A Colony of Girls Part 12

The ritual impresses me so deeply, and seems to bring religion home to me in such a convincing sort of way."

"I don't think that is at all unnatural; but as time goes on, Nan, I believe you will find that your love for outside things will diminish, in proportion as your dependence upon what is deep and vital grows."

"I would not fret about it in the least if it were not for my dear father," and Nan's face grew tender as she spoke, "but I know that this disposition of mine toward forms and symbols is a source of sorrow to him. He would have me a strong adherent to the old school of Presbyterianism, and he feels that my tendencies are leading me rapidly along the highway to Rome," and Nan's puzzled eyes met Helen's with a frank appeal for advice.

Helen was silent for a moment, and then spoke slowly and meditatively.

"Of course, Nan, each person has to decide such a question for himself, but it seems to me that when two people love each other dearly yet differ in their views, each should be willing to make some concessions and thus grow more generous and lenient with each other--Love is such a great power."

"Indeed it is," cried big-hearted Nan, "and I know that the larger share of yielding should be mine, for dear father has grown old in his opinions, and it must be very hard for him to have me branch out for myself."

They had reached a turn in the road where their paths diverged, and Nan asked:

"You will come over and sing hymns this evening, won't you, Helen?"

"Certainly. Are they coming over from the inn?"

"I suppose so," and then with a friendly nod each went on her way.

It was close upon eight o'clock that evening when Helen and Nathalie started out for the parsonage. The lovely twilight hour was almost over. High in the heavens rode the crescent moon, and, as the slowly fading daylight vanished, its white light penetrated the soft gloom which lay like a shroud over the manor park, and trees and lawns and winding paths came suddenly to life, as by the touch of a fairy wand.

A sighing breeze stirred the leaves, from a fountain near at hand came the soft splash of falling waters and the night air vibrated gently with the myriad sounds of insect life.

There was a rush and a scamper, and around the corner of the house the children raced and threw themselves upon Helen, with a shout of delight.

"You naughty youngsters," chided their sister gently. "You ought to be in bed this minute, everyone of you."

"We's going right off," cried Gladys breathlessly. "On'y we wants to be kissed first."

Helen stooped down to fulfill their clamorous demand.

"Now, be off," she laughed, straightening herself up and shaking a mildly reproachful finger at them, "and don't forget to go in and say good-night to Auntie," and then she and Nathalie proceeded leisurely on their way.

They found the vine-covered porch of the parsonage quite overflowing with people. Wendell Churchill and Farr stepped hastily forward, and, after an interchange of cordial greetings, found seats for them.

"How late you are," called Nan, from somewhere in the background. "I thought you were not coming."

Helen left apologies and explanations to Nathalie, and turned to answer an inquiry from Farr in regard to Jean.

"I am sorry to say she is deep in a book," she said, looking up at him with a smile, "and we could not persuade her to leave it. However, she promised to follow us shortly."

"And does Miss Jean always keep her promises?" Farr asked lightly.

"I think she does," Helen rejoined, meeting his eyes for an instant.

"Come, Helen. Start some of the good old hymns."

At Mollie's suggestion Helen's clear soprano took up the refrain of "Lead, kindly light," and the others joined in heartily. From long practice their voices blended beautifully.

They had been singing for nearly an hour when Farr rose quietly to his feet.

"Miss Lawrence," he said, bending over her chair, "don't you think Miss Jean should be brought to a realizing sense of her delinquencies and coerced into making some reparation?"

"Indeed, I do," she a.s.sented with a frank laugh, "but what are we going to do about it?"

"I don't think my desertion would be noticed if I should go in search of her," Farr suggested, lowering his voice. "Do you?"

Helen gave him a swift glance of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"'I would not hear thine enemy say so.' But go and see what your persuasive powers can do."

"You have put me on my mettle now," he rejoined, as he stepped over the low railing and dropped noiselessly on to the gra.s.s below, and it was with a sense of amus.e.m.e.nt that he recognized his own impatience and eagerness as he set out for the manor.

He paused to light a cigarette, then strode on over the soft turf, revolving many and varied thoughts in his mind. The brightness died out of his eyes, and the lines of the mouth were stern and compressed, for to-night the past with its perplexities and disappointments rose vividly before him. In his thirty years of life fortune had dealt him some severe blows and had set him adrift with more doubts than beliefs, more cynicism than sentiment. His was a very reserved and sensitive temperament, and under the garb of laziness and indifference his troubles were jealously hidden from curious eyes. The man's best self lay dormant, and some influence was sorely needed to rouse him to the necessity of facing his difficulties and conquering them before they should conquer him.

He had left the hedge behind him, and, as he came out on the drive-way, a gleam of light from the manor house shot out through the trees and brightened his path. Involuntarily he started, and a vision of Jean Lawrence's face came between his mind and all painful memories and robbed them of their sting.

Reaching the veranda steps, he threw away his cigarette, mounted them and crossed to where the outer door stood hospitably open, revealing the wide hall within, its shadowy recesses softly penetrated by the light from a quaint lamp swung from the low, studded ceiling. He lifted the hand knocker, and let it fall, then pushing his hat back on his head, stared meditatively before him, while waiting for a response to his summons. Not a sound broke the stillness, and at length he took his hat in his hand and stepped across the threshold, and made his way to the entrance of the drawing-room, across which the portieres were partly drawn. His footfalls on the soft rugs scarce heralded his approach. The scene which met his eyes was indeed a pretty one, and for a brief s.p.a.ce he stood motionless.

On a low divan in a far corner of the room, Jean had thrown herself with unconscious grace of pose. The warm coloring of the Oriental rug and bright-colored cushions made a charming background for the slender white-clad figure. A tall lamp shed a bright light across the open page of her book, on which her eyes were riveted. Her face was flushed with interest, her soft hair in fine disorder. Farr noted everything, from the golden head, resting upon the silken cushions, to the dainty slippered foot, just peeping beneath the hem of her gown.

A slight movement on his part discovered him to Jean, and she started up in dismay.

"Well, Mr. Farr, you did give me a fright," she cried, laughing confusedly, for his steady gaze disconcerted her somewhat. "I should think you would be ashamed of yourself for having startled me so."

"I am," recovering himself with a slight effort, for the swift change that had swept over Jean's expressive face at his unexpected appearance had set his heart to beating with unwonted emotion. "You will forgive me, will you not?" he finished, as he stood at her side and looked penitently down at her.

"Why, yes, but I don't advise your making a practice of strolling into people's houses, and appearing suddenly in their drawing-rooms; you might be mistaken for a burglar, and I have heard," with a malicious little laugh, "that it is unpleasant to be shot."

"Oh, come now, Miss Jean, you are very unfair to me; if you only knew the real facts of the case."

But Jean was still a little resentful, for she felt that she had been taken at a disadvantage.

"Really?" she answered incredulously, with a mischievous shrug of the shoulders.

"Yes, very," he protested, with a glance of amus.e.m.e.nt into her upraised eyes. "I did everything I could to gain admission in the regulation way, but was quite unsuccessful."

"What a shame," she said, interrupting him with softened voice. "I suppose the maids were all out in the garden for a stroll this fine night, and I was so absorbed in my book that I didn't hear the knocker."

"And then," he resumed, with a valiant disregard of the truth, "I came in making as much ado as I conveniently could, without calling out or overturning the furniture."

"Under the circ.u.mstances I see that you must be forgiven. Won't you be seated, Mr. Farr? I don't know what I have been thinking of, to allow you to remain standing all this while."

"Thank you, no. On the other hand, I want to persuade you to arise."

"Why?"

"Because I am here on a mission. I have come to reproach you for not keeping your promise to join us at the parsonage."

"And to whom am I indebted for this kind and flattering interest?"