After Touch of Wedded Hands

Front matter

BY HANNAH B. MACKENZIE EDINBURGH AND LONDON OLIPHANT ANDERSON & FERRIER UNIFORM WITH "AFTER TOUCH OF WEDDED HANDS." Large crown 8vo, cloth extra, price $s. THE GATES OF EDEN. By Annie S. Swan. With Portrait ofthe Authoress. BRIAR AND PALM. By Annie S. Swan. Illustrated. ONE FALSE STEP. By Andrew Stewart. With Frontispiece. NOEL CHETWYND'S FALL. By Mrs J. H. Needell. Frontispiece. SIR JOHN'S "WARD. By Jane H. Jamieson. Frontispiece. ST VEDA'S ; or, The Pearl of Orr's Haven. By Annie S. Swan. Frontispiece by Robert AI'Gregor. KILGARVIE. By Robina F. Hardy. Frontispiece by Robert M' Gregor. MADELINE POWER. By Arthur W. Marchmont. EDINBURGH AND LONDON OLIPHANT ANDERSON & FERRIER. Zo tbe Æiemorg OF MY MOTHER, WHOSE LOVING SYMPATHY AND HOPEFUL ENCOURAGEMENT MADE MY WORK SWEET IN THE PAST, THIS STORY IS DEDICATED.

CONTENTS. PAGE I. Friends ...... 7 II. A Dream of Fame ..... 14. III. "All Adoration, Duty, and Observance" . 21 IV. The beginning of a " Career." ... 28 V. Ogilvie Ward ..... 37 VI. Lorrie's '* particular Friend " . . .46 VII. Morgan ...... 55 VIII. " Morgan must find out for Himself " . . 64 IX. " Souls that Touch, but never wholly Meet " 74 X. Old Enemies ...... 81 XI. " I AM BOUND TO HIM AS I AM TO NO OTHER ON EARTH " . . . . .90 XII. The New Clergyman . . .101 XIII. " THEY MUST BE VERY HAPPY " . . .Ill XIV. TEMPTATION ...... 122 XV. Her Husband's Parish .... 132 XVI. Not for Love ..... 141 XVII. "Why did you deceive Me? " . . . 150 XVIII. " Like Ships that have gone down at Sea " . 159 XIX. One More Barrier ..... 167 XX. More cruel than the Grave . . . 175 XXI. Separation .••... 185 XXII.

A Last Chance ■ • . . 194 XXIII. So says the World ... . 204 XXIV. The Dead Past • • • . .217 XXV. For Wealth and Fame .... 228 XXVI. Corrie Once More ..... 240 XXVII. " O Labyrinth ! O Sunless Gloom ! " . 253 XXVIII. " In Lands where Night and Twilight Meet " . 268 XXIX. In the Shadow of the Mountains . . 281 XXX. " Soul to Soul, as Hand to Hand " . . 297 XXXI. Broken Ties . *. . . .3" ■0-

Chapter I. Friends

HE room was in shadow, save where the fitful gleams of firelight leaping up chased the darkness out of its corners. The April night falls as early as seven o'clock, especially when the weather is wet and gusty ; and the old-fashioned timepiece on the mantel shelf was pointing to a quarter past that hour. One could not see much of the room : only when the flicker ing flames threw a tremulous light into the corners, one could fancy they were dusty, untidy corners into which the light of day was better not to penetrate. But the hearth looked cosy enough. A red fire burned within it ; a large woolly rug lay outside the steel sire irons and fender, and on the rug two or three footstools, bearing the appearance of having seen their best days some time ago, were scattered in comfortable confusion.

Two people were in the room, talking very softly together in the shadows and the firelight. In a loung ing-chair, covered with rather faded cretonne, lay one of the two — a girl. The gleam of firelight fell upon her face, and touched it with a warm glow, lighting up the somewhat pallid complexion with a firelight flush, touching the dark, smooth hair, shining into the black, thoughtful eyes ; and on one of the footstools, almost at her feet, hands clasping one knee in ungraceful but reflective fashion, eyes bent thoughtfully upon the glow ing embers, sat her companion. " Yes, Morgan, I've quite made up my mind. Why should I stay any longer here ? I feel I shall become a zoophyte soon if I do ; I am stagnating. You can't understand how I feel; you have been so long away from Corrie that you forget what life is like here.

And you know I am not like a girl who can do nothing but go into a shop or become a governess ; I am going to make a Career for myself." The clear young voice swelled and thrilled with the words. What limitless worlds of possibilities seemed to lie in it ! " I don't think a woman should have any ambition to make a career for herself, Pen. I would not like to see you turning into a lady lecturer, or an advocate for Women's Rights ; you would spoil yourself if you did." The lad was speaking in his thoughtful, dreamy way, without lifting his eyes from their study of the embers. Penelope Strahan took him up quickly. " I daresay not. I don't suppose any of your sex would admire me for my resolution. But what of that, Morgan ? I've got to live for myself, not for others, you know. I have only one life to do anything in, and to do anything with, just as you have, Morgan.

Would Friends. 9 you like to condemn me to live on here in this sleepy, vegetating village, and poke about among old women with tracts and tea, and sew my sisters' crewel-work tea-aprons, and do mamma's messaging ? Thanks, no ; it isn't a very enticing prospect." " Don't you think," said the lad, slowly, " it's your duty to do it, Penelope ? " His eyes fell for a moment on her black merino dress, on which a heavy black bar of crepe showed dull and lustreless among the drapery. Penelope saw this glance, and knew what it meant. A mist, which one could hardly swear held the rain of tears in it, shadowed her eyes suddenly. " Perhaps so," she answered, in a bitter tone which seemed to have no sympathy with that mist. " Perhaps it is my duty, Morgan, to remain in Corrie, and be the maid of my stepmother and stepsisters, and save them the expense of having a hired one.

Perhaps it is my duty calmly to submit to the position of an outcast in the family, an unloved and unloving alien. I've no doubt your Christianity would tell you that was my duty ; but I must confess frankly to you, if it is, I have no intentions of fulfilling it. I would rather — a thousand times — be alone in the world, than be living under the roof of those who can so treat me." " I don't like to hear you speak like that, Penelope," said Morgan Guthrie, when the indignant voice, which anger made a little tremulous, ceased. " You must not be so bitter. You should remember she is your father's widow ; they are your father's daughters." " Don't speak of them, please," the girl broke in, a little hastily. "And don't speak of my father like that, Morgan. I've not got used yet to hear people speak of him to me.

I don't want to quarrel with you, so you'd better not try to point out what you consider my duty. We can't agree about my people, it seems, so it's much better to drop the subject. But you have no cause to take their side so warmly. Perhaps you would not if I were to tell you what they say about you." " They can't say worse of me than that I am poor," said Morgan Guthrie, quietly ; " and I am not ashamed of being that, Pen, though some might be. My people are honest and God-fearing, and the best and bravest men have sprung from the rank of life they hold. But I won't speak of them again, if you don't want me, Penelope. And you have quite — quite made up your mind to go ? " Penelope could not see her companion's face in the gathering dusk, but she heard the long-drawn sigh which followed the question.

In answer to it the girl laughed, a full, hearty laugh, that echoed strangely through the quiet room. It ceased as suddenly as it burst out, as if she were ashamed of having given way to it. "You seem to look on my leaving Corrie in the light of a personal grievance, Morgan. How is that ?" " You know well enough, Pen," said the young fellow, a little huskily, letting the hands which had been em bracing his knees fall. "When you go away, you will begin a career, as you call it, for yourself." " Of course," the girl murmured. " La carriere ouverte aux talents!' " And get among people, and be admired ; and then you will forget me." There was a moment's silence, which neither broke. It held a great deal of pain for one at least of the two. Then Pen said softly — Friends. 11 " Do you think so, Morgan ?

You haven't very much faith in me, and in — all I have ever told you. But it is not as if you were to remain behind in Corrie, and among all the old associations. You are going to make a great name too, and become a great preacher, and sway crowds ; and then you will overtop me, a poor, struggling writer." " I don't know," said the lad, in a despondent voice. " I feel the power in me, Pen, but it won't come out, somehow. You are so different ; you can express your self so beautifully, and you have made a beginning already. When I was in Glasgow last session, all the fellows had been reading 'When Roses Blow,' and they were all raving over it." A glow deeper than the fire-flush burned in the pale olive cheeks ; but Penelope only said — "What about that? A silly little novelette that wasn't worth the paper it was printed on.

But you, Morgan, think of the work you may do yet. Think of the glorious triumph of moving thousands by ' God's best gift of speech.' " " Sometimes I think I haven't got it, Pen. Some times I think I would be better at the old work, following my father as he followed his " " Hush ! " she cried out sharply. Then she went on in clear, incisive tones, " It makes me angry to hear you talk like that, Morgan. It makes me almost scorn you to see you so weak. Have you no ambition at all ? When I think that your soul is all on fire to become great, that is the very time you disappoint me by your foolish weakness and poor-spiritedness." Morgan Guthrie suddenly seized one of the slim hands lying on the black gown in his own. " Pen, I'll do anything in the world you want, if only you'll be true to me."

" Of course I will. Haven't I said it ? " she answered, standing up before the fire, and showing a figure of rare suppleness and grace, albeit its extreme slenderness lacked womanly roundness and development. " Morgan, it's eight o'clock ; you'd better think of going." The lad rose also from his lowly position. He was fully a head above Penelope, and his shoulders were not much broader than hers. He showed no rebellious re sentment of her authoritative tone, but seemed quite willing to go. As they stood facing each other, he laid his hand on her shoulder, " And you will be true to me, Pen, whatever may come ? " " You must be satisfied with my word," she answered, with a thrill of impatience in her tone. " Then kiss me, Pen, as a seal of your promise." " I give you no promise," said the girl perversely.

" I am not bound to you in any way, Morgan ; and I am not going to seal anything I have said. You must be satisfied with my simple words. Come, Morgan, I hear them in the sitting-room. Mamma has come in." She moved to the door, Morgan following her out to a big, wide lobby, which hardly could be called by the dignified title of hall, and then to the outer door, which she opened. They stood for a moment on the broad step in silence. It was a calm night, though the day had been wet and windy ; the sky was still cloudy, and no moon peeped through the clouds ; a damp, vaporous haze hung all over the darkened landscape. Far below Ardenlee, as the house on whose doorstep they were standing was called, ran the high road, and below it again, the western sea moaned softly to itself, Friends. 13 the sound coming to their ears only as a distinct murmur.

It was almost dark, and a small drizzling rain was again beginning to fall. " You must hurry home, or you will get wet," said Penelope, holding out her hand presently. "Yes. May I come to-morrow night? I shall b« going away the next day, you know." "Very well, come early. Good-night, Morgan." " Good-night, Pen." He had never yet dared, save in thought, to call her anything else ; but, with a lover's swiftness to seize an opportunity, he snatched her hand to his lips, and held it there passionately for a minute. The next he was striding down to the garden gate, and Pen softly closed the door.

Chapter II

A DREAM OF FAME. HE sitting-room of Ardenlee, into which Penelope entered after crossing the lobby again, was a much longer room than the one which she had quitted, and was brightly, almost brilliantly lighted, not with gas, but by the light of four small lamps, two of which stood on the mantelpiece, and two on the table. A bright fire burned in the hearth ; the table, a small oval one, was drawn close to it, and round the latter were grouped the occupants of the room. The figure reclining in an easy chair, a book lying idly in her lap, was that of a middle-aged woman of handsome, if rather haughty, appearance. Her dress, of rich black silk, or namented with glittering jets, and her widow's cap, pro claimed her to be that saddest of all mourners ; but the face, with its cold, grey eyes, heavy jaw, and inflexible mouth, gave little indication of sadness.

The two other occupants were young women of rather dashing dress and carriage, whose resemblance to the elder lady was sufficient to denote the close relationship, though one of them was fullyasdark as Penelope Strahan, and the other had light blue eyes, curling fair hair, and an impudent little mouth and nose. These were respectively Miss Marion and A Dream of Fame. 15 Miss Ruby Kingley, Penelope's stepsisters, and Mrs Strahan's daughters, the issue of her first marriage. Penelope walked straight into the centre of this little group. Of the three girls, she was certainly not the handsomest ; yet, for every ten casual observers who would glance admiringly at the two Kingleys and pass on, ten intelligent readers of the human countenance would linger over Penelope's with interest and curiosity.

It was not perfect in complexion or feature ; it was too small, too oval, too pale for beauty ; but the brow was a very beautiful one, round and smooth, its white ness enhanced by the blackness of the straight, fine hair drawn back from it with almost puritanical sym plicity : the eye-brows and lashes were dark and smooth, but unusually thick, the eyes of that exceedingly dark brown which we usually call black ; the nose, not per fect in outline, was thin and arched, the mouth looked stern, for a woman, and a young one ; the lower jaws were too large for beauty, the chin wanted the roundness and fulness one associates with womanly tenderness. And yet a physiognomist might have found traces of tenderness, even of passion, in the lower part of the face. Not one of the ladies paid any attention to Penelope's entrance.

Mrs Strahan went on calmly with her read ing; the two girls each raised languid eyes, and then dropped them again on their occupations. Marion was printing a Christmas card on a dark background. Ruby was reading a yellow-backed novel. Penelope stood up by the mantelpiece tall and slim, almost before Mrs Strahan " You're in my light, Penelope,'.' said Marion, pettishly. No one in Ardenlee had ever called Pen by her pet name, save the one who had quitted it for ever. Ruby closed her book, and looked up, as Marion uttered her complaint. " Penelope, I've made up my mind to put fur on my double-vested jacket. I wish you'd do it for me in the morning, as I must go to Craigrook in the afternoon." "Idon'tthink 1 shall, Ruby,"said Penelope, veryquietly. "Why?" asked Ruby, in her pert way. "I'm sure that's not much for you to do ; you've nothing else to do anyhow."

" I may have," answered Penelope, still quietly. " It is just possible, Ruby, to-morrow I may have something to do for myself. You see, I cannot afford to devote the wlwle of my time to you, unreasonable as you may think it is that I should not." In the very quietness of the words and tone lay some thing unpleasant, something which made Miss Ruby colour with anger, and even roused Mrs Strahan to listen. That lady, raising her eyes, took up the parable. " You are very disagreeable in your refusal, Penelope. You might tone it a little more pleasantly, if you wished to refuse. I do not exact any service from you, neither do my daughters ; but at the same time I will remind you that you are living on my bounty here, and that com mon gratitude should compel you to make some return." The pale glow that was all of colour Penelope's face ever showed came into it now.

She did not speak for a moment, perhaps because she was conscious of a feeling which might shake her voice. " I do not intend to receive your bounty any longer, Mrs Strahan," she said at last. " I am glad you have given me the opportunity of speaking of it, as I in tended to do so to-night. You have given me house room and board now for three months — since my father's death; for that I am your debtor, and now A Dream of Fame. 17 thank you. I will not trouble you much longer now. I am going to leave Corrie in a few days." The effect of the simple words was electrical. Ruby's lower jaw dropped, and she stared at Penelope with open mouth. Marion's look of haughty surprise raised her dark eyebrows, and gave a scornful curl to her lip. Mrs Strahan herself seemed struck dumb for a moment. " What do you mean ?

" she demanded at last, when she could speak. " You are leaving Corrie ? Where are you going, I should like to know?" "Areyou going to get married to old John Guthrie's son ? " asked Ruby, whose perttongue nothing could silence long. " I am going to Edinburgh," Penelope said steadily, answering Mrs Strahan, and not showing, even by the quiver of an eyelid, that she had overheard Ruby. " I have written my old nurse, who is married in Edinburgh, telling her I am going to stay with her for a little while. I shall try to go by next Tuesday, if you will allow me to encroach on your generosity till then, Mrs Strahan." Mrs Strahan looked undeniably angry, as undoubt edly she felt. Penelope had, perhaps, not been very far wrong when she said she was regarded by her relatives as one who would save the expensive luxury of a maid ; and it was excessively annoying that such economical in tentions should be overturned by a determination which Mrs Strahan felt her own powerlessness to combat.

" Pray what do you intend to do in Edinburgh ? Live on your old nurse, or make a living by writing ? " she asked, with a lady-like sneer which she could not check in the last part of her question. " I don't suppose you take any very deep interest in my career, Mrs Strahan, so I think I am not called upon to unfold my plans to you," retorted Penelope. She was deeply sensitive to sarcasm, and more parti- B cularly so when it touched on what was really the dream of her life; it was impossible for her to answer her stepmother calmly. " I do not wish any impertinent observations, Pene lope. If you choose to look upon me as an enemy, I certainly see no reason why I should treat you as a friend ; and perhaps, in that case, the sooner we part the better. I hope you understand, however, that you leave my house absolutely penniless.

As you are aware, your father left me almost unprovided for, save for the sale of his practice and his house. Were it not for my own private income, I should be poor enough. You cannot, therefore, expect, seeing you choose to set me at defiance, that I shall support you in idleness else where, or give you sufficient now to encourage you in dependence upon me." Penelope turned her face, suddenly gone very pale, full towards the speaker. " Mrs Strahan, please do not speak of the dead in tones of disparagement. If you can do so of your husband and my father, please do not let me hear you. As for your money, I should not touch one penny of it supposing you offered it to me. I am thankful to say I have sufficient of my own to take me to Edinburgh, and after that, I hope I can work for myself." " Penelope will be well provided for.

She has Morgan Guthrie to help her," put in Ruby, with a little laugh, which held some malice in it. " Don't you know she's going to be a minister's wife yet, mamma? and John Guthrie's daughter-in-law ! what an honour for us ! " And pretty Ruby showed her white teeth again. " Be quiet, Ruby," commanded the mother. " If Penelope chooses to take up with low associates, we cannot help that. It seems she is anxious to cut off all A Dream of Fame. 19 ties between us, and in that case I have no right to exercise a parent's authority." Penelope smiled a little bitterly. Mrs Strahan's ideasof a parent's duties and her own did not exactly tally. Some memory of her dear, dead father prompted her to say — " I do not wish to cut off the ties that do exist, mamma. Do you not yourself see it is better I should go ?

There is nothing in common between us; I am only a dis turbingelementinthe family; and I am,asyousay,merely adependent on your bounty, which is so irksomeaposition to me that it makes me unhappy and discontented." " There is no occasion to apologise," Mrs Strahan returned, stiffly. " Marion, it is time for prayers : please touch the bell for the servants." For family prayers were an institution at Ardenlee. So far back as Penelope could remember, she had sat on her mother's knee, a very little girl, and listened to her father reading chapter and psalm, and wondered if the angels in Heaven could have a sweeter voice than her mother's when she sang ; and, later, she and her father alone, with the servants, had knelt round the family altar. Since Dr Strahan's death, his widow had never once neglected the duty : she had a great idea of maintaining all religious law and order, and was regarded in the parish as a leader in every good and religious movement, a Lady Bountiful to the poor, distributing tea and tracts with a due regard to the temporal and spiritual wants of her people, the clergy man's right-hand in everything.

And perhaps it was not to be wondered at that Mrs Strahan should have begun by being shocked at her step-daughter's utter refusal to join her own daughters in their religious and church work, and have ended by thoroughly disliking the girl whose character was in such direct antagonism to her own. When prayers were over, Penelope was at liberty to retire to her own room. It was not so handsome a bedroom as that occupied by the Misses Kingley, but Penelope had perfect solitude in it, and that was what she most desired. To-night she had something to do before retiring : this was the night she meant to begin her preparations for departure. It was a chilly room, for a fire was never lighted in it ; but Penelope threw a large shawl over her shoulders, and went to work with a will. In a corner of her room stood an old fashioned chest of drawers ; these contained all Pene lope Strahan's worldly possessions.

She went on her knees before them, and pulled out the lower drawer. Penelope called this her waste-basket. It was literally crammed with MSS.; some of them in a state of decay, and apparently pretty aged, all tossed about in heterogeneous confusion. From the chaotic mass Penelope drew forth one pile of paper neatly clasped together, and bearing the impress of more care than any of the others ; she glanced once at its heading, " Fdeals : a Novel, by Penn Ruddock," and then laying it, face downwards, upon the floor, unfolded a sheet of brown paper, in which she wrapped and tied it up. Then she laid it aside. This was going with her where she went ; this was to be the pivot on which her fate and fortune were to turn ; this was to be the " Open Sesame " to her golden palace of fame. For dearer than girlish dreams of love or happiness, dearer than thoughts of duty or of religion, dearer by far than her affection for the lad to whom that night she had declared she would be true, was Pene lope's dream of winning fame and a name through the cunning pen of the writer.

Chapter III

"ALL ADORATION, DUTY, AND OBSERVANCE." $KS(i*» ~lw£ to S°°d"bye, Pen." '"1||§9y |g "Very well. We must just say it, y||$jjlijj!f%^ Sne looked so cool, so unconcerned, ~ as she stood there with her hands behind her back, her little dark face looking up into his, that Morgan Guthrie felt a sharp pang of disap pointment and pain shoot through him. Was it pos sible that Penelope could have any love for him, and yet feel no regret that their happy months of intercourse together were at an end ? " Are you sorry, Pen ? " he asked, with almost pathetic entreaty in his voice. " Yes, of course ; but you don't consider, Morgan, that my mind is engrossed just now with more import ant matters. I believe I have come to the flood which, Shakespeare tells us, if taken at the tide ' leads on to fortune; omitted — ' but I am not going to omit it, Morgan."

He thought, as he looked at her, the slender figure dilated, the small dark head took a higher poise, the brown eyes intensified almost to black. " I'm just on the verge of launching out on the tide that is to carry me out to the broad, deep ocean ; do you think I shall sink or swim there ? " Morgan did not reply immediately. He looked into her face, glowing with the earnestness of her words, long, and rather doubtfully. Morgan Guthrie was not a handsome lad. At twenty-four he looked no more than nineteen ; his face had hardly the insignia of manhood yet upon it, and his extreme slimness, and a certain awkward boyishness of gait, gave him a more youthful appearance than his years warranted. His shoulders were painfully narrow, and had a slight stoop, such as students are apt to acquire ; his hands were long and bony ; his face, thin and hollow-cheeked, with high cheek bones, sallow complexion, and irregular features, had certainly no flesh-beauty to recommend it.

His only good features were the dark, keen eyes, free from the blink of short-sightedness which is so common among students, and a high, well-rounded forehead, over which the thin, straight, wiry black hair, not unlike Penelope's own, lay in untidy masses. Yet Penelope, looking further than for mere flesh-beauty, had painted for Morgan so bright and successful a future that for her he was invested with brilliant sur roundings and qualities, which made looks a matter of no importance. " I think," he said, very slowly, at last, in his own musing way, " one is pretty sure of keeping well afloat, Pen, if one thing is looked to before starting." " What's that ? " Pen asked, without much interest, for her thoughts were not fixed on Morgan's answer. " If one is sure of having the Master along with one, Pen," he answered, in a low tone.

"I don't know that I am thinking much of that, All Adoration, Duty, and Observance. 23 Morgan," said the girl, meeting his look frankly. " You know you and I think differently on these matters. I am no hypocrite ; I don't wish to be taken for some thing better than myself; and I can tell you, Morgan, I've seen so much of that kind of hypocrisy — of that religion that loves to go out walking in the sunshine, showing off its golden slippers, as old Bunyan puts it — that it has made me suspicious of everyone who professes to be above common worldliness. Don't look shocked, Morgan ; I believe in the great, grand system of Christianity and its ethics : it's the professors of it I find fault with." " You will feel differently some day," said Morgan, quietly. "That there are those who profess religion and do not practise it, is no argument for the hypothesis that there are none who do practise it ; just as the fact that there are base coins in circulation is no argument that there is no valuable currency.