Part 4

For three days no one saw Magdalen, but a shepherd attending to his lambs noticed that a lamp burned every night in the cottage at Dalnabreck. When Rutherford arrived at the cairn on Tuesday he looked in vain for Magdalen. Old Elspeth, Magdalen's foster-mother, was waiting for him and placed a letter in his hands, which he read in that very place where he had parted from his betrothed.

“Dearest of my Heart,--

“It is with the tears of my soul that I am writing this letter, and it is with cruel sorrow you will be reading it, for I must tell you that our troth is broken and that Magdalen cannot be your wife. Do not be thinking this day or any day that she is not loving you, for never have you been so dear to me or been in my eyes so strong and brave and wise and good, and do not be thinking that I do not trust you, for it is this girl knows that you would be true to me although all the world turned against me.

“Believe me, my beloved, it is because I love you so much that I am setting you free that you may not be put to shame because you have married a Highland girl, who has nothing but two cows, and who does not know the ways of cities, and who cannot speak in public places, and who can do nothing except love.

“If it had been possible I would have been waiting for you at the Cairn of Remembrance, and it is my eyes that ache to see you once more, but then I would be weak and could not leave you, as is best for you.

“You will not be seeking after me, for I am going far away, and nobody can tell you where, and this is also best for you and me. But I will be hearing about you, and will be knowing all you do, and there will be none so proud of you as your first love.

“And, Henry, if you meet a good woman and she loves you, then you must not think that I will be angry when you marry her, for this would be selfish and not right I am going away for your sake, and I will be praying that the sun be ever shining on you and that you become a great man in the land. One thing only I ask--that in those days you sometimes give a thought to Glenalder and your faithful friend,

“Magdalen Macdonald.”

IV

“It was a first-rate match, and we were fairly beaten; it was their forward turned the scale. I had two hacks from him myself”--the captain of the Glasgow Football Club nursed the tender spots. “It's a mercy to-morrow's Sunday and one can lie in bed.”

“Olive oil is not bad for rubbing. You deserve the rest, old man. It was a stiff fight. By-the-way I saw Rutherford of St Bede's there. He cheered like a good'un when you got that goal. He's the best parson going in Glasgow.”

“Can't bear the tribe nor their ways, Charlie, they're such hypocrites, always preaching against the world and that kind of thing and feathering their own nests at every turn. Do you know I calculated that six of them in Glasgow alone have netted a hundred and twenty thousand pounds by successful marriages. That's what sickens a fellow at religion.”

“Well, you can't say that against Rutherford, Jack, for he's not married, and works like a coal-heaver. He's the straightest man I've come across either in the pulpit or out of it, besides being a ripping preacher. Suppose you look me up to-morrow about six, and we'll hear what he's got to say.”

His friends said that Rutherford was only thirty-four years of age, but he looked as if he were near fifty, for his hair had begun to turn gray, and he carried the traces of twenty years' work upon his face. No one would have asked whether he was handsome, for he had about him an air of sincerity and humanity that at once won your confidence. His subject that evening was the “Sanctifying power of love,” and, as his passion gradually increased to white heat, he had the men before him at his mercy. Women of the world complained that he was hard and unsympathetic; some elderly men considered his statements unguarded and even unsound; but men below thirty heard him gladly. This evening he was stirred for some reason to the depths of his being, and was irresistible. When he enlarged on the love of a mother, and charged every son present to repay it by his life and loyalty, a hundred men glared fiercely at the roof, and half of them resolved to write home that very night. As he thundered against lust, the foul counterfeit of love, men's faces whitened, and twice there was a distinct murmur of applause. His great passage, however, came at the close, and concerned the love of a man for a maid: “If it be given to any man in his fresh youth to love a noble woman with all his heart, then in that devotion he shall find an unfailing inspiration of holy thoughts and high endeavours, a strong protection against impure and selfish temptations, a secret comfort amid the contradictions and adversities of life. Let him give this passion full play in his life and it will make a man of him and a good soldier in the great battle. And if it so be that this woman pass from his sight or be beyond his reach, yet in this love itself shall he find his exceeding reward.” As he spoke in a low, sweet, intense voice, those in the gallery saw the preacher's left hand tighten on the side of the pulpit till the bones and sinews could be counted, but with his right hand he seemed to hold something that lay on his breast “Look here, Charlie”--as the two men stood in a transept till the crowd passed down the main aisle--“if you don't mind I would like... to shake hands with the preacher. When a man takes his coat off and does a big thing like that he ought to know that he has... helped a fellow.”

“I'll go in too, Jack, for he's straightened me, and not for the first time. You know how I used to live... well, that is over, and it was Rutherford saved me.”

“He looks as if he had been badly hit some time. Do you know his record?”

“There's some story about his being in love with a poor girl and being determined to marry her, but 'Iron Warrants' got round her and persuaded her that it would be Rutherford's ruin; so she disappeared, and they say Rutherford is waiting for her to this day. But I don't give it as a fact.”

“You may be sure every word of it is true, old man; it's like one of Thompson's tricks, for I was in his office once, and it's just what that man in the pulpit would do; poor chap, he's served his time... I say, though, suppose that girl turns up some day.”

They were near the vestry door and arranging their order of entrance when a woman came swiftly down the empty aisle as from some distant corner of the church and stood behind them for an instant.

“Is this Mr. Rutherford's room, gentlemen”--with a delicate flavour of Highland in the perfect English accent--“and would it be possible for me to see him... alone?”

They received a shock of delight on the very sight of her and did instant homage. It was not on account of her magnificent beauty--a woman in the height of her glory--nor the indescribable manner of good society, nor the perfection of her dressing, nor a singular dignity of carriage. They bowed before her for the look in her eyes, the pride of love, and, although both are becoming each day her more devoted slaves, yet they agree that she could only look once as she did that night.

It was Charlie that showed her in, playing beadle for the occasion that this princess might not have to wait one minute, and his honour obliged him to withdraw instantly, but before the door could be closed he heard Rutherford cry--“At last, Magdalen, my love!”

“Do you think, Charlie...?”

“Rutherford has got his reward, Jack, and twenty years would not have been too long to wait.”

AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN

I

“We must have Trixy Marsden on the Thursday”--for Mrs. Leslie was arranging two dinner parties. “She will be in her element that evening; but what are we to do with Mr. Marsden?”

“Isn't it rather the custom to invite a husband with his wife? he might even expect to be included,” said John Leslie. “Do you know I'm glad we came to Putney; spring is lovely in the garden.”

“Never mind spring just now,” as Leslie threatened an exit to the lawn; “you might have some consideration for an afflicted hostess, and give your mind to the Marsden problem.”

“It was Marsden brought spring into my mind,” and Leslie sat down with that expression of resignation on his face peculiar to husbands consulted on domestic affairs; “he was telling me this morning in the train that he had just finished a table of trees in the order of their budding, a sort of spring priority list; his love for statistics is amazing.

“He is getting to be known on the 9 train; the men keep their eye on him and bolt into thirds to escape; he gave a morning on the influenza death-rate lately, and that kind of thing spreads.

“But he's not a bad fellow for all that,” concluded Leslie; “he's perfectly straight in business, and that is saying something; I rather enjoy half an hour with him.”

“Very likely you do,” said his wife with impatience, “because your mind has a squint, and you get amusement out of odd people; but every one has not your taste for the tiresome. He is enough to devastate a dinner table; do you remember that escapade of his last year?”

“You mean when he corrected you about the length of the American passage, and gave the sailings of the Atlantic liners since '80,” and Leslie lay back to enjoy the past: “it seemed to me most instructive, and every one gave up conversation to listen.”

“Because no one could do anything else with that voice booming through the room. I can still hear him: 'the _Columba_ six days, four hours, five minutes.' Then I rose and delivered the table.”

“It was only human to be a little nettled by his accuracy; but you ought not to have retreated so soon, for he gave the express trains of England a little later, and hinted at the American lines. One might almost call such a memory genius.”

“Which is often another name for idiocy, John. Some one was telling me yesterday that quiet, steady men rush out of the room at the sound of his voice, and their wives have to tell all sorts of falsehoods about their absence.

“Trixy is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and it would be a shame to pass her over; but I will not have her husband on any account.”

“Perhaps you are right as a hostess; it is a little hard for a frivolous circle to live up to Marsden, and I hear that he has got up the temperatures of the health resorts; it's a large subject, and lends itself to detail.”

“It will not be given in this house. What Trixy must endure with that man! he's simply possessed by a didactic devil, and ought never to have married. Statistics don't amount to cruelty, I suppose, as a ground of divorce?”

“Hardly as yet; by-and-bye incompatibility in politics or fiction will be admitted; but how do you know, Florence, that Mrs. Marsden does not appreciate her husband? You never can tell what a woman sees in a man. Perhaps this woman hungers for statistics as a make-weight She is very amusing, but a trifle shallow, don't you think?”

“She used to be the brightest and most charming girl in our set, and I have always believed that she was married to Mr. Marsden by her people. Trixy has six hundred a year settled on her, and they were afraid of fortune-hunters. Mothers are apt to feel that a girl is safe with a man of the Marsden type, and that nothing more can be desired.”

“Perhaps they are not far wrong. Marsden is not a romantic figure, and he is scarcely what you would call a brilliant _raconteur_; but he serves his wife like a slave, and he will never give her a sore heart.”

“Do you think it nothing, John, that a woman with ideals should be tied to a bore all her days? What a contrast between her brother and her husband, for instance. Godfrey is decidedly one of the most charming men I ever met.”

“He has a nice tenor voice, I grant, and his drawing-room comedies are very amusing. Of course, no one believes a word he says, and I think that he has never got a discharge from his last bankruptcy; but you can't expect perfection. Character seems to oscillate between dulness and dishonesty.”

“Don't talk nonsense for the sake of alliteration, John. Trixy's brother was never intended for business; he ought to have been a writer, and I know he was asked to join the staff of the _Boomeller_. Happy thought! I'll ask him to come with his sister instead of Mr. Marsden.”

And this was the note:

“My dear Trixy,--

“We are making up a dinner party for the evening of June 2nd, at eight o'clock, and we simply cannot go on without you and Mr. Mars-den. Write _instantly_ to say you accept; it is an age since I've seen you, and my husband is absolutely devoted to Mr. Marsden. He was telling me only a minute ago that one reason why he goes by the 9 train is to get the benefit of your husband's conversation. With much love,

“Yours affectionately,

“Florence Leslie.

“P.S.--It does seem a shame that Mr. Marsden should have to waste an evening on a set of stupid people, and if he can't tear himself from his books, then you will take home a scolding to him from me.

“P.S.--If Mr. Marsden _will not_ condescend, bring Godfrey to take care of you, and tell him that we shall expect some music.”

II

“Come to this corner, Trixy, and let us have a quiet talk before the men arrive from the dining-room. I hope your husband is duly grateful to me for allowing him off this social ordeal. Except perhaps John, I don't think there is a person here fit to discuss things with him.”

“Oh, Mr. Marsden does not care one straw whether they know his subjects or not so long as people will listen to him, and I'm sure he was quite eager to come, but I wanted Godfrey to have a little pleasure.

“I'm so sorry for poor Godfrey,” and Mrs. Marsden settled herself down to confidences. “You know he lost all his money two years ago through no fault of his own. It was simply the stupidity of his partner, who was quite a common man, and could not carry out Godfrey's plans. My husband might have helped the firm through their difficulty but he was quite obstinate, and very unkind also. He spoke as if Godfrey had been careless and lazy, when the poor fellow really injured his health and had to go to Brighton for two months to recruit.”

“Yes, I remember,” put in Mrs. Leslie; “we happened to be at the Metropole one week end, and Godfrey looked utterly jaded.”

“You have no idea how much he suffered, Florrie, and how beautifully he bore the trial. Why, had it not been for me, he would not have had money to pay his hotel bill, and that was a dreadful change for a man like him. He has always been very proud, and much petted by people. The poor fellow has never been able to find a suitable post since, although he spends days in the city among his old friends, and I can see how it is telling on him. And--Florrie, I wouldn't mention it to any one except an old friend--Mr. Marsden has not made our house pleasant to poor Godfrey.”

“You don't mean that he... reflects on his misfortunes.”

“Doesn't he? It's simply disgusting what he will say at times. Only yesterday morning--this is absolutely between you and me, one must have some confidant--Godfrey made some remark in fun about the cut of Tom's coat; he will not go, you know, do what I like, to a proper tailor.”

“Godfrey is certainly much better dressed,” said Mrs. Leslie, “than either of our husbands.”

“Perhaps it was that made Tom angry, but at any rate he said quite shortly, 'I can't afford to dress better,' and of course Godfrey knew what he meant. It was cruel in the circumstances, for many men spend far more on their clothes than Godfrey. He simply gives his mind to the matter and takes care of his things; he will spend any time selecting a colour or getting a coat fitted.”

“Is your brother quite... dependent on... his friends, Trixy?”

“Yes, in the meantime, and that is the reason why we ought to be the more considerate. I wished to settle half my income on him, but it is only a third of what it used to be--something to do with investments has reduced it--and Mr. Marsden would not hear of such a thing; he allows Godfrey one hundred a year, but that hardly keeps him in clothes and pocket money.”

“Still, don't you think it's all Godfrey could expect?” and Mrs. Leslie was inclined for once to defend this abused man. “Few husbands would do as much for a brother-in-law.”

“Oh, of course he does it for my sake, and he means to be kind. But, Florrie, Mr. Marsden is so careful and saving, always speaking as if we were poor and had to lay up for the future, while I know he has a large income and a sure business.

“Why, he would not leave that horrid street in Highbury, say what I could; and I owe it to Godfrey that we have come to Putney. When Tom went out to Alexandria, my brother simply took our present house and had it furnished in Mr. Marsden's name, and so when he came home from Alexandria we were established in The Cottage.”

“John is the best of husbands, but I dare not have changed our house in his absence,” and Mrs. Leslie began to get new views on the situation. “Was not Mr. Marsden rather startled?”

“He was inclined to be angry with Godfrey, but I sent the boy off to Scarborough for a month; and he is never hasty to me, only tiresome--you can't imagine how tiresome.”

“Is it the statistics?”

“Worse than that. He has begun the Reformation now, and insists on reading from some stuffy old book every evening, _Dumas' History_, I think, till I wish there never had been such a thing, and we were all Roman Catholics.”

“Very likely he would have read about the Popes, then, or the saints. My dear girl, you don't wish to have your mind improved. You ought to be proud of your husband; most men sleep after dinner with an evening paper in their hands, and are quite cross if they're wakened. But there they come, and we must have Godfrey's last song.”

III

“Nurse will rise at four and bring you a nice cup of tea. Are you sure you will not weary, being alone for two hours?” and Mrs. Marsden, in charming outdoor dress, blew eau-de-Cologne about the room. “Don't you love scent?”

“Where are you going?” asked Marsden, following her with fond eyes. “You told me yesterday, but I forget; this illness has made me stupider than ever, I think. Wasn't it some charity?”

“It's the new society every one is so interested in, 'The Working Wives' Culture Union.' What is wanted is happy homes for the working men,” quoting freely from an eloquent woman orator, “and the women must be elevated; so the East End is to be divided into districts, and two young women will be allotted to each. Are you listening?”

“Yes, dear; but it rests me to lie with my eyes closed. Tell me all about your society. What are the young ladies to do?”

“Oh, they're to visit the wives in the afternoon and read books to them: solid books, you know, about wages and... all kinds of things working men like. Then in the evening the wives will be able to talk with their husbands on equal terms, and the men will not want to go to the public-houses. Isn't it a capital idea?”

A sad little smile touched Marsden's lips for an instant “And where do you meet to-day? It's a long way for you to go to Whitechapel.”

“Didn't I tell you? The Marchioness of Gloucester Is giving a Drawing Room at her town house, and Lady Helen wrote an urgent note, Insisting that I should come, even though it were only for an hour, as her mother depended on my advice so much.

“Of course I know that's just a way of putting it; but I have taken lots of trouble about founding the Union, so I think it would hardly do for me to be absent You're feeling much better, too, to-day, aren't you, Thomas?”

“Yes, much better; the pain has almost ceased; perhaps it will be quite gone when you return. Can you spare just ten minutes to sit beside me? There is something I have been wanting to say, and perhaps this is my only chance. When I am well again I may... be afraid.”

Mrs. Marsden sat down wondering, and her husband waited a minute.

“One understands many things that puzzled him before, when he lies in quietness for weeks and takes an after look. I suspected it at times before, but I was a coward and put the thought away. It seemed curious that no one came to spend an hour with me, as men do with friends; and I noticed that they appeared to avoid me. I thought it was fancy, and that I had grown self-conscious.

“Everything is quite plain now, and I... am not hurt, dear, and I don't blame any person; that would be very wrong. People might have been far more impatient with me, and might have made my life miserable.

“God gave me a dull mind and a slow tongue; it took me a long time to grasp anything, and no one cared about the subjects that interested me. Beatrice... I wish now you had told me how I bored our friends; it would have been a kindness; but never mind that now; you did not like to give me pain.

“What troubles me most is that all these years you should have been tied to a very tiresome fellow,” and Marsden made some poor attempt at a smile. “Had I thought of what was before you, I would never have asked you to marry me.

“Don't cry, dear; I did not wish to hurt you. I wanted to ask your pardon for... all that martyrdom, and... to thank you for... being my wife; and there's something else.

“You see when I get well and am not lying in bed here, maybe I could not tell you, so let me explain everything now, and then we need not speak about such things again.

“Perhaps you thought me too economical, but I was saving for a purpose. Your portion has not brought quite so much as it did, and I wished to make it up to you, and now you can have your six hundred a year as before; if this illness had gone against me, you would have been quite comfortable--in money, I mean, dear.

“No, I insist on your going to Lady Gloucester's; the change will do you good, and I'll lie here digesting the Reformation, you know,” and he smiled, better this time, quite creditably, in fact “Will you give me a kiss, just to keep till we meet again?”

When the nurse came down at four to take charge, she was horrified to find her patient alone, and in the death agony, but conscious and able to speak.

“Don't ring... nor send for my wife... I sent... her away knowing the end was near... made her go, in fact... against her will.”

The nurse gave him brandy, and he became stronger for a minute.

“She has had a great deal to bear with me, and I... did not wish her to see death. My manner has been always so wearisome... I hoped that... nobody would be here. You are very kind, nurse; no more, if you please.

“Would it trouble you... to hold my hand, nurse? It's a little lonely... I am not afraid... a wayfaring man though a fool... not err therein...”

He was not nearly so tedious with his dying as he had been with his living; very shortly afterwards Thomas Marsden had done with statistics for ever.

IV

Three days later Leslie came home from the city with tidings on his face, and he told them to his wife when they were alone that night “Marsden's lawyer made an appointment after the funeral, and I had an hour with him. He has asked me to be a trustee with himself in Mrs. Marsden's settlement.”

“I'm so glad; you must accept, for it will be such a comfort to poor Beatrice; but I thought Godfrey was her sole trustee.”

“So he was,” said Leslie grimly, “more's the pity, and he embezzled every penny of the funds--gambled them away in card-playing and... other ways.”

“Godfrey Harrison, Beatrice's brother?”

“Yes, her much-admired, accomplished, ill-used brother, the victim of her husband's stinginess.”

“If that be true, then Godfrey is simply a...”

“You mean an unmitigated scoundrel. Quite so, Florence, and a number of other words we won't go over. I tell you,” and Leslie sprang to his feet, “there is some use in swearing; if it had not been for one or two expressions that came to my memory suddenly to-day, I should have been ill. Curious to say, the lawyer seemed to enjoy them as much as myself, so it must be a bad case.”