Put to the Proof. A novel

Chapter I

" Griefs and fears, nursed in silence, grow like Titan infants." Whex the summer came round again, Angela claimed the fulfilment of Margaret's promise, that she would spend a part, at least, of her holiday at Bleak Moor. Margaret renewed her promise, and even fixed a time for going ; and when she had done so, she hardly knew whether she was going willingly or unwillingly. She was most averse to leaving London at the vol. ut. present time. Though through all the dreary months she had waited there in mingled hope and fear, no news had come of Oswald. She felt that were she to go away, if only for a week, news would certainly come in her absence ; and she could not bear the thought that Oswald should come to her house, and she not be there to receive him. At the same time, she felt unequal to remaining in town alone through the dust and heat of August, waiting and watching for what might never come.

Philip was going into Scotland with some friends ; Angela was going home ; and though Margaret knew that a word from her would have kept Angela at London with her, she would not speak the word. " You must make up your mind to a very dull visit," said Angela. " I expect I am very selfish to ask you to come at all : Ave have absolutely no attractions at Bleak Moor, when you get there. You must make up your mind to exchange life for vegetation existence, whatever you like to call it." " I am not afraid," said Margaret, smiling. " I have no friends. I do not suppose you will be asked to go out anywhere all the time you are with me ; I expect you will die of stagnation." " Not in your company." "You are vastly amiable. But fore warned is forearmed ; you can never say I led you to Bleak Moor under false pretences.

You shall come back to London any day you like." Angela went home at the end of July, and it was arranged that Margaret should follow her a week later. It soon became known at Bleak Moor that Angela Darling was expecting a friend to stay at Bleak Meadows. The news created quite a sensation ; no one had ever heard of Angela having a friend. People wondered what she would be like. Angela was not popular in her natiA7e village, and the speculations concerning her friend were carried on in no very charitable spirit. It was late one beautiful August after noon when Margaret arrived. The sun had spent the fiercest of his strength, and long shadows lay on the purple moors. It was a very quiet country station at which Margaret left the train, and she saAv Angela on the platform waiting for her. " I am horribly disgusted," began Angela, when the first greetings were over ; " but there is no cab for you.

There is only one in the village, and it has been engaged for a wedding or a funeral or something. I have negotiated about your luggage : it will be brought up this evening on a lurry that is coming our way. But there is no lurry for us, and w*e shall have to Avalk." " "Well," said Margaret, " I shall not mind that. It is a lovely evening, and I am tired of sitting still." " It is a mile and a half." " That is not enough to frighten me ; I am quite equal to it." " Oh, I know," moving slowly away in the direction where the ticket-collector stood, casting impatient glances at them; " you ' will be as charming as possible,' and try to make me believe that you would much rather walk ; but I am horribly disgusted all the same." " Don't be cast doAvn," said Margaret, laughing ; and they left the station, going* down the steep hill which led to the high road below.

They crossed the bridge spanning the little stream, passed under the large rail way bridge — from the roof of Avhich, even in this dry weather, the water dripped dismally — and emerged finally on the road that led straight up to Bleak Meadows. They walked slowly. It was half-past five. All the mills had stopped, and the village street was thronged Avith " hands " hastening homewards after their day spent in the different factories. There were many of them, men, women, and children ; but all turned to look at the two beautiful Avomen walking leisurely along under the shelter of their sunshades. Angela's face was familiar to them : to-day Margaret's Avas the centre of attraction. Miss Terry looked closely at the people. It was long since she had met the hands turning out — not since she left Ash Fell.

" You know, Angela," she said presently, "my mother was a factory hand, like one of these women." " You are like what she was, are you not?" " People have told me so." " I don't wonder your father married her. Don't you feel glad that you are so nearly related to the people ? " " I am proud of it," lifting her head a little. " How did your grandfather like that ? " " He did not like it at all ; but that was partly because he did not like anything connected with me." " I cannot imagine how you contrived to bear with him. I should have left him to himself." " I should have done if he had not fallen ill. I could not leave him then." " I suppose not ; but he must have been very quarrelsome. I wonder if we shall ever quarrel," she went on suddenly, as though an entirely new idea had occurred to her.

" Not if the matter rests with me ; and, as you have often told Philip, it takes two to make a quarrel." "He is always ready for battle, is he not ? " " Yes ; I often wonder that you have never ' fallen out.' " " It is not worth while falling out Avith people you do not care for." " I thought you liked Philip." "So I do, but not in such a way that Avhatever he does or says or thinks, puts me in a state of breathless agitation." So talking they accomplished the mile and a half which lay between the station and Bleak Meadows, and Angela heaved a little sigh as they turned in at the gate. They went into the house and into the dining-room, where tea was set, and Mrs. Darling was waiting to receive them. Angela's mother ! Margaret had looked forward to meeting Angela's mother. She had heard her friend speak of her so often, and never without a tone of respect, which Avas generally wanting in her mention of other people.

She saw before her an elderly lady, with features something like Angela's, but wonderfully softened. Her expression was sweet and gentle. She had silver hair, and a soft, refined voice. Mrs. Darling made Margaret very welcome, and PUT TO THE PROOF. she followed Angela upstairs with a feeling that she was going to be happy here. When they returned to the dining-room, they found the rest ofthe family assembled : Laura, whose greeting was stiff and rather ungracious; and Sybil, who looked with wondering eyes of admiration at her sister's beautiful friend. They had a merry meal, and Margaret felt her trouble sinking into the dim back ground in this strange place, where she was surrounded by new faces in nowise connected with Oswald or Africa. The next day but one was Sunday, and Margaret, talking to Mrs. Darling after breakfast, found from her hostess's conA7er sation that she was expected to accompany her to church ; she went, therefore, to her room to get ready.

She had not been there many minutes Avhen she heard that quick, short knock at the door which she knew to be Angela's, and immediately afterwards her friend came in. " Here you are ! " she said. " I have been looking for you everywhere. Where are you going ? " " To church with Mrs. Darling." Angela's face fell. " Are you ? " she asked, doubtfully. " I had hoped to take you for a long* walk on the hills. We might have spent such a delightful morning. That is mother's Aveak point ; she always will try to entrap people into going to church. However, if you have made up your mind, I will make an effort, and go too." She went to get ready, and was so long that Mrs. Darling set off with Laura. Margaret and Sybil, however, elected to wait for the missing Angela. PUT TO THE PROOF. She came at last, looking very lovely in a dress of her favourite Quaker grey, and a large hat of the same colour.

" I suppose mother and Laura have gone," she said, as she joined the others in the garden. " I knew they would go if I waited long enough," she went on complacently, Sybil having replied in the affirmative. " You don't mean to say that you Avere so long purposely ? " asked Margaret, reproachfully. " Yes. Mother has taken such a violent fancy to you, I knew I should not be able to get a word with you if we all went together. Besides, fancy streaming into church five people one after the other ; it would not be respectable." Margaret made no reply, and they walked sloAvly on. The day was hot, and Angela was not likely to hurry herself to be in time for a festival she cared so little for as church. " Mr. Duffus is preaching to-day, Angel," said Sybil. " So you told me once before. Hoav do you know ?

" " I met him in the village the other day, and he told me," answered the child, with a flash of fun in her eyes. " He asked me to let you know ; and I did, only you took no notice, so I thought I Avould tell you again. Now my con science is at ease." Angela laughed a little contemptu ously. " Take notice of his reA7erence, Mar garet," she said. " He is an entertaining little man, with as little tact as the rest of his sex. He always contrives to say the wrong thing ; at least, when he is talking to me." Margaret did notice him, and, insig nificant little man though he was, he lived long in her memory. " Where shall Ave sit ? " asked Angela, presently. " Mother sits at the top of the church. When I go, which is seldom, I bury myself in the background ; but, as you are my guest, you shall take your choice."

" I think Ave had better sit with Mrs. Darling," replied Margaret, to whom had been granted a sense of the fitness of things. " I shall sit at the back," said Sybil. " There will not be room for us all on one bench, it is so hot." " Do. Sybil," said her sister. " We will meet you when Ave come out." So, when they entered the church, they separated. Sybil slipped iuto a seat near the door, and Angela and Margaret walked up the church to the topmost seat, where Mrs. Darling, with her eldest daughter, was already seated. There was a visible, almost an audible, rustle of expectation as the two friends made their appearance, and they were followed up the aisle by many eager pairs of eyes. This was Angela Darling's friend, but she was not in the least like Angela, except that she was as beautiful and looked as proud.

But she was no slim girl, with scornful mouth and critical eyes, but a dignified woman, with a grave, almost sad, face, and steady, thoughtful eyes. The church Avas very hot ; the sun poured through the unshaded windows into the bare, unbeautiful building ; the service was long, the music aud singing inexpressibly dreadful. Margaret, in the depths of her heart, began to wish she had had strength of mind to ignore Mrs. Darling's hints, neither did she wonder at the lukewarmness of Angela's zeal. The vicar read the service in an indistinct and monotonous voice. Mr. Duffus took little part in the proceedings until sermon time, and then he mounted the pulpit steps with a roll of paper in his hand. His sermon was on sin. He divided sinners into three classes — the backslider, the hardened sinner, and the tender unbeliever.

At this point Margaret, who had been listening with only divided attention, became interested. She wondered what species of being a " tender unbeliever " might be, and what he was going to make out of him. Sud denly Mr. Duffus branched off to another subject, and before she knew how he got there, she was listening with a kind of fascination to an account of the African expedition in which Oswald was engaged. " It is noAV nearly four years," said Mr. Duffus, solemnly, " since those brave men left home and family and friends, and ventured forth in the cause of science upon an expedition involving certain peril, certain hairbreadth escapes, for aught we can tell, certain death. Three years were fixed as the term of their absence ; four years have almost passed, and we have as yet heard nothing of them.

They have been swallowed up in the dark continent, and it may be that we shall never know if they have not fallen a prey to one of the many perils which must have beset them at every step. Any one of those men might lose his life at any moment. vol. in. He might lose his Avay in some trackless forest; he might lie down to die in the burning desert, parched with thirst ; or he might fall a victim to some hostile tribe. A few people hope yet, but with the majority hope is dead, and they have made up their minds that this band of brave men has perished in the wilderness." Margaret sat listening, spellbound, fas cinated. She thought she had left her trouble in London, and lo ! it met her face to face in this remote country village. She kneAv she was going pale to the lips : each one of Mr. Duffus' innocent words fell upon her heart like a drop of ice-cold water.

A moment ago she had been re belling against the curate's style as want ing in strength and vividness ; now his words seemed living things, endowed with the rjower of torturing her horribly. How much farther Mr. Duffus spoke on the subject, Margaret never knew ; she heard no more than that set down above. She sat quite still, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her eyes fixed unswervingly upon the east window in front of her. She wTas hardly conscious of where she Avas ; her only desire was to bury her face in her hands, and to try to shut out the horrible picture Mr. Duffus' words had called up to her imagination. She hoped no one would notice her emotion, and she glanced involuntarily at Angela, but she was otherwise occupied. Of all Mr. Duffus' exposition, she had caught only the mention of trackless forests, which, coupled with the name of Africa, had caused her to be seized by a silent but uncontrollable fit of laughter, Avhich she was exerting* herself to overcome.

Margaret's self-control was such that, despite what she was feeling, no one noticed anything, except that " it was intensely hot in church, and Miss Terry seemed to feel the heat very much; she went quite white during the sermon. In the evening Mr. Duffus came up to Bleak Meadows, and joined the party strolling about the garden. He spent a few moments with Mrs. Darling, and then strayed away to Angela and Margaret, who were walking apart from the rest. Margaret could scarcely refrain from shuddering as the same voice smote her ears which a few hours before had declared its owner's belief that her husband was dead, and that he had, moreover, met his death in some unnatural and horrible manner. She hid her feelings, however, and acknowledged Angela's careless intro duction Avith graceful courtesy.

Mr. Duffus did not stay long, though long enough to show Margaret that he was as much in love with Angela as ever Philip could be, and that Angela was as indifferent to him as to Philip. When he went, he cast a fond look at Angela, who, having wished him " good night," stood at the open window, looking out into the garden, in blissful oblivion of his presence.

Chapter II

" She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband." Margaret was soon a universal favourite at Bleak Meadows. Syb's affections Avere easily won, and when one Avet day Margaret gave her some lessons in woodcarving, her gratitude knew no bounds. Laura, too, began to thaw. It was impossible to keep up an air of ungraciousness in face of Margaret's perfect courtesy, and she even admitted to some of her friends, that " Miss Terry is very nice in some ways, and not at all like Angel." Mrs. Darling treated her guest like a daughter, and was soon drawn to con fide all her anxiety on Angela's behalf to her gentle and sympathetic young* friend. " You may imagine," she said one day, " that I am never at ease about Angel ; she has caused me more anxiety than Laura and Sybil put together. I dare say she has told you herself, for she makes rather a merit of it, how she behaved to her uncle, after all he had done for her.

He was as fond of her as if she had been his OAvn child, and I shall always maintain that he died of a broken heart. Now she does exactly what she likes ; no one has any control over her, I least of all. She sadly Avants some one to govern her. I shall never know peace until I see her suitably married." " I don't think Angel has any idea of getting married," replied Margaret, feeling a little startled. " Well, she talks like that, it is true ; but I never know whether she is in earnest or not. Nothing makes her so angry as to speak to her of a husband." " But you would not try to force her to marry, would you ? " asked Margaret, feeling that any such scheming would be time and trouble thrown away. " Force her ? Oh no ; but she has had so many chances — more than any other girl in the place.

But she laughs at all her suitors. The more in earnest a man is, the more she scoffs at him. And the worst is, that if once a man begins to think about her, he can never forget her for any one else." " But she does not encourage them." " Oh no ; she shows them from the first that she cares nothing for them, yet they never leave her alone. And, oddly enough, the other girls in the village do not seem so jealous of her as if one of themselves were to act in that way." She paused, and Margaret was silent, Avondering what it was in Angel that, cold and cynical as she was, yet drew every one to her as with a charm. " There was Ben Crossley," went on Mrs. Darling, rather plaintively ; " he has asked her to be his wife three times, and each time she has laughed and sneered at him. Yet he is a handsome young fellow, and in a very good position.

He succeeded lately to his father's business, and has between two and three thousand a year. There is not another girl in Bleak Moor Avho would not be happier than she could say, if he only showed any preference for her ; yet they have all more money than Angel will ever make for herself." " But, dear Mrs. Darling, you would not have Angel marry for money ? " " Of course not. Still, Ben has a very good position. She will never make her self such a position as she would step into if she were his wife. I hate to think of Angel earning her own living," went on the elder lady, energetically. " She lives by herself in London — and one reads of such things happening in London ; and she, Avith her beauty, and that way she has of looking people straight in the face, and with no one to protect her.

Some times when I think of it, my heart grows quite cold with fear." Mrs. Darling put her handkerchief to her eyes as she finished her somewhat incoherent speech, and Margaret felt a sudden throb of pity for the poor lady's fears on behalf of her beautiful, careless daughter. " I am sure you need not fear," she said, soothingly ; "no one would dare to say an impertinent thing to Angel." " No. I dare say you are right ; but I cannot forget what she told us the other night, about how she went by the under ground railway in a third-class carriage last Easter Monday, at nine o'clock at night. You know, my dear," turning a pair of frightened, tearful eyes on Mar garet, " that was a most shocking thing* to do." " It was foolish certainly," replied Mar garet, hardly able to suppress a smile. " She is very young, and so careless about the people she speaks to.

I shall never be at ease until she is married to some honourable man, who is in a good position, and who will make her happy." Such was the burden of Mrs. Darling's song, and Margaret did not tell her that she knew one man in London, the soul of honour, and in a position no one need despise, who would lay all at Angel's feet if she would give him only one word of encouragement. " Then there is Mr. Duffus," continued Mrs. Darling, " an upright, hard-working man But here Angel herself appeared, and she was obliged to be silent. But this conversation somewhat opened Margaret's eyes as to Angel's position at home, and she began to understand why it was she Avent there so seldom. Margaret's visit to Bleak Moor was very quiet. She saw few people except her hostess and family, and those she saw did not appeal very powerfully to her heart or intellect.

Still, she enjoyed herself. She was Avith Angel, and, the weather being exceptionally fine, they spent a great deal of time out of doors. Bleak Moor was not far either from Ash Fell or Fencehurst, and the country bore the same character at all three places. Some times Margaret could almost fancy herself again in the scenes of her girlhood, Avhich now seemed so far away, or at Fencehurst. with Oswald. But the thought of Fence hurst was always too terrible ; she put it resolutely from her. At times her trouble seemed to start up before her at unexpected moments, as in Mr. Duffus' sermon. This happened again one August afternoon, Avhen Angel, Syb, and herself were spend ing their time on the moors. Angel and Margaret were both sketch ing. Syb had been reading aloud to them, but had now dropped the book, and lay back on the heather, her hat tilted over her eyes, enjoying the hot sun as it streamed down upon her.

" How hot it is ! " she said at last, breaking a long silence. " I wonder if it is much hotter than this in Africa." " How should you like to go and try ? " inquired Margaret. " Immensely. I wish I were there m now. " Syb is desperately fond of travels," said Angel, in lazy explanation. " She reads nothing else. I belie\7e that in secret she was nearly heartbroken because she could not join those scatter-brained African explorers." Margaret looked up quickly at Angel's careless words ; while Syb, in the tone of one Avho had felt her feelings and was not ashamed of them, answered — " Well, I Avas. I should like to have gone aAvfully." " And have been swallowed up by a lion, or a ravening cannibal, or fallen down a yawning precipice," said Angel, mockingly. " You remember what his reverence said of them the other day."

" Yes," said Syb, in a tone of resigned thoughtfulness ; " I suppose they are all dead. They have been away a long time, and the chances were about even in the beginning. It seems a pity, too, that so much should have been done in vain, doesn't it, Margaret ? " " Yes, dear." " Still, if they do come back," went on the child, in a glow of enthusiasm, " think of the glory they will have. People will talk of no one else." "They will all get the Victoria Cross for saving one another's lives," said Angel. sarcastically ; "or perhaps they will be knighted, as a reward of merit." " Angel ! " said Syb, indignantly, " you are quite wicked. I don't know how you can talk in that horrible way. I don't believe any one says such fearful things as you do. Suppose they never come back." " They will come back, do not be afraid.

Some one will be sure to survive all those perils which the vivid imagination of his reverence called up the other day, and Avhich, I don't believe, exist anywhere else. There may or there may not be trackless forests in the heart of Africa, but I don't. believe he knows anything about them." Only once did Margaret give way to the secret fear Avhich devoured her, and made life a burden to her. Angel and she were on the moors together, and Angel, as she sat talking, plucked a sprig of heather, and put it into her dress, saying — " How the moors are turning ! This is almost the last bit of heather I shall get, and there is no other flower that has so sweet a scent." " Can you smell it, too ? " asked Mar garet, also gathering a spray and drinking in the faint, wild perfume. " So few people can," she went on.

" I only know of Philip and myself, and — one other person. She spoke the last words slowly, and as she said them a vision of the hours Oswald and she had spent among the heather OA7ercame her, the faint, delicate perfume became strong and deadly in her nostrils, vol. in. and, throwing the flower aside, she buried her face in her hands. Angel was by her side in a moment " Margaret," she said, " what is the matter ? You are in trouble." Still Margaret sat still, her face hidden in her hands, her body rocking to and fro in extremity of misery. Angel put her arm round her friend, and dreAv her head on to her shoulder, Avhile she stroked Margaret's hair softly, and said in a whisper — • " Tell me, darling, have you any trouble ? " " Yes," sighed Margaret at last, her hands dropping into her lap, Avhile she looked into her friend's face Avith such dreary, hopeless eyes as made Angel's heart ache.

" Yes," she said again, and her voice sounded like a moan. " I do not think I can bear it much longer ; it Avill kill me." She was silent, and Angel said nothing, only kissed the pale, sad face. " You must not be angry with me," she went on presently, "if I do not tell you Avhat it is. No one knows. I promised I would tell no one. It is very hard to bear alone ; but you will not be angry, Angel ? " " I want to know nothing you had rather not tell me. You must not be distressed ; remember, I want to know nothing." " You are very good," said Margaret. " But I should so like to tell you," she went on, eagerly, " if only I might ; but I promised I would tell no one. I don't know what I should have done without you, Angel. You have often helped me to be brave, though you did not know it. I should haA7e broken down if you had not been near."

Angel's only ansAver was a caress. Her keen blue eyes were dim with unaccus tomed tears. She knew Avhat Margaret must have gone through before she gave way e\*en as she did now. When Margaret had rested, they began to walk home. The Avalk was accomplished almost in silence ; and \vhen they reached Bleak Meadows, Angel persuaded Margaret to lie doAvn in her own room, and, having made her drink a cup of tea, she shaded the room carefully from the sun, and went downstairs into the garden. She had it to herself. Mrs. Darling and Laura Avere paying calls ; Syb had gone with one of her friends on a distant ex pedition of some kind. Angel, therefore, could Avander about the garden as aimlessly as she pleased, and let her face look as grave and disturbed as it Avould. What was Margaret's trouble, she won dered, that was weighing her down, crush ing out her youth, and sending that haunting look of misery into the beautiful face she loved so Avell ?