God's Good Man Part 31

Within a very few days St. Rest became aware of Cicely's quaint personality, for she soon succeeded in making herself familiar with everybody in the place. She had a knack of winning friends. She visited old Josey Letherbarrow, and made him laugh till he nearly choked, so that Maryllia had to pat him vigorously on the back to enable him to recover his breath--she cut jokes with Mrs. Tapple,-- chatted with the s.e.xton, Adam Frost, and scattered 'sweeties' galore among all his children,--and she furthermore startled the village choir at practice by suddenly flitting into the church and asking Miss Eden, the schoolmistress, to allow her to play the organ accompaniment, and on Miss Eden's consenting to this proposition, she played in such a fas.h.i.+on that the church seemed filled with musical thunder and the songs of angels,--and the village choristers, both girls and boys, became awestruck and nervous, and huddled themselves together in a silent group, afraid to open their mouths lest a false note should escape, and spoil the splendour of the wonderful harmony that so mysteriously charmed their souls. And then, calming the pa.s.sion of the music down, she turned with gentlest courtesy to Miss Eden, and asked: 'What were the children going to sing?'--whereupon, being told that it waft a hymn called 'The Lord is my Shepherd,' she so very sweetly entreated them to sing it with her, that none of them could refuse. And she led them all with wondrous care and patience, giving to the very simple tune, a tender and n.o.ble pathos such as they had never heard before, yet which they unconsciously absorbed into their own singing, as they lifted up their youthful voices in tremulous unison.

"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want, He maketh me down to lie, In pleasant fields where the lilies grow.

And the river runneth by.

"The Lord is my Shepherd; He feedeth me In the depth of a desert land, And lest I should in the darkness slip, He holdeth me by the hand.

"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want, My mind on Him is stayed, And though through the Valley of Death I walk, I shall not be afraid.

"The Lord is my Shepherd; O Shepherd sweet, Leave me not here to stray; But guide me safe to Thy heavenly fold, And keep me there, I pray!"

John Walden, pa.s.sing through the churchyard just at this time, heard the rhythmic rise and fall of the quaint old melody with a strange thrill at his heart. He had listened to the self-same hymn over and over again,--every year the school-children re-studied and re-sang it,--but there was something altogether new in its harmony this time,--something appealing and pathetic which struck to the inmost core of his sensitive nature. Noiselessly, he entered the church, and for a moment or two stood un.o.bserved, watching the little scene before him. Cicely was at the organ, and her hands still rested on the keys, but she was speaking to the members of the choir.

"That is very nicely done,"--she said, encouragingly--"But you must try and keep more steadily together in tune, must they not, Miss Eden?"--and she turned to the schoolmistress at her side, who, with a smile, agreed. "You"--and she touched pretty Susie Prescott on the arm,--"You sing delightfully! It is a little voice--but so very sweet!"

Susie blushed deeply and curtsied. It had got about in the village that Miss Vancourt's young friend from Paris was a musical 'prodigy,' and praise from her was something to be remembered.

"Now listen!" went on Cicely--"I'm not going to sing full voice, because I'm not allowed to yet,--but this is how that hymn should go!" And her pure tones floated forth pianissimo, with slow and tender solemnity:--

"The Lord is my Shepherd; O Shepherd sweet, Leave me not here to stray; But guide me safe to Thy heavenly fold, And keep me there, I pray!

Amen!"

Silence followed. The children stood wonder-struck, and Miss Eden's eyes filled with emotional tears.

"How beautiful!" she murmured--"How very beautiful!"

Cicely rose from the organ-stool, and turned round.

"Here is Mr. Walden," she said, in quite a matter-of-fact way as she perceived him. "It IS Mr. Walden, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," replied John, advancing with a smile--"And very fortunate Mr. Walden is to have heard such lovely singing!"

"Oh, that's not lovely," said Cicely, carelessly--"I was only humming the last verse, just to put the expression right. I thought it must be you!--though, of course, as I have not been introduced to you, I couldn't be sure! Maryllia--Miss Vancourt--has told me all about you,--and I know she has written twice since I've been here to ask you up to the Manor--once to tea, and once to dinner. Why haven't you come?" Walden was slightly embarra.s.sed by this point- blank question. It was perfectly true he had received two invitations from the lady of the Manor, and had refused both. Why he had refused, he could not himself have told.

"I suppose you didn't want to meet me!" said Cicely, showing all her white teeth in a flas.h.i.+ng smile--"But there's no escape for it, you see,--here I am! I'm not such a rascal as I look, though! I've been playing accompaniments for the children!--go on singing, please!"-- and she addressed Miss Eden and Susie Prescott, who collecting their straying thoughts, began hesitatingly to resume the interrupted practice--"It's a nice little organ--very full and sweet. The church is perfectly exquisite! I come in every day to look at it except Sundays."

"Why except Sundays?" asked Walden, amused.

She gave him a quaint side-glance.

"I'll tell you some day,--not now!"--she answered--"This is not the fitting time or place." She moved to the altar rails, and hung over them, looking at the alabaster sarcophagus "This thing has a perfect fascination for me!" she went on--"I can't bear not to know whose bones are inside! I wonder you haven't opened it."

"It was not meant to be opened by those who closed it," said Walden, quietly.

Cicely drooped her gipsy-bright eyes.

"That's one for me!" she thought--"He's just like what Maryllia says he is,--very certain of his own mind, and not likely to move out of his own way."

"I think," pursued Walden--"if you knew that someone very dear to you had been laid in that sarcophagus 'to eternal rest,' you would resent any disturbance of even the mere dust of what was once life,- -would you not?"

"I might;" said Cicely dubiously--"But I have never had any 'someone very dear to me' except Maryllia Vancourt. And if she died, I should die too!"

John was silent, but he looked at her with increased interest and kindliness.

They walked out of the church together, and once in the open air, he became politely conventional.

"And how is Miss Vancourt?" he enquired.

"She is very well indeed,"--replied Cicely--"But tremendously busy just now with no end of household matters. The new agent, Mr.

Stanways, is going over every yard of the Abbot's Manor property with her, and she is making any quant.i.ty of new rules. All the tenants' rents are to be reduced, for one thing--I know THAT. Then there are a lot of London people coming down to stay--big house- parties in relays,--I've helped write all the invitations. We shall be simply crowded at the end of June and all July. We mean to be very gay!"

"And you will like that, of course?" queried Walden, indulgently, while conscious of a little sense of hurt and annoyance, though he knew not why.

"Naturally!" and Cicely shrugged her shoulders carelessly, "Doesn't the Bible say 'the laughter of fools is like the crackling of thorns under a pot'? I love to set the pot down and hear the thorns crackle!"

What a weird girl she was! He looked at her in mute amaze, and she smiled.

"Do come up to tea some afternoon!" she said coaxingly, "We should be so glad to see you! I know Maryllia would like it--she thinks you are rather rude, you know! I'm to be here all the summer, but I'll try to be good and not say things to vex you. And as you're a clergyman, I can tell you all about myself--like the confessional secrets! And when you hear some of my experiences, you won't wonder a bit at my queer ways. I can't be like other girls of my age,--I really CAN'T!--my life won't let me!"

Her tone was one of light banter, but her eyes were wistful and pathetic. Walden was conscious of a sudden sympathy with this wild little soul of song, and taking her hand, pressed it kindly.

"Wait till I see some of your 'queer ways,' as you call them!" he said, with a genial laugh--"I know you sing very beautifully-is that a 'queer way'?"

Cicely shook her mop-like tresses of hair back over her shoulders with a careless gesture.

"It is--to people who can't do it!" she said. "Surely you know that?

For example, if you preach very well--I don't know that you do, because I've never heard you, but Maryllia's housekeeper, Mrs.

Spruce, says you've got 'a mouth of angels'--she does really!" and, as Walden laughed, she laughed with him--"Well, as I say, if you preach very well with a mouth of angels, there must be several parsons round here who haven't got that mouth, and who say of you, of course metaphorically: 'He hath a devil'! Isn't it so?"

John hesitated.

"No doubt opinions differ,"---he began.

"Oh, of course!--you can get out of it that way, if you like!" she retorted, gaily--"You won't say uncharitable things of the rest of your brethren if you can help it, but you know--yes, you must know that parsons are as jealous of each other and as nasty to each other as actors, singers, writers, or any other 'professional' persons in the world. In fact, I believe if you were to set two spiteful clergymen nagging at each other, they'd beat any two 'leading ladies' on the operatic stage, for right-down malice and meanness!"

"The conversation is growing quite personal!" said Walden, a broad smile lighting up his fine soft eyes--"Shall we finish it at the Manor when I come up to tea?"

"But are you really coming?" queried Cicely--"And when?"

"Suppose I say this afternoon---" he began. Cicely clapped her hands.

"Good! I'll scamper home and tell Maryllia! I'll say I have met you, and that I've been as impudent as I possibly could be to you---"

"No, don't say that!" laughed Walden--"Say that I have found you to be a very delightful and original young lady---"

"I'm not a young lady,"--said Cicely, decisively--"I was born a peasant on the sea-coast of Cornwall--and I'm glad of it. A 'young lady' nowadays means a milliner's apprentice or a draper's model. I am neither. I am just a girl--and hope, if I live, to be a woman.

I'll take my own ideas of a suitable message from you to Maryllia-- don't YOU bother!" And she nodded sagaciously. "I won't make ructions, I promise! Come about five!"

She waved her hand and ran off, leaving Walden in a mood between perplexity and amus.e.m.e.nt. She was certainly an 'original,' and he hardly knew what to make of her. There was something 'uncanny' and goblin-like in her appearance, and yet her sallow face had a certain charm when the smile illumined it, and the light of aspiration burned up in the large wild eyes. In any case, she had persuaded him in a moment, as it were, and almost involuntarily, to take tea at the Manor that afternoon. Why he had consented to do what he had hitherto refused, he could not imagine. Cicely's remark that Miss Vancourt thought him 'rather rude,' worried him a little.