_ CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
Why Mrs Grove thought Mr Green might need an opening for anything he had to say to Mr Snow did not appear, as he did not avail himself of it. It was Mr Snow who spoke first, after a short silence.
"Going to give up business and settle down. Eh?"
"I have thought of it. I don't believe I should enjoy life half as well if I did, however."
"How much do you enjoy it now?" inquired Mr Snow.
"Well, not a great deal, that is a fact; but as well as folks generally do, I reckon. But, after all, I do believe to keep hard to work is about as good a way as any to take comfort in the world."
Mr Green took a many-bladed knife from his pocket, and plucking a twig from the root of a young cedar, began fashioning it into an instrument slender and smooth.
"That is about the conclusion I have come to," repeated he; "and I expect I will have to keep to work if I mean to get the good of life."
"There are a good many kinds of work to be done in the world," suggested Mr Snow.
Mr Green gave him a glance curious and inquiring.
"Well, I suppose there are a good many ways of working in the world, but it all comes to the same thing pretty much, I guess. Folks work to get a living, and then to accumulate property. Some do it in a large way, and some in a small way, but the end is the same."
"Suppose you should go to work to spend your money now?" suggested Mr Snow, again.
"Well, I've done a little in that way, too, and I have about come to the conclusion that that don't pay as well as the making of it, as far as the comfort it gives. I ain't a very rich man, not near so rich as folks think; but I had got a kind of sick of doing the same thing all the time, and so I thought I would try something else a spell. So I rather drew up, though I ain't out of business yet, by a great deal. I thought I would try and see if I could make a home, so I built. But a house ain't a home--not by a great sight. I have got as handsome a place as anybody need wish to have, but I would rather live in a hotel any day than have the bother of it. I don't more than half believe I shall ever live there long at a time."
He paused, and whittled with great earnestness.
"It seems a kind of aggravating, now, don't it, when a man has worked hard half his life and more to make property, that he shouldn't be able to enjoy it when he has got it."
"What do you suppose is the reason?" asked Mr Snow, gravely, but with rather a preoccupied air. He was wondering how it was that Mr Green should have been betrayed into giving his dreary confidences to a comparative stranger.
"Well, I don't know," replied Mr Green, meditatively. "I suppose, for one thing, I have been so long in the mill that I can't get out of the old jog easily. I should have begun sooner, or have taken work and pleasure by turns as I went along. I don't take much comfort in what seems to please most folks."
There was a pause; Mr Snow had nothing to say in reply, however, and in a little Mr Green went on:
"I haven't any very near relations; cousins and cousin's children are the nearest. I have helped them some, and would rather do it than not, and they are willing enough to be helped, but they don't seem very near to me. I enjoy well enough going to see them once in a while, but it don't amount to much all they care about me; and, to tell the truth, it ain't much I care about them. If I had a family of my own, it would be different. Women folks and young folk enjoy spending money, and I suppose I would have enjoyed seeing them do it. But I have about come to the conclusion that I should have seen to that long ago."
Without moving or turning his head, he gave his new friend a look out of the corner of his eyes that it might have surprised him a little to see; but Mr Snow saw nothing at the moment. To wonder as to why this new acquaintance should bestow his confidence on him, was succeeding a feeling of pity for him--a desire to help him--and he was considering the propriety of improving the opportunity given to drop a "word in season" for his benefit. Not that he had much confidence in his own skill at this sort of thing. It is to be feared the deacon looked on this way of witnessing for the truth as a cross to be borne rather than as a privilege to be enjoyed. He was readier with good deeds than with good words, and while he hesitated, Mr Green went on:
"How folks can hang round with nothing particular to do is what I can't understand. I never should get used to it, I know. I've made considerable property, and I expect I have enjoyed the making more than I ever shall enjoy the spending of it."
"I shouldn't wonder if you had," said Mr Snow, gravely.
"I
have thought of going right slap into political life. I might have got into the Legislature, time and again; and I don't doubt but I might find my way to Congress by spending something handsome. That might be as good a way to let off the steam as any. When a man gets into politics, he don't seem to mind much else. He has got to drive right through. I don't know how well it pays."
"In the way of comfort, I'm afraid it
don't pay," said Mr Snow.
"I expect not. I don't more than half think it would pay
me. Politics have got to be considerably mixed up in our country. I don't believe I should ever get to see my way clear to go all lengths; and I don't believe it would amount to anything if I could. Besides, if a man expects to get very far along in
that road, he has got to take a fair start in good season. I learnt to read and cypher in the old log school-house at home, and my mother taught me the catechism on Sunday afternoons, and that is about all the book-learning I ever got. I shouldn't hardly have an even chance with some of those college-bred chaps, though there are
some things I know as well as the best of them, I reckon. Have you ever been out West?"
"I was there once a good many years ago. I had a great notion of going to settle there when I was a young man. I am glad I didn't, though."
"Money ain't to be made there anything like as fast as it used to be," said Mr Green. "But there is chance enough, if a man has a head for it. I have seen some cool business done there at one time and another."
The chances in favour of Mr Snow's "word in season" were becoming fewer, he saw plainly, as Mr Green wandered off from his dissatisfaction to the varied remembrances of his business-life; so, with a great effort, he said:
"Ain't it just possible that your property and the spending of it don't satisfy you because it is not in the nature of such things to give satisfaction?"
Mr Green turned and looked earnestly at him.
"Well, I have heard so, but I never believed it any more for hearing it said. The folks that say it oftenest don't act as if they believed it themselves. They try as hard for it as any one else, if they are to be judged by their actions. It is all right to say they believe it, I suppose, because it is in the Bible, or something like it is."
"And you believe it, not because it is in the Bible, but because you are learning, by your own experience, every day you live."
Mr Green whistled.
"Come, now; ain't that going it a little too strong? I never said I didn't expect to enjoy my property. I enjoy it now, after a fashion. If a man ain't going to enjoy his property, what is he to enjoy?"
"All that some people enjoy is the making of it. You have done that, you say. There is less pleasure to be got from wealth, even in the most favourable circumstances, than those who haven't got it believe. They who have it find that out, as you are doing.
"But I can fancy myself getting all the pleasure I want out of my property, if only some things were different--if I had something else to go with it. Other folks seem to take the comfort out of theirs as they go along."
"They seem to; but how can you be sure as to the enjoyment they really have? How many of your friends, do you suppose, suspect that you don't get all the satisfaction out of yours that you seem to? Do you suppose the lady who was saying so much in praise of your fine place just now, has any idea that it is only a weariness to you?"
"I was telling her so as we came along. She says the reason I don't enjoy it is because there is something else that I haven't got, that ought to go along with it and I agreed with her there."
Again a furtive glance was sent towards Mr Snow's thoughtful face. He smiled and shook his head.
"Yes, it is something else you want. It is always something else, and ever will be till the end comes. That something else, if it is ever yours, will bring disappointment with it. It will come as you don't expect it or want it, or it will come too late. There is no good talking. There is nothing in the world that it will do to make a portion of."
Mr Green looked up at him with some curiosity and surprise. This sounded very much like what he used to hear in conference meeting long ago, but he had an idea that such remarks were inappropriate out of meeting, and he wondered a little what could be Mr Snow's motive for speaking in that way just then.
"As to making a portion of it, I don't know about that; but I do know that there is considerable to be got out of money. What can't it get? Or rather, I should say, what can be got without it? I don't say that they who have the most of it are always best off, because other things come in to worry them, maybe; but the chances are in favour of the man that has all he wants to spend. You'll never deny that."
"That ain't just the way I would put it," said Mr Snow. "I would say that the man who expects his property to make him happy, will be disappointed. The amount he has got don't matter. It ain't in it to give happiness. I know, partly because I have tried, and it has failed me, and partly because I am told that 'a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things that he possesseth.'
"Well, now, if that is so, will you tell me why there ain't one man in ten thousand who believes it, or at least who acts as if he believed it? Why is all the world chasing after wealth, as if it were the one thing for body and soul? If money ain't worth having, why hasn't somebody found it out, and set the world right about it before now?"
"As to money not being worth the having, I never said that. What I say is, that God never meant that mere wealth should make a man happy. That has been found out times without number; but as to setting the world right about it, I expect that is one of the things that each man must learn by experience. Most folks do learn it after a while, in one way or other."
"Well," said Mr Green, gravely, "you look as if you believed what you say, and you look as if you enjoyed life pretty well too. If it ain't your property that makes you happy, what is it?"
"It ain't my property,
sartain," said Mr Snow, with emphasis. "I know I shouldn't be any happier if I had twice as much. And I am sure I shouldn't be less happy if I hadn't half as much; my happiness rests on a surer foundation than anything I have got."
He paused, casting about in his thoughts for just the right word to say--something that might be as "a fire and a hammer" to the softening and breaking of that world-hardened heart.
"He
does look as if he believed what he was saying," Mr Green was thinking to himself. "It is just possible he might give me a hint. He don't look like a man who don't practise as he preaches." Aloud, he said,--
"Come, now, go ahead. What has cured one, may help another, you know. Give us your idea as to what is a sure foundation for a man's happiness."
Mr Snow looked gravely into his face and said,
"Blessed is the man who feareth the Lord."
"Blessed is the man whose trust the Lord is."
"Blessed is the man whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered."
"Blessed is the man to whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, in whose spirit there is no guile."
Mr Green's eye fell before his earnest gaze. It came into his mind that if there was happiness to be found in the world, this man had found it. But it seemed a happiness very far-away from him--quite beyond his reach--something that it would be impossible for him ever to find now. The sound of his mother's voice, softly breaking the stillness of a Sabbath afternoon, with some such words as these, came back to him, and just for a moment he realised their unchangeable truth, and for that moment he knew that his life had been a failure. A pang of regret, a longing for another chance, and a sense of the vanity of such a wish, smote on his heart for an instant and then passed away. He rose from his seat, and moved a few paces down the walk, and when he came back he did not sit down again. His cedar twig was smoothed down at both ends to the finest possible point, and after balancing it for a minute on his forefingers, he tossed it over his shoulder, and shutting his knife with a click, put it in his pocket before he spoke.
"Well, I don't know as I am much better off for that," said he, discontentedly. "I suppose you mean that I ought to get religion. That is no new idea. I have heard
that every time I have gone to meeting for the last thirty years, which hasn't been as often as it might have been, but it has been often enough for all the good it has done me." He looked at Mr Snow as if he expected him to make some sort of a reply, but he was silent. He was thinking how vain any words of his would be to convince him, or to show him a more excellent way. He was thinking of the old time, and of the talk wasted on him by the good people who would fain have helped him. At last he said, gravely:
"It wouldn't amount to much, all I could say to you, even if I was good at talking, which I ain't. I can only tell you that I never knew what it was to be satisfied till I got religion, and I have never been discontented since, and I don't believe I ever shall again, let what will happen to me."
He paused a moment, and added,--
"I don't suppose anything I could say would help you to see things as I wish you did, if I were to talk all night. Talk always falls short of the mark, unless the heart is prepared for it, and then the simplest word is enough. There are none better than the words I gave you a minute ago; and when everything in the world seems to be failing you, just you try what trust in the Lord will do."
Nothing more was said. The sound of approaching footsteps warned them that they were no longer alone, and in a little Mrs Elliott and Rose were seen coming up the walk, followed by Arthur and Captain Starr. They were discussing something that interested them greatly, and their merry voices fell pleasantly on the ear. Very pretty both young ladies looked, crowned with the roses they had been weaving into wreaths. The grave look which had settled on Mr Green's face, passed away as he watched their approach.
"Pretty creatures, both of them," remarked he. "Mrs Elliott appears well, don't she? I never saw any one improve so much as she has done in the last two years. I used to think her--well not very superior."
"She is a pretty little thing, and good tempered, I think," said Mr Snow, smiling. "I shouldn't wonder if our folks made something of her, after all. She is in better keeping than she used to be, I guess."
"She used to be--well, a little of a flirt, and I don't believe she has forgot all about it yet," said Mr Green, nodding in the direction of Captain Starr, with a knowing look. The possibility of a married woman's amusing herself in that way was not among the subjects to which Mr Snow had given his attention, so he had nothing to say in reply.
"And the other one--she understands a little of it, too, I guess."
"What, Rosie? She is a child. Graeme will teach her better than that. She despises such things," said Mr Snow, warmly.
"She don't flirt any herself, does she?" asked Mr Green, coolly. "Miss Elliott, I mean."
Mr Snow turned on him astonished eyes. "I don't know as I understand what you mean by flirting. I always supposed it was something wrong, or, at least, something unbecoming in any woman, married or single. Graeme ain't one of that sort."
Mr Green shrugged his shoulders incredulously. "Oh! as to its being wrong, and so forth, I don't know. They all do it, I guess, in one way or other. I don't suppose Miss Graeme would go it so strong as that little woman, but I guess she knows how."
The voice of Rose prevented Mr Snow's indignant reply.
"But, Arthur, you are not a disinterested judge. Of course you would admire Fanny's most, and as for Captain Starr, he is--"
"He is like the ass between two bundles of hay."
"Nonsense, Arthur. Fanny, let us ask Mr Snow," said Rose, springing forward, and slightly bending her head. "Now, Uncle Sampson, which is prettiest? I'll leave the decision to you."
"Uncle Sampson" was a very pleasant sound in Mr Snow's ears, and never more so, than when it came from the lips of Rose, and it was with a loving as well as an admiring look that he answered--
"Well I can't say which is the prettiest. You are both as pretty as you need to be. If you were as good as you are pretty!"
Rose pouted, impatient of the laughter which this speech excited.
"I mean our wreaths. Look, mine is made of these dear little Scotch roses, with here and there a moss-rose bud. Fanny's, you see, are all open roses, white and damask. Now, which is the prettiest?"
She took her wreath from her head in her eagerness, and held it up, admiringly.
"Yours ain't half so pretty as it was a minute ago. I think, now, I should admire Mrs Elliott's most," said Mr Green, gravely.
They both curtseyed to him.
"You see, Rosie, Mr Green has decided in my favour," said Fanny, triumphantly.
"Yes, but not in favour of your wreath. The others thought the same, but I don't mind about that. It is our wreaths I want to know about. Let us ask Graeme."
But Graeme did not come alone. The little Groves came with her, and Will and Charlie followed, a rather noisy party. The little girls were delighted, and danced about, exclaiming at the beauty of the flowery crowns; and in a little, Miss Victoria was wearing that of Rose, and imitating the airs and graces of her elder sister in a way that must have encouraged her mother's hopes as to her ultimate success in life. The other begged piteously for Fanny's, but she was too well aware of its charming effect on her own head to yield at once to her entreaties, and, in the midst of the laughing confusion that accompanied the carrying of the child's point, Graeme and Mrs Snow, who confessed herself a little tired after her walk, entered the summer-house again. Mrs Grove and Mr Proudfute entered with them, and the others disposed, themselves in groups about the door. Mr Green stood leaning on the door-post looking in upon them.
"Miss Elliott," said Mr Proudfute, presently, "what has become of you for a long time? I have hardly seen you for years--for a year at least--and we used to meet so often." Graeme laughed.
"I have seen you a great many times within a year. I am afraid my society doesn't make the impression on you it ought. Have you forgotten your New Year's visit, and a visit or two besides, to say nothing of chance meetings in the street and in the market?"
"Oh, but excuse me. I mean we have not met in society. You have been making a hermit of yourself, which is not very kind or very complimentary to your friends, I assure you."
"I am very glad to hear you say so," exclaimed Mrs Grove. "That is a subject on which Miss Elliott and I never agree--I mean the claims society has upon her. If she makes a hermit of herself, I assure you she is not permitted to do so without remonstrance."
"Your ideas of a hermit's life differ from those generally held," said Graeme, vexed at the personal turn of the conversation, and more vexed still with Mrs Grove's interference. "What does the ballad say?
"'A scrip with fruits and herbs well stored,
And water from the spring.'
"I am afraid a hermit's life would not suit me."
"Oh! of course, we are speaking of comparative seclusion," said Mrs Grove. "Still, as ladies are supposed to have a fancy for going to extremes, Miss Elliott's taste for quietness is the most desirable extreme of the two."
The remark was addressed to Mr Green, who was an interested listener, but Mr Proudfute answered it.
"I am by no means sure of that, my dear madam. I can understand how those who have an opportunity of daily or frequent intercourse with Miss Elliott should be content to think so; but that she should withdraw herself altogether from society, should not be permitted. What charming parties, I remember, we used to enjoy."
"Mr Proudfute," said Graeme, gravely, "look at Mrs Snow's face. You are conveying to her the idea that, at one time, I was quite given up to the pursuit of pleasure, and she is shocked, and no wonder. Now, my own impression is, that I was never very fond of going into society, as you call it. I certainly never met you more than two or three times--at large parties, I mean."
Mr Proudfute bowed low.
"Well, that shows how profound was the impression which your society made on me, for on looking back I uniformly associate you with all the pleasant assemblies of the season. You went with us to Beloeil, did you not?"
Graeme shook her head.
"Well, no wonder I forget, it is so long ago, now. You were at Mrs Roxbury's great affair, were you not? It happened not long before Mr Elphinstone's death. Yes, I remember you were there."
"Yes, I remember you were kind enough to point out to me the beauties of that wonderful picture, in the little room up-stairs," said Graeme, smiling.
"Yes, you were ill, or slightly unwell, I should say, for you recovered immediately. You were there, Mr Green, I remember. It was a great affair, given in honour of Miss Elphinstone and your friend Ruthven. By-the-by, Miss Elliott, they lay themselves open to censure, as well as you. They rarely go out now, I hear."
"I am to be censured in good company, it seems," said Graeme, laughing.
"I suppose you see them often," continued he. "You used to be quite intimate with my pretty cousin--I call her cousin, though we are only distantly connected. She is a very nice little woman."
"Yes. I believe you used to be very intimate with them both," said Mrs Grove, "and there has hardly been any intercourse since Fanny's marriage. I have often wondered at and regretted it."
"Have you?" said Graeme, coldly. "We have had little intercourse with many old friends since then."
"Oh! yes, I daresay, but the Ruthvens are very different from most of your old friends, and worth the keeping. I must speak to Fanny about it."
"We saw Miss Elphinstone often during the first winter after her return. That was the winter that Mr Proudfute remembers as so gay," said Graeme. "Did I ever tell you about the beginning of Rosie's acquaintance with her, long before that, when she wandered into the garden and saw the gowans?"
"Yes, dear, you told me about it in a letter," said Mrs Snow.
"I never shall forget the first glimpse I got of that bunch of flowers," said Graeme, rather hurriedly. "Rose has it yet among her treasures. She must show it you."
But Mrs Grove did not care to hear about Rosie's flowers just then, and rather perversely, as Graeme thought, reverted to the falling away of their old intimacy with the Ruthvens, and to wonder at its cause; and there was something in her tone that made Mrs Snow turn grave, astonished eyes upon her, and helped Graeme to answer very quietly and coldly to her remark:
"I can easily see how marriage would do something towards estranging such warm friends, when only one of the parties are interested; but you were very intimate with Mr Ruthven, as well, were you not?"
"Oh! yes; more so than with Miss Elphinstone. Mr Ruthven is a very old friend of ours. We came over in the same ship together."
"I mind him well," interposed Mrs Snow; "a kindly, well-intentioned lad he seemed to be. Miss Rose, my dear, I doubt you shouldna be sitting there, on the grass, with the dew falling, nor Mrs Arthur, either."
A movement was made to return to the house.
"Oh! Janet," whispered Graeme, "I am afraid you are tired, mind as well as body, after all this foolish talk."
"By no means, my dear. It wouldna be very edifying for a continuance, but once in a way it is enjoyable enough. He seems a decent, harmless body, that Mr Proudfute. I wonder if he is any friend of Dr Proudfute, of Knockie?"
"I don't know, indeed," said Graeme, laughing; "but if he is a great man, or connected with great folk, I will ask him. It will be an easy way of giving him pleasure."
They did not make a long evening of it. Mr Green was presented by Mrs Grove with a book of plates, and Graeme was beguiled to a side-table to admire them with him. Mr Proudfute divided his attention between them and the piano, to which Rose and Fanny had betaken themselves, till at the suggestion of Mrs Grove, Arthur challenged him to a game of chess, which lasted all the evening. Mrs Grove devoted herself to Mrs Snow, and surprised her by the significant glances she sent now and then in the direction of Graeme and Mr Green; while Mr Grove got Mr Snow into a corner, and enjoyed the satisfaction of pouring out his heart on the harbour question to a new and interested auditor.
"Rose," said Fanny, as they sat together the next day after dinner, "what do you think mamma said to me this morning? Shall I tell you?"
"If it is anything particularly interesting you may," said Rose, in a tone that implied a doubt.
"It was about you," said Fanny, nodding significantly.
"Well, the subject is interesting," said Rose, "whatever the remark might be."
"What is it, Fanny?" said Arthur. "Rose is really very anxious to know, though she pretends to be so indifferent. I daresay it was some appropriate remark's on her flirtation with the gallant captain, last night."
"Mamma didn't mention Captain Starr, but she said she had never noticed before that Rose was so fond of admiration, and a little inclined to flirt."
Rose reddened and bit her lips.
"I am much obliged to Mrs Grove, for her good opinion. Were there any other appropriate remarks?"
"Oh! yes; plenty more," said Fanny, laughing. "I told mamma it was all nonsense. She used to say the same of me, and I reminded her of it. I told her we all looked upon Rose as a child, and that she had no idea of flirting--and such things."
"I hope you did not do violence to your conscience when you said it," said Arthur, gravely.
"Of course not. But still when I began to think about it, I could not be quite sure."
"Set a thief to catch a thief," said her husband.
Fanny shook her finger at him.
"But it wasn't Captain Starr nor Charlie Millar mamma meant. It was Mr Green."
The cloud vanished from Rosie's face. She laughed and clapped her hands. Her brothers laughed, too.
"Well done, Rosie," said Arthur. "But from some manoeuvring I observed last night, I was led to believe that Mrs Grove had other views for the gentleman."
"So she had," said Fanny, eagerly. "And she says Rose may spoil all if she divides his attention. It is just what a man of his years is likely to do, mamma says, to fall in love with a young girl like Rosie, and Graeme is so much more suitable. But I told mamma Graeme would never have him."
"Allow me to say, Fanny, that I think you might find some more suitable subject for discussion with Mrs Grove," said Rose, indignantly. Arthur laughed.
"You ought to be very thankful for the kind interest taken in your welfare, and for Graeme's, too. I am sure Mr Green would be highly flattered if he could be aware of the sensation he is creating among us."
"Mr Green admires Graeme very much, he told mamma; and mamma says he would have proposed to her, when he was here before, if it had not been for Mr Ruthven. You know he was very intimate here then, and everybody said he and Graeme were engaged. Mamma says it was a great pity he did not. It would have prevented the remarks of ill-natured people when Mr Ruthven was married--about Graeme, I mean."
"It is be hoped no one will be ill-natured enough to repeat anything of that sort in Graeme's hearing," said Arthur, very much annoyed.
"Oh! don't be alarmed. Graeme is too well accustomed by this time, to Mrs Grove's impertinences, to allow anything she says to trouble her," said Rose, with flashing eyes.
Mrs Snow's hand was laid softly on that of the young girl, who had risen in her indignation.
"Sit down, my dear," she whispered.
"Nonsense, Rosie," said her brother; "there is nothing to be vexed about. How can you be so foolish?"
"Indeed," said Fanny, a little frightened at the excitement she had raised, "mamma didn't mean anything that you wouldn't like. She only thought--"
"We had better say nothing more about it," said Arthur, interrupting her. "I dare say Graeme can manage her own affairs without help from other people. But there is nothing to be vexed about, Rosie. Don't put on a face like that about it, you foolish lassie."
"What is the matter here, good people?" said Graeme, entering at the moment. "What are you quarrelling about? What ails Rosie?"
"Oh! Mrs Grove has been giving her some good advice, which she don't receive so meekly as she might," said Arthur.
"That is very ungrateful of you, Rosie," said her sister. Mrs Grove's interference didn't seem a sufficient matter to frown about.
"How is she now, my dear?" inquired Mrs Snow, by way of changing the subject.
She was Mrs Tilman, who had of late become subject to sudden attacks of illness, "not dangerous, but severe," as she herself declared. They had become rather frequent, but as they generally came on at night, and were over before morning, so that they did not specially interfere with her work, they were not alarming to the rest of the household. Indeed, they seldom heard of them till they were over; for the considerate Mrs Tilman was wont to insist to Sarah, that the ladies should not be disturbed on her account. But Sarah had become a little uncomfortable, and had confessed as much to Graeme, and Graeme desired to be told the next time she was ill, and so it happened that she was not present when a subject so interesting to herself was discussed.
"Is Mrs Tilman ill again?" asked Fanny. "How annoying! She is not very ill, I hope."
"No," said Graeme, quietly; "she will be better to-morrow."
That night, in the retirement of their chamber, Mr and Mrs Snow were in no haste to begin, as was their custom, the comparing of notes over the events of the day. This was usually the way when anything not very pleasant had occurred, or when anything had had been said that it was not agreeable to recall. It was Mr Snow who began the conversation.
"Well, what do you think of all that talk?" asked he, when his wife sat down, after a rather protracted putting away of various articles in boxes and drawers.
"Oh! I think little of it--just what I have ay thought--that yon is a meddlesome, short-sighted woman. It is a pity her daughter hasna the sense to see it."
"Oh! I don't think the little thing meant any harm. But Rosie flared right up, didn't she?"
"I shouldna wonder but her conscience told her there was some truth in the accusation--about her love of admiration, I mean. But Mrs Arthur is not the one that should throw stones at her for that, I'm thinking."
"But about Graeme! She will never marry that man, will she?"
"He'll never ask her," said Mrs Snow, shortly. "At least I think he never will."
"Well, I don't know. It looked a little like it, last night and come to think of it, he talked a little like it, too."
"He is no' the man to ask any woman, till he is sure he will not ask in vain. He may, but I dinna think it."
"Well, perhaps not. Of course, I could see last night, that it was all fixed, their being together. But I thought she stood it pretty well, better than she would if she hadn't liked it."
"Hoot, man! She thought nothing about it. Her thoughts were far enough from him, and his likes, and dislikes," said Mrs Snow, with a sigh.
"As a general thing, girls are quick enough to find out when a man cares for them, and he showed it plainly to me. I guess she mistrusts."
"No, a woman kens when a man his lost his heart to her. He lets her see it in many ways, when he has no thought of doing so. But a woman is not likely to know it, when a man without love wishes to marry her, till he tells her in words. And what heart has twenty years cheat'ry of his fellow men left to yon man, that my bairn should waste a thought on a worldling like him?"
Mr Snow was silent. His wife's tone betrayed to him that something was troubling her, or he would have ventured a word in his new friend's defence. Not that he was inclined to plead Mr Green's cause with Graeme, but he could not help feeling a little compassion for him, and he said:
"Well, I suppose I feel inclined to take his part, because he makes me think of what I was myself once, and that not so long ago."
The look that Mrs Snow turned upon her husband was one of indignant astonishment.
"Like you! You dry stick!"
"Well, ain't he? You used to think me a pretty hard case. Now, didn't you?"
"I'm no' going to tell you to-night what I used to think of you," said his wife, more mildly. "I never saw you on the day when you didna think more of other folks' comfort than you thought of your own, and that couldna be said of him, this many a year and day. He is not a fit mate for my bairn."
"Well--no, he ain't. He ain't a Christian, and that is the first thing she would consider. But he ain't satisfied with himself, and if anybody in the world could bring him to be what he ought to be, she is the one." And he repeated the conversation that had taken place when they were left alone in the summer-house.
"But being dissatisfied with himself, is very far from being a changed man, and that work must be done by a greater than Graeme. And besides, if he were a changed man to-night, he is no' the man to win Miss Graeme's heart, and he'll no ask her. He is far more like to ask Rosie; for I doubt she is not beyond leading him on for her own amusement."
"Oh! Come now, ain't you a little too hard on Rosie," said Mr Snow, expostulatingly. He could not bear that his pet should be found fault with. "I call
that as cruel a thing as a woman can do, and Rosie would never do it, I hope."
"Not with a conscious desire to give pain. But she is a bonny creature, and she is learning her own power, as they all do sooner or later; and few make so good a use of such power as they might do;" and Mrs Snow sighed.
"You don't think there is anything in what Mrs Grove said about Graeme and her friend I have heard so much about?" asked Mr Snow, after a pause.
"I dinna ken. I would believe it none the readier that yon foolish woman said it."
"She seems kind of down, though, these days, don't she? She's graver and quieter than she used to be," said Mr Snow, with some hesitation. He was not sure how his remark would be taken.
"Oh! well, maybe. She's older for one thing," said his wife, gravely. "And she has her cares; some of them I see plainly enough, and some of them, I daresay, she keeps out of sight. But as for Allan Ruthven, it's not for one woman to say of another that, she has given her heart unsought. And I am sure of her, that whatever befalls her, she is one of those that need fear no evil." _