Chapter 12. Miss Marsden Asks Sombre Questions

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_ CHAPTER XII. MISS MARSDEN ASKS SOMBRE QUESTIONS

Lottie Marsden, although greatly alarmed by their critical situation, was naturally too courageous to give way utterly to fear, and not so terrified but that she could note all Hemstead did; and for some reason she believed he would be equal to the emergency. His confidence, moreover, communicated itself to her. She saw that he did not jerk or saw on the reins at first, but, bracing his large powerful frame, drew steadily back, and that the horses yielded somewhat to his masterful grasp.

"Pull," cried Harcourt, excitedly; "you can hold them."

"Yes, jerk their cursed heads off," shouted De Forrest, in a way that proved his self-control was nearly gone.

"Hush, I tell you!" said Hemstead, in a low tone. "I might break the lines if I exerted my whole strength. Then where should we be? I don't wish to put any more strain upon them than I must. See, they are giving in more and more."

"But the hill is near," said Harcourt.

"You must let me manage in my own way," said Hemstead. "Not another sound from any one."

Then in a firm tone, strong but quiet like his grasp upon the reins, he spoke to the horses. In three minutes more be had them prancing with many a nervous start, but completely under his control, down the first descent of the hill.

"Will you take the reins again?" he said to Harcourt.

"No, hang it all. You are a better horseman than I am."

"Not at all, Mr. Harcourt. I am heavier and stronger than you probably, and so braced that I had a great advantage. You had no purchase on them, and were chilled by long driving."

"Where did you learn to manage horses?" asked Lottie.

"On our Western farm. We had plenty of them. A horse is almost human: you must be very firm and very kind."

"Is that the way to treat the 'human'?" said Lottie, her bold and somewhat reckless spirit having so far recovered itself as to enable her to laugh.

"Yes, for a man, if he attempts to manage at all; but I suppose the majority of us are managed, if we would only acknowledge it. What chance has a man with a coaxing, clever woman?"

"Look there," said Harcourt, as they were turning the first sharp angle in the road to which he had referred. "Where should we have been if we had gone round this point at our speed when I held the reins?"

The steep embankment, with grim rocks protruding from the snow and with gnarled trunks of trees, was anything but inviting.

"Come, De Forrest," continued Harcourt, "brush up your mathematics. At what angle, and with what degree of force, should we have swooped down there on a tangent, when the horses rounded this curve?"

"O-o-h!" exclaimed Lottie, looking shudderingly down the steep bank, at the bottom of which brawled a swift stream among ice-capped rocks. "It's just the place for a tragedy. We were talking about heaven and the other place when the horses started, were we not? Perhaps we were nearer one or the other of them than we supposed."

"O, hush, Lottie!" cried Bel, still sobbing and trembling; "I wish we had remained at home."

"I echo that wish most decidedly," muttered De Forrest. "The whole evening has been like a nightmare."

"I am sorry my expedition has been a source of wretchedness to every one," said Lottie, coldly.

"Not every one, I'm sure," said Hemstead. "Certainly not to me. Besides, your expedition has made a pastor and a whole parish happy, and I also dimly foresee a seat in Congress for Harcourt as a result."

"Very dimly indeed," laughed Harcourt. "Still,--now that our necks are safe, thanks to Mr. Hemstead, I'm glad I went. Human nature lies on the surface out at Scrub Oaks, and one can learn much about it in a little while. Come, little coz, cheer up," he said to Addie, drawing her closer to him. "See, we are down the hill and across the bridge. No danger of the horses running up the long hill before us, and by the time they reach the top they will be glad to go the rest of the way quietly."

"You had better take the reins again, Mr. Harcourt," said Hemstead.

"O Mr. Hemstead, please drive," cried the ladies, in chorus.

"No," said he; "Mr. Harcourt is as good a driver as I am. It was only a question of strength before."

"The majority is against me," laughed Harcourt. "I won't drive any more to-night. You take my place."

"Well, if you all wish it; but there's no need."

"Let me come over, too, and sit between you and Bel," said Addie, eagerly.

"No, she can sit with Julian," said Lottie, "and I will go to Mr. Hemstead. He shall not be left alone."

"O Miss Lottie! please forgive me," pleaded De Forrest; "I did not mean what I said a moment since."

"Well, I'll forgive you, but shall punish you a little. Stop the horses again, Mr. Hemstead; that is, if you don't object to my company."

The horses stopped very suddenly.

"Please don't leave me," said De Forrest.

"It's only carrying out the mischief we plotted, you know," she whispered.

"Well, I submit on that ground only," he replied discontentedly, and with a shade of doubt in his mind. It seemed very strange, even to him, that Lottie could coolly continue to victimize one who had just rendered them so great a service. But the truth was, that she, in her desire to escape from him, had said what she thought would be apt to quiet his objections without much regard for the truth. She hardly recognized her own motive for wishing to sit by Hemstead, beyond that she was grateful, and found him far more interesting than the egotistical lover, who to-day, for some reason, had proved himself very wearisome.

"Hemstead heard nothing of this, and was much pleased when Lottie stepped lightly over and took her place socially at his side.

"It's very kind of you," he said.

"I didn't come out of kindness," she replied, in a low tone for his ear alone.

"Why then?"

"Because I wanted to."

"I like that reason better still."

"And with good reason. Will you take me again over this awful road to see Mrs. Dlimm?"

"With great pleasure."

"But it's such a long drive! You will get cold driving."

"O, no! not if you will talk to me so pleasantly."

"I won't promise how I'll talk. In fact I never know what I'll do when with you. You made me act very silly this afternoon."

"Is a flower silly when it blooms?"

"What do you mean?"

"You wished you were better."

"O, I see; but suppose I would like to remain--for a while at least--a wicked, little undeveloped bud?"

"You can't. The bud must either bloom or wither."

"O, how dismal! Were you afraid, Mr. Hemstead, when the horses were running? I was."

"I was anxious. It certainly was a critical moment with that hill before us."

"How queer that we should have been talking of the future state just then! Suppose that, instead of sitting here cosily by you, I were lying on those rocks over there, or floating in that icy stream bleeding and dead?"

He turned and gave her a surprised look, and she saw the momentary glitter of a tear in his eye.

"Please do not call up such images," he said.

She was in a strangely excited and reckless mood, and did not understand herself. Forces that she would be long in comprehending were at work in her mind.

Partly for the sake of the effect upon him, and partly as the outgrowth of her strange mood, she continued, in a low tone which the others could not hear: "If that had happened, where should I have been now? Just think of it,--my body lying over there in this wild gorge, and I, myself, going away alone this wintry night. Where should I have gone? Where should I be now?"

"In paradise, I trust," he replied, bending upon her a searching look. Either his imagination or her thoughts gave her face a strange expression as seen in the uncertain moonlight. It suggested the awed and trembling curiosity with which she might have gone forward to meet the dread realities of the unknown world. A great pity--an intense desire to shield and rescue her--filled his soul.

"Miss Marsden," he said, in a tone that thrilled her in connection with the image called up, "your own words seem to portray you standing on the brink of a fathomless abyss into which you are looking with fear and dread."

"You understand me perfectly," she said. "That is just where I stand; but it is like looking out into one of those Egyptian nights that swallow up everything, and there is nothing but a great blank of darkness."

"It must be so," said Hemstead, sighing deeply. "Only the clear eyes of faith can see across the gulf. But you are a brave girl to stand and look into the gulf."

"Why should I not look into it?" she asked, in a reckless tone. "I've been brought face to face with it to-night, and perhaps shall soon be again. It's always there. If I had to go over Niagara, I should want to go with my eyes open."

"But if you were in the rapids above the falls, would you not permit a strong hand to lift you out? Why should you look down into the gulf? Why not look up to heaven? That is 'always there' just as truly."

"Do you feel sure that you would have gone to heaven if you had been killed to-night?"

"Yes, perfectly sure."

"You are very good."

"No; but God is."

"A good God ought to prevent such awful things."

"He did, in this case."

"No; you prevented it."

"Suppose the horses had started to run at the top of the hill instead of where it was level; suppose a line had broken; suppose the horses had taken the bits in their teeth,--I could not hold two such powerful animals. Do you not see that many things might have happened so that no human hand could do anything, and that it would be easy for an all-powerful Being to so arrange and shape events that we should either escape or suffer, as He chose, in spite of all that we could do. I am glad to think that I can never be independent of Him."

"If it was God's will that they should stop, what was the use of your doing anything?"

"It is ever God's will that we should do our best in all emergencies. He will help only those who try to help themselves. He calls us his children, not his machines. The point I wish to make is, that when we do our best, which is always required of us, we are still dependent upon Him."

"I never had it made so plain before. The fact is, Mr. Hemstead, I don't know much about God, and I don't half understand myself. This day seems like an age. I have had so many strange experiences since I stood with you in the breakfast-room this morning,--and have been near, perhaps, still stranger experiences, for which I feel little prepared,--that I am excited and bewildered. I fear you think very poorly of me."

"You do often puzzle me very greatly, Miss Marsden," he replied. "But I think you are prone to do yourself injustice. Still that is far better than hypocritical seeming. Whatever your fault is, you proved to me last night, and most conclusively again this evening, that you have a kind, generous heart. More than all, you have shown yourself capable of the noblest things."

Lottie made no reply, but sat silent for some time; and, having reached the level once more, Hemstead gave his attention to the horses, till satisfied that they recognized their master and would give no further trouble.

"Won't you sing again?" he asked.

"Yes, if you will sing with me."

"I would rather listen, but will accept your condition when I can."

She would only sing what he knew, and noted in pleased eurprise that his musical culture was by no means trifling.

"How could you take time from your grave theological studies for such a comparatively trifling thing as music?" she asked.

"Some practical knowledge of music is no trifling matter with me," he replied. "In view of my prospective field of work, next to learning to preach, learning to sing is the most important. I shall have to start the hymns, as a general thing, and often sing them alone."

"How can you look forward to such a life?"

"I can look forward in grateful gladness. I only wish I were more worthy of my work."

"Did I not know your sincerity I should say that was affectation."

"Who was it that preached to the 'common people,' and in the obscure little towns of Palestine eighteen centuries ago? Am I better than my Master?"

"You are far better than I am. No one has ever talked to me as you have. I might have been different if they had."

"Miss Marsden," said Hemstead, tarnestly, as they were driving up the avenue to the Marchmont residence, "when you stood beside me this morning I pointed you to a world without, whose strange and marvellous beauty excited your wonder and delight. You seem to me on the border of a more beautiful world,--the spiritual world of love and faith in God. If I could only show you that, I should esteem it the greatest joy of my life."

"That is a world I do not understand; nor am I worthy to enter it," she said in sudden bitterness, "and I fear I never shall be; and yet I thank you all the same."

A few moments later they were sitting round the parlor fire, recounting the experiences of the evening.

Before entering the house Lottie had said, "Let us say nothing about runaway horses to aunt and uncle, or they may veto future drives."

To Hemstead's surprise Lottie seemed in one of her gayest moods, and he was reluctantly compelled to think her sketch of the people at the donation a little satirical and unfeeling. But while she was portraying Hemstead as the hero of the occasion, she had the tact to make no reference to Harcourt. But he generously stated the whole case, adding, with a light laugh, that he had learned once for all that coaxing and wheedling were better than driving.

"Appealing to their better natures, you mean," said Hemstead.

"Yes, that is the way you would put it."

"I think it's the true way."

"Perhaps it is. Human nature has its good side if one can only find it, but I'm satisfied that it won't drive well."

"I think work among such people the most hopeless and discouraging thing in the world," said Mrs. Marchmont, yawning.

"It doesn't seem to me so, aunt," said Hemstead. "On the contrary, are not people situated as they are peculiarly open to good influences? Next to gospel truth, I think the influence of refined, cultivated families could do more for the people at Scrub Oaks than anything else. If they did not alienate the plain people by exclusiveness and pride, they would soon tone them up and refine away uncouthness and unconscious vulgarity in manners. Let me give you a practical instance of this that occurred to-night. I asked a pretty young girl why she and the little group around her had given up the kissing games, and she replied that 'Miss Marsden had said that no lady played such games, and she wouldn't any more.' Young people are quick and imitative, and I noticed that they watched Miss Marsden as if she were a revelation to them, and many, no doubt, obtained ideas of lady-like bearing and manner that were entirely new to them, but which they will instinctively adopt. I think she would be surprised if she could foresee how decided and lasting an influence this brief visit of one evening will have on many that were present."

"But refined people of standing cannot meet with such a class socially," replied his aunt, with emphasis. "Such a mixing up would soon bring about social anarchy. Lottie is a little peculiar, and went there as a stranger upon a frolic."

"Now, auntie, that designation 'peculiar' is a very doubtful compliment."

"I didn't mean it for one, my dear, though I meant no reproach in it. You get too many compliments as it is. Frank, like all young, inexperienced people, has many impractical ideas, that time will cure. Young enthusiasts of every age are going to turn the world upside down, but I note that it goes on very much the same."

"I think evil has turned the world upside down," said Hemstead. "The wrong side is up now, and it is our duty to turn the right side back again. We can't carry exclusiveness beyond this brief life. Why, then, make it so rigid here? The One who was chief of all was the friend of all."

"O, well," said Mrs. Marchmont, in some confusion, "we can't expect to be like Him. Then what is appropriate in one place and age is not in another."

"No, indeed, Mr. Hemstead," said Lottie, with twinkling eyes. "I'd have you to understand that the religion appropriate to our place and age is one that pleases us."

"I didn't say that, Lottie," said Mrs. Marchmont, with some irritation.

"Very true, auntie, but I did! and, as far as I can judge, it's true in New York, whatever may be the case in the country. But come, we've had supper, and have kept you and uncle up too late already. Kiss your saucy niece good night; perhaps I'll be better one of these days."

"If kissing will make you better, come here to me," said Mr. Dimmerly. "I wouldn't mind doing a little missionary work of that kind."

"No, indeed," laughed Harcourt; "we'll all turn missionaries on those terms."

"Yes," said De Forrest, "I'll promise to be a devoted missionary all my life."

"There, I said that you would have a religion you liked," retorted Lottie, pirouetting to the dining-room door. "But I'm too far gone for any such mild remedies. There's Bel, she's trying to be good. You may all kiss her"; and, with a look at Hemstead he did not understand, she vanished. _

Read next: Chapter 13. A Lover Quenched

Read previous: Chapter 11. A Possible Tragedy

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