CHAPTER X.
"IT IS THE VOICE OF SHEILA."
"In the grey old chapel cloister I sit and muse alone, Till the dial's time-worn fingers Mark the moment when we twain Shall in paradisal sunlight Walk together, once again."
HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.
There was no doubt that both Waveney and Mollie found their guestamusing. His views of life were so original, and there was such a quietvein of humour running through his talk that, after a time, little pealsof girlish laughter reached Ann's ears. It was Mollie who first struckthe key-note of discord.
Mr. Ingram had been speaking of a celebrated singer whom he had heard inParis.
"She is to sing at St. James' Hall next Saturday week," he went on."They say the place will be packed. A friend of mine has some tickets athis bestowal if you and your sister would care to go." As usual headdressed Waveney; but Mollie's face grew very long.
"Oh, dear, how nice it would have been!" she sighed; "but Waveney isgoing away;" and her eyes filled with tears.
"Going away!" he echoed in surprise.
"Yes. She is going to be a reader and companion to a lady living atErpingham, and she will only come home on Sundays;" and then a big tearrolled down Mollie's smooth cheek and dropped into her lap. "And we havenever been apart for a single day!" She finished with a little sob.
"Dear Mollie, hush," whispered Waveney. "We ought not to trouble Mr.Ingram with our little worries. Erpingham is a nice place," shecontinued, trying to speak cheerfully. "Do you know it?"
"Oh, yes," he returned, quickly. "Most people know it. There is a finecommon, and some golf links, and there are some big houses there."
"Yes; but the Red House is in Erpingham Lane."
Then Mr. Ingram started.
"I think some ladies of the name of Harford live there," he said,carelessly. "Two are very much given to good works."
"Oh, do you know them?" asked Waveney, eagerly; but it struck her thathe evaded the question.
"We have mutual friends," he replied, rather stiffly. "They areexcellent women, and do an immense amount of good. They have a sort ofhome for broken-down governesses, and they do a lot for shop-women. Ihave an immense respect for people who do that sort of thing,"recovering his sprightliness. "I tried slumming once myself, but I hadto give it up; it was not my vocation. The boys called me 'Guy Fawkes,'and that hurt my feelings. By the bye," as they both laughed at this, "Ihave never explained the purport of my visit. I understood from yoursister," and here he looked at Waveney, "that Mr. Ward had a picture forsale. 'King Canute,' was it not? Well, a friend of mine has apicture-gallery, and he is always buying pictures. He wants to fill up avacant place in an alcove, and he suggested some early Englishhistorical subject. He has an 'Alfred toasting the cakes in theswine-herd's cottage,' and a 'St. Augustine looking at the Saxon slavesin the market-place,' and it struck me that 'King Canute' would be anexcellent subject."
"What lots of friends you seem to have!" remarked Mollie, innocently."There is the one who shoots pheasant, and the one who buys menu cards,and now another who buys pictures."
Ingram looked a little embarrassed, but he was amused too.
"One can't knock about the world without making friends," he said,lightly. "Do you recollect what Apolinarius says: 'for I am the only oneof my friends I rely on.' But the Chinese have a better maxim still:'There are plenty of acquaintances in the world, but very few realfriends.'"
"Is the picture friend only an acquaintance?" asked Mollie, ratherprovokingly.
"No, indeed," returned Ingram, energetically. "We are like brothers, heand I, and I have known him all my life. Well, Miss Mollie, do you thinkyour father would be willing to let my friend have 'King Canute'? It isa famous subject, and brings back the memories of one's school days;"and then he walked to the picture and stood before it, as though hewere fascinated; but in reality he was saying to himself, "Now, what amI to offer for this very mawkish and stilted performance?" And thequestion was so perplexing that he fell into a brown study.
Mollie looked at her sister. She was brimful of excitement. But Waveneyshook her head.
"Would it not be better for your friend to see the picture first?" shesaid, in a cool, business-like tone; but inwardly she was just asexcited as Mollie. Ten pounds would pay all they owe to Barber, andChandler would wait. "I am sure that father would be pleased to see anyone who cared to look at the picture," she finished, boldly.
Mr. Ingram regarded her pleasantly.
"You are very good, but there is not the slightest occasion to troubleyou. I am my friend's agent in this sort of thing. I have been abroad agood deal, and have served my apprenticeship to art. I am an art critic,don't you know. Now, would you mind telling me, Miss Ward, how much yourfather expected to get from the dealers?"
"I don't know," returned Waveney, doubtfully. "There was no fixed price,was there, Mollie? Father told us that he would be content with tenpounds."
"My dear Miss Ward," returned Ingram, in a tone of strong remonstrance,"your father undervalues himself. Ten pounds for that work of art!Heaven forgive me all the fibs I am telling," he added, mentally, andthen he cleared his throat. "I am no Jew, and must decline to drive ahard bargain. If Mr. Ward will let my friend have 'King Canute,' I shallbe willing to pay, on his behalf, five-and-twenty pounds: Imean"--looking calmly at the girl's agitated face--"five-and-twentyguineas."
They were too overwhelmed with surprise and pleasure to answer him; andjust at that moment--that supreme moment--they heard their father'slatch-key.
Ingram described the little scene later on to a dear friend.
"It was Atalanta's race, don't you know. They both wanted to reach theirfather first; he was the golden apple, _pro tem_.
"The lame Miss Ward had long odds, but my little-friend of the omnibusbeat her hollow. Can you fancy Titania coming down her ladder ofcobwebs? Well, you should see Miss Ward number two, runningdownstairs--it would give you a notion of it. And there was the goldenapple on the door-mat waiting for her."
"You are very absurd," returned his hearer, laughing, "but yourdescription amuses me, so please go on."
"There is something very refreshing in such originality," he murmured,languidly. "I have an idea that Gwen would love those girls. Gwen is allfor nature and reality. Conventionality might have suggested that it washardly mannerly to leave a guest in an empty room, even for goldenapples, but no such idea would have occurred to the Misses Ward. Theyeven forgot that sound ascends, and that I could hear every word."
"Dear me, that was very awkward!" But the lady spoke maliciously.
"I could hear every word," he repeated, and then his eyes twinkled; buthe was honourable enough not to repeat the little conversation.
"Father, Monsieur Blackie is upstairs!" and here Mollie giggled. "Hisreal name is Ingram, but Ann calls him Mr. Ink-pen."
"All right, my pet; so I suppose I had better go upstairs;" but Waveneypulled him back.
"Wait a moment, father dear. What a hurry you are in! And your hair isso rough, and your coat is dusty. Give me the brush, Mollie. We must puthim tidy. Dad, such a wonderful thing has happened. Mr. Ingram wants tobuy King Canute 'for a rich friend who has a picture-gallery,' and hewill pay you five-and-twenty guineas."
"Nonsense, child!" But from his tone Mr. Ward was becoming excited too."Let me pass, Mollie; you are forgetting your manners, children, leavinga visitor alone;" and Everard Ward marched into the studio, with hishead unusually high.
"The 'golden apple,' _alias_ Ward _pere_, was a shabby, fair little manwith a face like a Greek god," continued Ingram. "He must have been aperfect Adonis in his youth. He had brown pathetic eyes, rather like aspaniel's--you know what I mean, eyes that seemed always to be saying,'I am a good fellow, though I am down on my luck, and I should like tobe friends with you.'"
It was evident that the two men took to each other at once. Ingram'spleasant manners and undisguised cordiality put Mr. Ward at his ease,and in a few minut
es they were talking as though they were old friends.
The subject of 'King Canute' was soon brought forward again, and Ingramexplained matters with a good deal of tact and _finesse_.
Everard Ward reddened, and then he said bluntly, "You are very good, Mr.Ingram, to offer me such a handsome price, but sheer honesty compels meto say the picture is not worth more than ten pounds. I have not workedout the subject as well as I could wish." And then he added, a littlesadly, "It is a poor thing, but my own."
"My dear sir," returned Ingram, airily, "we artists are bad critics ofour own work. My friends regard me as an optimist, but I call myself anIdealist. I am a moral Sisyphus, for ever rolling my poor stone up thehill difficulty." Then, as he noticed Mollie's puzzled look, hecontinued blandly, "Sisyphus was a fraudulent and avaricious king ofCorinth, whose task in the world of shades is to roll a large stone tothe top of a hill and fix it there. The unpleasant part of the businessis that the stone no sooner reaches the hill-top than it bounds downagain. Excuse this lengthy description, which reminds me a little ofSandford and Merton. But, _revenons a nos moutons_, I am ready, Mr.Ward, to take the picture for my friend at the price I mentioned to yourdaughters; and as I have the money about me"--and here he produced aRussian leather pocket-book--"I think we had better settle our businessat once."
Everard Ward was only human, and the bait was too tempting. Hisconscience told him that the picture was a failure, and hardly worthmore than the cost of the frame; and yet such is the vanity innate inman that he was willing to delude himself with the fancy that thestranger's eyes had detected merit in it. And, indeed, Ingram's mannerwould have deceived any one.
"It is the very thing he wants for the alcove," he murmured, steppingback a few paces, and regarding the picture through half closed eyes."The light will be just right, and"--here he appeared to swallowsomething with difficulty--"the effect will be extremely good." And thenhe began counting the crisp bank-notes.
Waveney's eyes began to sparkle, and she and Mollie telegraphed littlemessages to each other. Not only the insolent Barker would be paid, butthe much-enduring Chandler. When Mr. Ward went downstairs to open thedoor for his guest, Waveney threw her arm round her sister, and draggedher down upon Grumps.
"Oh, Mollie, I quite love that dear little Monsieur Blackie!" she cried,enthusiastically. "Think of ten whole pounds to spend! Father can have anew great-coat, and Noel those boots he wants so dreadfully, and youmust have a new jacket--I insist on it, Mollie; I shall do very wellwith my old one until Christmas." But Mollie would not hear of this fora moment: if any one had the new jacket, it must be Waveney. What did itmatter what a poor, little Cinderella wore at home? And they both got sohot and excited over the generous conflict that Mr. Ward thought theywere quarrelling until he saw their faces.
"I like that fellow," he said, rubbing his hands; "he is gentlemanly andagreeable; he told me in confidence that, though he calls himself anartist, he only dabbles in art. 'If a relative had not left me a nicelittle property, I should long ago have been in Queer Street,' he said,in his droll way."
"Oh, then he is not poor as we are?" observed Mollie, in a disappointedtone.
"No, he is certainly not poor," returned her father, laughing. "I shouldthink he is tolerably well-to-do, judging from appearances, andcertainly he has rich friends. He has asked my permission to call againwhen he is in the neighbourhood;" and both the girls were pleased tohear this.
Waveney had not seen her old friends at the Hospital for more than aweek, so one morning she went across to wish them good-bye. She had alittle cake that Mollie had made for them, and some tobacco that she hadbought with her own money.
It was a wet day, and most of the pensioners were in the big hall. Oneof them told Waveney that Sergeant McGill was in his cubicle with thecorporal, as usual, in attendance. "They do say the sergeant's a bitpoorly," continued her informant. And a moment afterwards she came uponCorporal Marks, stumping along the corridor with a newspaper in hishand. The little man looked dejected, but he saluted Waveney with hisusual dignity.
"I hear the sergeant is not well. I trust it is nothing serious." Thenthe corporal shook his head, and his blue eyes were a little watery.
"Well, no, Miss Ward, not to say serious--we are none of us chickens, soto speak, and we have most of us cut our wisdom teeth a good many yearsago. The sergeant has been poorly for a week now. He is down in themouth, and I can't rouse him nohow. Would you believe it, Miss Ward, Iwas trying to argify with him this morning about that there Sepoy. 'Forit stands to reason, McGill,' I said to him, 'that there could only betwo of them;' and he fairly flew at me, lost his temper, and told me Iwas an infernal liar. Why, you might have knocked me down with afeather, I was so taken aback;" and the corporal's droll face waspuckered up with care.
"Never mind, Corporal," returned Waveney, soothingly. "McGill was illand not himself, or he would not have been so irritable with his oldcomrade. Look here, I have come to bid you all good-bye, because I amgoing away; and my sister has made you one of those cakes you like, andI have brought you some tobacco." Then the corporal's face cleared alittle.
They found the old soldier lying on his bed, with a rug over his feet;his face looked drawn and pallid. At the sound of Waveney's light stephe turned his sightless eyes towards her, and a strange expressionpassed over his features.
"There was only one step that was as light," he murmured, in his thick,soft voice, "and that was Sheila's, and hers hardly brushed the dewdropsfrom the heather." Then, as Waveney took hold of his great hand, "and itwas her small fingers, too, the brown little hands that carried thecreel of peat, and stacked it underneath the eaves; and it is Sheilathat has come to me--Heaven bless her sweet face!--before I take thelong journey."
"My dear old friend, do you not know me?" and Waveney looked anxiouslyat him. "It is not Sheila, it is Miss Ward who has come to wish yougood-bye." Then the old man looked bewildered, and raised himself on thepillow.
"And are you ferry well, Miss Ward? And it is I who have made themistake, like the old fool that I was. It may be I was dreaming--I wasalways clever at the dreams, as the corporal knows. But it seemed to meas though I could see the blue water of the loch, and the grey walls ofour cottage, and the shingly roofs, and even the cocks and hens peckingin the dust. And there was Sheila coming up from the beach, with herbare feet, and red kerchief tied over her dark hair; and her smile waslike sunshine, and her hands were full of great scarlet poppies. And ifit was a dream, it was a good dream."
"Was Sheila your sister?" asked Waveney, softly. For she knew thatSergeant McGill had never been married, though the corporal was awidower. Then, at the beloved name, McGill roused to completeconsciousness.
"No, Miss Ward. I had no sister, only six brothers, and Sheila was thelass of my heart; and when I had got my stripes we were to have married.But it was my fate, for when I came from the wars, there was the loch,and the purple moors, and the grey walls of the cottage; but Sheila, shewould never come to meet me again with the poppies in her hand, and thewild rose in her cheek. She lay in the graveyard on the hillside, wherethe dead can hear the bees humming in the heather. But it is not thegoot manners to be telling you of the old troubles, and very soon it isSheila herself that I shall see."
"Tell Miss Ward the message that Sheila left with her mother, McGill."
"It was this that she said," he continued, in a proud tone, "'You mustbid Fergus McGill not to grieve; he is a grand soldier and a good lad,and dearly I would have loved to have been his wife. But God's will bedone. Tell him I will be near the gates; and that if the angels permit,that it is Sheila who will be there to welcome him.'"
"That message must have made you very happy," returned Waveney,tenderly.
"They were goot words, and I do not deny that they have given mecomfort," replied McGill, solemnly. "But for years I had a heavy heart;for when a Highlander loses the lass of his heart, the world is a barrenplace to him. But it is the truth that Sheila has spoken, and it isherself that I shall see,
with these dim old eyes."
He sank back a little heavily on the pillows. Waveney leant over him andspoke gently in his ear.
"McGill," she said, in her clear, girlish voice, "do you know you havehurt the poor corporal's feelings. You were angry with him this morning,and called him names."
Then there was a flush of shame on the grand old face.
"It was myself that was in fault, Miss Ward, for I lost my temper. Butit is not the corporal who will quarrel with his old comrade. It was theliar that I called him, but it was I who disgraced myself."
"Never mind, old mate, I was wrong to argify, and so we are quits there.For it stands to reason," continued the corporal, "that when a man ispoorly, he is not in a condition for fighting."
"Still, it was the bad manners to be calling any one a liar," returnedSergeant McGill. "But a Highlander's temper is not always under control.So I ask your pardon, Marks, but it was three Sepoys that I killed withmy own hand, and I had the third by the throat."
"Dear Sergeant," interposed Waveney, softly, "Corporal Marks quiteunderstands all that; and what does it matter?--a little differencebetween two old friends!" Then a strangely sweet smile lighted up thewrinkled old face.
"It is the voice of Sheila. And what will she be saying again and again:'Blessed are the peace-makers'--and they are grand words."
"Shall I read to you a little?" asked the girl, timidly. Then thecorporal took down an old brown Testament from the shelf, and Waveneyread slowly and reverently, passage after passage, until the heavybreathing told her that McGill was asleep. Then she closed the book andwent out into the corridor.
"He is very ill," she said, sorrowfully; "so feeble and so unlikehimself." But the corporal refuted this stoutly.
"McGill is but poorly," he returned, so gruffly that Waveney did notventure to say more. "When he has taken a bottle or two of the doctor'sstuff, he will pick up a bit; he sleeps badly, and that makes him drowsyand confused," and then he saluted, and stumped back to his comrade.
Waveney heard a different story downstairs.
"Have you seen McGill?" two or three said to her. "The poor chap, he isbreaking fast. The corporal won't believe it, but it is plain as apike-staff;" and so on.
"Mollie, dear," observed Waveney, sadly, "I have such bad news to tellyou: dear old Sergeant McGill is very ill, and I fear he is going todie; and what will the corporal do without him? And it is so strange;"she went on, "he thinks he is a lad again, in his Highland home, andthat his sweetheart Sheila is coming to meet him. He calls her the lassof his heart, and it is all so poetical and beautiful;" and Waveney'svoice was so full of pathos that Mollie's eyes filled with sympathetictears.
Mollie's Prince: A Novel Page 11
