A GENEROUS SILENCE

New Zealand Tablet, 26 November 1914, Page 7

A GENEROUS SILENCE

‘All women talk too much,’ observed James Walker, with conviction. ‘ 1 am not flaming you. I merely state a fact.’ The door had just closed on the master of the house, who was being carried by two servants to his room.

‘ I’ve got into the way of chattering since v the accident,’ said Elsie, ‘ to amuse poor Uncle Frederick. It would be so very dull for him, shut up in the house all day long, if I did not run in and out and tell him all about what is going on.’ ‘I quite see that,’ replied her cousin; ‘but it seems to come naturally to you, all the same.’ She looked a little pained. ‘I am not finding fault,’ he added. ‘ I only want to point out that this is the reason why a man can never trust a woman with a secret.’

‘ O James! But surely it is one thing to chatter about domestic affairs and quite another to tell somebody else’s secret.’ . ‘ I doubt if any one who was habitually unguarded in conversation would be able to discriminate.’

* Then you believe that I am utterly deficient in a sense of honor?’

‘I didn’t say so.’, : The ringing of Sir Frederick’s bell came as a fortunate interruption. Elsie caught up her knitting and hurried away to amuse him till dinner time. Most of her time was spent nowadays in trying to prevent his mind from . dwelling on his injuries. To a healthy, active an who had lived all his life out in the open air, this sudden confinement to the house was particularly trying. Vainly his friends endeavored to cheer him with the -assurance that things might have been considerably worse. The chauffeur had been killed upon the spot, and everyone declared that it was little less than a miracle for Sir Frederick

to have escaped with nothing worse than a shaking and a broken leg. No one except himself seemed apprehensive of any serious consequences. The local doctor felt satisfied that his patient’s progress, though slow, was all that could be desired. ' ; : If Elsie would interest ; and /amuse him, and prevent him from thinking tod much about himself, all would be well, they told Her. When she was not amusing him, he lay and wondered what would become of her if he should die. Ho was absolutely devoted to the girl whom ho and his late wife had adopted in babyhood to fill the place of an unsatisfactory only son. They treated her as a daughter and called her niece, though in reality she was only the orphan child of intimate friends. She knew very little of James’s early life. He had left home on some voyage of discovery, much against his father’s wishes, directly he came of. age; and for years he might have been frozen to death at the North Pole, or eaten by cannibals in Central Africa, for anything they knew to the contrary. His name was never mentioned in Elsie’s hearing, and every photograph of him was hidden from her sight. Then suddenly the newspapers announced that he was famous, and his mother cut out and pasted in an album the printed notices of his courage and success. His father, however, who prided himself oh his consistency, steadily declined to be proud of him. ‘ An Englishman’s duty,’ he maintained with gentle firmness, ‘ is to reside on his estate, and interest himself in local matters.’

Even when a boy, James had never taken the slightest interest in any of the doings of little Lowthorpe. His father could not understand him. Perhaps his mother did. She died with his name upon her lips ; and her last request to her adopted, daughter was that, if ever it were in her power to do so, she would bring about a reconciliation between Sir Frederick and his son.

The opportunity came when the news of Lady Warren’s death reached him in Upper Burmah; and he wrote to his sire a sympathetic letter, which Elsie answered in slightly warmer terms than those which her uncle dictated. A correspondence ensued, resulting in an invitation to Lowthorpe; and James Warren, hero and prodigal, consented to return, after twenty years’ absence,'to his. father’s house.

The outward reconciliation between the two men was an easier matter than had seemed possible to Elsie’s inexperience; and in any little difference of opinion which occasionally arose between them during the course of conversation she tactfully played the part of peacemaker. At first James treated her with distant courtesy and condescension. She seemed a harmless little persona useful housekeeper. It was not until his father’s extravagant praises aroused his spirit of antagonism that he took upon himself to criticise. To Sir Frederick’s way of thinking she was beyond all criticism, and he never doubted that his would fall in love with her at once. She was so pretty arid so good and hacl such a happy disposition. On every possible occasion he enumerated her qualities and charms. How cleverly, since her aunt’s death, she had regulated the household! How wisely she relieved the poor! How intelligently she read th 'Times ! How sympathetically she sang !

James listened to all that his father had to say, and he fell in love—but it was not with Elsie. Her simplicity struck him as shallowness, her amiable qualities seemed to betoken a want of character. The doctor’s sister, who called each afternoon to inquire after the invalid, attracted him far more. Here was a woman who could understand and appreciate ; she reminded him of his mother; and he, who was usually so reserved, talked to her by the hour about his travels and his varied experiences. ,

During his first few flying visits to Lowthorpe it was Miss Stapleton whom he looked forward to seeing again ; and when, in consequence of his father’s motor accident, he arranged to stay on permanently and undertake the superintendence of the stable, ,it was

Miss Stapleton whom he invited to assist . him in exerr cisihg the horses. Elsie was glad. 1 She was very fond of Annie Stapleton, and thought it only natural that Janies should prefer her friend’s society to her own. There was no jealousy on her part, ..as, there -had been no thought of marriage. Elsie had long since‘.: decided that, in the event of her would not be upon any earthly lover that she would bestow the affection of her heart. For the present' there was no doubt as to the direction in which her duty lay. Her cousin’s strictures upon her talkativeness, although they pained her for the moment, in no way checked the flow of lively conversation which was Sir Frederick’s greatest recreation. She knew exactly all that it would interest him to hear. She consulted him as to the setting of the flower-beds for the spring, drawing plans and coloring sketches in order that he might be able to judge of the effect. She asked his advice about the distribution of her charities in the village. She made him laugh by measuring round his hand the foot of the stocking which she was knitting, ‘to see if it would be large enough for the garden boy’s grandmother.’ She was his constant companion during all those days and weeks of semi-convalescence, and no one guessed that it was any effort to her to think of things to talk about. When the weeks grew into months, and the patient took a decided turn for the worse, Ur. Stapleton began to fear that there must be something more the matter with him than a shaking and a .broken leg. He asked for the satisfaction of a second opinion, and a specialist was telegraphed for from London.

During the visit Elsie took refuge in her arbor of the Sacred Heart at the far end of the garden, praying that she might conform her will to the will of God. Everything around her served to remind her of the kind friend whom perhaps she was about to lose. With his own hands Sir Frederick had helped to build this bower for her when she was quite a little girl ;■ on her tenth birthday he had given her the beautiful statue to place in it by her side, at the time of his wife’s death, he had knelt and asked that in all things the most holy, just, and lovable will of God might be done. She must imitate his courage now, and prepare herself to go to him directly the specialist should leave. She had not heard approaching footsteps, and was not aware of the vicinity of James and Annie until they, had passed the half-closed door. ‘You understand me!’ James was .saying. ; You are the only woman I have ever known whom ! 'T could ask to share my, life.’ ‘ Dear James,’ was Annie’s answer, ‘ I am so very —very happy.’ . „ - ...... Elsie concluded that they were secretly engaged, but she did not feel surprised; she had, in fact, been expecting such, an announcement for some time. When they wished her to congratulate them they would doubtless tell her. .Till, then she dismissed the subject from her mind. ' . .- •• • - - , ...

The sound of scrunching gravel beneath the wheels of the doctor’s carriage was the signal for her return to the house. She pulled herself -together resolutely ; yet there was still a paleness and ' a trembling, and a visible effect of tears,* as she stood beside her uncle’s

bed. " ■■ g 7- I ‘Poor little girl!’ said he. ‘I wonder how you will get on when lam gone My only comfort lies in the thought that James will take my place.’ ‘Oh, do not let that trouble you, dear!’ said Elsie, bravely. ‘ God will take care of me.’ ‘I believe He will,’ returned Sir Frederick, reverently. ‘lf I did not believe that, I should not die in peace'.’ Then, after a pause : ‘ They say that marriages ■.are made in heaven. T pray.that .yours is. If I had lived I might have been.selfish about parting with you ; so it is all for the besjb. : Did not St. Ignatius say that, if only one really- understood, one would never wish anything that, happens to be different ?

• or answer she pressed her cheek against, the palm of his hand, and kissed his fingers one by one as she used to do when she was a little child. : There was something about the fingersthat another saint had taught—to let the movement of each represent an act of virtue; hut her head ached and she could not recollect it how.

' ■ Sir Frederick pursued his own line of thought; M used to doubt if James was a marrying man. He has been such a wanderer that it seemed unlikely he would ever settle down ; but lately he has taken more interest in the estate. You never hear him talk now of rushing off to Tibet or California, or any of those distant places, do you ?’ ‘ No,’ whispered Elsie. ‘“I do not think he wants to go away again.’

He is a good man, I believe,’ Sir Frederick continued, —‘an upright, honorable gentleman. I.always wanted you to have the very best. Now tell me, dear child, and pardon a dying man’s curiosity, has he proposed to you yet.?’ ‘Oh, no!’ said Elsie, as she turned away and blushed.

‘ I am glad of that. I like him all the better for his diffidence. I don’t think anything but the best would ever satisfy you, eh?’ ‘ No,’ said Elsie, with decision. She had long: ago felt that.

‘ Well, then, we have not much time left. There is the .question of money, and my will to be made. Originally I left everything to James. Then I left everything to you. Now, with your consent, I want to make another will which will do justice to you both. The right sort of husband does not - care to owe his position to his wife. It would not be fair to place him in that predicament, would it?’ ‘Oh, no!’ said Elsie again, her thoughts flying to Annie Stapleton.

‘ And yet, if I had not talked this over with you first, I was afraid that you might some day be surprised to find that I had left the property to James.’ ‘ But, uncle darling, of course I always thought you would do? so ! Your own son; whilst I, although I love you as a daughter, am really no relation at all.’ ‘You. should have had the place, though, and James knows .it, if he had not shown a proper disposition.’

Elsie winced, a little uncertain, as to what might be meant by ‘ a proper disposition.’

For the space of five minutes there was silence. Sir Frederick, broke it.

* Now will three hundred a year be enough for you for charity and pin-money? That is what I want to know.’

‘ More than enough,’ said Elsie, with the thought of holy poverty uppermost in her mind. ‘ Then that’s all right. And there’ll be the legacies to the servants. I’ve sent for Fison. He ought to get here before long. I want to have these money matters finished off.’ There was a notebook beside him, in which he jotted down some names and figures; then he fell back upon his pillows and closed his eyes. | comes. Talk to me, dear! Prattle on about anything. It soothes me just to hear your voice.’

James, passing along the corridor, and pausing for a moment at his father’s door, could hear the ceaseless flow of words.

* She seems incapable of holding her tongue,’ he thought. ‘lt would never have done to take her into our confidence, as Annie wished.’ He dreaded the effect of his father’s knowing that he was again about to thwart his wishes. A son s portion he had long ceased to expect. - ■„ y ■ ' ‘ We shall be poor,’ he said to Annie’; ‘ but I don’t think the governor can do less than leave me just enough to live on.’ _ The uncertainty of his prospects caused him much

anxiety but, as Sir Frederick never broached the sub- ' ject, it was not possible for James to do so. *■*' * * * Just one month after the solicitor’s visit the will was read, and everyone except Elsie was taken by surprise. * I always understood that Miss Elsie was to have the place!’ said an old servant who had known her from childhood. ‘ Surely there’s some mistake!’ The servants could not understand it at all. Neither could James.. He knew that Elsie must feel Sir Frederick’s death far more acutely than he could do, and the loss of her home would come as an unnecessarily additional blow. He went up to . her at once. ‘ This is rather a shock,’ he said. ‘ Not to me.’ She was quite calm. , ‘You knew? Impossible! What do you mean? .When was it settled V ‘ The dear uncle talked to me about it just after the specialist had left, before Mr. Fison came. Are you not pleased ? I hoped that you -and Annie would be so happy living here.’ He looked at her searchingly, What has Annie told you?’ ‘ Nothing. I know only what you told her as you passed my bower that day.’ ‘What day?’ ‘ The day the specialist came.’ ‘ Do you mean to say that you guessed that we were engaged and yet you n6ver mentioned it to my father?’ ‘ O James! You don’t still doubt that I have any sense of honor V He looked away. He could not meet the honesty of her eyes. ‘ This was not my affair,’ she explained ; ‘it was somebody else’s secret.’ His conscience smote him. He was penitent and remorseful. Taking both of her hands, he said: ‘ Dear child, how I have misjudged you ! Can you forgive me ? I see now that I owe everything to your generosity.’ ‘ There was no question of generosity,’ she answered simply: • ‘it was mere justice. I thought of what your mother would have wished.’ For the first time James realised that she was distinctly lovable. ‘But what will you do?’ he asked. ‘I can not turn you out. You must live with us till you marry. I know that Annie—-’ She interrupted him ; ‘ You are very good. But I have made my plans, — at least Father Barry is arranging, them for me. As soon as possible I am going, to the Sisters of Charity at Mill Hill.’ ‘As a postulant? Elsie! Impossible! I can’t imagine you in a convent little chatter-box ! The silence alone * Perhaps it will be a relief,’ sobbed Elsie, ‘not to be obliged to talk.’—Armel O’Connor in the Ave Maria.