Marjorie's Probation. Chapters from a Life Story

Front matter

MARJORIE'S PROBATION. I found Nanny bending over Marjorie, who was kneeling with her face buried in the cushions of an easy chair. — p. Marjorie's Probation. ©bapfers from a life LY I. S. RANKING. LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW AND CO. 48 PATERNOSTER ROW. [All rights reserved.] TO Zhc 3Belove£) ZlDemorg OF M Y MOTHER. " What seems so dark to my dim sight, May be a shadow — seen aright, Making some brightness doubly bright." — Anon. CONTENTS. CHAP. FAGE I. ENTERING THE CLOUD 9 II. OLD FRIENDS l6 III. HOLLYBANK 23 IV. MARJORIE 31 V. A TELEGRAM FOR MISS DACRE 38 VI. "HOW CAN I BEAR MY LIFE" 46 VII. DARK DAYS 55 VIII. AN ANXIOUS VIGIL 64 IX. THE DOCTOR'S PRESCRIPTION 74 X. " LIFE CAN NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN " . .84 XI. HOURS OF HAPPY CHILDHOOD 92 XII. SCHOOL LIFE IOI XIII. FALSE FRIENDS IIO XIV. "THY WAY, NOT MINE" Il8 XV.

NEW TIES 128 xvi. "gone before" 135 XVII. " KEEP YOURSELVES FROM IDOLS " . . . . I44 XVIII. MARJORIE LAYS DOWN HER ARMS 15I CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XIX. "THE ENGLISHMAN" l6l XX. LIGHT BEHIND THE CLOUDS 169 XXI. A JOYFUL MEETING 177 XXII. MARRIAGE BELLS 188 XXIII. OFF TO THE " SUNNY SOUTH" I95 XXIV. "HOME, SWEET HOME" 207 XXV. FAREWELLS

Chapter I. Entering The Cloud

" Our yet unfinished story Is tending all to this, To God the greatest glory, To us the greatest bliss. " If all things work together For ends so grand and blest, What need to wonder whether Each in itself is.best." — F. R. Havergal. 'W7^ AUNTIE ! how shall I beair my life ? " nejjraJl This was a pitiful cry to issue from ■«=■ young lips. It was uttered by my goddaughter Marjorie Hamilton, who, with her head on my bosom, was sobbing out the first bitter anguish of a cruel blow that had fallen upon her. I did not speak, knowing that, as yet, words were useless. By and by I could whisper of the com fort to be found in the perfect sympathy of Him who " bore our griefs and carried our sorrows," and of the peace that comes into the heart when the will is resigned to the higher will of Him whose love is unfailing and whose wisdom is infinite — " Too wise to err, too good to be unkind," — of which I could speak from experience ; but this was the time for the silent sympathy, so precious in hours of dark ness such as had fallen upon my poor Marjorie.

So I sat quietly, just caressing the pretty head with a tender hand, and having in my heart an unspoken prayer, that the comfort which only God can give might come to the poor child. My heart bled for her, for I could fully understand her trouble. They may "jest at scars who never felt a wound," but " a fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind ; " and I too — though so long ago, that now my sorrow was only a chastened memory* — had passed through a cloud as dark as that which now over shadowed Marjorie, and I could not wonder that she feared as she entered into it. Before I proceed further with the tale of my darling's trouble, I must explain the nature of the tie existing between us ; for although Marjorie always called me " Auntie," we were not related by blood. Her mother, as Janet Tracy, was the dearest friend of my childhood and youth, and she and I were sisters in affection.

Janet was the only daughter of the Squire of Ashfield, in Derbyshire, and at the time of my birth my father was rector of the parish. Maurice Tracy and Robert Dacre were college friends ; they read together, and passed their final examination the same term, both going out in honours. After they left Oxford, their paths in life diverged widely. Maurice Tracy very soon succeeded to the family property on the death of his father, and Robert Dacre, having taken holy orders, went to a curacy at Grimethorpe, a large manu facturing town, where in a populous district, inhabited by the poorest, and in some parts the vilest of the people, he laboured unweariedly for some years ; losing health and strength, it is true, but gaining a wealth of love, and winning jewels for "the crown of rejoicing " to be laid hereafter at the Master's feet.

In after years I heard from one who had known my father in those early days of his ministry, that when first he began his labours in some of the squalid courts, where hitherto a clergyman had hardly ever been seen, his appearance would be hailed by a shower of dirty water, stones, cabbage stalks, and sundry unsavoury missiles ; but in spite of every discouragement, he held bravely on his way, carrying the message of heavenly love to these poor, neglected, sin-sick souls ; and he had his reward. By degrees the poor creatures seemed to grow ashamed of their persecution of one who was so fearless. The day came when a few doors were opened to him. And when it was found that he cared for the poor starving bodies, brought them food to eat, as well as offering them the bread of life, the antagonism ceased.

He became a welcome visitor, at first respected, soon beloved. Instead of by a shower of stones, his appearance was greeted by a chorus of, " Here comes our parson." " He be a friend to the poor, God bless him ;" and it would doubtless have " gone hard " with any one who had attempted to injure their beloved parson. Then he was listened to with respectful attention while he spoke of Him who came to seek and save the lost, and who gave His life for them. And through his instrumentality there was joy in heaven over many a sinner plucked as a brand from the burning to be a faithful follower of the Lamb. But I must not digress. The Rev. Robert Dacre had been about seven years at Grimethorpe when the rector of Ashfield died. The living was in Mr. Tracy's gift, and was at once offered by him to his friend Mr. Dacre, who he knew to be a worthy successor of the holy old man who, after labouring in Christ's vineyard for more than fifty years, had gone to reap his reward and receive the crown of life.

The change in his prospects was a welcome one to the hard-working curate, who was conscious of failing health ; although he grieved to leave the flock whose affection he heartily reciprocated. When he took possession of his new home, he brought with him his lately married wife, a bright, loving woman, and a true " help-meet." She had worked under him in his late sphere of duty, and they were one in heart as in their aim in life, which was to bring wanderers to the fold of the Good Shepherd, whose voice they knew, and whom they followed. At that time Mr. Tracy had already been some while married, and was the father of two boys. Mrs. Tracy, a superior, most lovable woman, at once opened her heart to her husband's old friend and his bride ; and friendship, soon ripening into affec tion, sprang up between the two wives.

Rather more than a year after the Dacres came to Ashfield, Mrs. Tracy gave birth to a daughter, who was named " Janet." One month later, on a bright June morning, I opened my eyes in the world, and my sweet young mother closed hers for ever. The last words she spoke to her friend Mrs. Tracy, who was supporting her, were, " My poor little baby will have no mother. Will you love her for me, Janet ? " " She shall be to me as my own child," replied Mrs. Tracy. The promise comforted the dying mother, who then gave her last thoughts to the heart-broken husband, who, kneeling by the bed-side, was quiver ing all over from the violence of the emotion which he strove hard to repress. " Darling," she said, in a voice growing very feeble, " do not grieve so bitterly. Love such as ours lives beyond the grave, and we shall soon be together again.

You have made my life so blessed by your love since you gave it to me. Try to remember that, and how happy we have been. Let us thank God for having given us to each other, and for letting me leave you a little Marjorie." She did not speak again, and a few minutes later the little hour-old baby was motherless. The promise made to my dying mother by Mrs. Tracy was nobly fulfilled. She took me to her heart and fed me from her breast as though I had been in reality the twin sister of Janet (as strangers supposed I was). For the first few months of my life I lived entirely at the Hall, where, for a time, my father, at the urgent entreaty of his friends, spent any time he could spare from his work. At first he could hardly bear to see the little baby who had cost his loved wife her life. But he struggled against a feeling which he knew to be morbid, and the time came when he seemed to lavish upon me all the love that would have been divided between my mother and me had she lived.

When I was a year old I took up my abode at the Rectory, under the care of a servant who had come with my mother from her old home, and who had begged to be my nurse. But still Janet and I were play-fellows; and when the time came for us to learn our letters, I shared with Janet her mother's instructions. Later on, when a governess was in stalled at the Hall, I went there daily to be taught by her. Eventually Janet and I went to school in London, where we remained three years. A few months after we returned home for good, Janet — when just nineteen — married Dr. Hamilton, a medical man, many years older than herself, but admirably suited to her, and worthy of the devoted affection with which she returned his love for her. Her marriage in no way interfered with our friend ship, and when after two boys had been born to Janet, a little fair-haired girl appeared upon the scene, I was her godmother, and she was named after me, " Marjorie Dacre," and soon became the darling of my heart.

Chapter II Old Friends

" And if some thing I do not ask In my cup of blessing be, I would have my spirit filled the more With grateful love to Thee, And careful less to serve Thee much Than to please Thee perfectly." — A. L. Waring. HREE months before the time when my tale commences, I had most unexpectedly come into a legacy which (added to the little income left to me by my dear father) enabled me to give up living in lodgings, and realise my favourite " castle in the air," a little home of my own ; a pleasure which I never antici pated, and therefore doubly appreciated when it fell to my lot. As soon as I heard of my good fortune, my thoughts turned longingly to a little cottage upon which I had fixed my affections some time ago, and of which I had said jokingly to some dear old friends, " When my ship comes home, I will live there."

I lost no time in writing to ascertain whether there was any prospect of my wish being gratified. By return of post I received the intelli gence that " Hollybank " was to let at a rental which would suit my purse, with the added assur ance, that a warm welcome awaited me, if I decided upon taking up my abode there. And so, after many vicissitudes and many trials, a great happiness came into my quiet life — one which I had long desired, but which I had seen no reason to expect would ever be mine, the happiness of being settled near to friends who had known and loved my father, and who loved me for his sake, as well as for my own, as did dear Dr. and Mrs. Martin. They had been acquainted with my father in the early days of his ministry, and it was from Dr. Martin that I heard the incidents already related.

He was never tired of talking of the friend to whom he always said he owed, under God, his salvation. It was my father's teaching, both by lip and life, that won Dr. Martin from a carelessness about religion, almost amounting to scepticism, to be a faithful follower of Christ. When my father commenced his work in Grime thorpe, Dr. Martin, then a young man, was junior partner of a medical man in the town, who attended the better class of patients himself, leaving the poor ones to his junior. He being devoted to his profession, was well pleased at the opportunity of gaining experience, and this feeling, united to a B kindly, sympathetic nature, led him to spare no pains to relieve the poor sufferers whose miserable sur roundings excited his pity. Many a shilling went, from his scantily lined pockets, to find nourishment for some sickly mother or child who, as he would say, needed "kitchen physic for their recovery far more than drugs."

It will be easily imagined that "the Doctor" became a very popular personage, and that the two young men who so often met at the bedside of some sufferer, and who were, each in his own way, trying to do good, and so had much in common, soon became friends. And when (through my father's instrumentality, as I have already said) Dr. Martin became a Christian man, friendship ripened into affection. I myself entertained a warm love for Dr. Martin and his dear old wife. I saw a great deal of them during my childhood. They were associated with circumstances in my youth in a manner that made the bond between us a very close one ; and after my father's death Dr. Martin was a second father to me. To him also I owe much of the happiness of my more mature years. But of that I shall tell later on. My old friends were a beautiful couple.

Mrs. Martin was my beau-ideal of an old lady. She was rather petite, with large soft brown eyes, and a lovely pink colour like apple blossom on her cheeks. Her hair, which was silvery white, she wore in soft bands on her forehead, and her dress, rather Quaker like, was always exquisitely neat. Indeed, in her grey cashmere dress, white shawl, and pretty lace cap, she was a picture worth looking at. Dr. Martin was a very fine man. Not one of your giants, but so well made and proportioned, as to appear just the right size for a man. He had been quite bald since very early in life. As long as I can remember, he had only just a fringe of hair round the back and sides of his head, and he had never given up the fashion of hair-powder, which, worn over half the top of his head, gave him a particularly venerable appearance.

He had a very beautiful head, such an one as would be a joy to a sculptor's heart ; and his face (although, excepting the eyes, none of the features were specially good) was the most beautiful mans face I ever saw. It was the expression that gave the beauty, and that was the true index of his character, which was as nearly perfect as human being could be. I once heard a lady remark, " When I look at Dr. Martin, I always think of the words, ' The peace of God, that passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds.' They seem to be written on his face." And she was right. I cannot improve upon her description. Well, my cottage was taken, and I and my factotum Nanny set about choosing the furniture. I was quite like a child with a new toy while look ing over the patterns of carpets and curtains; and I think Nanny enjoyed herself as much as I did.

The said Nanny must not be passed over without special notice, for she was that rare specimen now-a-days, a servant devoted to her mistress's interests. She had nursed me tenderly through many an ill ness, and so identified herself with my joys and sorrows that I looked upon her as a friend. That she was in clined to keep me in capital order I must confess, and she was apt upon occasion to be a little too free of speech ; but I was so assured of her real love for me, that in consideration of her affection, and of her long, faithful service, I could overlook her failings. When I was aware that she was " crusty " — as she herself expressed it — I always made some excuse for keeping out of her way, so as to avoid all risk of irritating her. I could always tell when this course was desirable, for on those occasions there was a pinched look about her face, that made me feel sure that her "crustiness" had its origin in some physical sufferin<sr, although she would never confess to it.

Then I would have " business letters to write neces sitating solitude; " or I would "feel inclined to keep quite quiet;" and thereby, I believe, I saved the poor soul from a possible display of temper, that must have been noticed by displeasure, as well as from the remorse that invariably followed any im propriety of behaviour on her part. I am sure that Nanny quite understood and appre ciated my motives. I always noticed, after the mood had passed off, some extra mark of thoughtfulness for my comfort, which I received as a silent form of gratitude for my forbearance; and I have often thought that, if we all took a little more trouble to " bear one another's burdens" in that sort of way, we might be mutually spared both sin and sorrow. It has been said, speaking of long terms of service, that "for a time you have a good servant, next a kind mistress, and finally an overbearing tyrant;" but that has not been my experience, and I think it is an exaggerated assertion.

It always seems to me, that if both mistress and maid respect themselves and each other, and are both earnestly seeking to remember the Master in" heaven, the proper position of each will be main tained in all essential points. I know that I always managed quietly to hold my own whenever it was right that I should do so ; and I look upon an old servant as one of the greatest blessings under heaven. Nanny had been in the family since she was a girl of fifteen, when she went to my father's rectory to be trained under the old servant of whom I have spoken before as my nurse. When after my father's death I went to live in lodgings, Nanny — then a childless widow — begged to be allowed to live with me, and she insisted upon doing it, although she knew that I could not afford to pay such wages as she was worth.

And a great comfort she was to me. Now that I had a house of my own she was nomi nally cook. In reality she did all the work of the house, with the help of my little maid Jessie, whom Nanny was training, as she herself had been trained in my father's house. Sometimes I thought that she was a little too hard upon Jessie, who occasionally went about in tears. But I never interfered ; for I knew that, on the whole, the girl had a happy life, as was evidenced by her fondness for Nanny, who in private she often called mother ; which greatly pleased the childless woman, who had only known the joys of motherhood for a few short weeks. Altogether ours was, I think, a very pleasant little menage.

Chapter III. Hollybank

" My God, I thank Thee, who hast made This earth so bright ; So full of splendour and of joy, Beauty and light ; So many glorious things are here Noble and right." — A. A. Proctor. WILL now give some description of my new home. It was named " Hollybank " on account of a bank crowned by the finest holly bushes I ever saw, which enclosed the front and one side of the garden, shutting it off from the road. The garden was an old-fashioned one ; and in it flourished a profusion of the dear old flowers that I have known and loved from my childhood, but which have been long banished from the formal gardens that are the present fashion. There were masses of white pinks, sweetwilliam, snap-dragon, and such like. Monthly roses ran rampant, poking out their sweet buds at all sorts of unexpected corners.

There were such cabbage roses! to my mind the sweetest of all, and large bushes of York and Lancaster, such as would be thought of great value in these days, so seldom are they seen. At the back of the house a good-sized lawn sloped down to a stream in which the beautiful water forget-me-not grew in wonderful luxuriance. Beyond the stream was a paddock, in which were some splendid oak trees. There grazed my one cow — a duncoloured, gazelle-eyed Alderney, which had been a present from Dr. and Mrs. Martin when I set up housekeeping. The front of the cottage was covered by a magnificent passion flower; and over the back climbed jessamine, honeysuckle, and banksia roses, the pale clusters of which peeped into the bed-room windows. I possessed a miniature stable, where abode a sleek donkey to draw my chair, and who rejoiced in the name of "Puck" — a very appropriate cognomen, for he was a light-hearted animal, who had a little way of expressing his enjoyment that I should have mistaken for vice, had I not been assured by his attendant (who considered any strictures on Puck a personal insult) that these little vagaries were "only his play."

I know that they often brought my heart into my mouth until I was used to them, and made my drives behind him rather a fearful pleasure. " Puck's " attendant was a village Arab, whom I had caught and tamed. When first I made MA RJORIE'S PROBATION. 25 his acquaintance, he was known as "Rascal Ned;" but after he had been in my service a few months he became quite a decent member of society, and gave himself little airs of superiority on the strength of his position, that were very aggravating to his com peers, I have no doubt. Adjoining the stable was a poultry-yard, the denizens of which were the joy of Jessie's heart, and I think it will be generally considered that my new home was a very charming little abode. Inside, the house was equally pleasant. The drawing-room ran through the house, and had a French window opening into the garden at each end.

The dining-room, on the other side of the passage, was a square, oak-panelled room, that, with crimson carpet and curtains, looked very cosy. The room behind it I fitted up as a sort of summer-parlour, and made it my usual morning room in warm weather. The French window opened into the prettiest part of the garden, and there was a good view over undulating meadow lands to a distant range of hills, which made the room a favourite resort of mine. The kitchen offices were on the same floor as the sitting rooms, built out at the back. There were three good bed-rooms on the first floor, and in the roof two attics with dormer windows. I had followed the advice of my friends, not to buy furniture until I was on the spot, and could get what was suitable to the size and shape of my rooms; and I had accepted the offer of Dr. and Mrs. Martin to give Nanny and me house-room until my own home was habitable.

For two days after our arrival at Grimethorpe — at the outskirts of which town my old friends still lived — they would not let me go to " Hollybank." Dr. Martin said he would go over with Nanny, and between them they would keep the work-people in order. For a moment I was inclined to rebel, I was so anxious to fix upon the carpet for my drawing-room. But I noticed a twinkle in Dr. Martin's eye, leading me to suspect some friendly mystery afoot, and so I determined not to run the risk of spoiling any one's pleasure by appearing prematurely upon the scene just to gratify my own whim. So I resigned myself to stay quietly at home with Mrs. Martin, to be petted to her heart's content. As we sat at breakfast on the third day, Dr. Martin said, " I think, mother, you and the child had better take advantage of this fine day to see how Nanny is getting on at Hollybank; what do you say?"

I looked up, while waiting for Mrs. Martin's reply, and intercepted a merry wink which the old Doctor gave his wife. I pretended not to see (al though I am a true daughter of Eve, and was boil ing over with curiosity), being anxious to appear as surprised as possible, that my kind friends might fully enjoy the pleasure that I now felt sure they had prepared for me, though what their secret was I could not imagine. At eleven o'clock we started for Hollybank in Dr. Martin's phaeton, which he drove himself. We all enjoyed the two-mile drive through the pretty lanes, where primroses and violets peeped from under their leaves in the hedgerows, which looked so lovely in the tender green of spring. We were a merry party, though we were none of us young, and we were all in a state of pleasurable anticipation.

When we arrived, Nanny greeted us with a face that was smiling all over (if I may use the expression), and at a sign from the Doctor threw open the door of the drawing-room, revealing the mystery, for instead of an empty room, lo and behold, one fully furnished in an elegant but home-like style. Amid the new couches, chairs, and tables, my delighted eyes espied some things which I had loved from childhood, as having been used by the dear mother who was to me so sacred a memory. There were her work-table, davenport, and the low chair which was her seat in my father's study. I knew that the Tracys had bought these things when my father died, that I might be spared the pain of their passing into the hands of strangers. I turned to my companions with brimming eyes, and was trying to thank them, when the Doctor said cheerily, " We had nothing to do with this.

See if that tells anything ? " calling my attention to a note lying on the table. I opened it, and read as follows : — Dearest Marjorie, — My husband and I hope you will be pleased with the arrangement of your drawing-room. Choosing the furniture for it is the greatest treat I have had for ages. The things from your old home I have had in my care since my mother's death. She wished them to go to you whenever you could give them house-room. I know how you will prize them. — Your affectionate friend, Janet Hamilton. My heart was very full. The sight of these relics of my childhood and youth had called up a host of memories both of pleasure and pain, and I was sinking into a reverie, when I was roused by gentle Mrs. Martin, who, kissing me softly, said, " Shall we go upstairs now, dearie, and see the bed-rooms ?

" Upstairs we went, preceded by Nanny, armed with a measuring tape, which I had called to her to bring. She was chuckling in evident delight over something — I supposed it was at my surprise about the drawing-room. But there was more to come. I remarked to Mrs. Martin, " I shall take the room over the summer parlour for myself; I like the view from the windows so much." " Shall you ? " said the Doctor, as he spoke opening the door-of the room over the drawing-room. "I hope you will alter your mind, child, for the mother and I have prepared this room for you." " Do you like it, dearie ? " asked Mrs. Martin. " Like it ! " I cried. " It is the loveliest room I ever saw. Oh how happy I shall be here ! How am I to thank you for your kindness ! I see now why you would not allow me to come here before !"

" Yes, dearie. The Doctor and I did not wish you to see your room until it was quite ready for you." Let me describe this room. Like the drawing room, it ran across the house, the back window being a deep bay. There stood a writing-table, fully fur nished with writing materials, and a pretty book slide. On one side of this was a low easy-chair ; on the other a comfortable-looking couch, placed so that as I rested upon it I could feast my eyes upon a lovely and extensive view. The room was furnished so as to be available for both bed and sitting-room ; the bed and toilet arrangements being in the front part; and there was a handsome curtain, so arranged that it could be drawn across the room at pleasure, so as to shut off the bed-room part. The carpet was green moss, with a running pattern of lilies of the valley, and the bed and window-hangings of chintz matched the carpet.