Janet's Love and Service Part 68

"But, Janet, more do it than these people. Don't you mind, the other day, when Mrs Grove was repeating that absurd story about Miss Lester, and I said to her that I did not believe Miss Lester would marry the best man on the face of the earth, you said in a way that turned the laugh against me, that you doubted the best man on the face of the earth wasna in her offer."

"But, Miss Graeme, I meant no reflection on your friend, though I said that. I saw by the s.h.i.+ning of your eyes, and the colour on your cheek, that you were in earnest, and I thought it a pity to waste good earnest words on yon shallow woman."

"Well," said Graeme, with a long breath, "you left the impression on her mind that you thought her right and me wrong."

"That is but a small matter. And, my dear, I am no' sure, and you canna be sure either, that Mrs Grove was altogether wrong. If, in her youth, some good man--not to say the best man on the face of the earth--had offered love to your friend, are you sure she would have refused him?"

"There!--that is just what I dislike so much. That is just what Mrs Grove was hinting with regard to Miss Lester. If a woman lives single, it is from necessity--according to the judgment of a discriminating and charitable world. I _know_ that is not the case with regard to Miss Lester. But even if it were, if no man had ever graciously signified his approbation of her--if she were an old maid from dire necessity-- does it follow that she has lost her chance in life?--that life has been to her a failure?

"If she has failed in life; so do G.o.d's angels. Janet, if I could only tell you half that she has done! I am not intimate with her, but I have many ways of knowing about her. If you could know all that she has done for her family! She was the eldest daughter, and her mother was a very delicate, nervous woman, and the charge of the younger children fell to her when she was quite a girl. Then when her father failed, she opened a school and the whole family depended on her. She helped her sisters till they married, and liberally educated her younger brothers, and now she is bringing up the four children of one of them who died young. Her father was bedridden for several years before he died, and he lived in her home, and she watched over him, and cared for him, though she had her school. And she has prepared many a young girl for a life of usefulness, who but for her might have been neglected or lost. Half of the good she has done in this way will never be known on earth. And to hear women who are not worthy to tie her shoe, pa.s.sing their patronising or their disparaging remarks upon her! It incenses me!"

"My dear, I thought you were past being incensed at anything yon shallow woman can say."

"But she is not the only one. Even Arthur sometimes provokes me.

Because she has by her laborious profession made herself independent, he jestingly talks about her bank stock, and about her being a good speculation for some needy old gentleman. And because that beautiful, soft grey hair of hers will curl about her pale face, it is hinted that she makes the most of her remaining attractions, and would be nothing loth. It is despicable."

"But, my dear, it would be no discredit to her if it were proved that she would marry. She has a young face yet, though her hair is grey, and she may have many years before her. Why should she not marry?"

"Don't speak of it," said Graeme, with great impatience; "and yet, as you say, why should she not? But that is not the question. What I declare is, that her single life has been an honourable and an honoured one--and a happy one too. Who can doubt it? There is no married woman of my acquaintance whose life will compare with here. And the high place she will get in heaven, will be for no work she will do as Mrs Dale, though she were to marry the Reverend Doctor to-night, but for the blessed success that G.o.d has given her in her work as a single woman."

"I believe you, dear," said Mrs Snow, warmly.

"And she is not the only one I could name," continued Graeme. "She is my favourite example, because her position and talents, her earnest nature and her piety, make her work a wonderful one. But I know many, and have heard of more, who in a quiet, un.o.btrusive way are doing a work, not so great as to results, but as true and holy. Some of them are doing it as aunts or maiden sisters; some as teachers; some are only humble needlewomen; some are servants in other people's kitchens or nurseries--women who would be spoken of by the pitying or slighting name of 'old maid,' who are yet more worthy of respect for the work they are doing, and for the influence they are exerting, than many a married woman in her sphere. Why should such a woman be pitied or despised, I wonder?"

"Miss Graeme, you look as though you thought I was among the pitiers and despisers of such women, and you are wrong. Every word you say in their praise and honour is truth, and canna be gainsaid. But that doesna prove what you began with, that the chances of happiness in married and single life are equal."

"It goes far to prove it--the chances of usefulness, at any rate."

"No, my dear, because I dare say, on the other hand, many could be told of who fail to do their work in single life, and who fail to get happiness in it as well. Put the one cla.s.s over against the other, and then consider the many, many women who marry for no other reason than from the fear of living single, it will go far to account for the many unhappy marriages that we see, and far to prove that marriage is the natural and proper expectation of woman, and that in a sense she _does_ fail in life, who falls short of that. In a certain sense, I say."

"But it does not follow from that that she is thenceforth to be an object of pity or derision, a spectacle to men and angels!"

"Whist, my dear; no, that doesna follow of necessity. That depends on herself somewhat, though not altogether, and there are too many single women who make spectacles of themselves in one way or other. But, my dear, what I say is this: As the world is, it is no easy thing for a woman to warstle through it alone, and the help she needs she can get better from her husband than from any other friend. And though it is a single woman's duty to take her lot and make the best of it, with G.o.d's help, it is no' to be denied, that it is not the lot a woman would choose. My saying it doesna make it true, but ask you the women to whom you justly give so high a place, how it was with them. Was it their own free choice that put them where they are? If they speak the truth, they will say 'No.' Either no man asked them--though that is rare--or else in youth they have had their work laid ready to their hands. They had a father and mother, or brothers and sisters, that they could not forsake for a stranger. Or they gave their love unsought, and had none to give when it was asked. Or they fell out with their lovers, or another wiled them away, or death divided them. Sometimes a woman's life pa.s.ses quietly and busily away, with no thoughts of the future, till one day she wakes up with a great start of surprise and pain, to the knowledge that her youth is past--that she is an 'old maid.' And if a chance offer comes then, ten to one but she shuts her eyes, and lays hold on the hand that is held out to her--so feared is she of the solitary life before her."

"And," said Graeme, in a low voice, "G.o.d is good to her if she has not a sadder wakening soon."

"It is possible, my dear, but it proves the truth of what I was saying, all the same; that it is seldom by a woman's free choice that she finds herself alone in life. Sometimes, but not often, a woman sits down and counts the cost, and chooses a solitary path. It is not every wise man that can discern a strong and beautiful spirit, if it has its home in an unlovely form, and many such are pa.s.sed by with a slighting look, or are never seen at all. It is possible that such a woman may have the sense to see, that a solitary life is happiness compared with the pain and shame a true woman must feel in having to look down upon her husband; and so when the wise and the worthy pa.s.s by, she turns her eyes from all others, and says to herself and to the world, with what heart she may, that she has no need of help. But does that end the pain? Does it make her strong to say it? May not the slight implied in being overlooked rankle in her heart till it is changed and hardened? I am afraid the many single women we see and hear of, who live to themselves, giving no sympathy and seeking none, proves it past all denying. My dear, folk may say what they like about woman's sphere and woman's mission--and great nonsense they have spoken of late--but every true woman kens well that her right sphere is a home of her own, and that her mission is to find her happiness in the happiness of her husband and children. There are exceptional cases, no doubt, but that is the law of nature. Though why I should be saying all this to you, Miss Graeme, my dear, is mair than I ken."

There was a long silence after this. Mrs Snow knew well that Graeme sat without reply because she would not have the conversation come back to her, or to home affairs, again. But her friend had something more to say, and though her heart ached for the pain she might give, she could not leave it unsaid.

"We were speaking about your friend and the work she has been honoured to do. It is a great work, and she is a n.o.ble woman. G.o.d bless her!

And, dear, though I dinna like the thought of your leaving your brother's house, it is not because I dinna think that you might put your hand to the same work with the same success. I am sure you could do, in that way, a good work for G.o.d and man. It is partly that I am shy of new schemes, and partly because I am sure the restlessness that is urging you to it will pa.s.s away; but it is chiefly because I think you have good and holy work laid to your hand already. Whatever you may think now, dear, they are far better and happier here at home, and will be all their lives, because of you.

"I'm no' saying but you might go away for a wee while. The change would do you good. You will come with us, or you will follow after, if you like it better; and then you might take your sister, and go and see your brother Norman, and your wee nephew, as we spoke of the other day. But this is your home, love, and here lies your work, believe me. And, my bairn, the restless fever of your heart will pa.s.s away; not so soon, maybe, as if it had come upon you earlier in life, or as if you were of a lighter nature. But it will pa.s.s. Whist! my darling," for Graeme had risen with a gesture of entreaty or denial. "Whist, love; I am not asking about its coming or its causes. I am only bidding you have patience till it pa.s.s away."

Graeme sat down again without a word. They sat a long time quite silent, and when Graeme spoke, it was to wonder that Arthur and the others were not come home.

"They must have gone to the lecture, after all, but that must be over by this time. They will be as hungry as hawks. I must go and speak to Sarah."

And she went away, saying sadly and a little bitterly to herself, that the friend on whose kindness and counsel she had relied, had failed her in her time of need.

"But I must go all the same. I cannot stay to die by slow degrees, of sloth, or weariness, or discontent, whichever it may be. Oh me! And I thought the worst was past, and Janet says it will never be quite past, till I am grown old."

And Janet sat with reverent, half-averted eyes, seeing the sorrow, that in trying to hide, the child of her love had so plainly revealed. She knew that words are powerless to help the soreness of such wounds, and yet she chid herself that she had so failed to comfort her. She knew that Graeme had come to her in the vague hope for help and counsel, and that she was saying now to herself that her friend had failed her.

"For, what could I say? I couldna bid her go. What good would that do, when she carries her care with her? And it is not for the like of her to vex her heart out with bairns, keeping at a school. I ken her better than she kens herself. Oh! but it is sad to think that the best comfort I can give her, is to look the other way, and not seem to see. Well, there is One she winna seek to hide her trouble from, and He can comfort her."

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

The only event of importance that occurred before Mrs Snow went away, was the return of Nelly. She came in upon them one morning, as they sat together in the breakfast-room, with more shamefacedness than could be easily accounted for at the first moment. And then she told them she was married. Her sudden departure had been the means of bringing Mr Stirling to a knowledge of his own mind on the matter of wedlock, and he had followed her to her sister's, and "married her out of hand." Of course, she was properly congratulated by them all, but Rose was inclined to be indignant.

"You promised that I was to be bridesmaid, and I think it is quite too bad that you should disappoint me," said she.

"Yes, I know I promised, but it was with a long prospect of waiting. I thought your own turn might come first, Miss Rose, He didna seem in a hurry about it. But his leisure was over when I was fairly away out of reach. So he came after me to my sister's, and nothing would do, but back I must go with him. He couldna see what difference a month or two could make in a thing that was to be for a lifetime; and my sister and the rest up there--they sided with him. And there was reason in it, I couldna deny; so we just went down to the manse one morning, and had it over, and me with this very gown on, not my best by two or three. He made small count of any preparations; so you see, Miss Rose, I couldna well help myself; and I hope it will all be for the best."

They all hoped that, and, indeed, it was not to be doubted. But, though congratulating Mrs Stirling heartily, Graeme was greatly disappointed for themselves. She had been looking forward to the time when, Mrs Tilman's temporary service over, they should have Nelly back in her old place again; but the best must be made of it now, and Nelly's pleasure must not be marred by a suspicion of her discontent. So she entered, with almost as much eagerness as Rose, into a discussion of the plans of the newly married pair.

"And is the market garden secured?" asked she. "Or is that to come later?"

"It will not be for a while yet. He is to stay where he is for the present. You will have heard that Mr Ruthven and his family are going home for a while, and we are to stay in the house. I am to have the charge. It will be something coming in through my own hands, which will be agreeable to me," added the prudent and independent Nelly.

The meeting of Mrs Snow and Mrs Stirling was a great pleasure to them both. They had much to say to one another before the time of Mrs Snow's departure came, and she heard many things about the young people, their way of life, their love to each other, and their forbearance with f.a.n.n.y and her friends, which she would never have heard from them. She came to have a great respect for Mrs Stirling's sense and judgment, as well as for her devotion to the interests of the young people. One of the few expeditions undertaken by her was to choose a wedding present for the bride, and Rose had the satisfaction of helping her to decide upon a set of spoons, useful and beautiful at the same time; and "good property to have," as Mr Snow justly remarked, whether they used them or not.

The day of departure came at last. Will, Graeme, and Rose went with them over the river, and f.a.n.n.y would have liked to go, too, but she had an engagement with Mrs Grove, and was obliged to stay at home. Arthur was to be at the boat to see them on, if it could be managed, but that was doubtful, so he bade them good-bye in the morning before he went away. There was a crowd, as usual, on the boat, and Graeme made haste to get a seat with Mrs Snow, in a quiet corner out of the way.

"Look, Graeme," said Rose. "There is Mr Proudfute, and there are the Roxburys, and ever so many more people. And there is Mr Ruthven. I wonder if they are going away to-day."

"I don't know. Don't let us get into the crowd," said Graeme, rather hurriedly. "We shall lose the good of the last minutes. Stay here a moment, Will, and see whether Arthur comes. I will find a seat for Mrs Snow. Let us get out of the crowd."

It was not easy to do, however, and they were obliged to pa.s.s quite close by the party towards which Rose had been looking, and which Graeme had intended to avoid.

"Who is that pretty creature with the child on her lap?" asked Mrs Snow, with much interest. "You bowed to her, I think."

"Yes. That is Mrs Ruthven. I suppose they are going away to-day. I should like to say good-bye to her, but there are so many people with her, and I am not sure that she knew me, though she bowed. Ah! she has seen Rosie. They are coming over here."

She rose and went to meet them as they came near.

"You have never seen my baby," said Mrs Ruthven, eagerly. "And I want to see Mrs Snow."

Graeme took the little creature in her arms.

"No, we were unfortunate in finding you out when we called, more than once--and now you are going away."

"Yes, we are going away for a little while. I am so glad we have met to-day. I only heard the other day that Mrs Snow had come, and I have not been quite strong, and they would not let me move about, I am so very glad to see you," added she, as she took Janet's hand. "I have heard your name so often, that I seem to know you well."

Mrs Snow looked with great interest on the lovely, delicate face, that smiled so sweetly up into hers.