The Quest of a Heart

Front matter

Uniform with " The Quest of a Heart " BY ADVERSE WINDS BY OLIPHANT SMEATON "An interesting story." — Publishers' Circular. "A novel of much interest and pov?vc"—Kilmamock Standard. " Plot, construction, and characterisation alike are excellent." — Dundee Courier. *' The best story published in Scotland for many a day."— Otan Express. " Elsie is one of the brightest characters we have met with for some time. . . . Mr. Smeaton writes well, has considerable insight into human nature, uses Lowland Scotch as if it were his native tongue, and puts it into the mouths of the right individuals. The story deserves lo be a success." — Scottish Review. BY CALDWELL STEWART EDINBURGH & LONDON OLIPHANT ANDERSON & FERRIER PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBE, EDINBURGH FOR OLIPHANT ANDERSON & FERRIER EDINBURGH AND LONDON CHARACTERS Stella Morris Mrs. Whitfop.de Aunt of afbove.

Deborah Whitfoede Her Daughter. Fred Venters From India. Mr. Giles Thorbuene "j Mrs. Giles Thorburne J Bis Guardians. Rev. Peter Pexfolde The fRedor. Martha Pexfolde Ruth Penfolde His Children. Ebenezer Penfolde Jonathan Penfolde Ashleigh Barneton Medical Student. Claude Waters His Friend. Harry and May Milford .... Tlie Twins. CONTENTS CHAP. PA0I:

Prologue

...... 9 I. A life's AWAKENING . . . . .11 ii. launching forth ..... 17 iii. a religious woman ..... 21 iv. counter-attraction ..... 24 v. a runaway letter ..... 29 vi. "das war' zu schon gewesen " . . .39 vii. why one blushes . . . . .45 viii. a mental blow ..... 51 ix. everything but the antithesis . . .62 x. "all that glitters is not gold" . . .68 xi. love is blind — ignorance is more so 74 xii. "the world. . . means good" . . .80 xiii. a bachelor no woman-hater . . . .85 xiv. the "te deum" made void ! . . . .89 xv. love versus duty . . . . .97 xvi. the blending of light and shade . . . 102 xvii. the reality reveals the shadow . . .112 xviii. "company! as you were!" . . . . 117 xix. the secular invades the sacred . . . 123 xx. " let none but the visibly religious enter here " . 132 xxi.

" can there any good thing come out of nazareth ? " 138 xxii. night comes — but not alike to all . . . 145 xxiii. a providential interference — and a choice . 150 xxiv. knowledge of good through evil . . . CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE XXV. "QUI S' EXCUSE, s' ACCUSE" .... 171 XXVI. AN ALTAR TO THE UNKNOWN OR UNNAMED GOD . 179 XXVII. THE POSSIBILITY OF OBEDIENCE . .188 XXVIII. AN INSPIRATION . . . . .193 XXIX. RETROSPECTION ...... 204 XXX. AN ANONYMOUS GOOD-NIGHT .... 212 XXXI. " DIS ALITER VISUM " . . . . ■ 222 XXXII. A PIECE OF QUICKSILVER .... 232 XXXIII. A VISITATION FEOM THE MUSE . . . 240 XXXIV. A CASTE BARRIER ..... 247 XXXV. "DOLCE FAR NIENTE " . .... 252 XXXVI. THE SAD HALF OF LIFE'S PICTURE . . . 260 XXXVII. DELUSIVE LETTERS ..... 269 XXXVIII. NECESSITY THE GREAT ICONOCLAST . . . 278 XXXIX.

THE VALUE OF A TEAR .... 281 XL. "TO REIGN IS WOETH AMBITION — THOUGH IN HELL " 291 XLI. "WHAT AN INTENSE THING IS HUMAN AFFECTION" 298 XLII. A STRATAGEM . . . . _ . 304 XLIII. DEBORAH'S DEATH ..... 310 XLIV. THE THUNDER IS GOD'S JUDGMENT . . . 317 XLV. "NOR LET ME DIE, BEFORE I HAVE BEGUN TO LIVE" 322 XLVI. A MENTAL TONIC — " OH, MY DUCATS ! OH, MY DAUGHTER ! " . . . ... . 332 XLVII. MISERY IN MUSIC ..... 339 XLVIII. AN ALTERATION IN THE PROGRAMME — A DREAM . 348 XLIX. THE QUEST ENDED ..... 364 L. TWO WEDDINGS ...... 377 LI. "GOD MADE THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH" . 380

Epilogue

......

PROLOGUE.

' ' All the world's a stage And all the men and women . . . players." IIEWED in the above light, the adjuncts of time and localisation are by no means essential to the glimpses of life unfolded in the following pages. The history of human joys, sorrows, hopes, fears, longings, eternally repeats itself. A common heart — a like nature — such are the links necessary to connect my brother's life with mine. His experiences are my experiences — his wants, my wants. The warm blood of his human nature is the same blood as pulsates in my veins. Thus I offer the following story — knowing that the sketches of life here portrayed will easily fit into an environment, will readily find for themselves a location and a name. u

Chapter I

A LIFE'S AWAKENING was evening. A large vessel, bound for England, was slowly sailing down the Hooghly. On its deck a young girl was to be seen, her tearful eyes measuring the ever -increasing distance between the ship and the shore it had just left. Her black garments betokened bereavement; her moist eyelashes told a tale of grief ; her isolation revealed the fact that she was alone. She had evidently been entrusted to the charge of the captain, for the latter approached her, and gently urged her to come below. "Oh, Captain Thomas, do just let me stay here for one quarter of an hour yet," she pleaded. " I can still see some distant lights ; and to-morrow — oh, to-morrow there will be nothing ! " and the tears flowed afresh. The captain, with that gentleness which is the peculiar glory of the rough seafaring man, yielded to her request, sending a shawl up on deck to protect the girl from the chill night air.

And Stella Morris was left alone with her first sorrow. The loneliness of her position, the lengthening of the evening shadows, the unsympathetic look of the sea, the monotonous sound of the water, the restlessness of the waves in their unconcerned, everlasting ripple, all magnified and intensified her sorrow. The stars, so welcome to the sailors, peeped out one by one, but to Stella's eyes they seemed as lonely and isolated as she herself was ; everything, in short, corresponded to the dark gloom of her own mind — to the loneliness of her torn and wounded heart. Her situation seemed too intense for her to think of seek ing relief anywhere. She did not seem to wish relief — her deepest, her only desire was, to be left alone with her grief. Her whole previous life had been an unbroken dream ; but here she was face to face with a reality — a reality which showed her for the first time that she was a participator in that thing called " human life," that she had what is known as an " experience " to undergo.

This sudden consciousness of contact with the rude stern fact of life made her feel old, revealing, as it did, by the withdrawal of the curtain of happy childhood, the significance of the burden of life. From this revelation the girl instinctively shrank — it was too sudden, too cruel, too overwhelmingly sad ; she saw nothing but the one reality of her own personal grief — and she shrank, shrank within herself, succumbing to the intensity of her feelings. When Captain Thomas came to take her below, she yielded mechanically. She seemed quite unconscious of the stewardess undressing her and tucking her into her berth, where, how ever, kindly nature soon asserted its sovereign sway, closing those weary, wet eyelashes, and lulling into sweet unconscious ness that sorrow-weighted brain. A plague in the village where Stella Morris had spent her sunny childhood had cut off her father in the prime of health and manhood.

Throughout his illness the mother had inde fatigably acted as nurse ; but as the father sank, the mother, deprived of the hope that had been her source of strength, and wearied out with nursing, became herself a victim, and she too succumbed to the fell disease. A LIFE'S A WAKENING 13 With the death of her parents Stella's golden dream of life was broken — the suddenness of the shock stunned her. She could not realise it, till now — now — this night — alone on the sea — she found herself being carried across its boundless waters, to an unknown aunt in England. Is it any wonder that nothing else was real to the girl but the fact that behind her, in that land, she had left all — all that she had loved, had hoped, had learned, had dreamed — all that meant life to her ; and that before her lay the un known, the untried, the cold, wide world — a world that did not seem capable of offering any shelter or haven to a lonely, bereft maiden .

Is it any wonder that she desired no remedy for, or sought no escape from, a grief that dominated her entire being ? Nay ; the very thought of remedy seemed an incongruity, much less, then, an even probable source of distraction or thing to be desired. For such a grief the alone solace seemed to be to sink beneath its weight ; but, fortunately for Stella, nature stepped in, with its one powerful alternative, and sleep rendered her oblivious, for a short period, alike of her grief and of her very existence. The next day, after Stella had been sitting for some time on deck, gazing tearfully and wistfully on the dark, sad waters, she was roused from her unconscious reverie by a voice saying the simple words, " Is this your book ? " Looking round, she saw the frank, open face of a boy about her own age ; he was holding out to her a book which had evidently dropped from her lap without her being aware of it.

Stella's thoughts had been so far away, that even the sound of a human voice greatly startled her. The expression of her face and the moist con dition of her eyes seemed to make the boy wish that he had not thus disturbed her. " I beg your pardon," he said, " for startling you, but I was afraid your book might slip into the sea ; and books are specially valuable on a long voyage ; " and, with boyish tact, turning the conversation away from anything uncomfortable, or in the least likely to cause the too visible flood of tears to escape, he added, " What is the name of your book 1 " Stella, who but a minute before had thought any human intercourse quite impossible, was surprised to find herself, in a way she could not explain, irresistibly compelled to answer quite naturally this simple, boyish question.

" The Wide, W^ide World," she said quietly. "Rather appropriate," said the boy, with what Stella de tected as something like a sigh, and a slight quiver in his voice, as he turned his face in the direction of the land they had just left. There followed a few moments' silence — a few moments, nothing in themselves, but such moments as come once or twice in an individual experience — moments in which, as by a flash of lightning, one gets a revelation which a whole life time might scarcely unfold — moments which stand out as marked epochs in one's history — moments in which one feels one has grown older — moments in which one is brought into contact with a great vital truth. On the swift wings of intuition, with the convincing power of consciousness, there rushed an irresistible flood of thought through Stella's mind — thoughts too subtle, too quick to be recorded in words.

Could anyone else have a grief like hers 1 Could this boy have his own troubles . Had he too something which necessitated his launching out like herself on the wide, wide world ? The effect of this hitherto unknown train of thought on Stella was magical ; it lifted her instantaneously into a new world ; it opened her eyes to the fact that she was but one of many, that others had experiences too ; it divulged, in one instant, life's mightiest, most potent secret ; it struck a deep chord in her inmost being, a chord whose musical vibrations never afterwards ceased, a chord to which Stella tuned her whole future life. A LIFE'S A WAKENING 15 Are you alone on the ship?" she asked, turning to the boy. Her voice was gentle, yet steady ; the startled look had gone from her face, and lo ! there shone out, in place of it, an indescribable something — a something irresistibly attractive.

Was it the early dawn of a womanly sympathy, the subtle secret of a woman's strength — her power to influence ? " Yes," said the boy, all his uncomfortable and sad feelings dispelled by the change in Stella's look and tone. " So am I," said Stella simply. The words were few, but they were aflame with vital truth. This simple " So am I " touched the very roots of a common humanity, revealed the relationship that exists in human life ; and there flashed through Stella's mind the thought that the fact of even two being in the same boat of sorrow, meant surely all the difference in the world — the difference between an isolated life, and life in its broad, essential significance — life universal, human, divine, eternal. And Stella felt a pulsation of the wave of that touch of humanity which makes the whole world kin.

She caught a breath of that great fundamental principle of life, that relationship that makes not only all human love and sympathy, but also all religion, all worship possible. "Well, let's be friends, then," said the boy, without the slightest affectation, raising his candid, open face to Stella's. " All right," said Stella, meeting candour with candour ; it were impossible to do otherwise. There followed another pause of a few moments, but this time it was a pause of rest. Neither was very sure what to say next, but both somehow felt that they need not say any thing. But the difficulty was solved for them by the cheery voice of Captain Thomas. "Ah," said he, "I see you've made friends already; I was just coming to introduce you, but you have been too quick for me. You are both left to my special care, you know; and you are the only young passengers I have."

The boy, as if he felt that some explanation were necessary, commenced to tell the story of the fallen book ; but, as if suddenly remembering some omission, he said, turning to Stella and laughing, " I can't mention you without knowing your name." Stella laughed spite of herself, and said simply, " Stella Morris." " Mine is Fred Venters.' " Well," said the captain, " you've managed that part of the proceedings better than I could have done ; but come, let me now introduce you to my ship, and give you a peep into nautical affairs. We must leave books for wet days," he added, glancing at Stella's book. " Away with this book down below, Master Fred." And Stella, with a significant smile, gave Fred the volume, which had been the unconscious agent in opening up their friendship. " My ship is all I've got left now," said Captain Thomas, with a quaver in his kindly voice.

" I once had a boy and girl, and the sight of you two young people brings them back to my remembrance." At these words Stella felt a peculiar thrill ; that chord which had been struck deep down in her innermost being, vibrated again. The captain, too, had his grief, and, in spite of it, here he was fineling his solace in offering to make others happy. Captain Thomas soon interested them both deeply in what he showed them ; at the same time, by eliciting answers from them, he roused them out of themselves, and gave quite a new bent to their thoughts. And Stella's irremediable grief, where was it ? Not gone, but ennobled, glorified, linked with the grief of others.

Chapter II Launching Forth

iRED VENTERS had unconsciously been the means of awakening Stella's sympathy, and Stella, in her turn, quite won his confidence. They soon got to know all about each other, and each heart, having got rid of its own special burden, was lightened; but, by taking up the burden of the other, was at the same time enlarged, and a free and firm friendship sprang up between the two — a friendship which was cemented and deepened by their discovering that they were both bound for the same town in England, — the town of L , where Stella's aunt, Mrs. Whitforde, lived, and where Fred was to commence a university career, and live with an old friend of his father's, Mr. Giles Thorburne. The next evening that Stella sat alone on deck, she was surprised to see how the aspect of all that she looked on seemed changed; and yet things were just the same as before.

She became conscious of the fact that nature and external objects get their colouring from one's own inner nature. Looking more closely at the waves, which she had regarded as isolated, restless, independent motions, she noticed that several little wavelets lost themselves in a wave, that the smaller waves lost themselves in larger waves, and that, in doing so, they were not annihilated, but made stronger and greater, and she associated this thought with the discovery she had made in her own experience, that she best had soothed her own grief by sympathising with and helping to lift away the grief of others. Large and lofty thoughts began to take possession of the young girl's breast ; the wide, wide world began to lose its imputed dread associations of coldness, friendlessness, and isolation ; the very stars that were shining overhead now seemed parts of one grand universal system ; and Stella began to think of herself as one of the myriad travellers along the common journey of life, and thus she began to look forward with ever-increasing interest to the new home to which she was each day drawing nearer.

Stella was well enough provided for as far as money matters were concerned, and she had, as everlasting possessions, the memory and teaching of her loved parents. She had been trained to think of and address her parents' God as her God. She had been taught to consider that God as the special friend of the orphan and of the friend-needy. The aunt to whom she was going was considered to be a most exemplary religious woman, and her parents had seemed happy in the thought that such a home did exist for their daughter. Mrs. Whitforde was Stella's father's sister. She had always lived in England, whereas Mr. Morris had gone to India when quite a lad, thus he had never really known his sister ; but, according to her own account of her doings, and from the tone of her letters, she seemed a very suitable personage to be entrusted with the care of her niece.

She had, besides, one daughter, about Stella's age, who was at present enjoying what her mother described as "a most exemplary education under highly Christian influences." Mrs. Whitforde had often begged her brother to send Stella to England to share these educational and religious advantages of her daughter Deborah, but Mr. and Mrs. Morris preferred keeping Stella as the light of their own LAUNCHING FORTH 19 home, and the object of their own care and teaching. Of course, there was always the complete understanding that, should anything happen, Stella should avail herself of Mrs. Whitforde's home. This her aunt said she regarded not only as her right towards her brother's child, but as her Christian duty. Thus it was that Stella Morris was now on her way to England, to L , to find a home with her Aunt Whitforde and Cousin Deborah.

Mr. Whitforde had died many years previously. " Religious," to Stella's mind, as far as she had seen this temperament exemplified in her own parents, meant all that was good and beautiful and true. Associating, therefore, the reputed religiousness of her aunt with the experienced re ligiousness of her parents, Stella looked forward to her prospective home as to an atmosphere of love and affectioD and high-souled sincerity of life and purpose, such as she had learned to associate with the very word " home " — such as home had hitherto meant to her. Fred Venters had chosen the Church as a profession, not only because it was the fondest wish of his parents, but because his own taste and inclination prompted him to it. He was the eldest of a number of boys, and when a pressing invitation came from Mr. Thorburne (Mr. Venters' old school friend), who had no children of his own, offering a home to any of the Venters boys who wanted a university career in England, Mr. and Mrs. Venters decided to trust their first born to carry out his heart's wish.

They had not the slightest hesitation in letting him away from home, even though Mr. Venters knew that his friend Thorburne pro fessed no religion whatever ; for Fred had never cost them a moment's anxiety — he possessed a noble, true nature, and his father and mother thought that living in a non-religious house would only strengthen his convictions, and perhaps indirectly influence Mr. and Mrs. Thorburne' for good. Thus Fred, full of noble purpose and bright hopes, left his boyhood's home to fight his own battle in the world, for which battle his strength was as yet unknown, because untried and unopposed. The only experience Fred had had of women was clustered round his mother, and his was that innate boyish chivalry, which is bred of an unselfish nature, and fostered by the in fluence of a sweet and gentle mother.

He took it as a matter of course that Stella Morris should be like his mother ; so, all through the voyage, he talked to her freely and unaffec tedly of his plans, his hopes, his aspirations. The voyage was a smooth one, and tended to fan and foster the bright thoughts and ideas of these two young travellers who were thus hopefully embarking on life's journey — thoughts and ideas that seemed to them then not only possible of realisation, but certain; just as certain as was their conviction that the stately vessel which was bear ing them over the ocean was cutting its way unopposed and steadily through the waters, and would reach in time and in triumph its destined goal.

Chapter III

A RELIGIOUS WOMAN |RS. WHITFORDE, the aunt to whom Stella Morris was coming, was one of those individuals who not only pride themselves on their ostentatious devotion to what they call " good," but who emphasise the fact of their being religious in everything they say and do. She breathed an atmosphere of churchism. She called her Church her creed — but it was more Church than creed with her. She used her religion alike as a weapon and as a shield — by it she not only got all she wanted, but excused what she did not want. She danced continual attendance on the clergyman of the place, — the Rev. Peter Penfolde, — busy ing herself in every detail of Church matters, and also taking a special interest in the training of the motherless children of the Rectory. She never ceased harping on the fact that she gave up a large share of her income to the Church — that she had never missed one of its meetings or services ; in short, she made everyone believe that she existed for the sake of the Church ; and from a surface point of view she was acknowledged as a specially good, religious woman, and this acknowledgment was a source of supreme satisfaction to the widow.

As is not to be wondered at, Mrs. Whitforde lived in the villa adjoining the Rectory — "almost," she said herself, " within the precincts of the sacred edifice itself." In point of fact, Mrs. Whitforde's religion was so very superficial that it could only be seen at all in the external form — there was no depth whatever beneath ; she possessed not that reality of religion which can exist and yet discard the externals altogether if need be. She counted as heathen all such persons as did not go to church, and, whether in reality or in mere pretence no one knew, avoided all contact with such persons. She detected heresy in, and considered as dangerous, every word that was outside her own small and select vocabulary. She trained her only daughter according to her own views, choosing her company for her, barring her life and intercourse at every corner, lest the girl might prove herself literally a daughter of Eve in allowing herself to be beguiled by the or any serpent.

She easily managed such restrictions as long as Deborah could be kept in the nursery or under a governess ; but when the child was growing out of girlhood, a difficult problem arose for the mother. She knew that she could not keep her daughter always by herself, or else she would have continued having a governess in the house under her own eye. Deborah must, like other girls, spend some time away from home — but, where to send her % Mrs. Whitforde sent everywhere for prospectuses of schools, and shoals of such arrived from all parts of the kingdom, but it was long ere the mother could decide. At last this adver tisement met with her favour and approval — " The Hermitage, Mount Moriah. High-class boarding establishment for a very limited number of young ladies, the number never to exceed seven.

Only daughters of clergymen or girls from strictly Christian homes are eligible. Isolated situation — nearest dwellings are six miles from school. The school is provided with its own chapel, in which all divine services are held. Only lady teachers are employed. The moral and religious training of the boarders is under the unceasing superveillance A RELIGIOUS WOMAN 23 of Miss Prudence, Miss Peace, and Miss Patience St. John. No letterwriting on Sundays." To this school Deborah Whitforde was despatched, with maternal letters to the authorities, soliciting even more special attention and care in the case of her particular child, as, to use her own words, " Providence has put special temptation in Deborah's way, since it has seen fit to allot to her a specially beautiful face — a face, which, I fear, like all lusts of the flesh, will prove a snare to the poor child."

"My dear Deborah," — wrote Mrs. Whitforde, after her daughter had been nearly a year away, — " You may be sure that my heart is greatly cheered with the good accounts I weekly get of all you are doing at school. I knew you would hke being with such excellent people. I have a piece of good news to give you. Your cousin, Stella Morris, from India, is coining to live with us. I am glad to think you will have a companion about your own age ; and Stella, I am sure, from what I know of her parents, must be a very well-trained girl. Her father and mother both died very Poor child ! her journey will have been very sad and lonely for her. This is just another instance, Deborah, of the transiency of all things earthly, showing us what a little hold we have of everything here. I miss you greatly, but I just try to find more to do with all my church work ; besides, I know that the training you are getting is for your lasting good.

I am glad to hear that your memory is specially good at remember ing the Scriptures — this is, my dear, the result of your early careful training. It would cheer me greatly if you got the Scripture prize, as well as the music one you are trying for. I am longing for you to help me to improve the singing in our girls' Bible class. The vacation will very soon be here, and we shall see each other again. God bless you. — Your affectionate Mother."

Chapter IV

counter-attraction gpg-J-__^-_gES_|^HE Rectory, occupied by the Rev. Peter Ifwui Penfolde, his two daughters and two sons, I^yl 3*,Vvt? was a quaint, comfortable dwelling enclosed IIh&I TLttP an old-fashioned pretty garden. Its low itiF-^i Cp^ garden - walls, its old trees, its flowering dsbisd^sSSsO bushes irregularly growing here and there, gave it an air of peaceful rusticity, and lent it that peculiarly inviting charm which is so often absent in the artificial symmetry of many of our more modern gardens. Ruth Penfolde, the second eldest daughter, was the one of the family that seemed to correspond most with her surroundings. She was a pretty, sunny, loving-hearted child of nature, never happier than when freely wandering about the old garden, as free and perhaps as careless as the butterflies that fluttered about the richly-laden flowers, or the birds that, warbling, hopped from branch to branch.

Mrs. Penfolde had died when Ruth was quite a baby, and the girl had grown up pretty much as the plants do. She was the sunshine of her father's life, the last gift of his wife to him, and he never troubled his little Ruth much, nor was he the least anxious about her as long as he saw her happy — her happiness seemed the visible proof of an innate and overflowing goodness. Martha Penfolde, as is often the case, presented a very strong contrast to her sister. Judging from appearances, she CO UNTER-A TTRA CT10N 25 was as precise, constrained, and serious as Ruth was free, natural, and gay. She was in the eyes of Mrs. Whitforde a pattern girl, a real clergyman's daughter, a " good " girl, and, as such, she and Mrs. Whitforde pulled very well together, managing the little world of the church pretty much between them.