 Chapter 34 of Herb of Grace This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rita Butros. Herb of Grace by Rosa Nushet Carey. Chapter 34. Travelling Through Sahara The hope I dreamed of was a dream, was but a dream, and now I wake exceeding, comfortless, and worn, and sad, for a dream's sake. Christina Rosetti. For the next few weeks Malcolm was much occupied with business, but he contrived to pay a flying visit to Oxford and to spend a few hours with Dina and Cedric. He had corresponded with Dina regularly and her letters told him all he most wished to know. At first they had been very sad. Cedric had broken down utterly on seeing his sisters, and both she and Elizabeth had been very much upset. The change in him was so great that they could hardly recognize their bright-faced boy, and Dina owned that they had been shocked by the hard, reckless manner in which he had spoken. I think Mr. Jacoby's influence has done great harm, she wrote. Cedric says such extraordinary things sometimes that I feel quite frightened to hear him. He never used to talk so. Surely Oxford cannot have done this. Malcolm ground his teeth rather savagely when he read this. He has poisoned the wells, he said to himself a second time. There is no punishment too severe for one who tries to contaminate the innocence of youth. Dina's letters became more cheerful after a time. Cedric liked having her near him, and she saw him for an hour or two every day. Elizabeth had not come down again. David Carlyon was not well. He had caught a fresh cold, and Elizabeth seemed worried about him. All the more that his sister was with him, and Theo did not understand nursing. Theo Carlyon is rather an unsatisfactory person, wrote Dina. By and by she gave him news of Leah Jacoby. Mrs. Godfrey's brilliant idea was certainly likely to be verified. Mrs. Richardson had been several times to the Manor House. She wrote and had evidently taken a fancy to Leah. A few days later there was still more satisfactory news. It is all arranged, she wrote triumphantly. Mrs. Richardson has engaged Miss Jacoby as a travelling companion, and will pay her a handsome salary. They are to leave England in about ten days time. Mrs. Godfrey says that she and the Colonel will be quite sorry to lose their guest. Miss Jacoby is so gentle and affectionate that they have both grown fond of her, and Mrs. Godfrey predicts that Mrs. Richardson will never part with her. Malcolm paid his second visit to Oxford soon after the receipt of this letter. Dina was delighted to see him, and to hear that he intended to spend a quiet Sunday with them. I was just going to write to you, she said, when the first greetings had passed between them. Cedric was so upset last night, he had a letter from that odious man Jacoby. Such a letter, written on a dirty scrap of paper and pencil. But I will show it to you. Cedric left it here, and Dina unlocked her writing case. Malcolm frowned as he read it. I am up Queer Street, my boy, wrote Jacoby. Twelve Gresham Gardens is in the hands of the bailiffs, and every stick of furniture is to be sold. And as England is rather too hot for me just now, I am going to make tracks for New York. If I could see that sister of mine, I would give her a piece of my mind. What a cursed fool the girl has been. But it is all that fellow Herrick's fault. He is a deep one, and he has a game of his own on hand. I am as sure of that as my name is Sol Jacoby. Well, Tata old fellow, I will let you know my diggings later on. Hang that fellow. If it had not been for him, we should have pulled the job through, and you would have had the handsomest wife in Europe. Well, that game's played out, and I was never the one to cry over spilt milk. A short life and a merry one, that's my creed. Yours up to date, Sol Melchior Jacoby. So we are rid of the brute for the present, observed Malcolm. The expression seemed to alarm Dina. For the present, she repeated anxiously. My dear lady, he returned gravely. Do you suppose that we have seen the last of Sol Jacoby? Indeed, indeed I hope so, very earnestly. Then Hope told a flattering tale, and you must not believe her, replied Malcolm, smiling. The Jacobes of this life are not so easily shaken off. Like the horse leeches daughters, they cry, give, give. I should not be the least surprised if a series of begging letters with the New York Postmark reach Cedric at due intervals. Oh, Mr. Herrick, what shall we do? Do? Why? Put them in the fire, unread. That will be my advice to Cedric. I know exactly the sort of letters that fellow will write. The first one will be jocular and friendly, and the business part will be in the postscript. The second will be pathetic and somewhat reproachful, and the demands more urgent. Finally, if money is not forthcoming, he will bluster and threaten and make himself exceedingly unpleasant. Cedric must simply have no dealings with him, and above all things he must take no notice of his letters. I hope you will tell Cedric this, and Malcolm promised that he would speak to him very plainly. But Cedric was not the docile pupil of old. The lad's sweet disposition and milk of human kindness had soured under the sudden shock of his trouble. The loss of his sweetheart and the consciousness of his own misconduct filled him with bitterness and made him at times very irritable. Dina's gentleness suited him better than Malcolm's bracing counsels, and her exceeding patience with him in his fits of despondency sometimes roused him to penitence. By Malcolm's advice, she had told him in guarded terms that Leo was well and with friends who intended to take her abroad. But no entreaties on Cedric's part could induce her to reveal the names of Leo's protectors or how she had received the information. Cedric complained bitterly to Malcolm that they were all treating him like a child. Not at all, my dear fellow, was Malcolm's answer. It is by Miss Jacoby's wish that we keep silence. The lady who has engaged her as a companion is a stranger to all of us, but I believe she is a very kind hearted woman and that Miss Jacoby will be very comfortable with her. Comfortable, a companion, my beautiful Leo. But the pain was too great and Cedric burst into tears. After all, he was little more than a boy, and Malcolm remembered this and was patient. On Sunday afternoon, as they were coming out of chapel, Dina said suddenly, I quite forgot to tell you that Mr. Rosseter has been at the Manor House again and has seen Leo and quite approves of the arrangement with Mrs. Richardson. He is going back to America and has promised to keep an eye on Saul Jacoby. He was quite confidential with Leo. He is rather intimate with them, returned Malcolm. Indeed, I believe he is in love with the fair Rebecca himself, for he had never forgotten Elizabeth's name for her. Hugh Rosseter is a very fine fellow and would suit her a hundred times better than poor old Cedric. Oh, well, he is too cunning a hunter to make a false shot, but I have a notion that he will try again some day. And then Cedric came out and joined them and they walked back to the lodgings. Malcolm was going back to town that evening and when Cedric had left them, Dina talked a little about her future plans. Cedric is so much better, that I think I can go home next week. He will follow me in another fortnight, and I do not like leaving Elizabeth so long alone. I think you told me that she was worried about Mr. Carlyan? Returned Malcolm with manifest effort. Yes, indeed, and she may well be, replied Dina with a sigh. Young men are so reckless and imprudent. At least David is. Just think of his madness, Mr. Herrick. He is not strong, but he takes cold more easily than other people. He got very wet taking a funeral for a clergyman at Dinglefield, and when he reached home, instead of changing his clothes, he went a mile farther to baptize a dying child. He was soaking by the time he got back, and a bad feverish cold set in. Elizabeth insisted that Dr. Randolph should see him, and she wrote to Theo herself, but I fancy from her letters that she rather repented of sending for her, that poultices were needed, and Mrs. Pratt, his landlady, is simply an impossible woman. However, things have worked so badly between them that Theo has gone back to Stokely, and Elizabeth declares that even her brother is thankful to be rid of her. But he is better now. He is up and about again, but he doesn't lose his cough, and I can see Elizabeth is anxious. You look surprised, but I assure you my sister has some reason for her fears. David's mother was consumptive, and two of his sisters died young of the same complaint. Theo is the only robust one, and David knows well that he ought to take care. Mr. Carlyan is always worrying about him. Malcolm tried to express his sympathy properly, but he felt he acquitted himself badly. Was this the reason he wondered why Elizabeth had looked so grave? But he thought it wiser not to dwell on the subject. Malcolm was having a bad time just then. The excitement of the Jacobi episode had roused him for a while, but now natural reaction had set in, and the deadness and dullness of his daily routine oppressed him intolerably. Nothing interested him. Nothing gave him pleasure. His literary work, the society of his friends, even his nightly smokes with the faithful Goliath were like the dust and bitterness of the apples of Sodom. The present was like the desert of Sahara to him, and the future a perfect cavern of gloom. He was tired of himself and everyone else, and though he did not know it, his nerves were unstrung, and he could not always control his irritability. But he did his best and fought his foul fiend gallantly. He is a good divine that follows his own instructions, he would say grimly, when he compelled himself to make fresh efforts. Anything was better than brooding, he thought, and in the evenings he would resist the temptation to yield to his weariness and to take possession of his easy chair. For he knew too well that at such hours he was not master of his thoughts, and that in fancy the empty chair opposite to him would not long be unoccupied. How often had he pictured Elizabeth there as the companion of his solitude? How often had her bright face with its changing expression come between him and his book? And in the gloaming, her pleasant voice, with its quick breaks and hesitation, its characteristic abruptness had sounded in his ears. Sometimes he would walk too and fro in a perfect agony of impatience and passionate rebellion against his fate. I am possessed, but it is with an angel in woman's shape, he would say to himself. And yet she is no angel either. She is far too human. And her faults, oh well, with a dreary laugh. Her faults are Elizabethan too. But once, when the bitterness of his pain was too great, he muttered to himself a strange thing. It is I who ought to be in his place, he said. She is bewitched. David Carlyan's simplicity and goodness have bewitched her. But he is not her rightful mate. And then he struck himself fiercely on the breast and whispered, He is here, he is here, Elizabeth. But in spite of his inward sadness, he would not spare himself. And every week he went as usual to Queensgate to dine with his mother. But the long evenings tried him. And he found it difficult to hide his ennui and weariness from his mother's sharp eyes. One evening, just before Christmas, Anna made some remarks on his tired looks in her gentle affectionate way. And he had checked her with unwanted irritability. I wish you would get out of that habit of commenting on people's looks, he said quite angrily. It is very objectionable to me. I suppose everyone is tired and out of sorts at times. But it does no good to notice it. I am sorry, Malcolm. I will try to remember next time, faltered Anna, but the tears were in her eyes. And a few minutes later she left the room. Mrs. Herrick ventured on a remonstrance. I'm afraid you have hurt Anna, she said. She is so sensitive and you were quite rough with her. I am afraid I was returned Malcolm penitently. But if you only knew how it riles a man to be watched so closely. It was a very natural speech on Anna's part, replied his mother, in her sensible matter of fact way. The truth is, Malcolm, you have not been like yourself for months. You are ill or worried, and you do not wish us to take any notice. Well, you shall have your way, but it is a little hard on us both. Mother, there is nothing that I can tell you. You know I have said that before. One must have worries in this life. But Malcolm checked himself as Anna came back into the room. She was rather quiet and subdued all dinnertime, though she tried to appear as usual. And Malcolm's conscience pricked him unmercifully. Later on he found himself alone with her. She was drawing at a little round table, and he went and stood by her. Anna Chen, he said caressingly, as he put his hand under her chin and made her look at him. I was a brute to speak to you as I did. Of course you meant it kindly, dear. But it seemed to rub me up the wrong way. I think I am tired this evening. Anyhow, my head aches, and Malcolm might have added with truthfulness that his heart ached too. Yes, and I worried you. It was very tactless and foolish on my part. And again the ready tears started to Anna's eyes. But Malcolm would not allow this. His dear little Anna was always kind and thoughtful, and he had no right to be so savage with her. My mother is always hinting at my changed looks. But indeed I tried to be as usual. If I behave so badly, I must keep away. But this threat so alarmed Anna that he took back his words. He is very unhappy. I think he gets more so, Anna thought, as she stood by her window that night. And of course it is Elizabeth who makes him so. And that night Anna again wept and prayed for Malcolm, her dearest brother, as she called him, for deep down in her girlish heart there was buried the pure, virginal love that she had unconsciously given him, a love that no touch or breath would ever wake into life now. Malcolm was very repentant for days over his unkind speech. And on Christmas Eve when he paid his next visit, he brought Anna a peace offering in the shape of a valuable proof engraving of a picture she had long coveted. Malcolm had had it beautifully framed. Anna was enchanted with the gift, but Mrs. Herrick privately called her son to account for his extravagance. There was no need to make Anna such an expensive present, she said seriously. You must have paid twenty guineas for that engraving. You are too lavish in your generosity. She would be quite satisfied with some pretty trifle. I am quite sure of that, he returned, but it is such a pleasure to give her things. Indeed, Mother, as Mrs. Herrick still looked grave, I can well afford it. I have more money than I know how to spend, and as I am not likely to marry, I see no good in hoarding. Malcolm was right in saying that his income was too large for a bachelor, for in addition to the salary he drew from his literary post, his mother and sister on making him a handsome allowance, and every quarter day a large sum was placed to his account at his bankers, which Malcolm rarely touched. You are my only son, and there will be plenty for you when I die, she had said to him, and Anna shall have her share too. Your father was a rich man, Malcolm, and there was no need for you to work unless you wished to do so. But Malcolm soon convinced her that an idle life was not to his taste. Just after the New Year, Malcolm received rather a reproachful letter from Mrs. Godfrey, accusing him of forgetting their existence. Of course you will say you are busy, she wrote, but I do not mean to accept that excuse. You can spend a quiet Sunday with us as well as at Oxford, and I beg to remind you that I am an older friend than Dinah Templeton. Then Malcolm somewhat reluctantly made up his mind to accept the invitation for the following Saturday, although he was hardly in the mood for his old friend's lively talk. To his surprise his genial hostess received him rather gravely, and it struck him at once that her cheerfulness was a little forced, and with the familiarity of their intimate friendship he at once taxed her with it. Colonel Godfrey is well, and you are quite well, he said pointedly, and yet something seems troubling you. You are quite right, she returned with a sigh. You know I am rather a sympathetic person, Mr. Herrick, and I have been very much upset this morning by a letter from Elizabeth Templeton. Mr. Carlyon has been up to town to consult Dr. Broderick. His father took him, and from what she says there is nothing to be done. The poor fellow is in a rapid decline. And as she said this Mrs. Godfrey's eyes were full of tears. End of Chapter 34 Chapter 35 of Herb of Grace. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rita Boutros. Herb of Grace by Rosa Nushet Carrey. Chapter 35 Via Dolorosa. Bleed on beneath the rod, weep on until thou see, turn fear and hope to love of God, who loveeth thee. Turn all to love, poor soul, be love thy starting point, thy goal, be love thy watch and ward, and thy reward. Christina Rosetti. It was the feast of the epiphany, and morning service was just over in Rotherwood Church, when Elizabeth Templeton came out of the porch and walked slowly towards the gate, as though she expected someone to overtake her. At the sound of short hurrying footsteps behind her, she turned round and welcomed the newcomer with a faint smile, and they went on together. The Reverend Rupert Carlyon had been taking the service at his son's request, and to now, as he walked beside Elizabeth and tried vainly to adapt his brisk rapid step to hers, he looked more than ever like a grey-haired, shabby David Carlyon. The resemblance between father and son had always been striking, and even the mannerisms and tricks of speech were absurdly similar. A dry, chippy little man Cedric had once called him, and to now in his worn-inverness cape and slouched clerical hat he seemed smaller and more shrunken than ever. It was a lovely winter's day, and the whore frost on the hedges glittered in the sunshine. The air was crisp and buoyant in spite of the cold. But Elizabeth, who so reveled in the beauty of nature, and thought every season good and perfect, now only glanced round her with the indifferent air of one whose thoughts were elsewhere. You are going to the vicarage, she remarked at last. I must not take you out of your way. Oh, I will walk as far as the white cottage with you, returned Mr. Carlyon briskly. You have promised to spend my last day with my boy and me, so I shall be sure to turn up at tea. Charrington will give me some luncheon, and then I have two or three visits to pay for David. He is worrying himself dreadfully about that cobbler's child. Ah, poor little Kit, observed Elizabeth sadly. How sorry Mr. Herrick will be. Kit is his special protégé. But Dr. Randolph says that she could never have lived to grow up. Her step-mother is nursing her devotedly, but it is so sad to see Caleb Martin. He is quite bound up in the child, and it seems no use to try and comfort him. I, it is the Lord's will, he said to me yesterday, and maybe Kit will have a fine time when the angels make much of her. But what will Mam and I do without her? That is what I want to know. To be sure, to be sure, returned Mr. Carlyon hurriedly. That is what we all want to know. Well, Elizabeth, you will do your best to make my boy here reason. Theo and I have failed, and this is our last chance. I will do what I can, replied Elizabeth dejectedly. But David is a difficult patient, and I very much fear that Eve and I shall have little influence with him. It is so strange, she continued sorrowfully, that with all his unselfishness he should think so little of our feelings in this. Oh, you must make allowances for the morbidness of disease, returned Mr. Carlyon, shaking his head. Sick people have their fancies. You must not lose heart, my dear. Remember, you are only chief comfort as well as David's. Then again she tried to smile. The next minute they came in sight of the white cottage, and Mr. Carlyon left her to fulfill his self-imposed duties. Elizabeth was right when she confessed that David Carlyon was a difficult patient, for his high spirit and energy had prevented him for a long time from owning he was ill. Even in the early days of their engagement there had been symptoms that ought not to have been neglected, but he had fought his langer and fever manfully, and even Elizabeth knew nothing of an alarming attack of faintness that had followed an unusually hard day's work. Afterwards he had taken cold, and his illness had been so sharp that Elizabeth in desperation had summoned his sister. But even then David had absolutely refused any further political advice, and had also resisted all his friends and treaties that he would be moved to the vicarage or the woodhouse to be properly nursed. His old diggings were good enough for the likes of him, he would say, and though Mother Pratt had her failings she was not a bad sort, and when Elizabeth pressed him more closely he had seemed quite worried. Do give me my way in this, he said to her coaxingly, I know how I love this dear old cottage. It was in this room I first saw you dearest, you were standing by that window in the sunshine when the vicar brought me to see the place, and you turned round with such a beaming smile on your face. I think I loved you then, I could not be so happy anywhere else. And Elizabeth had reluctantly yielded her opinion. But the humble cottage rooms had been beautified and transformed by hers and Dina's thoughtful care for the invalid, and one comfort after another had found their way from the woodhouse, the very couch that Dina had used in her illness with its soft silk cushions and idered-down foot quilt, the golden black screen from the inner drawing-room, and a favorite easy chair that David had often praised were all at the white cottage, nor was Mr. Charrington behind hand in his attentions. His housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, always prepared the invalid's dainty little dinners. The excellent beef-tea and soups, the jellies, rusks, and delicate puddings were all Mrs. Finch's handy work. Mrs. Pratt's cookery was not to be depended on, and though she pretended to grumble at other folks' interference, she was only too glad to be saved trouble. It may be doubted whether David Carlyon really realized his own serious condition until the physician's opinion had been made known to him. Advanced this is, he muttered thoughtfully. But when Dr. Broderick proceeded to recommend Mentone or some southern health resort for the winter, he had turned upon him almost abruptly. I suppose Davos Platz would not cure me, he asked. Then, as the doctor hesitated with the natural dislike to give pain, David continued bluntly. It would be the truest kindness on your part, Dr. Broderick, to tell me the truth. If I take your advice and go to one of these places, may I expect to get well in time? I am afraid not, Mr. Carlyon, return the physician reluctantly. It would be wrong of me to let you go away with this idea. You have consulted me too late. The disease is too far advanced. But it is my duty to tell you that life would certainly be prolonged in a warmer climate. There, David, and the reverend Rupert Carlyon looked pleadingly at his son. Wait a moment, Father, return David firmly. I have not quite finished my questions. Let us understand each other, doctor. If I go away, you tell me my life will be prolonged. Do you mean for years? Dr. Broderick shook his head. Oh, I see. But David tried not to look at his father's pinched white face. You mean months, probably? Yes, yes, return the doctor hurriedly. With care and under favorable circumstances there might be no further breakdown for another year. But with a keen look at his patient I will not undertake to promise this. I quite understand, returned David quietly. Dr. Broderick, I am sorry, but I cannot take your prescription. They sent my mother to Davos Platt's. There seemed hope for her, and she died away from us all. And one of my sisters died at Mentone, too. But I do not intend to follow their example. And then he had risen from his chair and put an end to the interview. Nothing would induce him to go abroad. Even when Elizabeth promised that she and Dinah would go, too, his resolution to remain England had been unshaken. Why should I let them sacrifice themselves for me, he said to his father? Am I not bringing trouble enough on Elizabeth? Why did I ever speak to her? I was mad to let her engage herself to me. I might have known how it would be. And that day David's despondency was very great. But at other times he made heroic efforts to hide his deep inward sadness from Elizabeth. He was so young, and the love of life was so strong within him, and the thought of disease and death so terrible. Sometimes in the dark hours of the winter night, when his racking cough would not let him sleep, he wrestled with his despair as Christian wrestled with Apollyon. A soldier who refuses wounds and death, he would say to himself, a minister of Christ who fears to tread in his master's footsteps. But a coward and deserter, and I and both. And then the torrent of his human passion would sweep over his soul, his love for Elizabeth, the knowledge that but for this hereditary melody he would have had the blessed certainty of calling her wife. What a noble life they too would have lived. What plans of unselfishness they had formed. How the treasures of their happiness would have fertilized other and more barren lives, and now not life but death claimed him. Ah, no wonder if his human weakness blanched at the prospect, if his heart at times quailed and grew sick within him. For when one is young and happy it is not easy to die, and fuller life not rest is the thing desired. But there were times when his fears seemed lulled and generalized, and when, with the strange hopefulness that was a feature of his disease, he would even delude himself with the idea that the doctors were wrong and that he would surely get better. These intervals of comparative brightness would come to him when the sun shone, or his nights had been less suffering or when Elizabeth was with him. Her presence so rested and stimulated him that it was impossible for him always to realize the truth. I can think of nothing but you, he would say to her. I could think of nothing but you. The sitting-room at the white cottage looked snug and cozy that morning. The fire burned cheerily, and David Carlyon lay on his luxurious couch in the sunshine in a perfect nest of pillows carefully screened from drafts and with a small table beside him, with flowers and fruit and books all carefully and tastefully arranged by Elizabeth's own hands on her way to church while the invalid was still in his bedroom. It was a good day with David, and the old cheery smile was on his lips as Elizabeth entered, but as she knelt beside him to give him her usual greeting, the ravages of the fatal disease were fearfully perceptible in the strong light. The hallowed temples and sharply defined features, the tightened skin, the hectic flush, the emaciation and shortness of breathing, and the constant cough all told their sad tale of rapid decline and decay. Too late, she knew it well for any human skill to arrest those symptoms. No earthly care and love could preserve that cherished life much longer. You are late, dearest, he said, holding her hand. I saw the church goers pass a quarter of an hour ago. I expect you and my father were gossiping as usual, but all the same I know my good fairy has been at work with a glance at his flowers. You must not spoil me like this, my darling, and he raised her hand to his lips. You know I love to do it, returned Elizabeth gently, and then she brought a low chair to his side and placed herself where he could see her. He would lie for hours contentedly watching her as she worked or read to him. Sometimes the thin hand would touch a fold of her dress caressingly, as though even that were sacred to him, and not a change of the speaking face or an intonation of her voice would be lost on him. Perhaps no two men were more dissimilar than David Carlean and Malcolm Herrick, and yet they were alike in this that they each loved Elizabeth with a profound and noble love. You are looking serious, dear, he said presently, as Elizabeth made a pretense of sorting the silks of her embroidery. That little piece of embroidery with its gay silk and flowers became one of Elizabeth's dearest relics. It was David who helped her choose the shades, who insisted on a spray of his favourite lilies of the valley being inserted. How he had praised her skill and made his little jokes over her industry. But the screen would never be used by him now, and the stitches were put in perfunctorily and with a heavy heart. Elizabeth had made no answer to David's remark about her gravity. She was trying to collect her thoughts for the business she had in view. But the next minute a hand was laid upon her work. Tell me all about it, he said persuasively. Of course I know you and my father have been brewing mischief. I think I can read your very thoughts as Elizabeth looked up at him. You need not try to hide things from me. I could not if I tried, she returned in a low voice. David, I want you to do something for my sake. Your father and I, yes, and Diana too, have been making such a nice little plan. We have heard of a delightful house at Vettner. It belongs to a friend of Mrs. Godfrey and it is so comfortable and so beautifully furnished and with such a pleasant view. You are so fond of the sea, David, and your father loves it too, and we thought, hesitating a moment, as she felt the grip of David's fingers round her wrist. Diana and I both thought it would be a capital arrangement to take red bray for three or four months. There would be plenty of room for you and your father and Theo too, she continued as he remained silent. And it would be so nice for us to be together. And our old nurse, Mrs. Gibbon, you know Mrs. Gibbon, dear, would help us to take care of you. David drew a deep breath. Yes, I see, he returned slowly, and all the expense and trouble would be for me. Don't I know your generosity, Elizabeth, in a choked voice. But it is too much. I cannot do it. Don't you know, darling, don't we both know that nothing really matters. Ventuner will do me no good. Let me bide where I am. And David's voice was pathetic in its pleading. Let me die in this dear old cottage. No, no, returned Elizabeth, bursting into tears. David, how can you be so cruel? Surely you wish to stay longer with me. Why need we be parted yet? Think of it, dear, that it is for my sake and your fathers and theos. If it is a sacrifice, it is a sacrifice for those you love. Oh, David, my David, it is such a little thing, I ask, just for us to be a few months longer together. I know how you hated going abroad, and I would not have pressed it for worlds. But Ventuner, oh, David, you cannot have the heart to refuse me. And Elizabeth broke down utterly and hid her face in her hands. Perhaps it was as well that she did not see David's expression that moment. As he lay back upon his pillows his face was deathly. Why did they ask this of him? He was just growing more resigned and peaceful. Those agonized prayers of his for aid and sucker had been answered. And the deep blessedness of an accepted cross seemed to fill his soul with a strange calm. He must die and he knew it. But his heavenly father had been merciful to him and death had lost its terrors. And now his longing was to die in the village he had chosen as his home, and under the shadow of the church where he had ministered as God's priest. He knew where they would lay him. He and Elizabeth had chosen his last resting place. And she had listened dry eyed to his simple directions and wishes. He had talked out his heart to her. And her unselfish sympathy had been his greatest comfort. But now she was asking this sacrifice of him. And how was he to refuse her? And yet if Elizabeth had guessed how the thought of that exile filled him with dismay and desolation she would surely have denied her own craving for a few more weeks of life. But David knew better than to tell her. God's hand was laid on her head. Elizabeth, let me see your dear face. You and my father shall have your way, darling. I will go to Ventner. David's breathing was so labored that he was obliged to stop here. But Elizabeth with a cry of joy threw her arms round him. Oh, David dear, thank you, thank you, you have made me so happy. And the smile he loved so well beamed through her tears. But David's answering smile was rather forced. There is little cause for thankfulness, he replied wearily, a poor helpless infallid who will only give you trouble. But there is one thing you must promise, dearest. And as she looked at him expectantly he whispered, you must promise to bring me back here. Then Elizabeth bowed her head in silence for she knew too well what he meant. Chapter 35 Chapter 36 of Herb of Grace This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Rita Butros Herb of Grace by Rosa Nuschet-Carrie Chapter 36 I have been a coward. Father, we need thy winter as thy spring. We need thy earthquakes as thy summer showers. But through them all thy strong arms carry us. Thy strong heart bearing large share in our grief. Because thou lovest goodness more than joy, in them thou lovest, thou dost let them grieve. George MacDonald And so it was settled. Elizabeth had her way. For a little they talked quietly of their future plans. The flitting was to be accomplished as soon as possible. The house would be ready for them in another week. Dinah would go down first to make arrangements, and Cedric would accompany her and stay at Ventner until it was time for him to return to Oxford. The change of scene would be good for him, and in many ways he would be useful to Dinah. He would also tell David that his father had promised to travel down with them, that he intended to find a locum tenants for Stokely, and that he would probably remain with them for a month or six weeks. And this last item of information seemed to afford David much satisfaction. But the next moment he observed in rather a worry-tone that it would be a great expense, and that he was afraid Theo would object. Theo will have to mind her own business, returned Elizabeth severely. Your father means to tell her that you are his first duty, and of course he is right. But Elizabeth carefully forebored to tell David that she had already undertaken to pay the expenses of the locum tenants for three months. And by dint of sheer obstinacy and feminine persuasions, she had at last induced Mr. Carlyon to accept her bounty. My poverty and not my will consents, he observed sadly. But Elizabeth would not listen to this. Dear Mr. Carlyon, she had said earnestly, if you only knew the pleasure this will give me, can you not understand that I only cared for my money because it would be his, and now what good will it be to me? Let me use it for him as long as I can. Let me do all in my power for him, and you too, as though I were already your daughter. And then, as she wiped away a few quiet tears, Mr. Carlyon had yielded. David strove with his wanted unselfishness to interest himself in Elizabeth's plans for his comfort. He heard how the inner drawing room at Red Bray was to be converted into a bedroom, that he might be able, without fatigue, to take possession of the drawing room couch by the pleasant window, with its view of the sea, and how a smaller room on the same floor was to be prepared for his father. But by and by, in spite of his efforts, his attention flagged, and he looked so exhausted that Elizabeth refused to say another word. I shall give you your luncheon, and then read you to sleep, she said, in what David called her mother-gamp tone. But he was too worn out to resist, and though forgetfulness was not to be obtained, it was certainly a comfort to lie with closed eyes and listen to Elizabeth's dear voice till the twilight compelled her to close the book. And then she sat by him in silence until he asked her to light the lamp. Tea was ready before Mr. Carlyon returned. As he opened the door, he gave a quick, anxious glance at Elizabeth. Come in, Dad, it is all right, observed David, in a weak voice. But he spoke with his old cheeriness. Willful man and willful woman, too, must have their way, and I have given in like a good boy. That's a dear lad, returned his father, rubbing his cold hands gleefully together. I knew you would make him hear reason, Elizabeth. She is worth the rest of us put together, is she not, David? Mr. Carlyon interrupted Elizabeth. David is tired and must not talk any more, but someone else is tired, too. And then she drew up an easy chair by the fire and gave Mr. Carlyon his tea and talked to him softly about Mr. Charrington and Kit until it was time for her to go. But even then she refused to bid him goodbye. I shall be at the station, she whispered, as he kissed her forehead. We can say things to each other, then. And he understood her and nodded. But later on, as Mr. Carlyon sat beside his son's bedside with the warned little book of devotions out of which he had been reading to him still open in his hands, he was struck with the strained troubled look in David's eyes. What is it, my dear, he said wistfully, for the cured in charge of Stokely had homely little ways and tricks of speech that endeared him still more to those who loved him. And Elizabeth would often praise the simplicity and unobtrusive goodness that reminded her of David. There is something on your mind, he continued tenderly. Make a clean breast of it, my boy. You and I understand each other, don't we, Davy? And Mr. Carlyon gently padded his son's hand as though he was still a little child. Out with it, lad, you are not quite happy about Ventner. Father, how could you guess that? returned David in a deprecating voice. If you knew how I hate myself for being so cowardly and ungrateful, promise me, promise me, Dad, that you will never let Elizabeth know how badly I feel about it. It would make her so unhappy. So it would, poor girl, so it would, rejoined Mr. Carlyon, for in his eyes Elizabeth was still a girl and the very dearest of daughters to him. She and Dinah have planned it all for me, continued David. I know what a sacrifice it is to Dinah, for she does so dislike leaving home, but she is doing it for Elizabeth's sake. You are doing it for Elizabeth's sake too, are you not, David? asked his father quietly. Then the harassed face brightened at once. Let me tell you all about it, Dad, he returned eagerly. It will be such a comfort. You have often been my father confessor before. If you knew how my heart sank Elizabeth begged me to go to Ventnor. And yet how was I to refuse her when she said, with tears in her eyes, that my consenting to the plan would probably give her a few more weeks of happiness? You know how she meant it. Oh yes, I know, David, in the same quiet tone. Of course I could not refuse. I dared not be guilty of such selfishness. For after all, which is a little more pain matter? And here David drew a heavy sigh of intense weariness. But I was so tired, and then I knew that the battle would have to be fought all over again. I am not sure that I understand you, dear lad. No, because I am not making things clear. But I will try to do so, and then you must help me. I have been a coward father, that's the truth, and have rebelled against my hard fate. God's will was not my will, and I wanted to live, and marry Elizabeth. Ah, David Boy, I know. Yes, you know, with a sad yearning look, at the gray head bent now upon the trembling hands. You know that was how my mother felt when she went so far away from us to die. She only consented to go because she wanted to live. And it broke her heart to leave us, returned his father huskily. Dear heart, how she prayed that we might be spared that parting. But the divine will ordered otherwise. I have prayed too, murmured David. And then, thank God, the strength and help I needed so sorely came. I have felt so peaceful lately, and now the struggle will begin again. Oh no, surely not, David. Yes, Father, it must. I shall get better for a time, and I shall have the sunshine, and Elizabeth's dear love, and life will grow too precious to me again. And I shall dishonor my master, and put him to shame by wanting to lay down my cross. No, David, I am not afraid of that, returned his father gravely. My own boy, this is only one of the dark hours when the evil one tempts you in your weakness. Need I remind you of what you have so often preached to others, that as thy day, thy strength will be, and that help never comes beforehand? True, but I seem to forget everything. Then a warm, comforting hand was laid tenderly upon David's forehead. I shall remind you, we shall not be parted yet, my son, and God will help me to say the right words to you. Ah, David, in a reverent tone, many lives have their gethsemenes, but only one ever drank the bitter cup of sorrow to the dregs without a murmur, and only one had an angel to comfort him. He will not be hard on us because our human will shrinks from some hard cross of pain, for he knoweth our frame, and in our weakness and extremity he will be our staff and our stay. And in trembling tones he blessed his boy and sat beside him in voiceless prayer, and the deep inward supplication of exceeding love, nor did he leave him until David had sunk into an exhausted sleep. David was very feverish and unwell the next day, and Mr. Carlyon could not leave him, but after a few hours he grew better again, and as the days went on he seemed to recover his old cheerfulness. One afternoon, as Elizabeth was sitting with him as usual, for she always spent her afternoons at the White Cottage. He surprised her by asking if Malcolm Herrick never came to the Woodhouse now. How strange that you should ask that question, returned Elizabeth, colouring slightly at the mention of Malcolm's name. For he is coming down this very evening, and Cedric is driving to Orlesfield to meet him. Dinah asked him to come, she went on. She wanted to talk to him about Cedric. Herrick is Dinah's right-hand man of business. She quite swears by him, replied David, smoothing tenderly a ruffled block of brown hair that the wind had disordered. I suppose he will remain the night. Oh yes, of course. Dinah has got a room ready for him. She told him that she should not allow him to go to the king's arms. It was right for her to put her foot down, returned David approvingly. Why on earth need he scruple to accept your hospitality? Somehow I always liked Herrick, though I am not so sure that he returned the compliment. Perhaps under the circumstances one could hardly expect it. Elizabeth's face grew hot. The subject was a painful one to her. Never mind about Mr. Herrick dear, she said hurriedly, Dinah and here are great friends. You need not tell me that, in rather a meaning tone. Dinah has excellent taste. Dearest, his voice changing to seriousness, I want you to give Herrick a message from me. Tell him I should like to shake hands with him when he goes to the vicarage. Do you really want me to say this to him? And there was little doubt from Elizabeth's face that she was reluctant to give the message. But David meant to have his way. Yes, tell him, he repeated. He and Cedric are sure to walk over in the morning. The vicar and Herrick are such cronies. And why should he pass my door? And this seemed so plausible that Elizabeth said no more. But as she walked home, she wondered more than once over this strange fancy on David's part. There had been so little intercourse between the two young men. A secret sense of antagonism on Malcolm Herrick's part had been an obstacle to David's proffered friendliness. It was true that Mr. Herrick must pass the White Cottage on his way to the vicarage. And even without the message, his good feeling would probably have induced him to stop and inquire after the invalid. But she felt David's request would surprise him. Nevertheless, she must do his will and give the message. Elizabeth was later than usual that evening and she found that Malcolm had just arrived and was talking to Dinah in the drawing-room. Standing before the fire warming himself after his cold drive and as Elizabeth entered he broke off in the middle of a sentence and silently shook hands with her. Elizabeth felt at once conscious that his manner was even more constrained and guarded than usual. And this made her nervous and for the moment she could find nothing to say. It was a relief to them both when Dinah observed in her quiet matter-of-fact way, Mr. Herrick is so kind and obliging, Betty. He has promised not to leave us until quite late tomorrow afternoon. That will give us plenty of time for a nice talk. You see, Cedric will be with us this evening and we may find it difficult to get rid of him. And there is so much that I want to say. I think I can take him off your hands, replied Elizabeth, and then she turned to Malcolm. Though he noticed that she avoided looking at him and there was a curious abruptness in her manner that almost amounted to awkwardness. Mr. Carlyan has sent you a message, Mr. Herrick. He thinks you will be sure to call at the vicarage and he would like you to look in at the white cottage as you pass. He says that he would be pleased to shake hands with you. There was no doubt that Malcolm was surprised. He unconsciously stiffened. He is very kind, he said rather formally, but of course I meant to call, or at least leave my card. I had just told your sister so. Perhaps you had better call at the vicarage first, returned Elizabeth hurriedly. Mr. Carlyan is rarely out of his room before midday and all hours are alike to Mr. Charrington. And when Malcolm had gravely agreed to do this, Elizabeth went upstairs to prepare for dinner and did not appear again until the gong sounded. She did not forget her promise, however, of taking Cedric off Dinah's hands and as soon as they had finished their coffee she challenged him to a game of chess in the inner drawing-room where on cold nights a second fire generally burned. The rooms were so large that unless Dinah and Malcolm raised their voices it was impossible to hear their conversation and as Cedric had his back to them he had no idea that they were talking more confidentially than usual. But from Malcolm's position Elizabeth's face stood out in full relief and in spite of all his efforts his attention often wandered. Even in those few short weeks since they had last met he could see a change in her. She had grown thinner and paler and there was a deepened sadness in her eyes and yet in his opinion she had never looked more lovely and it was more the inward than outward loveliness that he meant. He noticed how mechanically she played and how the game failed to interest her. When Cedric checkmated her twice she only rose with an air of relief as though she had finished a wearer some task and came towards them. I am cold she said simply as Dinah made room for her. We nearly let the fire out between us but as she sat in her snug corner warming her hands she kept to join in the conversation. Indeed her manner was so absent that Malcolm felt convinced that she heard little of what they said and he was not surprised that Dinah noticed it at last. You are tired Betty dear she said kindly I am quite sure that Mr. Herrick will excuse you. And Elizabeth availed herself at once of this permission to withdraw. She has nodded her ease Malcolm thought bitterly she seems afraid of me somehow she will not meet my eyes and she has scarcely spoken a dozen words to me and he sighed for it seemed the saddest thing to him that she should suffer and that he should be powerless to help her. And in his fanciful way he said to himself we are like two travellers walking along stony paths with a high wall between us so that no helping hand can be stretched out and no voices of comfort can be heard. And then he added I dare not even tell her that I am sorry for her and for him too. Malcolm was alone when he paid his visit to the White Cottage. There was no doubt that the change in David Carlyan shocked him greatly though he strove to hide this from the invalid. David welcomed him with his old cordiality but Malcolm who was exceedingly nervous could only stammer out a few common places the bright eager young face that Elizabeth so loved shrunken and wasted the lips seemed drawn from the teeth and yet at times the old cheery smile played round them but the voice was weak and toneless and every now and then the hard dry cough seemed to rack him cruelly if you knew how sorry I am to see you like this observed Malcolm kindly well I am rather a poor specimen just now returned David with a feeble laugh but what can't be cured must be endured eh, Eric? I told Elizabeth here a shade came over Malcolm's face that I should like to shake hands with you when a fellow is going a long journey and here David's hollow eyes grew a little sad and wistful it seems natural to bid one's friends goodbye we did not know each other much, Eric but I always wanted to see more of you you are very good to say so but if his life had depended on it Malcolm could not have brought himself to say more at that moment he wished himself a hundred miles away a quaint sweet smile flitted across David's face he could read Malcolm's thoughts you have been such a good fellow, Eric and have done so much for them all that was a bad business with Cedric but at his age he will get over it you and I know that we do indeed returned Malcolm gravely Diana comes and talks to me sometimes went on David she says that if you had been their own brother you could not have done more she is so grateful to you, Eric perhaps he would have said more but Malcolm checked him never mind that, Carlyon it was a great pleasure to me to do it now let us talk of something more interesting and then for a short time they talked of Oxford and the boat race and then of Ventner which Malcolm knew well he had even spent an evening at Red Bray when the Godfrees were staying there the house is charming, he said quite enthusiastically I know the rooms you will have, Carlyon and they are delightful David did not respond and he was evidently getting tired so Malcolm rose to take his leave I wish I could do something for you too he said with such sincerity that David was quite touched I have had my good things returned in a low voice and now I must read my weird don't worry, Eric things generally come right in the long run but we must not try to act providence too much goodbye God bless you the thin hand rung Malcolm's with surprising force but Malcolm's eyes were a little misty as he went out of the room for he knew he knew too well that in this life he should never see David Carlyon's face again End of Chapter 36 Chapter 37 of Herb of Grace This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Herb of Grace by Rosa Neuchat Carrey Chapter 37 The Parting of the Ways Shall I forget thee on this side of the grave? I promise nothing you must wait and see patient and brave O my soul, watch with him and he with me Shall I forget in peace of paradise? I promise nothing follow friend and see faithful and wise O my soul, lead the way he walks with me Christina Rosetti A few days after the invalid had safely reached Bantner Diana wrote one of her pleasant chatty letters to Malcolm She told him that David had born the long journey fairly well and that he and Mr. Carlyon were charmed with redbray I wish Cedric could have stayed longer, she finished He has been such a dear good boy but I'm afraid he is still very unhappy Elizabeth heard from Mrs. Godfrey yesterday Leah has been ill with influenza but Mrs. Richardson has nursed her like a mother Leah seems devoted to her already The poor girl told Mrs. Godfrey that she had never had such a kind friend in her life As the weeks went on Diana wrote still more cheerily The improvement in David is quite surprising, she said in one of her letters Even Dr. Hewlett seems astonished He is able to be out in his bath-chair every day and on sunny afternoons he spends hours on the balcony Mr. Carlyon is always with him It is beautiful to see their devotion to each other They seem to think alike on every subject He and Elizabeth read aloud by turns and I like to take my work there and listen to them A happy family party thought Malcolm a little bitterly as he put down the letter Even now he could have found it in his heart to envy his rival But the next moment he dismissed the unworthy thought But it was only a temporary rally Dr. Hewlett told Diana privately one day that there was no real improvement in the patient's condition and that at any time there might be a sudden change for the worse when they least expected it Hemorrhage or collapse might set in and the doctor's fears were verified One day late in March David seemed unusually well A gale had blown all night But towards morning the wind had lulled and a heavy rain had set in and David had expressed some disappointment at having to remain indoors But Mr. Carlyon, who considered himself weather-wise assured him that the weather would improve later The gale had disturbed Elizabeth and she had found it impossible to sleep for hours When she rose the next morning she felt unusually weary and depressed A strange foreboding, a sense of separation and loss seemed to oppress her and no efforts on her part could enable her to maintain her won'ted cheerfulness Her dejection was so evident that David noticed it at last and when Mr. Carlyon had put on his old mackintosh and had gone out for a blow on the parade he gently rallied her on her depression What is it, dearest? he asked rather anxiously You are not your bright self this morning You are so good and unselfish, darling that you never let me see when you are unhappy But today you cannot hide it from me Then he took her hands and held them so that he could see her face I don't know what has come over me returned Elizabeth in a mournful voice But all night long and this morning my heart has felt as heavy as lead Great tears welled in her eyes and she suddenly laid her head down on his shoulder Oh, David! David! if I could only go to Life will be so long and difficult without you He stroked her hair for a few minutes without speaking She was thinking of the parting that must surely come and he must find some word to comfort her If I could only feel that you were near me she whispered, even though I could not see you or hear your voice that you were still loving me and watching over my poor life He returned tenderly I have often had those thoughts More than once my father and I have spoken of it It is his idea that nothing can divide us from those we love Continuity of life, continuity of love, that is his creed Is it yours too, David? Dear Elizabeth! return the young man simply The future is so veiled in mystery and silence that one hardly knows what one believes except that all will be well with us It seems to me that even in paradise we must still love our dear ones and pray for them so tossed and buffeted by the waves of this troublesome world But more than that I dare not say I think I must always love you there as well as here Then she smiled at him through her tears Dear love! he went on a moment later There is something I have often wanted to say and yet the words were difficult to utter Elizabeth! life is long as you say and your great loving heart must not remain unsatisfied Do not mourn for me too long Do not refuse comfort that may be offered to you if you can be happy, dear But here Elizabeth's hand was laid over his lips No, no, you shall not say it, I will not hear it And Elizabeth's eyes were wide with trouble David! David! And then she could say no more for her wild weeping Hush, hush, my darling, I cannot bear this And David's lips grew so white that Elizabeth in alarm controlled herself But as she gave him a restorative he held out his feeble hand to her Forgive me if I said too much, he pleaded I thought perhaps it might be a comfort afterwards Dear Elizabeth, be true to yourself as you have been true to me and may God bless and reward you for all your goodness to me and mine David spoke with strange solemnity for though neither of them guessed it then this was their last farewell before the parting of the ways The evening passed tranquilly Elizabeth seemed less dejected but her head ached and she sat silently beside David while Mr. Carlion went on with the book they were reading Once when there was a pause she looked up and saw David's wrapped gaze fixed on the sunset while a look of almost unearthly beauty seemed to transform his emaciated features She would have spoken to him but he made a gesture as though for silence and again that awful sense of separation seemed to pass between them Mr. Carlion put down his book and looked too at the wondrous pageant of the sea and sky The bridegroom has run his race murmured David in a strange voice What regal robes of gold and crimson Father, this is the best sunset we have seen yet I, that it is David, returned Mr. Carlion but you are looking weird in my boy and I must be getting you to bed Will you ring for nurse Gibbon, Elizabeth? But as she did so she noticed how feebly David walked and how heavily he lent on his father's arm Half an hour later as Elizabeth was standing on the balcony enjoying the cool spring air She heard Mr. Carlion call her loudly Then a bell rang and she and Dinah rushed into David's room One look at the changed livid face told them the truth Dinah sent off for the doctor and she and Elizabeth tried all possible remedies but in vain Sudden collapse had set in David could not speak But for one moment his dying eyes rested on Elizabeth's face and his last act of consciousness was to try to put her hand in his father's I understand David Elizabeth stooped and whispered into his dull ear Yes, we will take care of each other and comfort each other and then a faint flickering smile seemed to cross his face But the next moment unconsciousness set in For hours Elizabeth knelt beside him with her arms supporting the pillow under his head While on the other side the stricken father offered up supplications for his dying son When his voice quavered and broke with human weakness and Dinah begged him to spare himself he shook his grey head Maybe he hears me I will go as far as I can with him down the valley of the shadow of death and then he folded his trembling hands together Oh, David David, would God I had died for thee my son my son It was very sudden, wrote Dinah to Malcolm the next morning Dear David had seemed so much better that day but Dr. Hewlett had warned us of probable collapse and heart failure He had only left us half an hour and Mr. Carlion was reading the evening psalms to him when he saw a change in him and called to us I am sure David knew us when we went in but he could not speak and then unconsciousness came on The end was so quiet that we hardly knew when he left us We have telegraphed to Theoh There is much to be done Dear Elizabeth is very good and calm She and Mr. Carlion are never apart He can do nothing without her He looks quite aged and broken and no wonder he has known so much trouble and David was his only son Dinah secretly marvelled at Elizabeth's wonderful self-control and calmness During those trying days no one saw her shed tears It seemed as though her grief was too deep and sacred for outward manifestation But when Dinah gently hinted at her surprise Elizabeth looked at her almost reproachfully I thought you would have understood die She returned in a low voice David, my David, is a saint in paradise and one must be still and reverent in one's grief When one has to mourn all one's life there need be no excitement and then she murmured I shall go to him but he shall not return to me and then as Dinah took her sister's hand she kissed it almost passionately in her love and sympathy One of the old beautiful smiles lighted up Elizabeth's face I was as one who dreamed, she said later on and indeed it was a strange dual life that she lived There were the quiet hours when she knelt beside the coffin when her thoughts seemed winged and carried her to the still land where her beloved walked in green pastures and beside still waters When in fancy she seemed to hear far-off echoes of melodious voices When for David's sake she would feel comforted and at rest He did not want to die, she would say to herself Life was sweet to him but God gave him grace to offer up his will and then peace came Darling, darling laying her cheek against the coffin you will never suffer again no more pain or weariness no more conflict and temptation only fuller life and more faithful service for his servants shall serve him and they shall see his face Elizabeth marked those words with a red cross on the margin of her Bible on the day David died but there was another reason for Elizabeth's self-control and unselfishness she was anxious on Mr. Carlyon's account Diana was right when she told Malcolm that he was much aged and broken I have lost my Benjamin the son of my right hand he had said to her God's hand is heavy upon me and though he strove to bear his sorrow with resignation his feebleness alarmed them all Theo, as usual, was undisciplined in her grief He will die too, she lamented Elizabeth, David has gone and now poor father will follow him I have never seen him look so ill David and he were everything to each other Hush, Theo, returned Elizabeth quietly we must give him time it has been a great shock we must not let him know that we are anxious and forgetful of her own trouble Elizabeth ministered to him with filial devotion no one else could induce him to take food she would bring him the cup of soup or the glass of wine and sit beside him as he took it or lure him gently to talk to her of David of his childhood or boyhood no one does him so much good as Miss Templeton Dr. Hewlett observed one day to Diana I confess I was a bit anxious about him for two days he has a weak heart and I did not quite like his look but your sister has brought him round Elizabeth smiled happily when Diana told her this I am glad Dr. Hewlett said that die I do love to take care of him it is the only thing I can do for David now Father, she said to him one day for when they were alone she always called him by that name I think you still have some work to do before your rest time comes doing better are you not? then he looked at her with sad wistfulness I think I am not worthy to go yet he returned humbly I must do my master's work as long as he gives me strength to do it oh Elizabeth they are all there all but Theo and I David's mother and Alice and Magdalene and our little Felicia and now David has joined them in that heavenly mansion but you will go too dear when the master says go up higher whispered Elizabeth then the slow tears of age gathered in Mr. Carlyon's eyes yes yes I know it the flesh is weak Elizabeth pray for me that I may have patience and then he rested his grey head against her as she knelt beside him as though the burden of that sorrow were too heavy for him to bear Malcolm was in the churchyard that sunshiney April day when they buried David in the tranquil spot that he had chosen for his last resting place not only the people of Rotherwood but friends from Staplegrove and Earlsfield and from the villages for miles round were gathered there for the young clergyman had been much beloved very near the newly made grave was a tiny grassy mound where little kit lay and at Malcolm's side stood a small shabbily dressed man with pale watery blue eyes and an air of extreme dejection nervously fumbling with the crepe band on his hat Malcolm had just laid a little spray of violets and lilies of the valley on the mound as they waited for the funeral procession she was fond of flowers Caleb I that she was sir brightening up kit loved everything that was bright and pretty bless her dear heart I hope they'll give her lots of flowers where she's gone and that they will let her pick them for herself you mind her last words to me Mr. Herrick Goodbye dad I'm a going to be an angel and I mean to be a real splendid one and all the time her poor throat would hardly let her speak poor little soul murmured Malcolm compassionately for kit had suffered greatly in her heroic childish fashion hush here they come Caleb Malcolm grew quite white when he saw Elizabeth looking like a widow in her deep mourning and crepe veil leaning on Mr. Carlion's arm she had chosen the two hymns that David's favourite choir boys were to sing for all the saints who from their labours rest and how bright those glorious spirits shine they were singing the last when the breeze caught Elizabeth's veil and blew it aside and he had a glimpse of her face the beauty of her expression its patient sadness its calm faith moved him strangely he is not here it seemed to say he has gone to a world where there are no more sorrow and sighing and God shall wipe away all tears and then the boys voices rang sweetly through the churchyard midst pastures green he'll lead his flock where living streams appear and God the Lord from every eye shall wipe off every tear Malcolm lingered behind until the crowd had dispersed then he and Caleb looked down at the flower-decked coffin loving hands had lined the walls of the grave with grasses and spring flowers lent lilies and blue hyacinths until it looked like a green bower decked with blossoms countless wreaths and crosses and rustic bunches of flowers lay on the grass waiting until the grave was filled Malcolm looked at them all before he went back to town but all that evening the remembrance of Elizabeth's wrapped-up lifted look remained with him she did not know I was there, he said to himself but he was wrong the very next evening he had a note from Diana Elizabeth wants me to thank you, she wrote for your lovely cross she thought it so kind of you to be there with us we both saw you was it not all peaceful and beautiful next Thursday Elizabeth is going to Stokely with Mr. Carlyon he is better but still very weak and ailing and she dare not leave him to Theo when I am alone will you come down for a night it would be such a comfort to talk to so kind a friend and then when Malcolm read this he made up his mind that he would go to the Woodhouse as soon as Elizabeth had left for Stokely end of Chapter 37 Chapter 38 of Herb of Grace this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Herb of Grace by Rosa Neuchat Carrey Chapter 38 Tangled Threads God has furnished us with constant occasions of bearing one another's burdens for there is no man living without his failings no man that is so happy as never to give offence no man without his load of trouble a loving heart is the great requirement Teaching of Buddha Cedric had spent the Easter vacation with Malcolm at Cheney Walk Malcolm had previously sounded diner before he gave the invitation and found that she fully appreciated the thoughtfulness that prompted it it is so like your usual kindness dear friend she wrote you felt as we do that the Woodhouse would be too quiet and dull just now for Cedric it is so much better for him to be with you indeed I shall not mind being alone and when Cedric goes back to Oxford you will run down to see me as you promised Malcolm was relieved to find a great improvement in Cedric though his love affair had ended so disastrously he had achieved his pet ambition and had been in the winning boat in the Oxford and Cambridge boat race the excitement and months of training had done him good morally and physically and though he was still depressed and melancholy and had by no means forgotten Lear he showed greater manliness and self-control and Malcolm's influence was again in the ascendant Malcolm took him to Queensgate and introduced him to his mother and Anna he had previously acquainted his mother with the story of his unfortunate infatuation for Lear Jacobi to his surprise she was deeply interested and begged to be allowed to tell Anna Anna cares so much more for unhappy people she said you will see how kind she will be to the poor fellow in her way Mrs. Herrick was kind too Malcolm who knew young men was seldom welcome at 27 Queensgate was secretly amazed at the graciousness with which Cedric was received Mrs. Herrick's stoicism was no proof against the lads' handsome face and deep melancholy her manner softened and grew quite motherly and as for Anna Malcolm took at a task at last when he found that Cedric was in the habit of going over to Queensgate at all hours in the day Anna thought Malcolm was serious and flushed up in quite a distressed manner at his bantering tone the mother asked him she said defending herself quite anxiously it is so dull for him at Cheney Walk while you are in town and so mother said he could come here to luncheon whenever he liked that was kind of her returned Malcolm but as for dullness there is not a more jovial old fellow than Goliath of Garth he and Verity would look after him right enough during my absence Cedric used to be quite chummy with them when he was with me before yes I know dear but Mr. Templeton says things are so different this time he likes the Kestens tremendously but somehow he says he does not feel up to the studio life I know what he means Malcolm rather shyly when one is unhappy one must choose one's own companions and so Cedric prefers being here and talking to you about his troubles perhaps Malcolm's tone was slightly mischievous for Anna blushed violently oh Malcolm surely you understand she returned nervously don't you see Mr. Templeton knows we are sorry for him and he is grateful for our sympathy and he likes to come and talk to us he made me feel quite bad yesterday I could hardly sleep for thinking of all he went through and thinking of the death of that poor Mr. Carlyon he does seem so very sorry for his sister though he declares that he never thought him good enough for her that is how people talk went on Anna frowning thoughtfully over her words they will judge by outward appearance as though anything matters when two people love each other Mr. Templeton has been talking so much about his sister Elizabeth that he quite makes me long to see her but all the same he seems to care most for his elder sister I believe he does returned Malcolm but then she has taken the place of a mother to him Anna dear I was only in jest I am really very grateful to you and my mother for making Cedric so happy and at home I do quite understand and I believe the society of two such good women will do much for him like the rest of us he has found out that you are a friend born for adversity a veritable daughter of consolation and Malcolm's words made Anna very happy when Cedric returned to Oxford for his last term Malcolm paid his promised visit to the Woodhouse but he only stayed two nights the place was too full of painful associations Elizabeth's presence haunted every room the emptiness and desolation of the house oppressed him like a nightmare and though Diana's gentleness and tact made things more bearable during the day at night he found himself unable to sleep and Diana who read his weary look a right forbore to press him to remain it is not good for him to be here she said to herself he is so kind and unselfish that he will not spare himself but I will not ask him to come again and Diana kept her word but they had much to discuss during those two days there was now no longer any talk of the civil service examination for Cedric at the end of June he was to go abroad for six or eight months a friend of Malcolm's, a young barrister who had also been crossed in love a sensible straightforward fellow was to accompany him he is sure to like Dunlop, Malcolm observed as he and Diana paced the terrace together in the sweet spring sunshine Charlie is a good-hearted fellow and one of the best companions I know though he is a bit down in the mouth just now poor old chap I think you said the lady jilted him asked Diana sympathetically yes, and he is well rid of her if we could only get him to believe that she was a handsome girl I saw her once but she came across an American millionaire and sent Charlie about his business oh he will get over it fast enough as Diana looked quite sorrowful when a woman does that sort of thing she just kills a man's love of course he must suffer a bit his pride is hurt as well as his heart but in two or three years he will fall in love again and will live happy ever after oh how I hope Cedric will care for some nice girl by and by exclaimed Diana earnestly but Malcolm only smiled you need have no doubt of that my dear lady he returned but you must give him time to be off with the old love that is why I am so anxious that he and Miss Jacobi should not meet you tell me that she and Mrs. Richardson returned to Sandy Hollow early in June yes Mrs. Godfrey told us that then the sooner he is out of England the better in London one is never sure of not coming across people and then he rapidly sketched out the details of the proposed trip which was to include Germany, Switzerland the Austrian Tyrol, the Italian lakes and probably Greece and Constantinople Cedric had a great desire to visit the Crimea and the shores of the Bosphorus and to see something of eastern life in all probability Christmas and the New Year would be spent in Cairo we had better leave Dunlop to work out details continued Malcolm as money or time seem no object you may as well give them a long tether change of scene will do Cedric a world of good and when he is tired of wandering he will settle down more happily very likely by that time he will have some idea of what he wants to do and Malcolm's sound common sense carried the day Dinah spoke very little of her sister she was well she said in answer to Malcolm's inquiries Elizabeth was so strong that her health rarely suffered but she was grieving sorely for David Mr. Carlyon is better she continued Elizabeth is the greatest comfort to him she goes with him when he visits the sick and sits beside him when he writes his sermons indeed Theo says they are never apart Theo is very much softened and subdued by her brother's death went on Dinah I think Elizabeth's influence and example will do good there I believe that with all her faults Theo Carlyon is really a good hearted woman Malcolm paid a flying visit to Oxford soon after he got back to town somehow movement seemed necessary to him in those weary restless days and he took Mr. Dunlop with him and had the satisfaction of seeing that Cedric appeared to like him at once he does not seem to stand on tiptoe and look over a fellow's head don't you know observe Cedric he meets one on equal terms though he is ten years older he is a chip off your block Herrick and I expect he is a good fellow too and all this speech did Malcolm retail to Dinah in his next letter Cedric spent three or four days at Cheney Walk before he started for the Continent and again most of his time was devoted to his friends at 27 Queensgate Malcolm was secretly glad that he was in such safe hands for as the time of Cedric's departure drew near he could not divest himself of an uneasy fear that all their precautions might be unavailing and that when they least expected it he and Lear Jacobi would come face to face he knew that she and her new friend Mrs. Richardson were now settled at Sandy Hollow for the summer and that Mrs. Richardson came frequently to town for sightseeing or shopping expeditions Malcolm little knew what good reason he had for his fears on Cedric's last day in Cheney Walk Mrs. Herrick proposed that he should drive with her and Anna to Palmisle to see some pictures that were being exhibited she would leave them at the gallery for an hour and call for them when she had done her shopping Malcolm had promised to be there at the same time and they would all go back together to Queensgate for the remainder of the day it so happened that Mrs. Richardson had planned one of her favourite shopping expeditions for the same day and in the course of the afternoon the handsome she had chartered drew up at a shop exactly opposite the gallery where at that very moment Anna, Cedric and Malcolm were coming down the staircase to join Mrs. Herrick who was waiting for them in her carriage Lear, who had not recovered her normal strength since her attack of influenza was excessively tried by all the noise and bustle of the West End and begged to remain in the handsome while Mrs. Richardson finished her purchases when Mrs. Richardson came out of the shop a quarter of an hour later the handsome carriage with its pair of bay horses had driven off and Lear was leaning back in the handsome looking white as death with a pained, startled expression in her beautiful eyes Mrs. Richardson told the man to drive to the station then she took the girl's hand kindly What is it, my dear? she said in a motherly voice Are you ill? or has something frightened you? but it was long before Lear could gasp out her explanation she had seen him and he looked quite bright and happy and he was talking to a fair-haired girl with a sweet face and Mr. Herrick was with them but poor Lear could say no more for the jealous pain seemed to choke her that was the way he had smiled at her and now she was forgotten and this other girl had taken her place Mrs. Richardson, with all her eccentricities had a warm true heart very patient and tender with the poor girl but late that night as she sat in her dressing-room there was a timid knock at her door and Lear entered in her white wrapper with all her glorious dark hair streaming over her shoulders but her eyes were swollen with weeping I felt I must come and speak to you or I could not sleep she exclaimed in her deep voice and kneeling down by her friend oh, I have been so wicked but I will try to be good now tell me all about it, dearie returned Mrs. Richardson in her kind, comforting voice and she drew the dark head to her shoulder and a sort of wonder filled her eyes as she saw the glossy lengths of hair up the floor to an onlooker Mrs. Richardson might have seemed a somewhat grotesque figure in her quilted magenta silk dressing-gown with her grey fringe pinned up by her maid in little twists and rolls but her honest eyes beamed with kindness and sympathy oh, I have been so wicked repeated Lear all these months I have been praying that he might not suffer as I have been suffering and that in time he might forget me and be happy and yet because my prayer has been answered and that girl is helping him to forget I felt as though I hated her and then she hid her face in the folds of the gaudy dressing-gown and shed tears of bitter shame and self-loathing dear, if you cry so you will make yourself ill observed Mrs. Richardson soothingly you have been sorely tried, you poor child but you are not wicked on the contrary I think few girls have behaved so well do not call yourself names, dearie Mrs. Godfrey and I both think you good and we mean to do our best to make you happy yes and I am so grateful to you both you dear, dear friends and Lear raised her tear-stained face and kissed her with all the warmth of her loving nature what was it to her that Mrs. Richardson an odd-looking eccentric old lady whose curled gray fringe and gay attire scarcely harmonized with her homely weather-beaten features to Lear her face was transfigured by the loveliness of a kind and tender nature I think I saw her as the angels did she said, long years afterwards to one who had served for her as Jacob did for his beloved Rachel for I loved every line of her dear homely face oh how she mothered me who had never known mother-love and how good and patient she was with me in my bad times if God had not taken her I could never have left her never for when Mrs. Richardson died some years later her hand was locked in that of her adopted daughter Lear drooped for some time after this encounter then as the summer went on she recovered her spirits gradually new duties and interests demanded her attention and in the wholesome and active life led by the mistress of Sandy Hollow she found plenty to distract her sad thoughts Mrs. Richardson was a great gardener and on warm days she spent most of her time in the open air they breakfasted under a spreading chestnut and often dined in foreign fashion on the terrace facing the sunset when Malcolm went down to the manor house in August before he started for Norway he walked across to Sandy Hollow with Mrs. Godfrey they found Mrs. Richardson sitting in a shady retreat with all her various pets round her Lear was gathering flowers in the lower garden, she said she received Malcolm very kindly for he was one of her favourites and talked to him a great deal about the girl of her sweet temper, her docility and her patience she has heard nothing of that wretched brother of hers as she continued then Malcolm shrugged his shoulders he could give her information on that subject he said dryly at least a score of begging letters had reached him and Cedric from New York and had been consigned to the flames Saul Jacobi was evidently playing his old tricks and living on his wits he was utterly irredeemable Hugh Rosseter always prophesised that he would never die in his bed and this prediction was unfortunately verified some three years later when in a drunken brawl a tipsy sailor lurched up against him one dark night and pushed him over the key no one heard his cry for help for the oaths and curses that were filling the air neither was his body found until the next day strange to say it was Hugh Rosseter who identified it and it was he who later on brought Lear a pathetic little proof that Saul had not wholly forgotten his sister in the pocket of his shabby old coat how shabby and how ragged it was Hugh never ventured to tell her there was a cheap little photo of Lear taken when she was 18 and in the first bloom of her young beauty and on the soiled envelope was written my little sister Lear and the date of her birth for no nature is wholly evil and irreclaimable and perhaps in spite of his tyranny and cruel tempers there was a spark of affection in the man's heart for the young sister dependent on him Lear always believed this and she wept the saddest, tenderest tears over the little photo my poor Saul, she said his nature was strangely warped and he did not know how to speak the truth and he could be hard and cruel as I know to my cost there were times when he was very good to me and so even Saul Jacobi had one human being to mourn for him End of chapter 38