Faith Unwin's Ordeal

Chapter I

They had sunk into their new life almost as though it were a pleasant condition from which they looked for no future change. But the present will not stand still. Suddenly — they hardly knew whence or how it came — there rose up in the midst of them " a little cloud like a man's hand." On the last day of that kind January they had been even more than usually happy together. They had spent the morning and afternoon as they now nearly always did — a large portion of the one in riding, and the greater part of the 21—2 other with talk and music in Faith's room. In the evening, some time after dinner, on returning to the drawing-room after a half hour's absence, Faith found her husband and Captain Erskine waiting for her return alone, and was greeted by Walter with a half-impatient, — " Why, I thought you were going to desert us too !

" " Has anybody else deserted you ? " she asked. " Where is Mrs. Erskine ? " " She has gone to bed with her headache." "And therefore, Faith, you will have to be very good to us all night," Captain Erskine said, " for, you see, we are left to your mercy altogether." She had never before spent an evening alone with them. In a few minutes they had gathered together round the tea-table, and the subdued and silent Faith of their common evenings had brightened involuntarily into that far sweeter and far better woman, who was, indeed, both for herself and them, the only true Faith. It was a transformation which she could not help, any more than the sun can help shining when the cloud that has covered it has passed away. It was an uneventful evening — one of which, when it had passed, there was little to be re corded ; yet half the charm of it lay in this very quietness of its serene and pleasant gladness.

They were happy, but hardly gay ; content to talk and idle, and, closing round the fire, to find an absolute sensible enjoyment kindled by its everyday common warmth. The two cousins played a game of chess together — a very common evening amusement with them — while Faith sat by her husband's side, looking on and making comments on the game, and, in defiance of all rule, offering helping suggestions to both antago nists indifferently. And then they made her sing to them. "Though, indeed," she said, pausing after she had once begun to apologize for her deficiencies, " I know I never ought to sing in such a roonl as this, for I have so little voice to fill it" " I am glad you have not any more," Captain Erskine told her. "You would not wish that you had, if you knew what a charm there is in listening to low soft singing, when it is as pure as yours."

" And when the listener can turn his back upon the singer, he means to add," Mr. Erskine said, with a laugh, " and make her An invisible thing, A voice, a mystery. He always had that fancy, Faith. He got all his first ideas of singing out of the woods. O Cuckoo, shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice ? He used to go spouting all that when he was ten years younger a dozen times a day." " Go on, Faith, and don't mind him," Captain Erskine retorted imperturbably. " Sing me that little German song," he said to her presently ; " that sad one, you know, that I like." " And meantime," Mr. Erskine said, " I will go and see how my mother is," and he went. The song was a girl's lament for the loss of her lover. It had a simple, singularly plaintive air, and she always sang it with a sort of desolate pathos that had a way of going strangely to George Erskine's heart.

She had never sung it more touchingly than she did to-night, as though her own happiness brought even more than usually home to her the sense of its sadness. As she uttered its last " My heart is broken ! " the mournful reiterated words went like a low wail through the room. She struck a sad soft chord or two, and then rose up. " I don't know why you ask me. for that song so often, George," she said. "It always haunts me aster I have sung it." " It has haunted mes he said, " ever since I heard you sing it first. How can you put that wild wail into it ? Do you know, Faith, you sing it sometimes as if your own heart were breaking." " It is not breaking though," she said, half in jest, with a sudden smile. " I hope it is not. I hope it will never be in danger of breaking, Faith." " If it were, I should be past singing songs about it, I think," she said.

" I only sing when I am happy. Do you know," she said suddenly, CI have sung oftener to you and Walter during these last two months, George, than I ever did in all my life before ? " How happy she looked as she stood beside him, her unpremeditated half-confession of the glad ness he had helped to bring her making a sudden colour in her cheek. Why did he not answer her? She hardly noticed, perhaps, that he did not ; but he abruptly turned his face away from her, and after a few moments' silence, almost as if he had not noticed what she said, — " Are not your hands cold with playing, Faith ? " he merely asked her. " Come here and get them warmed." And then a minute after Mr. Erskine came back into the room. " I have taken your arm-chair, Walter ; you must find yourself another seat," Faith said to him.

" I will come and make my seat at your feet," he answered, and came and lay on the hearth rug before her, calling next moment to his cousin (for they were often a very pair of boys together) not to be lazy, but to come and do the same. And then, as the two faces looked up to her from their unpillowed couch, all ruddy with the hot firelight, — " When we were lads, Faith, do you know," her husband told her, "we used to spend half our winter evenings so. That fellow there would lie in this way for hours together." " It must have been very bad for him before such large fires as these," Faith said, half gravely. •"Very likely. It's probably the reason why he has come to so little good in the world since. What could you expect as the result of such a mode of study but that all his ideas should become scorched up?

For my part, I was wiser; I took my reading at more rational hours." " I daresay you did ! " his cousin growled out ironically. " A pretty fellow you are to try and take in your wife with that story ! To my cer tain knowledge, Faith, he never studied anything on this earth, — on the hearthrug, or anywhere else. Nature brought him into the world in a fit of favouritism ; that's the truth of the matter. He was an idle young rascal, this husband of yours, and it's to her credit, not his, if he seems to be decently educated now." " You green-eyed monster ! " Mr. Erskine ejaculated. " You should have seen," Captain Erskine went on, taking no notice of this interruption, " how he triumphed over me when we were lads. He had every thing at his fingers' ends, — knew his lessons before he had ever looked at them, and all that sort of thing (you know the general ways of these abnormal creatures).

What could a poor plodding fellow like me do, when he was always half a dozen miles ahead ? " " Shall I tell you what he used to do, Faith ? " her husband said, with a sudden change in his tone. " He used to pull me out of my scrapes, and fight my battles, and make his own shoulders bear my punishments. When we were at Win chester together I knew many a fellow who never stretched out a hand to help his own younger brother, but his hand — God bless it, George, it is the same hand still ! " he cried, and grasped it in his own — " his hand, Faith, was always strong and ready to help in every need, by night or day." " He was always given to exaggeration, you know, Faith. I used to try to cure him of it once, but I gave up the attempt long ago as a hopeless job," George said, quietly ; then, all at once stretching out his arm, he threw it round his cousin's neck, and with a rough kind of tenderness drew his head down beside him.

"Is it not true, old boy ? " he said, and looked kindly at him with his faithful eyes. " It is one of his usual stories to take you in with, Faith," Mr. Erskine said, and, lying on his back, he looked placidly up into the other's face. The bright hair had all got into rough disorder — a wild thick confusion of curling locks, tossed upwards from the smooth forehead below which shone his clear blue eyes. George put his hand for a moment upon that unwrinkled boyish brow ; then, lifting up his face, — " Look at him, Faith," he said ; " he looks as like what he did eight years ago as if he had never grown an hour older since. A handsome young scamp, is he not ? That's the very face he used to put on whenever he wanted to come round the blind side of me." " If it is, I got little enough out of you by it," Mr. Erskine retorted.

"The blind side of you, you old Argus ! There never was an hour of your life yet but you had an eye open for spying out one of my weak points. If it was not that a few drops of the milk of human kindness had somehow got mixed up in your composition, George, you would be about the most insufferable fellow I ever came across." They were always bantering one another in this way, like a pair of boys ; for this reunion of theirs often seemed as if it almost in reality had thrown them back to boyhood — as if to each the regained sight of the familiar face had literally made the early morning of their life return. Out of their very tenderness for the past they loved to recall the old boyish ways that they had left behind them ; the quick affections of the one, and the deep affections of the other, joined hands in this, and gave them one heart in their inter course.

They lay talking till the clock had struck eleven. "You must go to bed, Faith," Mr. Erskine said then ; and presently they all rose. " Are you two going out ? " she asked ; for the cigar-smoking which Captain Erskine had begun upon the first night of his arrival had come hf this time to be an almost nightly practice. " Yes, if the night is fair. Look if it is." She went to the window and drew back the curtains. " It is bright starlight ; it must be a sharp frost." She opened the glass door. " How still it is. It must be very nice out there, Walter," she said. ". You say that as if you would like to come with us." " So I should." They both laughed, and her husband put his hand upon her shoulder. " Well, why shouldn't you ? " he said fondly. "Many a cigar-smoking walk we have had to sether under the stars before now — have we not, o Faith ?

Away with you, then, and get on some thing warm ; and we will fancy the terrace the deck of our old ship." In two or three minutes they were pacing the terrace side by side. She had wrapped herself in a white furry hooded cloak that enveloped her from head to foot. " A covering worthy of a small Esquimaux," her husband said ; and he looked at the bright face that peeped out from under the snowy hood, and, turning to his cousin — " She has developed into a terrible coquette of late, George," he told him. " Just think of her keeping a garment like this all ready by her for the chance of being asked to smoke cigars with us." " Oh, Walter ! as if you had not seen me wear it a dozen times," she exclaimed. And then they went out to their walk laughing. It was very still ; the winds laid into silence, as if the frost had bound them ; the bright stars clear and tender overheads They talked for a time, and then presently, as though in sympathy with the sweet solemn silence round them, they too became gradually silent, and their slow, quiet, regular steps were almost the only sounds that broke the stillness.

Once, after a good while, when they had reached the end of the terrace, — yielding to the pause that one of them made there, — they all stood still and leaned upon the balustrade that looked down on the garden ; and then, after a few moments, Faith began to sing. It seemed in its serene beauty too solemn a night for any common song. The pure sweet voice fell into the notes of one of the hymns that she often sang — a hymn asking for God's protection through the night, and through all suture nights, till the last quiet one should come that should leave us calmly asleep in His mighty keeping. The simple prayer went out sweetly on the still night air. George reverently said " Amen ! " when it was ended. He had taken off his hat when she began to sing. After a few moments Mr. Erskine turned and began to walk along the terrace again.

"It is too cold for you to stand still, my darling," he said. Faith's hand was within his arm. Captain Erskine had remained behind them. When they had come back within sight of him again,— " Shall I go in now, and leave you to smoke out the rest of your cigars in peace ? " she asked her husband ; and then, when they had come up to George, she put out her hand to him. " You are going to say good-night to me," she said, " for I am going away now." He looked down for a moment upon the little hand that had touched his. " Why are you going already ? are you tired ? " he asked. " No, but it is getting late, — and Walter says I had better go." " That is her way of announcing that she is growing sleepy," Mr. Erskine said. "No, it is not, George." As she looked up smiling into his face she thought that it looked grave in the starlight.

"George," she said, "will it not be pleasant here in the summer evenings ? I am beginning' to long so to see the Grange in summer time." " Are you growing fond of it, Faith ? " he asked. She had not perhaps been prepared for that question, for she did not answer it for a moment. When her reply did come, too, it was spoken in another tone. "How can I help growing fond of it when I am so happy in it ? " she said. She had never spoken before so openly in her husband's hearing. " My darling, have we really made you happy ? " he cried, and drew her to him passionately. " Did you not know you had ? " she said. She smiled a little tremulously as she looked into his face. Her hand had left George's now, and was lying on his arm. YOL. II. ._ It was a minute before they all turned together and walked back to the open window.

Just as they reached it, and as she was standing there to bid George good-night again, the old church clock, musical and clear in the thin air, began to strike twelve. . " That is the end of January," she said quickly, and stood listening till the strokes had ceased. " Yes." He said no more, and she went in; but she remembered afterwards how she had seen him stand still and look after her as she went back into the room. It was on the morning that followed this night — the morning of the first of February — that after breakfast Captain Erskine said he had letters to write, and, taking possession of the library, remained there till he was called out to lunch. There was no riding that morning. " If the day holds up we will go out in the afternoon," Mr. Erskine said ; and then, having business with his steward, he went out alone, and Faith was left to herself.

When they all met again at lunch Captain Erskine announced his morning's work as finished, and threw down a batch of letters on the table. " Who are all these to ? " his cousin presently asked, and began to turn them over. " ' Major Reid,' ' Lieutenant-Colonel Halkett,' (I didn't know that Lieutenant-Colonel Halkett was in England, George), ' Dr. Penrose.' What are you writing again to Dr. Penrose for ? " " I have told him I will come and see him on Monday." " Why, you refused his invitation last week ? " " No, I didn't refuse it ; I only spoke in definitely." " And why on earth should you begin to speak definitely now? What can be the use of going to Penrose's at this precise time? As tedious and crotchety an old man as I ever came across ! " George laughed. " He is a good man at bottom, Walter.

I have a kindness for him for my father's sake." " Well, you must have your way, I suppose, 22—2 though I consider it entirely unreasonable. And how long do you intend to stay with him ? " " I can't go for less than a week." " Well, I can only say I think you will be glad to come back to us at the end of it." " I should be glad, I daresay ; but as I shall be so far on the way I think I had better go on and look after the Darrells." "What — those Lincolnshire people? What is the attraction there ? " " Why, Charles Darrell is a very good fellow." " And are there no good fellows left in Hamp shire," Mr. Erskine exclaimed, " that you must go scouring the country as far as Lincolnshire to find one ? " " At this wintry time of year, too," Mrs. Erskine added. "Really, George, I can see no use in it."

"But I met Charles Darrell in town, and promised to go and see his place." " Then go and see it in summer. Why, man, what has come over you ? Are you tired of us all ? " his cousin cried. " Do you think I am ? " George asked, with one of his frank laughs. " I think it looks wonderfully like it." " I will appeal to Faith, then. I am content to leave my character in her hands." " I daresay Faith is in league with you. But I am not in jest, George. Give up the Darrells, like a dear old fellow, and come home after your week of Cambridge." " I will give up the Darrells if you like," Captain Erskine answered after a moment ; " but " he was beginning, when his cousin interrupted him. "We have no time for huts!" he exclaimed, starting up from his seat. " There are the horses. Away with you, Faith, and get your habit on."

And then, for that time, the subject dropped. But the same evening, of her own accord, Faith renewed it. "Tell me what you mean to do after Cam bridge ? " she said to him, in her quiet way. They were sitting alone together. " I shall go to London for two or three weeks," he answered at once. " Before you come back to us ? " He could not misinterpret the audible regret that there was in her tone, and he did not pretend to do it. " You are very good to want me back," he said, with a smile. "I will come and see you again when I leave London, — if you will have me then." The voice was cordial and kind, but there was something in the words he used that pained her. " Why do you say that ? " she asked him quickly. "As if our home was not always yours ! " " Forgive me, Faith ; I did not mean that I thought you might shut your door against me," he said, in a tone that seemed half in jest.

" But yet you want to stay so long away from us ! Surely you need not be two or three weeks in London ? Could you not come back after one week ? Ah, George," she said, " come back, for Walter's sake." " Walter's cup of happiness is pretty full with out me, is it not, Faith ? " he said. " No, it is not," she answered boldly. " How could it be when you know how he cares for you?" "You are a kind little pleader," he said after a moment. "Do you know, Faith, I used to be afraid that Walter's wife would push me to the wall." "Were you?" She laughed. "That was because you did not know what a sensible wife Walter would find." " But have you never felt a desire to turn me out of doors, Faith ? " " Never." " Not even when I came first ? " " I think I did the first night, when you made me late for dinner."

He laughed ; then after a moment, — " I am very grateful, Faith," he said simply. " I wonder what I should have done if I had not liked you, George ! I should have been so very sorry," she said. " So should I ; I think I should have gone back to Calcutta." " Oh, now you are laughing at me ! " she ex claimed, and began to laugh herself. " Not I," he answered ; " I am speaking in sober earnest. What should I have had to make me stay in England if you had chosen to make the Grange too hot to hold me ? " "And so you came home thinking that I might perhaps do that ? Oh, George," she said quickly, " it hurts me." He turned his face to her with a smile that was full of kindness. " If I had been afraid that you would be the greatest termagant in England, what would it matter now ? " he said. "I wonder how much you really were afraid of me !

" she said, after a moment, half timidly. "I can't remember, Faith." " Was it very much ? " " It has quite gone out of my head." " Ah, you will not be serious ! " " Yes, I will. My fear was a changeable thing, — sometimes great and sometimes small ; but shall I tell you what became of it at last ? That night when I came home it followed me like a ghost up to this room, treading all the way upon my heels ; I did not open the door there very wide, I remember, but it was by my side when I got in ; and then — there was a white creature in the room, Faith, standing just about there, and she came to me and put her hand in mine ; — and from that hour to this I have never seen my ghost again ; it vanished from that instant away to the limbo of departed spirits." She was looking at him all the time he spoke, but it was only at his last words that, with a smile, he raised his eyes to her.

" Are you making that story ? " she said wistfully, after a moment, — " as nurses make up tales to please children ? " " Does it sound so made up that you are obliged to ask, Faith ? " " Oh no," she said quickly ; " only I wanted to be sure that I might believe it. May I, George ? " " If you care to believe it." " You know I care — oh, you know I care ! " she repeated eagerly. " Faith," he said after a moment, with a smile, " for a grave woman you are singularly child-like sometimes." " Do you mean that I was child-like just now ? I don't think I was," she answered quickly. " Do you think you never are ? " She looked into his face as if half uncertain what he meant ; and, as she looked, she assumed unconsciously the very child-like look of which he spoke — a large, grave look, half-trusting, half perplexed.

He smiled as he saw it. " Faith, how old are you ? " he asked abruptly. " I shall be twenty-four in May. Why ? " " I have wondered occasionally." " Did you think I was younger ? " "I had no idea. I could have believed any age that had been told me for you between fifteen and thirty." " I was born upon the first of May, — on Mayday," she said. " I like to think of having an English May birthday. Do you know, George," she confessed, half hesitating, " the thought of it has made me sometimes actually glad. It seems so like being given a new birthright of hope to have one's birthday in spring. Though it is a foolish fancy, I know," she added deprecatingly. " I daresay it is ; but I like to hear of your having foolish fancies, Faith." "Do you?" " I like to see you being girlish and fanciful. You are generally far too grave and wise."

" I am grave, but not wise, George." " You look wise, which brings it to the same. Faith, when you were a child were you always a little solemn creature, or did you romp and get naughty and upset the house, like English children ? " " I am afraid I was generally quiet. I was a puny sickly little thing, and for a long time they thought I would not live." " And you had no brothers, or sisters, or play fellows ? " "No." She paused for a moment. "But I had my mother, and she was all the world to me." " And when she left you, Faith ? " " Then I was quite alone." Her hands, which had been loosely folded on her knees, tightened their clasp suddenly. "Oh, George, you would have been sorry for me then," she said quickly ; " I was such a poor little heart-broken thing. Do you know, I have cried since for very pity of myself.

We lived far up in the wild country ; there was not another house within six miles of us, and not a creature with my father and me except the rough farm-servants. I never saw a woman's face after my mother died for months." " Poor child ! And you were — how old then ? " " I was twelve ; and not a big strong girl as I might have been at that age, but a little stunted creature." " I can fancy you, Faith." " I hardly think you can. You only know me as I am now, healthy and cared for and welldressed. I don't know if you could really picture me as I was twelve years ago, George — a little wretched neglected creature, always ailing and sickly, and dressed in rough poor clothes." " Still I think I can do it. You must always have had the same face, Faith, and the same wise quiet noiseless ways : those grave eyes of yours too must have looked at all things, even when you were twelve years old, I fancy, much as they do now."

" Only they looked far more hopelessly," she said. She was silent for a moment or two, and then, almost passionately, — "Ah, George," she cried, " it is a sorrowful thing to see children such as I was — children with everything like childhood trodden out of them— old before they have ever known what youth is,— toiling and struggling and thinking about the things of to-morrow while other children are playing in their nurseries. I know it all so well. When I see such children noWj — even when I think of them, — it makes my heart ache." She sat looking for a few minutes into the fire (they were sitting in the dusk by her fire side), then suddenly turning her face to him again, — " Did you know that we used to be so poor? " she asked him simply. " No," he answered, " I did not know that your father was ever in actual difficulties."