Chapter 8 No.8

Entertaining a Stranger

'In all things

Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burden of others.'-Longfellow.

It was Sunday evening. Agatha sat by the drawing-room window, her Bible on her lap, and her thoughts far away from things of earth. All the rest of the household were at church, and she was enjoying the stillness around her. The sun was setting just behind the pine trees in the distance, and shedding a rosy glow upon their slender stems; the hush of night seemed to be falling on all Nature, and Agatha was so wrapped up in her thoughts, that she did not notice the figure of a man quietly and swiftly approaching the house. She was the more startled when a voice broke upon the stillness; and she looked up to see a man standing close outside the window.

'Pardon me, madam, but will you kindly allow me to enter? I wish to have a few words with you.'

Visions of housebreakers, robbing, and perhaps murdering, if their wishes were denied them, flitted through Agatha's perturbed mind. She knew she was alone in the house, and beyond the reach of any help; she also realized that all the three French windows leading out to the verandah were open; but, nevertheless, she showed a brave front. Without rising from her seat, she looked the intruder straight in the face.

'Perhaps, if you will make known your errand, I will comply with your request. You are at present a perfect stranger to me.'

Her visitor smiled. He was an elderly man, with a stoop in his shoulders, and a rather shabby great-coat buttoned tight up under his chin.

'My errand might startle you,' he said; 'I wish to get at something in the study cupboard.'

Poor Agatha's heart beat loudly. 'That you cannot do without the owner's consent,' she replied sternly, 'and he is at present abroad.'

Then with a little old-fashioned bow the stranger took off his hat.

'No, madam, he is not abroad. He is before you!'

Agatha stared at him. She saw rather kindly-looking blue eyes peering at her through thick shaggy eyebrows; a care-worn, smooth-shaven face, with a very broad intellectual brow, and a smile that somehow or other disarmed her suspicions.

'Are you-are you sure?' she faltered stupidly.

'Sure that my name is Thomas Lester, and that instead of being a tramp or burglar molesting a lonely woman, I am now respectfully soliciting admission into my own house? Yes, madam, I assure you on the honour of a gentleman that I am no impostor!'

Agatha rose at once. 'Then please come in, and forgive my suspicions. I never heard of your return.'

'No,' he said, stepping inside and quietly taking a seat; 'I came back hurriedly, and did not wish my visit here to be known. That is why I chose to come down from London to-day, for I knew my respected brother would be safely and piously conducting his devotions in church. Have you made his acquaintance, Miss Dane?'

'No, he has not called upon us.'

'And you have seen nothing of my son? Do you know my story? I see by the book that you are reading that you must be a good woman. I know you are a brave one by my reception. May I confide in you a little?'

Agatha looked up sympathetically.

'We do know something about you,' she said; 'quite enough to make us feel very sorry for you.'

Mr. Lester then told her again much of what she had already heard, with additions, which drew out her sympathy still more for him. He told her that when he reached the farm where his son had been working, he found he had left it, saying he was going to track out his cousin, and would never come back till he had found him.

'My journey was fruitless, and then, after making many useless inquiries, I fancied he might have returned home, as my last letter to him had urged him to be home again without fail before this summer would be over. So I came back, and find from my agents in London that he must be still abroad. My journey out there was a failure; both lads are swallowed up in the Australian bush, but I don't believe they are dead, and I am convinced that Alick will never come back without tidings of his cousin. Their affection for each other was absurd, preposterous, and utterly out of place.'

He paused, and Agatha asked anxiously:--

'Are you going back to Australia again?'

'I don't know.'

'Perhaps you wish to return here?'

'Not at all. I never will, until things are on a different footing between myself and my brother. He has insulted me openly in this neighbourhood; even daring to hint that I have plotted to get rid of his son! No, I came to get something I want out of my locked cupboard. I conclude you will have no objection to my doing this?'

'Certainly not'; and Agatha rose and led him to the study. She left him there, but as she turned away she heard him quietly lock the door behind her; and again she felt a nervous thrill run through her, as she wondered if he were an impostor after all.

Half an hour later he came back to her in the drawing-room.

'I am going to do a foolish thing,' he said; 'I cannot tell what impels me to do it, but the very thing I was going to take away I am deliberately going to leave here with you.'

'I would rather you took it away, whatever it is,' Agatha said hastily.

'It will not be in your way. I see you are careful tenants, and as long as you keep my wishes respected about that locked cupboard, it will be safe; far safer than if I carried it about with me, as I thought of doing. If you wish to correspond with me at any time, my agents in London will forward anything to me. I will give you their card. One thing I am going to leave with you, and this shows the confidence I place in you. It is the secret of opening that cupboard. I have sealed the directions up in this envelope; and I want you to give me your solemn promise that you will keep it as I give it to you, in trust for my son. When he returns, he will be sure to find his way down here. Be kind to him, and give him the envelope. I have never confided to him the secret of the cupboard, and I wish him to open it as soon as he arrives. It is most important he should.

'You may wonder at my trusting a comparative stranger with such a charge, but I am a good reader of faces, and I do not think you will fail me. Promise me you will keep this envelope from the knowledge of any one, even from your sisters; and promise me you will do what I desire about it!'

But,' objected Agatha, 'we may not live here always. If we leave before your son returns--'

'My son is bound to come back before the end of this year, if he is alive.'

'Then will he wish to come and live here?'

'No. Neither my son nor I will ever live here again, I fancy.'

'Then where will you be when your son returns?'

'I do not know. In my grave, perhaps. I have told you my agents' address.'

So, after a little hesitation and a great deal of wonder, Agatha gave him her promise to act as he wished. Seeing he looked tired and worn, she asked him if he would have any refreshment, but he refused.

'You need not make my visit known throughout the neighbourhood,' he said, standing up and buttoning up his coat; then glancing at her Bible, which lay open on the table by her side, he added rather sarcastically:

'If you want a Bible study, Miss Dane, discover the answer to a proposition made in the Book of Jeremiah. I believe it's in the first verse of the twelfth chapter. You see I know my Bible well.'

'And so do I,' said Agatha, smiling, 'though not so well as I ought. And I can tell you that the same proposition troubled David; but he solved it in the sanctuary.'

'Is that a hint to me?' said Mr. Lester, a little taken aback by her quick reply.

'No; though don't you think it a pity to hold aloof from God's worship on the day set apart for it? Even the heathen are more respectful to their false gods.'

'I did not expect to receive a sermon here,' he responded, with a little dry smile.

'No, and I would not presume to give it,' said Agatha, smiling in her turn. 'And don't be surprised that I knew your verse in Jeremiah so well. I came across it the other day, and thought it fitted in well with a favourite Psalm of ours, the thirty-seventh. We have had an experience something like yours, and it would make one bitter sometimes, if one did not remember that our circumstances are being shaped by God Himself.'

Mr. Lester said nothing, but held out his hand, and Agatha took it, feeling strangely drawn to him. They shook hands, and then, as Mr. Lester stepped out into the verandah, he turned.

'Remember your promise, and offer a prayer sometimes for a disappointed old man who fears he won't live to see his hopes fulfilled.'

He disappeared in the fast-falling twilight, and Agatha sat in her chair, gazing before her as if in a dream. Her sisters found her strangely preoccupied when they returned; but when they were enjoying a cold supper together, and the maids were out of the room, she told them of her strange visitor, begging them to say nothing of it to any one, and purposely omitting to tell them of the envelope entrusted to her.

'Are you perfectly certain he was genuine?' said Gwen anxiously. 'It was a very risky thing to let him have sole possession of the study! Why did you not offer to stay in the room with him?'

'How could I? He locked himself in!'

'Worse and worse! He might have been taking impressions of the locks, and will break into the house another night by the study window!'

Agatha shook her head with a confident smile. 'He was a gentleman, and had a true face; I am not at all afraid of him.'

'It is quite an adventure,' said Clare, flushing up with excitement. 'Now, what do you think he wanted to get at in the cupboard? Is it a treasure store, or does it hide some ghastly secret? I really think I should have peeped through the key-hole, and seen how he opened it. It would have been such an opportunity.'

'Did you dismiss him with a tract?' asked Gwen mockingly.

'No, I had not one by me,' said Agatha simply. 'I feel very sorry for him. He is in great trouble about his son.'

'And you are sure he does not want to come back and turn us out? It would be very awkward if he did.'

'He seemed quite certain on that point.'

Gwen heaved a sigh of relief. 'I think I will tell you what I purpose doing, she said rather solemnly; 'or shall I put it off till to-morrow?'

'"'Tis the Sabbath,"' quoted Elfie, mimicking old Deb Howitt's tones.

'If it is anything startling, I would rather you kept it till to-morrow,' said Agatha; 'I have had quite enough to startle me already.'

'Oh, very well,' responded Gwen unconcernedly; 'my news will keep.'

But she was disappointed that no one seemed curious enough to press her for more information, and the next day, after working hard all the morning in the garden, went off to see the Howitts in the afternoon.

Gwen had taken a real liking to the sisters, and would often drop in upon Patty, and have a cup of tea with her when her sister was away.

It was a warm day, and she was glad to reach the cottage, with its shady orchard round it, after the blazing meadows she had crossed.

Under an old apple-tree, on a low stool, she found Patty sitting, knitting furiously away at a grey worsted stocking, and muttering to herself as she did so.

'What is the matter?' Gwen asked gaily, as she took a seat on the grass by her side; 'you look quite agitated!'

''Tis one of our bad days,' said Patty, looking up and shaking her head dolefully. ''Tis generally the wash-tub that does it, and Monday is our washing day. I did mean to be careful that my lips didn't offend, but 'tis no good when she's of an argumentative turn! Yes, miss, she's locked me out, and I hope she's enjoyin' herself, for on Mondays I always bakes a cake for tea. Deb never did have a light hand for such things, and she's a-messin' in there with my flour bin, and pilin' tons of coal on the fire, for I've been watchin' the smoke, and I can tell, and if I'm kept out here till dark, I'll maintain a promised wife comes before a sister!'

'Is that the discussion?' asked Gwen, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

'Now let me put it to you, miss, and she'd no business to begin it over the wash-tub, for it wants a cool head and a quiet mind to tackle such things. She was tellin' me of a case that was told her up at Thornicroft Manor, which is three mile the other side of Brambleton; and the housekeeper knew the parties concerned, being first cousin once removed to the young man. He was engaged to be married to an orphan girl, a-tryin' to earn her livin' by dressmakin', but makin' a very poor thing out of it. And they had kept company for six years, and then his mother died and left his only sister on his hands. But mind you, miss, they were a-goin' to be married, and had fixed the day before his mother took ill, and then what does the young fellow do but break it all off with his girl, sayin' he was only able to keep one woman, and that would have to be his sister! Now what do you think, miss? I say it was a cryin' shame of him, and Deb, she will have he did right, for his sister was delicate, and flesh and blood come first, she says. We argued it up and down, and she cried him up, and I cried him down, and we gets hotter and hotter. We couldn't keep off it after we left the wash-tubs and was a-havin' a bit of dinner; but I sticks to it that a promised wife comes first, and then, with a shove, I found myself out of doors, and the key locked behind me!'

Gwen laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. Old Patty's intense interest in the unknown young couple, and her warm partisanship for the little dressmaker, together with her tragic tone and injured demeanour, were too much for her gravity.

'You are two foolish old women,' she said at last. 'I suppose it is love of your own opinions, and not the fate of these strangers, that makes you so combative. Which of you has the stronger will?'

'Ay, we're wonderful alike in temper, more's the pity, but I consider myself a fitter judge of right and wrong than Deb, who goes about and hears so much that it's all hearin' and no meditatin', whiles I sit here, and has the time and opportoonity to weigh the matters in and out, without the clack of many tongues to confuse my brain and make me say a man is a saint when he is a fool, not to say a sinner!'

Nothing that Gwen could say would calm the old woman, and when she went up to the cottage door, Deb remained conveniently deaf to all her knocks. She came home, and gave a graphic description of the quarrel to her sisters; but when their obstinacy was being condemned, Agatha said in her quiet way:

'Well, Gwen, you ought to have sympathy with them, for if any one ever goes against you, I am sure you feel as they do.'

'You mean I am fond of my own way and opinions, and won't bear contradiction! Oh, Agatha, how you love to preach to us all! I won't say you are mistaken, for I am not going to get up an argument, and I want you all to be especially agreeable while I lay a plan of mine before you.'

'Now for it,' murmured Clare; and both Agatha and Elfie leant back in their chairs, the one in anxious, the other in amused anticipation of what might follow.