CHAPTER XVIII.
YES OR NO
“Everything seems to have gone wrong with me here!” sighed Emmie, as she sat alone by the drawing-room window, watching the descent of large flakes of snow, which melted as they came in contact with earth. “I have been at Myst Court for a month, and what have I to look back upon since I came here but feeble attempts to do what is right, melting into failure, even like those flakes? Yes, my uncle’s warning was not unneeded by me. Fear, the child of Mistrust, is indeed the haunting spirit that mars my peace, cripples my usefulness, and takes from me the power of glorifying God. I am afraid to rule my own household; I shrink from meeting an angry look; I wink at what I know to be wrong, – because I am too timid to enforce what I know to be right. I am afraid to enter the dwellings of the poor, though conscience pricks me whenever I drive past those wretched hovels which it is my duty to enter as a messenger of mercy and comfort. The good which I might have done, I do not; and oh! is it not written, To him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, it is sin? I have given up my own appointed work to a substitute in whom I have no trust, all through fear – my mistrustful fear! Timidity haunts me in my house – in my family. I cannot conquer my foolish repugnance even to drawing back that curtain which divides the right wing of Myst Court from the more inhabited part of the dwelling, though my brother every night passes beyond that curtain to sleep without fear or harm in that room which I dreaded to enter. Reason tells me that my misgivings are folly, but superstitious fear is too strong for reason. And, though it appear in a different form, is it not the same mistrust that makes me so fearful to offend my brothers by speaking, in tender love, truths which they are unwilling to hear? Vibert, my own dear Vibert, whom I remember as the bright beautiful boy who was my mother’s darling, the very sunshine of our home, Vibert has entered, I fear, on a course that imperils his peace here and his happiness hereafter. I might exert an elder sister’s influence over his frank and kindly nature; but I dread to rouse his anger, and risk the loss of his affection. And, alas! I am conscious that the weakness of character at which Vibert so often has laughed, has lessened my influence with him for good. Vibert loves – but he does not look up to his sister; on one point, at least, I am in his eyes but as a silly, unreasoning child!”
Emmie possessed, as has been observed, a sensitive conscience, and was no stranger to the duty of self-examination: she had made the first step in spiritual warfare, she had seen and recognized her besetting foe. But to see and to recognize an enemy is not the same thing as to fight him. A deeply spiritual writer has given directions to the Christian soldier in face of his besetting sin, directions so practical that I shall quote them instead of giving words of my own. The writer supposes the presence of the enemy to have been found out by honest searching of the heart: —
“When the discovery is made, the path of the spiritual combatant becomes clear, however arduous. Your fighting is to be no longer a flourishing of the arms in the air; it is to assume a definite form, it is to be a combat with the bosom sin. Appropriate mortifications must be adopted, such as common sense will suggest, varying with the nature of the sin, and combined always with a heartfelt acknowledgment of our utter weakness, and with a silent but fervent prayer for the grace of Almighty God… What is the warfare of many earnest and well-intentioned Christians but the sending of shafts at a venture? They have a certain notion that they must resist the evil within and without them; but then this evil presents itself in so many forms that they are bewildered and confused, and know not where to begin… The first work of the politic spiritual warrior will be to discover his besetting sin, and having discovered it, to concentrate all his disposable force before this fortress.”
Let me illustrate the author’s meaning by referring to the characters in my story, whose counterparts may be found amongst my various readers. Bruce, being once aware that his bosom sin was pride, should have taken every opportunity of mortifying that pride, not only by owning his sins before God, but by frankly acknowledging his own mistakes and errors in the presence of men. Vibert, if not by literal fasting, yet by the practice of self-denial in every sensual indulgence, should have sought to give the spirit the victory over the flesh. Emmie, wrestling down her mistrust by prayer, should have forced her unwilling spirit to “nobly dare the thing which nature shrinks from.”
But the maiden chose a middle course. She would not attack the fortress, but go round it; she would try to do her duty, but rather by evading than by conquering the enemy who opposed her. Emmie felt like one who has made a pleasant discovery when a means of reaching her father’s tenants, without trying her own courage, suggested itself to her mind.
“Yes, that will do – that will do!” exclaimed the maiden, as with a brightening countenance she rose from her seat, and then crossed the room with light step to ring the small bell by which she was accustomed to summon her maid. “Christmas-time is at hand, – that blessed time when all who have the power should seek to make those around them happy. My father and Bruce will, I am sure, approve of my little plan.”
Emmie remained standing until Susan entered the room. Smilingly the young lady confided her intentions to one who would be her ready assistant in carrying them out. “Susan,” she said, “I mean to give a feast at Christmas to the younger children of my father’s tenants. We will prepare a German tree, to be loaded with little gifts, most of them made up by your hands and mine.”
“I should be delighted to help, miss,” said Susan.
“And mine should not merely be a treat for a day,” continued Emmie; “I think of something beyond the mere amusement of the children whom I invite. Say that fifty little ones come; I would procure fifty New Testaments, that each child might carry back one to his home, wrapped up in one of these illustrated fly-leaves with which my brother has already provided me.”
Those leaves gave Emmie a feeling of shame whenever her glance chanced to fall on the almost undiminished packet.
“I wish that more of the children knew how to read,” observed Susan in a doubtful tone.
“If they cannot read, surely most of their parents can,” said Emmie, her wish being father to her thought. “If such good seed be sown broadcast, certainly some benefit must result. Yes,” she continued cheerfully, “I will make friends with the little children, and through them assist the parents whose homes I cannot visit.”
Then came the question of ways and means. Miss Trevor was rather pleased than otherwise to find that her little project would involve some need of self-denial. She had five pounds remaining of her allowance, money which she had intended to spend in other ways, but which she would devote to the Christmas treat.
“I’ll not send this,” said Emmie, tearing up a note which she had written to a circulating library in London; “I will do without new books for a time. Then as for the warm dress which I meant to purchase, your clever fingers, Susan, will make my present blue cashmere serve me for another winter in a quiet place like this.”
The pleasure of seeing the eyes of fifty children sparkling with delight at the feast to which she would invite them, the joy of imparting so much innocent joy, would, as Emmie truly thought, out-weigh the small gratification of buying that with which she so easily could dispense.
“And now, Susan, bring down my basket of odds and ends, and – stay – you will find pieces of muslin and ribbon in my left-hand drawer. We must see what we can make use of in dressing dolls, making pincushions and needle-books, and devise something suitable as gifts for the little boys.”
Susan went, and soon returned with a basketful of such materials as woman’s taste and skill can transform into a thousand attractive forms.
The snow-flakes were falling faster and thicker; grassy lawn and gravel path were now covered with a sheet of spotless white, which hid every roughness and smoothed away every blemish. Emmie was no longer troubling herself with thoughts of her follies and failings. With the eagerness natural to youth, she was preparing for the pleasant task which she had set herself to perform, a task which would at the same time employ her fingers, amuse her mind, and quiet her conscience. See her on her knees on the hearth-rug beside the blazing fire, with her basket of odds and ends beside her, and a pile of half-worn-out clothes placed on a chair. Emmie is sorting and arranging, planning and preparing, cutting out work for herself and Susan that will keep them both happily and usefully engaged for weeks. It is wonderful how care is lightened, and what mental sunshine comes with occupations such as this. Emmie’s thoughts, instead of brooding over imaginary terrors, are full of ingenious devices for improving this and altering that, making old things look new, and astonishing simple rustics by elegant trifles such as they never before could have seen.
“Now take up these clothes and look to the patching,” said Emmie, dismissing her maid. – “I will send at once to London for the Testaments,” she added to herself after Susan had left the apartment. “My five pounds will cover that expense, as well as the cost of my simple feast, – tea and cake, oranges and buns; and then there must be a trifle for lights for my tree.”
Humming cheerfully to herself, Emmie rose from her kneeling position and went to her desk, which lay on the drawing-room table. She unlocked and opened it, and then took out a pocket-book within which was her five-pound note. Joe was to take the pony that day to be shod at S – , so Emmie drew out a form for a money-order for the Bible Society to be procured at the same time. Emmie, with the order and bank-note in her hand, was about to ring the bell for the footman, when Vibert entered the drawing-room. He looked at the hearth-rug, strewn with many-coloured scraps and cuttings from the overflowing basket which Emmie had been ransacking for materials for her charity work.
“You here still, Vibert!” exclaimed his sister, pausing with her hand on the old-fashioned bell-rope which hung by the fire-place. “I thought that you had been for the last hour poring over your books at S – . Were you afraid of the snow that you stopped at home this morning?”
“Afraid!” echoed Vibert. “No; I leave that word, like bodkins and hair-pins, for the use of the ladies. The truth is, that I wanted, before I set off for the town, to ask, – but what is that which you have in your hand?” asked the youth as his glance, and an eager glance it was, fell on his sister’s five-pound note.
“I am going to tell Joe to procure me a money-order,” said Emmie, making a movement to ring the bell; but a quick sign from Vibert prevented her from drawing down the heavy bell-rope.
“Stop, Emmie!” cried her brother; “you would do me such a kindness if you were to lend me that five-pound note.”
Emmie, for more than one reason, was annoyed at her brother’s request. This was by no means the first time that Vibert had wanted to borrow money, and he had a very indifferent memory as regarded payment of debts. Vibert saw his sister’s look of vexation and the slight frown which for a moment ruffled the smoothness of her fair brow.
“I assure you, darling,” he said in a coaxing manner, “that the loan would be a great, a very great convenience to me. I hate asking papa for more money; he seems to feel more pinched now than he did before he came in for a fortune. When I tell him that I can’t manage to keep within my allowance, he twits me with the prudence and moderation of Bruce, as if I could skin flints or count farthings like Bruce.”
There was scorn in the tone of Vibert as he uttered the last sentence, which roused the spirit of Emmie in defence of her absent brother. “Bruce is no skin-flint!” she cried; “he does many a kind and generous thing. If he saves, it is on himself; there is not a particle of selfishness in his nature!”
Emmie had not intended to strike at one brother whilst defending the other; but Vibert was in an excited, irritable mood, and took his sister’s words as a palpable hit at himself.
“You are the last person from whom I should have expected such a taunt,” said the spendthrift bitterly. “I thought that if I had no other friend in the world I should find one, Emmie, in you.”
“Always! always!” cried his sister eagerly; “I would do anything for you, dear Vibert.”
“Will you lend me that five-pound note?”
Again Emmie hesitated and looked vexed. “I had laid it all out already in my mind,” she replied. “It is to give pleasure to so many poor children at Christmas.”
“Christmas! why, you shall have it back long before Christmas,” cried Vibert; and he held out his hand for the note. But Emmie retained it still in her clasp. She was doubtful as to the use which the young prodigal might make of the money, and whether it might not be rather an injury than a kindness to Vibert to replenish his empty purse.
The youth read the doubt on the maiden’s expressive face, and it made him indignant and angry.
“Emmie, can you not trust me?” exclaimed Vibert in an irritable tone; and, as no answer immediately came, he passionately repeated the question.
“Oh for courage to speak the truth faithfully!” thought Emmie; but the courage came not with the wish. Her lips formed a scarcely articulate “yes;” and having said “yes” to her brother’s question, she could hardly say “no” to his demand for a loan.
Vibert rather took than received the bank-note from Emmie; he saw that his sister was reluctant to give it, but he thought that a kiss, and the assurance that she was “the dearest girl in the world,” had set all right between them.
“Of course the money is as safe with me as if it were in the Bank of England!” cried Vibert; “you shall have it back in a week;” and nodding good-bye to Emmie, Vibert quitted the drawing-room, and was soon on his way to S – .
Emmie watched from the window the light and graceful form of her brother, as he tramped over the new-fallen snow, leaving brown footprints behind him. The poor girl’s eyes were full of tears, and her heart of self-reproach.
“I have been no true friend to my thoughtless young brother,” said Emmie to herself; “it was mere selfish cowardice which made me yield to his wishes, and put in his hands money of which I fear that he will make no good use.”
The maiden left the window, but not to resume her employment; all her pleasure in it was gone: she had sacrificed her means of doing good to her fear of offending her brother. Emmie knelt down on the hearth-rug and hastily gathered up her scraps of ribbons, chintz, and silk, tossing them back into the basket, as trash to be thrust out of sight, or thrown away as useless. The cares which pressed on Emmie’s mind were not now to be banished by thoughts of Christmas amusements, and the hope of imparting innocent pleasure to the children of her father’s tenants.
On the afternoon of that day, Miss Trevor took possession of that apartment which, by means of thorough repairs, had been prepared for her reception. It was spacious enough to receive all the furniture which had been originally placed in the room now occupied by Bruce. Amongst other articles, the tall press of richly-carved oak occupied a conspicuous place; it had been moved with some difficulty from the position which it had held for two centuries, and now added to the stateliness, though not perhaps to the cheerfulness, of Miss Trevor’s apartment.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE ECLIPSE
The demeanour of Mr. Trevor’s two sons, when they met at the dinner-table on that evening, was in strong contrast to each other. Bruce looked grave and stern, and had the appearance of one who is pale and weary from too close attention to study. Vibert, on the contrary, was in the highest spirits.
“Bruce, you look as the moon will look to-night under an eclipse!” cried Vibert; “you mean to tack to your name M.A. or D.L. or A.S.S., or some other mystical letters of the alphabet, and the shadow of coming distinction is falling on you already!”
“Is this the night of the eclipse?” asked Emmie, interposing, as was her wont, some indifferent remark to prevent any interchange of bitter words between her brothers.
“Yes; had you forgotten it?” said Vibert. “It is to be an almost total eclipse. We can hardly see it from any window in the house, the place is so smothered with trees; but there is a spot on the lawn from which we can get a very good view.”
“I wish that we had a telescope here,” observed Mr. Trevor.
“That’s just what I said to my friend Standish,” cried Vibert; “for, as you know, I’m desperately eager in pursuit of scientific knowledge. ‘I’ll lend you mine,’ said the colonel; ‘it has prodigious magnifying power. It was my travelling companion when I journeyed northward, in a sledge, with only an Eskimo guide, and reached the high latitude of’ – I really don’t remember the latitude that Standish mentioned, but it was something that would make our Arctic explorers stare.”
“Perhaps it was degree one hundred and one,” said Bruce sarcastically. “I suspect that the colonel’s telescope is not with him the only instrument that has high magnifying power.”
“You are always sneering at Standish,” cried Vibert angrily; “you give him credit for nothing, simply, I believe, because he has chosen me for his friend. But others appreciate him better,” continued the youth, addressing his conversation to Emmie. “Standish had grand news to-day from Washington; he has only been waiting at S – till he should know how his suit in America has prospered.”
“A law-suit?” inquired Mr. Trevor.
“Oh no; a suit more interesting by far than any regarding field-boundaries or dye-works!” laughed Vibert. “Standish is an illustration of the proverb, ‘None but the brave deserve the fair.’ He has wooed and won the greatest belle in the West, a cousin of the president of the United States, a lady with a dowry of half a million of dollars!” Vibert glanced triumphantly at Bruce, and raising a glass of claret, pledged the health of the colonel’s destined bride.
“I suppose that as the lady is in Washington, the colonel will not remain long in Wiltshire,” observed Mr. Trevor, who had no wish for his longer stay.
“That’s the worst part of the business, – at least for me,” replied Vibert, setting down the glass, which he had drained. “Standish leaves England almost directly. He has already secured his passage in an American steamer, and has only now to get what he wants to take with him, amongst other things wedding-gifts for his bride. Standish is prodigiously liberal as well as enormously rich; so the fair lady will have her caskets of diamonds and ‘ropes of pearl,’ such as a duchess might envy. The colonel asked me to-day what London jeweller I would recommend,” continued the youth with a self-complacency which made his auditors smile, “and I told him that our family had dealt for twenty years with Messrs. Golding. I showed Standish the watch, studs, and signet-ring which I had bought at their shop, and he declared that he had never seen anything in the jewellery line more tasteful.” It was evident that the boy’s vanity had been tickled by his being consulted on such a matter by one who was the accepted suitor of a president’s cousin. “But here am I talking about these sublunary affairs, when the eclipse will be beginning,” cried Vibert. “It is quarter past seven now,” – he glanced at his watch as he spoke; “the night is splendid, not a breath of wind is stirring, while moonlight is silvering the snow. Who will come out with me and look at the queen of night under a shadow? Emmie, you will certainly make one of the party; we all know your taste for the beautiful and sublime.”
“My girl must be well wrapped up if she venture out in the snow,” observed Mr. Trevor.
“We’ll case her in fur like a squirrel!” cried Vibert. “Come, Emmie, or we shall be late.”
Emmie rose from her seat at table; her life at Myst Court afforded so little variety, that the sight of an eclipse on a clear wintry night was not one that she would willingly miss.
“I suppose that you, Bruce, will go too,” said his father. “For my part, I have seen so many lunar eclipses already, that I shall return to my desk. I want to finish the perusal of that paper sent by my lawyer which I was showing to you when the dinner-gong sounded.”
“I should like to look over the paper with you,” said Bruce. “I do not care to go out to-night.”
The young man was feeling ill, though he did not complain.
“We’ll leave them to their musty-fusty law; as for us, we prefer meditation and moonlight!” said Vibert playfully, as a few minutes afterwards he stood in the hall with Emmie, assisting his sister to mantle her slight form in her fur-lined mantilla. “I don’t see why papa should bother himself with Bullen and his horrible dyes; the stream is clear enough where it flows through our woods. If Bullen had poisoned our coffee, or killed our trout, the matter might have required a lawyer. There now, just let me throw this pretty little scarlet shawl over your head, to be a complete defence against the night air! I declare that it makes you look like an opening rose-bud; I never saw a headdress more picturesque and becoming!”
Emmie smiled, and the brother and sister quitted the house together, sauntering down the steps which led from the door to the carriage-drive.
“We can see nothing here,” observed Vibert; “we must go right round to the back of the house, and make our way over the lawn, till we get just beyond the group of yew-trees. There we shall have a clear view of the moon.”
The first touch of shadow was dimming the round disc of the moon when the brother and sister stepped forth on the snow. But the orb was hidden from them, first by the house, and then by the trees around it, until they should reach the spot indicated by Vibert. The short quick walk was not a silent one; Vibert’s thoughts were engrossed by a subject much more interesting to him than the moon.
“Emmie, I must be off to London to-morrow,” said he.
“To London!” echoed Emmie in surprise. “What has put such a sudden flight into your mind?”
“I’ve many reasons for wishing to go up to town. Patti is to sing to-morrow night at a grand concert; I am dying to hear her again, and Standish – kind fellow! – has given me a ticket of admittance. Then I’ve shopping and business to transact which I cannot possibly put off. I shall only stay for one night in London, and I will not go to a hotel. Aunt Mary told me, you know, that she could always offer me a room in Grosvenor Square.”
“Papa will not like the needless expense,” began Emmie.
“Expense! how I hate the very word! But you have smoothed that matter for me, darling,” said Vibert, pressing the arm that was locked in his own. “Papa shall not have a shilling to pay.”
“But you would miss two days of study.”
“No great loss, if one may judge of what they would have been by those that have gone before them,” laughed Vibert. “I have not fatigued myself lately by any overwhelming amount of hard work.”
“I fear not indeed,” said his sister.
“But I’ll work double when once I’ve had my full swing of pleasure,” cried Vibert. “I can pass Bruce, at least in classics, if I make an effort to do so. I know that I’ve been an idle fellow ever since we came to Myst Court; but when Standish goes I’ll have nothing to do but to study, and I’ll be bound I’ll astonish you all with my learning.”
“We have only been here for a month,” observed Emmie; “it is too early for you to think of returning to London. You had better far put off going for a while.”
“I told you that I could not put off!” cried Vibert impatiently. “My concert ticket will not keep, nor my business neither. You might as well tell yon moon to put off her eclipse!”
By this time the Trevors had reached the spot beyond the yew-trees, where nothing obstructed their view of the radiant orb. The dark shadow of earth was slowly cutting its sharply-defined outline on her disc, and each minute her clear light was becoming more and more sensibly obscured. There is something very solemn in the sight of that natural phenomenon which science can foretell, but which all created powers combined can neither prevent nor for one single moment delay. Even the light gossip of Vibert was silenced as he gazed. Nothing appeared to be moving on the snow-covered earth, or through the still air, save when a bat, with its peculiar flickering motion, darted between the moon and those who stood with upraised eyes, silently watching the deepening eclipse. Behind the trees rose Myst Court, showing, not its broad stately front, but the back offices, which were irregular in construction, and some of them built at a later date than other parts of the mansion. This side of the house possessed no beauty whatever by day, save what climbing ivy might give; but by moonlight its very irregularity gave to it a picturesque charm which was wanting to the more handsome but flatter front of the dwelling. Emmie turned round to glance at a part of her new home with which she was very imperfectly acquainted, as she had never entered the mansion at that eastern side. She admired the effect of moonlight on the snow-covered ivy which mantled the walls – silver gleams which threw into strong contrast the deep black shadows which fell from projecting gable or overhanging roof. Even the chimneys seemed transformed into twisted columns of ebony and silver.
“I never thought that Myst Court could look so romantic,” said Emmie; “it was worth while coming out at night to see it as we see it now. But the air is chilly,” she added, and, to draw her scarlet shawl closer over her braided hair, the maiden for a moment drew her arm from that of her brother.
“Ha! I had forgotten the telescope!” exclaimed Vibert; and with that want of thought for others which with him was a branch from the root of selfishness, the youth darted off to bring the glass, leaving his sister alone beside the shadowy yew-trees.
Emmie had not thought of fear so long as she had leaned on her brother’s arm, so long as the lively Vibert was close beside her; but his departure – so sudden, that she had no time to cry “Do not go!” before he was gone – awoke her dormant terrors. To find herself in utter solitude, standing on the snowy lawn beside the gloomy yews, within bow-shot of a dwelling said to be haunted, whilst the very moon was suffering eclipse, was a position which might have tried stronger nerves than those of Emmie. All the horrible tales that she had heard on the night of her first arrival, the colonel’s ghastly legends, Jael’s stories of apparitions seen in that very house which now dimly loomed before the eyes of the maiden, the dark hints of dangers thrown out by Harper – all rushed at once on the mind of the timid girl. She made a few quick steps in pursuit of Vibert; but he had vanished from her sight round the corner of the house. Emmie was afraid to skirt half of the spacious mansion alone, yet equally afraid to remain in such dreary solitude, to await her brother’s return. A breeze stirred the branches of neighbouring trees; Emmie started at the sound of the rustle. The tall bushes in their shrouds of snow began to her excited imagination to assume the form of spectres; Emmie almost fancied that they began to move towards her! And now – it is not imagination – a dark figure is slowly moving along the gravel-path, whitened by snow, which divides the lawn on which Emmie is standing from that back part of Myst Court to which her gaze is directed! Emmie’s first emotion is that of terror, her next is that of relief. She recognizes the sound of a short dry cough, which has nothing unearthly about it; and by the faint light of the half-eclipsed moon sees the outline of a familiar form most unlike the shape in which a spectre might be supposed to appear. Emmie feels no longer alone. There is Mrs. Jessel, coming at no unwonted hour, with basket on arm, doubtless to carry away what may remain of the evening’s repast.
Never before had Emmie so welcomed the appearance of Mrs. Myer’s late attendant, the obsequious, voluble Jael. Lightly the young-lady tripped over the soft white snow, whilst Mrs. Jessel was engaged in opening some back-door which lay in the deepest shadow behind a projecting part of the building. Emmie’s step was noiseless as that of a fairy, and her form was unseen by Mrs. Jessel, whose back was turned towards her. Jael turned a key, pushed open a door, and entered the house, leaving the door ajar. Emmie followed the woman into the dwelling, guided by the sound of her creaking boots and her short dry cough. The passage which the two had entered was dark, but Emmie naturally expected that some inner door would quickly be opened, and that she should find herself in the light and warmth of her own kitchen, for whose cheerful interior Mrs. Jessel of course was bound. How welcome to the ears of Emmie would be even the coarse loud tones of Hannah! The young lady was somewhat surprised when the footsteps which she was following led up a narrow staircase, instead of turning towards what she supposed to be the direction of the kitchen. Still, as it was certain that Jael, after living for years in the mansion, must be acquainted with its every turn and winding, and as it was equally certain that she must be going to some lighted part, Miss Trevor went on, feeling her way by the iron railing up the narrow stone stair, listening to the creak of the boots and the occasional cough, which told that her guide was in front. Emmie felt a strange repugnance to address Mrs. Jessel in the darkness, therefore groped on her way in silence, expecting every moment to be ushered into the light. Here we leave her for the present, and go for a while to the study of Mr. Trevor, where he and his elder son are quietly engaged with the lawyer’s papers.