Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XI

  A MORNING SERVICE

  Mr. Fregelius replied he was as well as could be expected; that thedoctor said no complications were likely to ensue, but that here uponthis very bed he must lie for at least two months. "That," he added, "isa sad thing to have to say to a man into whose house you have driftedlike a log into a pool of the rocks."

  "It is not my house, but my father's, who is at present in France,"answered Morris. "But I can only say on his behalf that both you andyour daughter are most welcome until you are well enough to move to theRectory."

  "Why should I not go there at once?" interrupted Stella. "I could comeeach day and see my father."

  "No, no, certainly not," said Morris. "How could you live alone in thatgreat, empty house?"

  "I am not afraid of being alone," she answered, smiling; "but let itbe as you like, Mr. Monk--at any rate, until you grow tired of us, andchange your mind."

  Then Mr. Fregelius told Morris what he had not yet heard--that when itbecame known that they had deserted Stella, leaving her to drown inthe sinking ship, the attentions of the inhabitants of Monksland to thecowardly foreign sailors became so marked that their consul at Northwoldhad thought it wise to get them out of the place as quickly as possible.While this story was in progress Stella left the room to speak to thenurse who had been engaged to look after her father at night.

  Afterwards, at the request of Mr. Fregelius, Morris told the tale ofhis daughter's rescue. In the course of it he mentioned how he found herstanding on the deck of the sinking ship and singing a Norse song, whichshe had informed him was an ancient death-dirge.

  The old clergyman turned his head and sighed.

  "What is the matter?" asked Morris.

  "Nothing, Mr. Monk; only that song is unlucky in my family, and I hopedthat she had forgotten it."

  Morris looked at him blankly.

  "You don't understand--how should you? But, Mr. Monk, there are strangethings and strange people in this world, and I think that my daughterStella is one of the strangest of them. Fey like the rest--only a feyNorse woman would sing in such a moment."

  Again Morris looked at him.

  "Oh, it is an old northern term, and means foreseeing, and foredoomed.To my knowledge her grandmother, her mother, and her sister, all threeof them, sang or repeated that song when in some imminent danger totheir lives, and all three of them were dead within the year. Thecoincidence is unpleasant."

  "Surely," said Morris, with a smile, "you who are a clergyman, canscarcely believe in such superstition?"

  "No, I am not superstitious, and I don't believe in it; but the thingrecalls unhappy memories. They have been death-lovers, all of them. Inever heard of a case of one of that family who showed the slightestfear at the approach of death; and some have greeted it with eagerness."

  "Well," said Morris, "would not that mean only that their spiritualsight is a little clearer than ours, and their faith a little stronger?Theoretically, we should all of us wish to die."

  "Quite so, yet we are human, and don't. But she is safe, thanks toyou, who but for you would now be gone. My head is still weak fromthat blow--you must pay no attention to me. I think that I hear Stellacoming; you will say nothing to her--about that song, I mean--will you?We never talk of it in my family."

  When, still stiff and sore from his adventure in the open boat, Morriswent to bed, it was clear to his mind after careful consideration thatfortune had made him the host of an exceedingly strange couple. OfMr. Fregelius he was soon able to form an estimate distinct enough,although, for aught he knew, it might be erroneous. The clergymanstruck him as a person of some abilities who had been doomed to muchdisappointment and suffered from many sorrows. Doubtless his talentshad not proved to be of a nature to advance him in the world. Probably,indeed--and here Morris's hazard was correct--he was a scholar anda bookworm without individuality, to whom fate had assigned minorpositions in a profession, which, however sincere his faith, he wasscarcely fitted to adorn.

  The work of a clergyman in a country parish if it is to succeed, shouldbe essentially practical, and this man was not practical. Clearly,thought Morris, he was one of those who beat their wings against thebars with the common result; it was the wings that suffered, the barsonly grew a trifle brighter. Then it seemed that he had lost a wife towhom he was attached, and the child who remained to him, although heloved her and clung to her, he did not altogether understand. So it cameabout, perhaps, that he had fallen under the curses of loneliness andcontinual apprehension; and in this shadow where he was doomed to walk,flourished forebodings and regrets, drawing their strength from hisstarved nature like fungi from a tree outgrown and fallen in the forest.

  Mr. Fregelius, so thought Morris, was timid and reticent, because hedared not discover his heart, that had been so sorely trampled by Fateand Fortune. Yet he had a heart which, if he could find a confessor whomhe could trust, he longed to ease in confidence. For the rest, the man'sphysical frame, not too robust at any time, was shattered, and with ithis nerve--sudden shipwreck, painful accident, the fierce alternativesof hope and fear; then at last a delirium of joy at the recovery of onewhom he thought dead, had done their work with him; and in this brokenstate some ancient, secret superstition became dominant, and, strive ashe would to suppress it, even in the presence of a stranger, had burstfrom his lips in hints of unsubstantial folly.

  Such was the father, or such he appeared to Morris, but of the daughterwhat could be said? Without doubt she was a woman of strange andimpressive power. At this very moment her sweet voice, touched with thatcontinual note of pleading, still echoed in his brain. And the dark,quiet eyes that now slept, and now shone large, as her thoughts fledthrough them, like some mysterious sky at night in which the summerlightning pulses intermittently! Who might forget those eyes that oncehad seen them? Already he wished to be rid of their haunting and couldnot. Then her beauty--how unusual it was, yet how rich and satisfying tothe eye and sense; in some ways almost Eastern notwithstanding her Norseblood!

  Often Morris had read or heard of the bewildering power of women, whichfor his part hitherto he had been inclined to attribute to shallow andvery common causes, such as underlie all animate nature. Yet that ofStella--for undoubtedly she had power--suggested another interpretationto his mind. Or was it, after all, nothing but a variant, one of theProtean shapes of the ancient, life-compelling mystery? And her strangechant, the song of which her father made light, but feared so much; herquick insight into the workings of his own thought; her courage in theface of danger and sharp physical miseries; her charm, her mastery. Whatwas he to make of them? Lastly, why did he think so much about her?It was not his habit where strangers were concerned. And why had sheawakened in his somewhat solitary and secluded mind a sympathy sounusual that it seemed to him that he had known her for years and notfor hours?

  Pondering these things and the fact that perhaps within the coming weekshe would find out their meaning, Morris went to sleep. When he awokenext morning his mood had changed. Somewhat vaguely he remembered hisperturbations of the previous night indeed, but now they only moved himto a smile. Their reasons were so obvious. Such exaggerated estimatesand thoughts follow strange adventures--and in all its detailsthis adventure was very strange--as naturally as nightmares followindigestion.

  Presently Thomas came to call him, and brought up his letters, amongthem one from Mary containing nothing in particular, for, of course,it had been despatched before her telegram, but written in her usualhumorous style, which made him laugh aloud.

  There was a postscript to the letter screwed into the unoccupied spacebetween the date line and the "Dearest Morris" at its commencement. Itran:

  "How would you like to spend our honeymoon? In a yacht in theMediterranean? I think that would do. There is nothing like solitude ina wretched little boat to promote mutual understanding. If yourdevotion could stand the strain of a dishevelled and seasick spouse, ourmatrimonial future has no terrors for your loving Mary."

  As
Morris read he ceased to laugh. "Yes," he thought to himself,"'solitude in a wretched little boat' does promote mutual understanding.I am not certain that it does not promote it too much." Then, with anaccess of irritation, "Bother the people! I wish I could be rid of them;the whole thing seems likely to become a worry."

  Next he took up a letter from his father, which, when perused, did notentertain him in the least. There was nothing about Lady Rawlins in it,of whom he longed to hear, or thought that he did; nothing about thatentrancing personality, the bibulous and violent Sir Jonah, now so meekand lamblike, but plenty, whole pages indeed, as to details connectedwith the estate. Also it contained a goodly sprinkling of sarcasms andgrumblings at his, Morris's, bad management of various little matterswhich the Colonel considered important. Most of all, however, was hisparent indignant at his neglect to furnish him with details sufficientlyample of the progress of the new buildings. Lastly, he desired, byreturn of post, a verbatim report of the quarrel that, as he wasinformed, had occurred on the school board when a prominent RomanCatholic threatened to throw an inkstand at a dissenting minister who,_coram populo_, called him the son of "a Babylonian woman."

  By the time that Morris had finished this epistle, and two otherswhich accompanied it, he was in no mood for further reflections of anunpractical or dreamy nature. Who can wonder when it is stated thatthey contained, respectively, a summary demand for the amount of aconsiderable bill which he imagined he had paid, and a request that hewould read a paper before a "Science Institute" upon the possibilitiesof aerial telephones, made by a very unpleasing lady whom he had oncemet at a lawn-tennis party? Indeed it would not be too much to say thatif anyone had given him the opportunity he would have welcomed a chanceto quarrel, especially with the lady of the local Institute. Thus, curedof all moral distempers, and every tendency to speculate on femininecharms, hidden or overt, did he descend to the Sabbath breakfast.

  That morning Morris accompanied Stella to church, where the serviceswere still being performed by a stop-gap left by Mr. Tomley. Here,again, Stella was a surprise to him, for now her demeanour, and at alittle distance her appearance also, were just such as mark ninety-eightout of every hundred clergyman's daughters in the country. So quietand reserved was she that anyone meeting her that morning might haveimagined that she was hurrying from the accustomed Bible-class to sitamong her pupils in the church. This impression indeed was, as it were,certificated by an old-fashioned silk fichu that she had been obliged toborrow, which in bygone years had been worn by Morris's mother.

  Once in church, however, matters changed. To begin with, finding itwarm, Stella threw off the fichu, greatly to the gain of her personalappearance. Next, it became evident that the beauties of the ancientbuilding appealed to her, which was not wonderful; for these old,seaside, eastern counties churches, relics of long past wealth andpiety, are some of them among the most beautiful in the world. Then camethe "Venite," of which here and there she sang a line or so, just oneor two rich notes like those that a thrush utters before he bursts intofull song. Rare as they might be, however, they caused those about herin the church to look at the strange singer wonderingly.

  After this, in the absence of his father, Morris read the lessons, andalthough, being blessed with a good voice, this was a duty which heperformed creditably enough, that day he went through it with a certainsense of nervousness. Why he was nervous at first he did not guess;till, chancing to glance up, he became aware that Miss Fregelius waslooking at him out of her half-closed eyes. What is more, she waslistening critically, and with much intenseness, whereupon, instantly,he made a mistake and put a false accent on a name.

  In due course, the lessons done with, they reached the first hymn, whichwas one that scarcely seemed to please his companion; at any rate,she shut the book and would not sing. In the case of the second hymn,however, matters were different. This time she did not even open thebook. It was evident that she knew the words, perhaps among the mostbeautiful in the whole collection, by heart. The reader will probably beacquainted with them. They begin:

  "And now, O Father, mindful of the love That bought us, once for all, on Calvary's tree."

  At first Stella sang quite low, as though she wished to repress herpowers. Now, as it happened, at Monksland the choir was feeble, butinoffensive; whereas the organ was a good, if a worn and neglectedinstrument, suited to the great but sparsely peopled church, and theorganist, a man who had music in his soul. Low as she was singing, hecaught the sound of Stella's voice, and knew at once that before him wasa woman who in a supreme degree possessed the divinest gift, perhaps,with which Nature can crown her sex, the power and gift of song.Forgetting his wretched choir, he began to play to her. She seemed tonote the invitation, and at once answered to it.

  "Look, Father, look on His anointed face,"

  swelled from her throat in deep contralto notes, rich as those the organechoed.

  But the full glory of the thing, that surpassing music which setMonksland talking for a week, was not reached till she came to the thirdverse. Perhaps the pure passion and abounding humanity of its spiritmoved her. Perhaps by this time she was the thrall of her own song.Perhaps she had caught the look of wonder and admiration on the faceof Morris, and was determined to show him that she had other music atcommand besides that of pagan death-chants. At least, she sang up andout, till her notes dominated those of the choir, which seemed to be butan accompaniment to them; till they beat against the ancient roof anddown the depth of the long nave, to be echoed back as though from thegolden trumpets of the angels that stood above the tower screen; tilleven the village children ceased from whispers and playing to listenopen-mouthed.

  "And then for those, our dearest and best, By this prevailing Presence we appeal; O! fold them closer to Thy mercy's breast, O! do Thine utmost, for their souls' true weal; From tainting mischief keep them white and clear, And crown Thy gifts with strength to persevere."

  It was as her voice lingered upon the deep tones of these last wordsthat suddenly Stella seemed to become aware that practically she wassinging a solo; that at any rate no one else in the congregation wascontributing a note. Then she was vexed, or perhaps a panic took her;at least, not another word of that hymn passed her lips. In vain theorganist paused and looked round indignantly; the little boys, theclerk, and the stout coach-builder were left to finish it by themselves,with results that by contrast were painful.

  When Stella came out of church, redraped in the antique and unbecomingfichu, she found herself the object of considerable attention. Indeed,upon one pretext and another nearly all the congregation seemed tobe lingering about the porch and pathway to stare at the new parson'sshipwrecked daughter when she appeared. Among them was Miss Layard,and with her the delicate brother. They were staying to lunch with theStop-gap's meek little wife. Indeed, this self-satisfied and somewhatacrimonious lady, Miss Layard, engaged Morris in conversation, andpointedly asked him to introduce her to Miss Fregelius.

  "We are to be neighbours, you know," she explained, "for we live at theHall in the next parish, not more than a mile away."

  "Indeed," answered Stella, who did not seem much impressed.

  "My brother and I hope to call upon Mr. Fregelius and yourself assoon as possible, but I thought I would not wait for that to have thepleasure of making your acquaintance."

  "You are very kind indeed," said Stella simply. "At present, I amafraid, it is not much use calling upon my father, as he is in bed witha broken thigh; also, we are not at the Rectory. Until he can be movedwe are only guests at the Abbey," and she looked at Morris, who addedrather grumpily, by way of explanation:

  "Of course, Miss Layard, you have heard about the wreck of theTrondhjem, and how those foreign sailors saw the light in my workshopand brought Mr. Fregelius to the Abbey."

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Monk, and how they left Miss Fregelius behind, and youwent to fetch her, and all sorts of strange things happened to you. Wethink it quite wonderful and romantic. I am writin
g to dear Miss Porsonto tell her about it, because I am sure that you are too modest to singyour own praises."

  Morris grew angry. At the best of times he disliked Miss Layard. Nowhe began to detest her, and to long for the presence of Mary, whounderstood how to deal with that not too well-bred young person.

  "You really needn't have troubled," he answered. "I have alreadywritten."

  "Then my epistle will prove a useful commentary. If I were engaged to amodern hero I am sure I could not hear too much about him, and," fixingher eyes upon the black silk fichu, "the heroine of the adventure."

  Meanwhile, Stella was being engaged by the brother, who surveyed herwith pale, admiring eyes which did not confine their attentions to thefichu.

  "Monk is always an awfully lucky fellow," he said. "Just fancy hisgetting the chance of doing all that, and finding you waiting on theship at the end of it," he added, with desperate and emphatic gallantry."There's to be a whole column about it in the 'Northwold Times'to-morrow. I wish the thing had come my way, that's all."

  "Unless you understand how to manage a boat in a heavy sea, and thewinds and tides of this coast thoroughly, I don't think that you shouldwish that, Mr. Layard," said Stella.

  "Why not?" he asked sharply. As a matter of fact the little man was amiserable sailor and suspected her of poking fun at him.

  "Because you would have been drowned, Mr. Layard, and lying at thebottom of the North Sea among the dogfish and conger-eels this morninginstead of sitting comfortably in church."

  Mr. Layard started and stared at her. Evidently this lady's imaginationwas as vivid as it was suggestive.

  "I say, Miss Fregelius," he said, "you don't put things verypleasantly."

  "No, I am afraid not, but then drowning isn't pleasant. I have been nearit very lately, and I thought a great deal about those conger-eels.And sudden death isn't pleasant, and perhaps--unless you are very,very good, as I daresay you are--what comes after it may not be quitepleasant. All of which has to be thought of before one goes to sea inan open boat in winter, on the remotest chance of saving a stranger'slife--hasn't it?"

  Somehow Mr. Layard felt distinctly smaller.

  "I daresay one wouldn't mind it at a pinch," he muttered; "Monk isn'tthe only plucky fellow in the world."

  "I am sure you would not, Mr. Layard," replied Stella in a gentlervoice, "still these things must be considered upon such occasions and agood many others."

  "A brave man doesn't think, he acts," persisted Mr. Layard.

  "No," replied Stella, "a foolish man doesn't think, a brave man thinksand sees, and still acts--at least, that is how it strikes me, althoughperhaps I have no right to an opinion. But Mr. Monk is going on, so Imust say good-morning."

  "Are many of the ladies about here so inquisitive, and the younggentlemen so?"--"decided" she was going to say, but changed the word to"kind"--asked Stella of Morris as they walked homeward.

  "Ladies!" snapped Morris. "Miss Layard isn't a lady, and never will be;she has neither birth nor breeding, only good looks of a sort and money.I should like," he added, viciously--"I should like to shut her into herown coal mine."

  Stella laughed, which was a rare thing with her--usually she onlysmiled--as she answered:

  "I had no idea you were so vindictive, Mr. Monk. And what would you liketo do with Mr. Layard?"

  "Oh! I--never thought much about him. He is an ignorant, uneducatedlittle fellow, but worth two of his sister, all the same. After all,he's got a heart. I have known him do kind things, but she has nothingbut a temper."

  Meanwhile, at the luncheon table of the Stop-gap the new and mysteriousarrival, Miss Fregelius, was the subject of fierce debate.

  "Pretty! I don't call her pretty," said Miss Layard; "she has fine eyes,that is all, and they do not look quite right. What an extraordinarygarment she had on, too; it might have come out of Noah's Ark."

  "I fancy," suggested the hostess, a mild little woman, "that it came outof the wardrobe of the late Mrs. Monk. You know, Miss Fregelius lost allher things in that ship."

  "Then if I were she I should have stopped at home until I got some newones," snapped Miss Layard.

  "Perhaps everybody doesn't think so much about clothes as you do,Eliza," suggested her brother Stephen, seeing an opportunity which hewas loth to lose. Eliza, in the privacy of domestic life, was not aperson to be assailed with a light heart, but in company, when to someextent she must keep her temper under control, more might be dared.

  She shifted her chair a little, with her a familiar sign of war, andwhile searching for a repartee which would be sufficiently crushing,cast on Stephen a glance that might have turned wine into vinegar.

  Somewhat tremulously, for unless the fire could be damped before it gotfull hold, she knew what they might expect, the little hostess broke inwith--

  "What a beautiful singing voice she has, hasn't she?"

  "Who?" asked Eliza, pretending not to understand.

  "Why, Miss Fregelius, of course."

  "Oh, well, that is a matter of opinion."

  "Hang it all, Eliza!" said her brother, "there can't be two opinionsabout it, she sings like an angel."

  "Do you think so, Stephen? I should have said she sings like an operadancer."

  "Always understood that their gifts lay in their legs and not intheir throats. But perhaps you mean a prima donna," remarked Stephenreflectively.

  "No, I don't. Prima donnas are not in the habit of screeching at thetop of their voices, and then stopping suddenly to make an effect andattract attention."

  "Certainly she has attracted my attention, and I only wish I couldhear such screeching every day; it would be a great change." It maybe explained that the Layards were musical, and that each detested themusic of the other.

  "Really, Stephen," rejoined Eliza, with sarcasm as awkward as it wasmeant to be crushing, "I shall have to tell Jane Rose that she isdethroned, poor dear--beaten out of the field by a hymn-tune, a pair ofbrown eyes, and--a black silk fichu."

  This was a venomous stab, since for a distance of ten miles roundeveryone with ears to hear knew that Stephen's admiration of Miss Rosehad not ended prosperously for Stephen. The poisoned knife sank deep,and its smart drove the little pale-eyed man to fury.

  "You can tell her what you like, Eliza," he replied, for hisself-control was utterly gone; "but it won't be much use, for she'llknow what you mean. She'll know that you are jealous of Miss Fregeliusbecause she's so good looking; just as you are jealous of her, andof Mary Porson, and of anybody else who dares to be pretty and," withcrushing meaning, "to look at Morris Monk."

  Eliza gasped, then said in a tragic whisper, "Stephen, you insult me.Oh! if only we were at home, I would tell you----"

  "I have no doubt you would--you often do; but I'm not going home atpresent. I am going to the Northwold hotel."

  "Really," broke in their hostess, almost wringing her hands, "this isSunday, Mr. Layard; remember this is Sunday."

  "I am not likely to forget it," replied the maddened Stephen; but overthe rest of this edifying scene we will drop a veil.

  Thus did the advent of Stella bring with it surprises, rumours, andfamily dissensions. What else it brought remains to be told.