year's interest, though the principal ought to have been paid on his wedding day. Instead of the money, Lord Carnelly gave him, almost under pressure, a second mortgage on one of his estates, but the interest has never been paid. And that dear good doctor kept this fact from his wife, in order that she might not be troubled by her brother's conduct."

"He made a great mistake, Maria. There should be no half-confidences between husband and wife," said Mr. Prattely in a decided tone.

"'We' feel that, and so do the doctor and Ida now. He treated her too much as his girl-wife, instead of the partner alike of his joys and sorrows. And so you see, wise man as Dr. Crawford is, he must share with his wife the responsibility of the past. Mrs. Crawford would have been preserved from yielding to all those little extravagances, if she had known that they were paid for by the fruits of the doctor's hard work. And she never would have kept so large an establishment, if she had supposed that to make ends meet the doctor was doing with an assistant less, and nearly working himself to death."

Mrs. Prattely paused for breath, and her husband took the opportunity to express the pleasure with which he heard her tidings.

"But I have not finished, James," she added. "I knew you would be as delighted as myself to hear of this change of mind in my favourite, Ida. There is, however, another individual who has had a large share in bringing it about, and whom do you think it is?"

Mr. Prattely was not allowed a very long time to fail in guessing, as fail he did, for his wife triumphantly interposed the answer.

"Grace Steyne. You remember her, James? She is the eldest daughter of the rector of Hillstead Magna, who was Mrs. Fereday's cousin, and used often to visit at Steynes-Cote before her death. She has not stayed with the Crawfords until now, for there is an immense family and an invalid mother at the rectory—just the things to give a girl most valuable domestic experiences."

"If they do not make her old before her time," said Mr. Prattely. "Such experiences might be averaged with advantage both to the 'do-nothings' and the over-burdened."

"True, dear James; and though the arranging of such matters is in higher hands than ours, much might be done by ourselves if we were bent on fulfilling the law of Christ by bearing one another's burdens. Happily for Grace Steyne, she is a fine bright girl, and has done the work of a woman without losing her youth. I hope you will see her to-morrow. I told her you would be pleased to renew the old acquaintance, though your memory will recall only the child and schoolgirl who used to be with Mrs. Fereday."

Mrs. Prattely paused, then exclaimed,—

"I must not forget to tell you of another visitor at Steynes-Cote, a Mr. Carnelly, who is second or third cousin to Mrs. Crawford. She told me how they had met—through Grace Steyne, it seems, though strangers before."

"Through Grace Steyne?" said Mr. Prattely, with considerable emphasis, and with a look of inquiry at his wife.

"You need not ask questions with your eyebrows, my dear James," replied Mrs. Prattely. "I meant no more than I said, so please do not weave a story out of my words. Grace Steyne met this Mr. Carnelly at Hillstead, where he was visiting some mutual friends. The young man returned to the place after she came to Steynes-Cote, and having heard that he had a distant cousin in Mrs. Crawford, expressed a wish to make her acquaintance. There you have the whole story."

"Except that, having fished for an invitation, he got it, and is Dr. Crawford's guest at this present time."

"Only for the day; but he will probably come again, as they seem to like him very much," said Mrs. Prattely.

"What is he? Did Mrs. Crawford tell you if he followed any profession?"

"I fancy he is nothing at all. Only he is very rich, and a bachelor."

"Not a very flattering summary. Of all hard work, doing nothing is the hardest; and of all lots, to be nothing, must be the most terrible," said the gentleman, whose own lot had been cast in what most would consider a pleasant place. Probably experience enabled him to speak with authority on this subject.

If Mr. Prattely could have been the proverbial little bird, and heard a conversation which took place between Mr. Carnelly and Grace Steyne at the very time when his wife and Ida were exchanging confidences, he would have felt that the young lady agreed with him entirely.

Mrs. Crawford was about to accompany Mr. Carnelly through the grounds—Grace being also of the party—when Mrs. Prattely's arrival recalled her to the house.

So to Grace was deputed the office of guide. And perhaps neither of the remaining two felt the interruption a misfortune, much as the girl-guest liked her hostess.

As a matter of course, Mr. Carnelly was charmed with the place, and duly admired its beauties. Then he had to tell Grace all the Hillstead news, and especially all that related to the rectory and its inmates.

"You are very much missed there," he said. "What will be the ultimate result to Watty's garments if you stay away too long cannot be guessed."

"Was he so very ragged when you saw him last? Or are you merely trying to harrow my feelings by describing a state of things which exists only in your own imagination?"

"It is a positive fact, Miss Steyne, that no later ago than yesterday afternoon I witnessed Watty's arrival at the rectory gate after a prolonged absence. I am afraid he had forgotten the dinner-hour, for the young people had been granted a whole holiday for nutting purposes. A respectable widow, who I fancy superintends the wardrobe department at present, was awaiting Watty's coming with anxious looks."

"And, pray, in what guise did Watty present himself?" asked Grace, with pretended concern.

"Minus his jacket, though what remained of it hung on his arm. The absence of a sleeve sufficiently accounts for its not being on both arms. I trust you will be content with a general description of his other garments. Watty had begun to fall from a tree during the aforesaid nutting excursion, but happily he was caught, or I should say his clothes were, on a lower bough. He suffered no personal inconvenience beyond a temporary suspension of his—occupation, I was going to say. But I remember that, with commendable presence of mind, he took advantage of his position to gather and drop into the eager hands of his friends below several clusters of nuts hitherto out of reach. I saw the widow turn Watty round and round, with the remark that leather was the only material fit for some people's wear."

This word-picture was too lifelike to be an imaginary one, and made Grace laugh heartily.

Then Mr. Carnelly, having exhausted all other topics likely to interest Grace, ventured to express the regret he felt on finding her absent from home when he arrived at Hillstead.

"I was surprised when I heard that you were coming into our neighbourhood again," said Grace.

"That says little for Hillstead," replied Mr. Carnelly. "Did you think that I had enjoyed my summer visit so little that I should not wish to see it again? Many people there were very kind and hospitable to me. I do not easily forget those, for instance, who give me porridge in a soup plate."

"But it is so short a time since you left Hillstead, Mr. Carnelly; and is it not rather too soon to come again for—say—more porridge?" added Grace mischievously.

"Miss Steyne, I did not think you would be so unkind. You have wounded my self-love by telling me how short the interval has seemed to you since I bade you good-bye at the rectory. To me it has seemed very long."

"I suppose time passes quickly with me because I am always busy," replied Grace.

"Another home-thrust for me," said Mr. Carnelly; and it was difficult to tell from his tone whether he was in jest or earnest. "Do you not see, Miss Steyne, that an allusion to your life of active usefulness, and to the work which gives an extra pair of wings to Father Time, is a tacit reproof to a mere idler? It tells me plainly enough, though without words, that if I were equally well employed, my time would not hang heavily on my hands."

"Believe me, Mr. Carnelly," said Grace earnestly, "I never intended my words to convey such an impression."

"I must believe you; but confess—do you not think my mode of life a very reprehensible one?"

"I am not your judge, Mr. Carnelly," replied Grace, with quiet dignity. "If you ask me whether I think a life spent without any definite aim or employment the kind I should choose to lead, I should say 'No.'"

"I believe all good people unite in blaming persons who, having no need to work in order to gain money, and no ambition to become public characters, choose to lead an idle, dilettante life like mine. I go about, admiring all that is beautiful wherever I see it, and I trust, not forgetting Him to whose wisdom and goodness I owe the pleasure thus derived. I prefer the society of the good and noble amongst mankind, and I honour where I cannot hope to imitate their works and virtues. Does such a life deserve unlimited censure? Yet as a rule it gets it. But let a man make a colossal fortune by a new kind of soap, or, say, a fresh method of crystallizing ginger, and the man who has thus served himself is lauded to the skies."

"If the soap diminishes labour and promotes cleanliness, and the ginger is wholesome as well as pleasant to the palate, the inventor has conferred a benefit on mankind. He deserves to be praised, though in serving others he has made a fortune for himself," replied Grace stoutly.

"I cannot deny this; but is the other life so blamable?" persisted Mr. Carnelly.

"I am not so wedded to my busy life as to under-value rest. Indeed, I should sometimes like less work and more play," replied Grace in a half-musing fashion. "But I would say, 'Better a life with too much work than one of the kind you describe.' Mind, I blame no one for thinking differently—I speak for myself; though perhaps, if I could get rid of all sense of responsibility with regard to the use of time and such talents as God has given, I should be as comfortably idle as any person."

"Thank you, Miss Steyne," began Mr. Carnelly.

But the appearance of Mrs. Crawford prevented his saying more on this subject, and the conversation was turned into another channel.