The Two Altheas: a home chronicle, etc

Front matter

THE TWO ALTHEAS "Thank you, Mr. Valender, it is all your doing."—/ 81. The Two Altheas a Cfnoniclc I1Y EDITH E. HORSMAN Author of " Severnside" &c. " True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home" Wordsworth "We may build more splendid habitations, Fill our rooms with painting and with sculpture, But we cannot Buy with gold the old associations" Longfellow ILLUSTRATED BY G. DEMAIN HAMMOND LONDON JARROLD & SONS, 10 & n, WARWICK LANE, E.C. [All Rights Reserved] TO MY FATHER E. E. H

Preface

. HOUSES are built, but homes are planted and grow. The earliest home on record was a garden, and true homes are gardens still. They are not made of brick and stone, but of living, growing, vital things that, like the flowers, depend on Heaven's influences and man's fostering care. Such gardens of the heart are to be found in un expected places ; for Love is hopeful, and utilizes what it finds — quite ordinary men and women of everyday life, sometimes. And sacred and lovely associations may cling about a house even in a dull, common street. Will you care to penetrate such a one ? For all I can promise on behalf of this plain little dwelling is that it is a true home. E. E. H. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Striking Root ... ... ... ... ... i II. Cross-currents ... ... ... ... 14 III. A Family Council ... ... ... ... 27 -IV.

The Valley of the Shadow ... ... 299 XXV. The Battle of Life ... ... ... ... 322 XXVI. A Hard Riddle ... ... ... ... 334 XXVII. The Point at Issue ... ... ... ... 345 XXVIII. An Autumn Day ... ... ... ... 360 XXIX. Dusk and Daylight ... ... ... ... 373 XXX. The Old Brocade again ... ... ...

Chapter I. Striking Root

" By the fireside tragedies are acted, In whose scenes appear two actors only, Wife and husband, And above them God, the sole spectator." Lon*gfello\v. " What is really momentous and all-important with us is the present, by which the suture is shaped and coloured."— Whittier(77!£ Better Land). Which way shall we go, dear reader? Pausing idly, as we do, at the cross streets of the quaint old town, thinking each way looks pleasant enough this bright May afternoon, and that it does not matter much which we take, say, shall it be this or that ? Down the narrow, irregular old street before us, built without the least architectural design, and every house unlike its neigh bour, but with a peep beyond of river and gentle uplands, leading gradually outwards to a lovely horizon of blue hills, that take a darker, dreamier blue, these glorious spring days?

Or shall we turn away from the sleepy street towards the churchyard ? It is only a few paces away — much too few for the sanitary ideas of the present day ; but, then, Harington churchyard is hundreds of years old, and when its first dead were laid to rest there, any fears of their immediate neighbourhood B would have been the superstitious ones of ghost and wraith, and not the least of unhealthy exhalations. So, as we are afraid of neither just now, let us take that way. The faint sweet odour of the flowery horse-chestnut reaches us even here • and now, slowly and solemnly peal out the chimes of the neighbouring church. It needed but this to give us that strange, pensive pleasure, that is next door to pain, when eye, and ear, and olfactory organs are all irresistibly appealed to * and we wonder, when all is fair and sweet, why we are half sad.

What is there in that blue sky above, with its soft veil of fleecy cloud, but an image of hope and gladness ? Or in that winding river, upon which the sun is sparkling with a thousand dimples ? Or in that line of distant hills, half in sunlight, half in deep blue shadow of afternoon ? And here, close to us — if the mossy gravestones suggest serious thoughts of the time when we, too, shall no longer see the light — even the very graves are touched tenderly by hovering sunbeams, as if the glad young spirit of spring would summon all to rejoice with her. Beautiful ! yes, beautiful indeed ! And we pace the broad pavement of the avenue, and gaze up into the gnarled branches of the elms, where the sunbeams seem to be at play with the fresh young leaves and happy birds — and wonder again why we sigh, and why the very beauty is half oppressive.

And as the chimes cease, we become aware of other music • for from the shadowy church is stealing out the grand refrain, " I know that my Redeemer liveth ! " and, somehow, it comes like an answer to the unspoken question that has puzzled us this glad afternoon. If we cannot forget all the gloom of winter, and rejoice, like the birds, in the bright present — if May beauty cannot hide from us that it, too, is transitory, and that all is passing — the message of those clear, flute-like notes from the organ is one of balm. It points to a future we still dare to believe in, when memory will not be touched with pain, and when the shadows will not steal over human lives. I am going into the church awhile, dear reader. I know the organist, and it is not his music alone that interests me, though his pleasure in it is infectious.

If you are tired of it and me, go your way, and leave me here in the cool church with my friend. He is not a genius, though he thinks he is ; but his joy in his music is as great as if he were a Handel or a Mozart. He lingers over their masterpieces with a loving, reverent touch, and as the grey walls re-echo the sublime choruses of the "Twelfth Mass," or the softly-dropping notes of the "Bene dictus," the thin wiry figure of the music-master seems to expand at the sound. So we forget that his coat is rather seamy and worn, and that he is getting bald j and in the deep shadow of the organ chamber, the dark and still handsome face might be that of an Italian genius, over whom the divine art has cast its wondrous spell. The "Benedictus" seems to have suggested another train of thought to the music-master's mind, for now the peaceful strain has passed into one of joy and triumph ; and suddenly every corner of the wide building is awakening to the echo of Mendelssohn's " Wedding March."

Ah me ! what crashing chords — what tender lingering on suggestive passages — what grand exultant peals break forth again — till the organist sees the whole in imagination before him, and as he stops at last and turns round, he is almost surprised not to see the fair bride leaving the church on her husband's arm, with her bridesmaids behind her ; nor to catch, through the open door, the glimpses of white horses and wedding favours. Nothing of all this in reality ; only the empty church, with two or three stragglers peeping in at the door, and the little blower gasping and wiping the beads from his face. The organist came back to the present now, and remarked good humouredly — " Why, you look warm, youngster ! " " Not over-cool work, that last, sir, I'd have you know," was the reply, in a slightly injured tone, as the boy continued to wipe his forehead diligently.

" I only hope that's the finish for to-day, for I have not got a dry thread about me." " Now, now ! " laughed the organist, " I know what that means, well enough ! So I suppose you have been thinking of your threepenny bit all this time, instead of listening to the glorious music. And I shouldn't wonder if you never knew that was the ' Wedding March ' I played just now." He pinched the lad's cheek playfully as he spoke, for he was in good spirits this afternoon. However tired and dis couraged he was when he entered the church, an hour with his beloved organ always restored him ; and to-day there seemed an unusual hilarity in his face as he pushed in the stops and closed the instrument with a loving hand. But we live in different worlds though side by side, and Tim True man's world just now was his silver piece, and his cup of tea, and he was in no mood to stand parleying longer.

" How should I know ? " he retorted, sullenly. " My arms that ached, I didn't think of nothing at all but getting through." " And don't my arms ache, think you ? " retorted the master. "But, bless the boy, we mustn't mind making our arms ache in such a cause ! Here's summer upon us, Tim ; the time for weddings and all the rest of it, and it would never do to be taken unawares." And with a curious twinkle in his eyes as he gave the boy his coveted coin, he was turning away ; but Tim stopped short suddenly, and it was his turn now to look wise. " Ah — h ! " he said with a long breath, " I remember now — Miss Annesley ! And are we going to play the ' Wedding March' for her, sir? All right, I'm your man; and so you leave my arms on at the end, I won't mind how hard you draw it out." " Miss Annesley ! chut, chut, I said weddings in general — anybody's wedding.

I did not mention names. Now then, be off, lad, and get your tea ; and mind you don't forget choir practice to-morrow night." And closing the heavy door behind him, and swinging the keys as he trudged briskly down the avenue, the organist set off in his turn for home. Poor little man ! People often spoke of him so, though he was by no means short, but slightly above the medium height ; neither was there any lack of manliness in the face under the broad wide-awake. I think it was because, in spite of his fifty years, he had so much of the boy about him still, and that he could never see himself as others saw him — a poor, toiling, striving music-master, with a small share of talent and a very shabby coat. To himself he was ever a genius — handicapped, it is true, for want of funds, but consoled and comforted in many a disappointment by the " divine art," as he loved to call it, that kept him fresh and hopeful where many others had found their fortune and lost their youth.

I suppose illusion is part of that ignorance which is bliss. Anyway, the organist's illusions had oftentimes strewn his path with the bright flowers of hope ; and if, more often than not, they faded before he could gather them, those blessed illusions still served him a good turn, and kept him from growing sour and dispirited in the battle of life. None of his day-dreams had come true. In his youth his ambition had been to go to Germany and study in the Schools, and become a great professor of music ; or to write a famous opera that should bring him name and fame. At fifty no one knew him as " professor " but in his own home, where his wife had, half in girlish glee, half in loving irony, christened him thus years ago. Of course he was to be rich. Genius affects to despise wealth as a lower good, but an establishment was one of the most substantial of the " professor's " visions — that, and the social status he was to take in right of his talent and success.

To do him justice, he cared little for these two latter benefits for himself; but he felt he owed them to the young wife whom he had clandestinely won from a far different position in life, and whose family had never forgiven him the outrage. But no establishment had come as yet, for no opera had been achieved, and the commonplace little house to which the "pro fessor " had brought his wife twenty-three years ago was little changed since then. Yet there was something under that modest roof that made it in every sense a home, and prevented the first fire of youthful passion from expiring in its own ashes. For this young graft of the old stock of the Wyntons was sound as well as sweet, and gifted with a bright, brave, wholesome nature that any man, having won, would be rich. She was too young at nineteen to know all that she was casting aside ; and if she ever awoke to realize it, she kept the secret tightly locked in her own breast.

It was a romantic story. The sunny schoolgirl at Miss Horton's boarding-school, just fulfilling her last term; the music-master's weekly visits to the prim drawing-room, where the lessons took place under the eye of the elderly principal ; the glances that will shoot fire into the hearts of youth, even under Minerva's very nose; the lessons at the old church, where the young attendant teacher was sometimes bribed or persuaded to withdraw into the avenue " for a few precious minutes ; " the eager talks and plans for the future, until the "professor's" entreaties and prayers had gained their point, and the daring schoolgirl had effected her escape from thraldom, and flitted away for better or for worse. What guilty children they had felt when the deed was done, and Miss Horton's messengers had arrived just too late, and, between laughing and crying, the young bride had displayed her wedding-ring as her only answer !

It was so delicious to be her own mistress — she who had all her life been fettered by other wills ! For Althea Wynton and her sister Eva had been left as babies to the charge of their half-sisters, nearly twenty years their seniors, and their high spirits had often smarted under the rigid discipline enforced at Elm-leigh ; and now that Eva had married Major Annesley two years ago, and had gone away to India, what would life be worth for the younger girl henceforth at home ? So Althea had not thought much about her " professor's " family, or whether he would be likely to find as much favour at E'm-leigh as Major Annesley had done. His eyes were eloquent enough for her ; and as he warmed with his theme, and asked her if she could be brave enough to endure privation for a few years, while he studied hard in Germany, or " some where " — to make for himself and her a name which even the Wyntons would be glad to own — her spirit leaped as high as his own, and her fate was settled.

So they came back from their runaway wedding too young and daring to be afraid or ashamed; and for the present — just till they could see their way to the German studies — took up their abode, like two callow birds, in the shabby house in Castle Street. How proud the young wife was at first to turn in at her door when and how she liked — she who had never left Miss Horton's portico without a procession of young ladies and their attendant teachers ! And if it was different to the stately retirement of Elm-leigh, with its ancient trees, the enthusiastic love of the young husband made ample amends. Miss Horton's awful brow at Harington Church the following Sunday was difficult to meet, it is true ; even the pleasure of displaying her freedom and her new golden treasure before the eyes of her late companions in restraint, hardly made up to the warm-hearted girl for the stoniness of that averted gaze.

And when, after long waiting for a reply to her impassioned appeal to the sisters at home, a short, cold letter arrived, forbidding her ever again to think of Elm-leigh as a home, the heart of the girl-wife failed her for once, and she broke into such tears as she had never shed before. It was just the testing-time that comes, I suppose, in all wedded lives. An occasion, not necessarily momentous in itself, but rather in its issues — when the veil is lifted for the first time, and we see our Paradise is not rainproof, and when it rests with either husband or wife to supply the mental calibre necessary to meet the first strain. In the first shock of this disappointment (for Althea had written repeatedly, and had still hoped against hope till this cruel letter came) she turned instinctively to her husband for comfort and hope.

The picture Miss Wynton had painted of her future was so utterly dreary, that the iron entered into her very soul, and she longed to see again the golden visions her " professor " had so often opened before her in the days of her wooing. It was, therefore, a double shock to find he had none to bestow. The sight of Althea in distress — the sound of her sobs — seemed to quench every ray of hope in the eager young husband. He drew her to him, indeed, and held her close to his breast ; but so completely crestfallen had her grief rendered him, that the fair castle of married happiness was for a moment shaken to its foundations. It was his first (fw-illusion. He saw life for that one moment in Miss Wynton's view of it ; and worse than all, though he did not love his girl-partner one whit the less, it showed him, in its true light, the sacrifice he had persuaded her to make — the wrong he had done her.

So that when Althea, surprised at his silence, lifted her head at last and saw the utter despondency of the face she loved so well, her heart smote her, and her own strong bright nature re-asserted itself the clearer and braver for the storm. " Why, Roy ! " she exclaimed, half laughing through her tears, though her voice shook a little still, " you look like a drenched sparrow with that forlorn face ! I am not a Peri shut out of Paradise, after all, and we can be happy together even if Elm-leigh gates are closed to us." But when Roy had departed — relieved, indeed, but with sober face — to give his music lessons, Althea took up the letter again, and felt the strange forlornness tugging at her heart afresh, as she followed the cold, austere sentences. Up to this moment the child-nature had been uppermost, the looking up to others and accepting guidance ; now it was the meeting of the waters, and dimly as she realized it at the time, the turning-point of her whole life had come.

Oh, these crises in life, and the tremendous strain they put upon us for evil or for good ! Oh, the mystery of this power of choice, the being entrusted, so to speak, not with our own welfare only, but with that of those around us, and even of the generation yet unborn ! Surely the angels look on with intensity of interest at moments such as these, which have in them the colouring of our whole future ! Althea upon the floor, with her letter in her hands, a red spot in each cheek over which the burning tears are falling now she is once more alone — ah ! could Miss Horton see her now, her heart would relent towards her favourite pupil, as it had often done before over a difficult task. But, alas ! this is not grammar or history, such as the wilful girl had so buoyantly flung aside but lately ; this is a life lesson, with sterner problems and harder reading than Miss Horton ever gave.

Let her think it out quietly, and look at it in all its lights. It is the only way to success. " No Peri at a closed Paradise," she had said just now to Roy. No ; but why was it that Elm-leigh had become dearer to her that moment than she had ever known it to be ? Why did those memories of careless childhood and girlhood come rushing back with such yearning intensity, now that she knew they had gone for ever ? And that old garden, in which Eva and she had played and dreamed, become invested with a love that had something sacred in it, because it was home ? Had she really lost it all by that sudden, impetuous step? Had Felicia and Grace really ceased to look upon her as one of them ? And even Eva, when she heard of it (as she must have done ere this), would Eva ever think less of her? She never doubted Eva's love, but had she really lost a certain something by becoming Mrs. Holmes that Eva would instinc tively miss when they met again ?

Not lost dear Elm-leigh alone, but the peculiar aroma of a tested and tried old name, of which she had never been conscious while it was her own? And would she always have to live alone with Roy, and would even Harington people (few of whom Felicia would care to visit) look askance at her, because she had married the organist whose name was yet to make ? For it began dimly to dawn upon Althea that instant, that the organist might not be so clever as he thought, and that the grand success he was to achieve was all pure imagination : it was part of the revelation that had come to her when she had turned to him to help her, and when she found he could only suffer with her, instead of shielding her. She rose from the floor at this point, turned the key in the door with a swift gesture, and threw up the window, wide, wide, as far as it would go, for she must breathe to think ; and then, as the thought of his despondent face returned, and of how all his rose-coloured visions had fled at the sight of her tears, her eyes filled once more, but this time with tears that were all for him.

" Poor Roy ! " she murmured aloud, with a tender smile flashing through the tears — and the crisis was past that instant. Well for Roy, as I said, that this young graft of the Wynton stock was sound as well as sweet, and that after such a review her first words were not, " Poor me ! " The sunny child-nature, with its inherent hopefulness, was passing into the deeper waters of womanhood, with its endurance and brave content. Dimly, too, was awakening for the first time the half-maternal instinct, an integral part of the woman's nature ; and Althea was planning that, whatever came, Roy should be happy, and that he should never have cause to look again as he had done that morning. So she locked up her letter, washed away in cold water as many traces of her tears as possible, and went to blow away the " 'Poor Roy! 'she murmured aloud, with a tender smile flashing through the tears.' " — /. 10. remainder in the outer air ; then set to work steadily at her cookery book, to try and find out, as she had been doing ever since she came to Castle Street, why her little dishes did not come to table in the state of perfection promised by those Sibylline leaves, if their advice were duly followed.

" But we will do it, Kitty," she said to her little maid, as they stood by the kitchen fire taking it by turns to see who could " toss " pancakes successfully, after repeated failures ; and Elm-leigh and even Roy were forgotten for the moment in the anxiety of the undertaking. And when the young mistress, with warm cheeks and eyes still tenderly limpid from the morning's struggle, had at length achieved her first grand success, it was time to slip on her fresh cool dress and meet her organist, with a face as bright as a bird's, at the little front door. But they never got to Germany ! Before six months were over, a little orphan baby was on her way home from Calcutta with the request of a dying mother sewn into her tiny garments, that the little life might be reared under Althea's care. " With you, darling, not at Elm-leigh," the feeble lines ran.

" We are own sisters, and you will always love her for my sake. They are kind at heart, but they are stern, and often made us suffer — even you and me. I could not bear to send this baby there alone. You will have children of your own, and you will understand ; and as she grows up she will be Eva to you over again." Perhaps, in the near prospect of Eternity, Major Annesley's young widow had seen things in their true light ; had seen that the home of an organist (or even an organ grinder, with an honest heart, who would protect her little one) was preferable to a more worldly-wise, but loveless, one elsewhere. Anyway, the sojourn in Germany was again postponed, and the baby found as tender a welcome in Castle Street as she could have done anywhere but in her own mother's bosom. Life had changed for Althea since that day she sat upon the floor and gave in a brave answer to the question concerning her lot and its perplexities ; whatever might be before her now, her face would ever be towards the light.

Half heart-broken as she was at first at the news of her sister's early death,' it was yet strangely soothing, after Elm-leigh unkindness, to have Eva's infant confided to her care. She expected in a few short months to look upon the face of her own firstborn ; and as she clasped to* her breast this future companion and playfellow of her own little child, it would be hard to say how deeply the mother-heart was stirred. And how good Roy was too ! Was ever husband more tenderly anxious at this critical time, lest the strain should be too great for his wife ; or was ever father more devoted to a child of his own than Roy was to this one ? What songs he whistled and chirruped and sang ! How many animals he imitated twenty times a day — barking like a dog, crowing like a cock, mooing like a cow, till the little Louise screamed with delight, and the shabby house rang with happy laughter !

And Althea, as she shared in all these sports, felt a deeper content than she had ever known. For she knew Roy better now. She had tested, not his strength only, but his weakness ; she understood better than in those first passionate days that, deep and loyal as was his devotion, his nature was to lean upon others, and that the moment she faltered and gave way, all would go down together. She must keep him hopeful, even if her own dream of a professorship was less bright. She was too busy to miss society now, too brave to dream over the dear Surrey home that was closed against her ; her face must always be bright, or Roy's would fall instantly, and the little Louise would miss something. So she had no time even to be fearful about herself. Since the day she had forgotten to say, " Poor me," self seemed to have slipped altogether aside, and now the time had come even to lose her own name ; for when the little dark-eyed daughter arrived, to be a sister to Louise, the organist would hear of no other name for her than that of the sunny schoolgirl who had won his heart.

"Brave little Mamsey!" he whispered, in a rapture of tender delight, when she was strong enough for him to come in and out as he pleased (for, as the nurse remarked, " he was like a lost and lorn creature downstairs alone ") — " Brave little Mamsey, with her two babies ! Who would have thought it is not much more than a year since I used to scold her over her music lessons ! And now she is like a tom-tit with her brand-new birdlings, or a young pussy cat, as proud as you please of her downy kittens." He was leaning against her bed, watching with intense interest his new treasure at her midday meal, one hand occupied with the little Louise, who found the featherbed difficult for upright walking, and who kept staggering face downwards to get towards her mother and the mysterious bundle at her breast.

Althea flashed him an arch look at the mention of the " scoldings," but reply was cut short at the moment by a gurgling in baby's windpipe, that necessitated immediate bolstering up and readjustment; and when this was completed, it was time for Roy to depart. " God bless my little Mamsey ! " were his parting words, as he hung over her. " And if that morsel of humanity will only turn out worthy of her mother, I shall be rich indeed." " Even if, like her mother, she can never learn sharps from flats," was the parting shot, in the cheery little voice from the bed. But Roy only shook his head and withdrew, in wholesome dread of nurse with her long face, who treated him like a child. And Mamsey's new name clung to her ever afterwards ; and the Althea we shall henceforth know is the little stranger we have just surprised at such an interesting time.