She and I, Volume 1 Page 3

  CHAPTER THREE.

  M'APPARI.

  "She's coming, my own, my sweet! Had she never so airy a tread, My heart would hear her, and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed!"

  It was now November, as I have already said; and a very dull, dismal,desolate November it was--more so, even, than usual. Fogs werefrequent, rain regular, and the sun singular in his appearance. It wasenough to make one feel miserable, without the haunting thoughts thataffected me; so, before the weather became too much for me and turned meinsane, I determined to go abroad for a short time to try what change ofair and scene could do towards relaxing my mind, although nothing couldbanish the remembrance of _her_ from my heart.

  When I came back to England, it was close on Christmas, and Christmas,you must know, was always a busy and stirring time with us in oursuburb, especially so, too, for its younger and prettier parishioners.

  Then the church had to be decorated--a matter not to be trifled with.Commencing about a week or ten days before the festival, these youngladies would gather themselves together in the old school-room, whichwas a detached building, situated a short distance from Saint Canon's.

  Here, the scholars being dismissed for their long holidays, they wouldchange the look of the academic apartment into that of a miniatureCovent Garden market or greengrocer's shop, filling it up with heaps ofevergreens--holly and ivy and yew, ad libitum, to be transformed by theaid of their nimble fingers into all sorts of floral decorations.Garlands were woven, elaborate illuminated texts and scrolls painted,and wondrous crosses of commingled laurel leaves and holly berriescontrived; all of which went so far to change the aspect of the oldchurch, that those well acquainted with it could not help wonderingwithin themselves, if, indeed, it was really so _very_ old and ancientafter all as learned archaeologists said; while new comers, who only sawit in its festal trim, had serious doubts as to whether they were not ina ritualistic edifice--the vicar allowing the girls to have their ownway and import as much natural ornament as they pleased. The flowersand shrubs were God's handiwork, he said, so why should they not be usedin God's service, to do honour to "the Giver of the feast?"

  This year was no exception to the general practice. On my going down tothe school-room on the first day that the work of "the decorations"began, which was the very morning after my return from the continent, Ifound things just as they had been in previous years, save that somehalf-a-dozen panes of glass had been smashed in the oriel window at theeastern end of the room, through the incautious manipulation of a bunchof holly by some "green" hand.

  There were the usual number of young ladies, all of whose faces I knewso well, engaged in the pious work; with Horner, Mr Mawley the curate,and one or _two_ other attendant male aides, to minister to theirneeds--such as stripping off leaves for wreath making--and help them toflirt the dull hours away. Dear little Miss Pimpernell, our vicar'smaiden sister and good right hand, presided, also, to preserve order andset an example for industrious souls to follow, just as she had been inthe habit of presiding as far back as I could recollect.

  She was not there merely as a chaperon. Oh no! If Lady Dasher, sittingon an upturned form in a corner, like a very melancholy statue ofPatience, was not sufficient to prevent the prudent proprieties frombeing outraged, there was, also, the "model of all the virtues"present--Miss Spight--a lady of a certain age, who, believing, as thekindly beings of her order do, that there was too large a flow of themilk of human kindness current in the world, deemed it her mission totemper this dispensation by the admixture of as much vitriol and vinegaras in her lay: she succeeded pretty well, too, for that matter, in herpractice and belief.

  Little Miss Pimpernell was quite a different sort of body altogether toMiss Spight. Every one who knew her, or ever saw her kindly face, lovedher and venerated her.

  She was the very impersonification of good-nature, good-will, and goodaction. Did any misfortune chance to befall some one with whom she wasacquainted, or any casual stranger with whom she might be brought incontact, there was none of that "I told you so" spirit of philosophyabout _her_.

  No; she tried to do her best for the sufferer as well as she was able;and would not be contented until she was absolutely satisfied thatmatters had somewhat mended.

  Young and old, rich and poor, alike considered her as one of their bestfriends--as indeed she was--a good Samaritan to whom they might alwaysconfide their griefs and ailments, their sufferings and privations, withthe assurance that they would certainly meet with a kindly sympathy anda word of comfort, in addition to as much practical assistance in theiradversity and physical consolation in their need as "little" MissPimpernell--that was the fond title she was always known by--couldcompass or give.

  The worst of it was, that she was in such general request, that we hadto make up our minds to lose her sometimes.

  Of course it was a selfish consideration, but we missed her and grumbledat her visits and absences sadly; for, when she was away, everythingappeared to go wrong in the parish. Still none, knowing thegratification that her ministrations gave her, would have grudged hertheir indulgence.

  She was never so happy as when she was helping somebody; and, of course,people took advantage of her weakness, and were merciless in their callsupon her time.

  Whenever the most distant cousin or stray relative happened to be ill--or about to move into a new house, or be married, or increase thepopulation in defiance of Malthus, or depart from the pomps and vanitiesof this wicked world--as sure as possible would Miss Pimpernell be sentfor post haste. She had, as a matter of course, to nurse the patient,assist the flitting, accelerate the wedding, welcome the littlestranger, or console the mourners as the case might be.

  We, the inhabitants of the suburb which she blessed with her presence,thought all this a gross infringement of our rights in her possession,although we welcomed the dear old lady all the more gladly when we gother back again amongst us once more.

  As for confidences, I believe she had the skeleton secret of every soulin the place confided to her sacred keeping at some one time or other;and love stories! why, she must have been cram full of them--from theheart-breaking affair of poor little Polly Skittles, the laundress'pretty daughter, up to Baby Blake's last flirtation.

  What her brother would have done without her, it would be impossible totell. She had quite as much to do with the parish as he; and, I'm sure,if little Miss Pimpernell had not kept house for him and minded all histemporal affairs, he would never have known what to eat or drink, orwhat to put on.

  The vicar had lost his wife soon after his marriage, when he was quite ayoung man; but, instead of being bowed down by his affliction, as mighthave been the case with a good many ardent natures like his, heearnestly fought against it, buckling to his work, all the morevigorously perhaps, as one of Christ's ministers.

  Everybody thenceforth was wife and child, brother and sister to him:humanity in general took the place of all family ties.

  He was the purest Christian character I have ever come across, lovable,intelligent, winning and merry, too, at times, in spite of his grief--would that all ministers were like him to uphold the old love and honourof our national Church!

  No orator or skilled preacher in the pulpit, he simply led you captiveby his earnestness and evident thorough belief in all that he uttered;so that "those who came to scoff, remained to pray." No hard, metallicrepetition by rote was his; but the plain, unvarnished story of thegospel which he felt and of whose truth he was assured, animated by abroad spirit of Protestantism that led him to extend a raising hand toevery erring brother, and see religion in other creeds besides his own.

  "In his duty prompt at every call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and _led the way_!"

  He and his good sister were, in fact, a pair of heart-oddities, whom toknow was to admire with reverential
affection. They could not have hadan enemy or slanderer in the world. Even Miss Spight had never a wordto say against either; that alone spoke volumes for them.

  "Oh, Frank," exclaimed little Miss Pimpernell as I entered the school-room--she always called me by my Christian name, or styled me her "boy,"having known me from childhood--"Oh, Frank! Here you are at last! I amso glad to see you back again, my boy: you have just come in time tohelp us. I was really afraid those nasty Frenchmen had eaten you up,you have been such a long time away!"

  "I dare say there's enough left of him," sneered Mr Mawley the curate._He_ was the direct opposite of the vicar; and a man whom I cordiallydetested, the feeling, I believe, being mutual. He was consequential,dogmatic, and with all the self-asserting priggishness of young Oxfordfresh upon him. I confess I was pretty much inclined the same waymyself; so, it was but natural that we should disagree: two suns, youknow, cannot shine in the same hemisphere.

  Before I could answer him, Miss Pimpernell hastily interposed. Shehated to hear us arguing and bickering as was generally our way when wemet. "Please bring the measuring tape, Frank," she said, "you will findit on that bench in the corner; and come and see how long my wreath is.It should be just nineteen feet, but I'm afraid I am a yard short."

  By the time I had done as my old friend requested, the conversationwhich I had interrupted by my advent resumed its course. They weretalking about the future world, and ventilating sundry curious thoughtson the subject.

  "And what do _you_ think heaven will be like?" asked Seraphine Dasher,appealing to me. "Everybody's opinion has been given but yours and MissPimpernell's, and Mr Mawley's; and I'm coming to them presently."

  "I'm sure I can't say," I answered, "perhaps a combination of choralmusic, running water, I mean the sound of brooks gliding and fountainssplashing, with almond toffee at discretion: that's my idea of earthlyfelicity at least."

  "Oh, fie!" said my interlocutor; while I could hear Miss Spight murmur"What deplorable levity," as she glowered at me severely and lookedsympathisingly at Mr Mawley.

  "Well," said I, "I was only joking then; for, really, I've neverseriously thought about the matter. As far as I can believe, however, Ido not imagine heaven is going to be a place where we'll be singinghymns all day. I think we shall be happy there, each in our severalways, as we are on earth, and be in the company of those we love: heavenwould be miserable without that, I think."

  "And what do you say, Miss Pimpernell?" next asked Seraphine.

  "I do not say anything at all, my dear: the subject is beyond me. Ileave it to One who is wiser than us all to tell me in his own goodtime."

  "And you, Mr Mawley?" continued our fair questioner.

  "We should not seek to understand the mysteries of the oracles of God,"said the curate pompously.

  "My dear, I can tell you," said the vicar, who had slipped in quietly,unknown to us all, "`Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither haveentered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared forthem that love him!'"

  "I wonder, sir," said I, "whether that text, `In My Father's house aremany mansions,' means that there are different degrees of happiness inthe future world?"

  "That passage," said the vicar, "is one whose interpretation has beenmore disputed than any I know. Some say it has the meaning which youattach to it; while others, with whom I am more inclined to agree, thinkthat it conveys only the promise and assurance that in heaven there willbe found room for us all. You must remember that we in the present dayhave the Bible through the medium of translation; and all translationsare liable to error. Why, if you read the Book of Job, for instance, inthe original Hebrew, without the arbitrary division into verses whichthe translators of the authorised version inserted, you would find it aperfect poem!"

  "For my part," said Mr Mawley, "I do not think we ought to speak aboutreligious matters in this sort of way, and make them subjects forgeneral conversation."

  "I don't agree with you, Mawley," said the vicar, "the truth is not sobrittle that we should be afraid of handling it; if religion were moreopenly discussed and brought into our daily life, I believe we should beall the better for it."

  "Ah, you are Broad Church!" said the curate.

  "Very well, be it so," said the vicar good-humouredly; "I'm not ashamedof it, so long as you allow that I'm at least a Christian."

  "What _is_ Broad Church, Mr Mawley?" asked Bessie Dasher, who wassuspected of having tender feelings towards the curate, for shegenerally deferred to his views and opinions.

  "Broad Church," said Mr Mawley, "holds that every man is at liberty tojudge for himself; and that any Sectarian or Unitarian, or heathen, hasas much chance of heaven as you or I."

  "Positively shocking!" said Miss Spight, in virtuous indignation at anynonconformist being esteemed as worthy of future salvation as herself.

  "Oliver Wendell Holmes," I said, "gives a truer exposition. He saysthat `the narrow church may be seen in the ship's boats of humanity, inthe long boat, in the jolly boat, in the captain's gig, lying off thepoor old vessel, thanking God that _they_ are safe, and reckoning howsoon the hulk containing the mass of their fellow-creatures will godown. The Broad Church is on board, working hard at the pumps, and veryslow to believe that the ship will be swallowed up with so many poorpeople in it, fastened down under the hatches ever since it floated!'"

  "Ah, that is better," said the vicar. "It is there put very aptly. Ifwe could only be less bigoted, and assimilate our various sectstogether, what a happy church would ours be! We all have the same surefundamental ground of belief, and only differ in details."

  "But, my dear sir," said the curate, in pious horror, "that is ranklatitudinarianism!"

  "Latitudinarianism or not, Mawley," said the vicar, "it is theChristianity and doctrine that earnest thinkers like Kingsley andMaurice preach and practise. If we could only all act up to it--all actup to it!"

  "Then, I suppose," said Mr Mawley, "that you agree with the writers of_Essays and Reviews_?"

  "Suppose nothing, my dear Mawley," said the vicar, kindly but seriously,"except what you have facts to vouch for. I do not say I agree withthem or not."

  "And do you think the hare chewed the cud, as Colenso says?" asked BabyBlake, with such a serious face that we could not help laughing at her.

  "Proximus ille deo est qui scit ratione tacere!" said the vicar, puttingon his hat and moving towards the door.

  "And what does that mean, brother?" asked Miss Pimpernell.

  "My dear, it is only Dionysius Cato's original Latin for our old Englishproverb, `A silent tongue shows a wise head!'" said the vicar; and hethen went out to attend to his parish duties, promising to look in uponus again, and see how we were getting on before we separated for theday.

  On his departure, our conversation veered round to local chit-chat.

  "Have you heard the news about The Terrace yet, Frank?" asked MissPimpernell.

  "No," I said. "What is it?"

  "Number sixty-five is let at last!"

  "Indeed," said I; "how pleased old Shuffler must be, for the house hashung a long time on his hands. Who are the people that have taken it?"

  "A widow lady and her daughter. Their name is Clyde, and they have agood deal of money, I believe," said Bessie Dasher.

  "Bai-ey Je-ove!" exclaimed Horner. "I say, old fellah, p'waps they ahthose ladies in hawf-mawning, ah?"

  "Dear me! this is quite interesting," said Miss Spight. "Do let me knowwhat the joke is about ladies in half-mourning, Mr Lorton--somethingromantic, I've no doubt." She was always keen to scent out what mightbe disagreeable to other people, was Miss Spight!

  "Oh, it's only Horner's nonsense!" said I. "But what are these Clydeslike?"

  "Very nice, indeed!" said Miss Pimpernell. "The mother is extremelywell-bred and ladylike, and the daughter Minnie--such a pretty name,Frank--is quite a little darling. I'm positively in love with her, andI'm sure you will like her. They are very nice people indeed, my boy,and thorough acquisiti
ons to our little society."

  "I only hope so, Miss Pimpernell," sighed Lady Dasher; "but appearances,you know, are _so_ deceitful sometimes."

  "Ah!" ejaculated Miss Spight, "handsome is as handsome does! We'll seethem by and by in their true colours; new brooms, Lady Dasher, sweepclean. Ah!"

  There was a world in that "ah!"

  "Well," said little Miss Pimpernell, in her staunch good-nature, "Ithink it is best to be charitable and take people as we find them. Ihave seen a good deal of the Clydes during the month they have been hereand like them very much. But you will have an opportunity of judgingfor yourself, Frank, as Minnie Clyde promised me to come down to-day andhelp us with the decorations."

  "She's a very nice-looking girl," said the curate.

  "Do you really think her pretty?" asked Bessie Dasher. One could detecta slight tone of dissatisfaction in her voice, and she spoke with adecided pout.

  "Well, perhaps she's not exactly pretty," said Mr Mawley,diplomatically; "but nice-looking, at all events--that was the word Iused, Miss Bessie."

  "But she dresses so plainly!" said Lizzie Dangler.

  "I call her quite a dowdthy!" lisped Baby Blake.

  "And I say she's very nice!" said Seraphine Dasher, who had none of thepetty dislike of her sex to praise another girl that might turn out tobe a possible rival.

  "That's right, my dear," said Miss Pimpernell; "I'm glad, Seraphine, tohear you take the part of the absent; Miss Clyde ought to be here now--she promised me to come soon after luncheon."

  Even as the good old soul spoke, I heard the outer door of the school-room open, and a light footstep along the passage. "There she is now, Ido believe!" whispered Miss Pimpernell to me.

  I could scarcely breathe. I felt that I had at last arrived at thecrisis of my life. It must be _her_, I thought, for my heart palpitatedwith wild pulsations.

  And, as the thought thrilled through me, my lost madonna entered theroom.

  I was not one whit surprised. I had been certain that I should see heragain!