Hopes and Fears or, scenes from the life of a spinster

‘Yes, as I never even thought I did,’ said Owen, with much emotion.  ‘It was strange, Honor, as soon as I came home to the old places, how the old feelings, that had been set aside so long, came back again.  I would have given the world to recover them in Canada, but could only envy Randolf, till they woke up again of themselves at the sight of the study, and the big Bible we used to read with you.’

‘Yet you never spoke.’

‘No; I could not till I had proved to myself that there was no time-serving in them, if you must know the truth!’ said Owen, colouring a little.  ‘Besides, having been told my wits would go, how did I know but that they were a symptom of my second childhood?’

‘How could any one have been so cruel as to utter such a horrible presage?’

‘One overhears and understands more than people imagine, when one has nothing to do but to lie on the broad of one’s back and count the flies,’ said Owen.  ‘So, when I was convinced that my machine was as good as ever, but only would not stand application, I put off the profession, just to be sure what I should think of it when I could think.’

‘Well!’ was all Honor could say, gazing through glad tears.

‘And now, Honor dear,’ said he, with a smile, ‘I don’t know how it is.  I’ve tried experiments on my brains.  I have gone through half-a-dozen tough calculations.  I have read over a Greek play, and made out a problem or two in mechanics, without being the worse for it; but, somehow, I can’t for the life of me hark back to the opinions that had such power over me at Oxford.  I can’t even recollect the half of them.  It is as if that hemlock spruce had battered them out of my head.’

‘Even like as a dream when one awaketh.’

‘Something like it!  Why, even unknownst to you, Sweet Honey, I got at one or two of the books I used to swear by, and somehow I could not see the force of what they advanced.  There’s a futility about it all, compared with the substance.’

‘Before, you did not believe with your heart, so your understanding failed to be convinced.’

‘Partly so,’ said Owen, thoughtfully.  ‘The fact is, that religion is so much proved to the individual by personal experience and actual sensation, that those who reason from without are on different ground, and the avocato del diavolo has often apparently the advantage, because the other party’s security is that witness in his own breast which cannot be brought to light.’

‘Only apparently.’

‘Really, sometimes, with the lookers-on who have accepted the doctrines without feeling them.  They, having no experience, feel the failure of evidence, where the tangible ends.’

‘Do you mean to say that this was the case with yourself, my dear?  I should have thought, if ever child were good—’

‘So did I,’ said Owen, smiling.  ‘I simulated the motions to myself and every one else: and there was a grain of reality, after all; but neither you nor I ever knew how much was mere imitation and personal influence.  When I outgrew implicit faith in you, I am afraid my higher faith went with it—first through recklessness, then through questioning.  After believing more than enough, the transition is easy to doubting what is worthy of credit at all.’

‘From superstition to rationalism.’

‘Yes; overdoing articles of faith and observances, while the mind and conscience are young and tender, brings a dangerous reaction when liberty and independent reflection begin.’

‘But, Owen, I may have overdone observances, yet I did not teach superstitions,’ said Honor.

‘Not consciously,’ said Owen.  ‘You meant to teach me dogmatically only what you absolutely believed yourself.  But you did not know how boundless is a child’s readiness to accept what comes as from a spiritual authority, or you would have drawn the line more strongly between doctrine and opinion, fact and allegory, the true and the edifying.’

‘In effect, I treated you as the Romish Church began by doing to the populace.’

‘Exactly so.  Like the mediæval populace, I took legend for fact; and like the modern populace, doubted of the whole together, instead of sifting.  There is my confession, Honor dear.  I know you are happier for hearing it in full; but remember, my errors are not chargeable upon you.  If I had ever been true towards myself or you, and acted out what I thought I felt, I should have had the personal experience that would have protected the truth when the pretty superstructure began to pass away.’

‘What you have undertaken now is an acting out!’

‘I hope it is.  Therefore it is the first time that I have ever trusted myself to be in earnest.  And after all, Honor, though it is a terrible past to look back on, it is so very pleasant to be coming home, and to realize mercy and pardon, and hopes of doing better, that I can’t feel half the broken-down sorrow that perhaps ought to be mine.  It won’t stay with me, when I have you before me.’

Honor could not be uneasy.  She was far too glad at heart for that.  The repentance was proving itself true by its fruits, and who could be anxious because the gladness of forgiveness overpowered the pain of contrition?

Her inordinate affection had made her blind and credulous where her favourite was concerned, so as to lead to his seeming ruin, yet when the idol throne was overturned, she had learnt to find sufficiency in her Maker, and to do offices of love without excess.  Then after her time of loneliness, the very darling of her heart had been restored, when it was safe for her to have him once more; but so changed that he himself guarded against any recurrence to the old exclusive worship.

CHAPTER XXXIII

But the pine woods waved,
And the white streams raved;
They told me in my need,
That softness and feeling
Were not soul-healing;
And so it was decreed—
That the marvellous flowers of woman’s duty
Should grow on the grave of buried beauty.

    —Faber

Easter was at hand, and immediately after it Mr. Currie was to return to Canada to superintend the formation of the Grand Ottawa and Superior line.  He and his assistants were hard at work on the specifications, when a heavy tap and tramp came up the stairs, and Owen Sandbrook stood before them, leaning on his crutch, and was greeted with joyful congratulations on being on his legs again.

‘Randolf,’ he said, hastily, ‘Miss Charlecote is waiting in the carriage to speak to you.  Give me your pen.’

‘I shall be back in an instant.’

‘Time will show.  Where are you?—“such sleepers to be—” I see.  Down with you.’

‘Yes; never mind hurrying back,’ said the engineer; ‘we can get this done without you’—and as the door closed—‘and a good deal beside.  I hear you have put it in train.’

‘I have every reason to hope so.  Does he guess?’

‘Not a whit, as far as I can tell.  He has been working hard, and improving himself in his leisure.  He would have made a first-rate engineer.  It is really hard to be robbed of two such assistants one after the other.’

Meanwhile Honor had spent those few moments in trepidation.  She had brought herself to it at last!  The lurking sense of injustice had persuaded her that it was crossing her conscience to withhold the recognition of her heir, so soon as she had received full evidence of his claims and his worthiness.  Though she had the power, she felt that she had not the right to dispose of her property otherwise; and such being the case, it was a duty to make him aware of his prospects, and offer him such a course as should best enable him to take his future place in the county.  Still it was a severe struggle.  Even with her sense of insufficiency, it was hard to resign any part of the power that she had so long exercised; she felt that it was a risk to put her happiness into unknown hands, and perhaps because she had had this young man well-nigh thrust on her, and had heard him so much lauded, she almost felt antagonistic to him as rival of Owen, and could have been glad if any cause for repudiating him would have arisen.  Even the favour that he had met with in Phœbe’s eyes was no recommendation.  She was still sore at Phœbe’s want of confidence in her; she took Mervyn’s view of his presumption, and moreover it was another prize borne off from Owen.  Poor dear Honor, she never made a greater sacrifice to principle than when she sent her William off to Normandy to summon her Edgar Atheling.

She did not imagine that she had it in her to have hated any one so much.

Yet, somehow, when the bright, open face appeared, it had the kindred, familiar air, and the look of eagerness so visibly fell at the sight of her alone in the carriage, that she could not defend herself from a certain amusement and interest, while she graciously desired him to get in, and drive with her round the Park, since she had something to tell him that could not be said in a hurry.  Then as he looked up in inquiry, suspecting, perhaps, that she had heard of his engagement, she rushed at once to the point.

‘I believe you know,’ she said, ‘that I have no nearer relation than yourself?’

‘Not Sandbrook?’ he asked, in surprise.

‘He is on my mother’s side.  I speak of my own family.  When the Holt came to me, it was as a trust for my lifetime to do my best for it, and to find out to whom afterwards it should belong.  I was told that the direct heir was probably in America.  Owen Sandbrook has convinced me that you are that person.’

‘Thank you,’ began young Randolf, somewhat embarrassed; ‘but I hope that this will make little difference to me for many years!’

Did he underrate the Holt, the wretch, or was it civility?  She spoke a little severely.  ‘It is not a considerable property, but it gives a certain position, and it should make a difference to you to know what your prospects are.’

The colour flushed into his cheeks as he said, ‘True!  It may have a considerable effect in my favour.  Thank you for telling me;’ and then paused, as though considering whether to volunteer more, but as yet her manner was not encouraging, but had all the dryness of effort.

‘I have another reason for speaking,’ she continued.  ‘It is due to you to warn you that the estate wants looking after.  I am unequal to the requirements of modern agriculture, and my faithful old bailiff, who was left to me by my dear cousin, is past his work.  Neither the land nor the people are receiving full justice.’

‘Surely Sandbrook could find a trustworthy steward,’ returned the young man.

‘Nay, had you not better, according to his suggestion, come and live on the estate yourself, and undertake the management, with an allowance in proportion to your position as the heir?’