Mrs. Barclay

“ It had seemed indeed a lifetime to the Prioress of the White Ladies, during the first days of her return to the world. But to the woman who now kneeled at the casement, drinking in the balmy sweetness of the summer night, looking with soft yearning eyes at the well-remembered landscape flooded in silvery moonlight, it seemed—a night.
A night—since she stood on the battlements, her lover's arms about her.
A night—since she said: "Thou wilt come back to me, Hugh. . . . My love will ever be around thee as a silver shield." ”

“ The Prioress sat at her table, parchment and an open missal before her.
Her face was very white; also there were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
She did not smile at sight of old Antony, thus laden.
"How now, Antony?" she said, almost sternly. "I did not bid thee to bring me food."
"Reverend Mother," said the old lay-sister, in a voice which strove to be steady, yet quavered; "for long hours you have studied, not heeding that the evening meal was over. Chide not old Antony for bringing you some of that broth, which you like the best. You will not sleep unless you eat." ”

“ God, that he may prove his own wisdom and nothing more."
"Mother," cried Barclay, petulantly, "I can't stand this—that you should turn on me—now." He broke away from her, and stood alone. "When I need you most, you reproach me. When I need sympathy, you scorn all that I have done. You can't prove your God. Why should I accept Him?"
The gaunt old woman stretched out her arms and cried: "Oh, John Barclay, prove your god. Tell him to come and give you a moment's happiness—set him to work to restore your good name; command him to make Jeanette happy. These things my God can do! ”

“ Tightly clenched in her hands were fragments of her torn veil.
She beat her knuckles upon the stones with rhythmic regularity; then, when her arms would lift no longer, took up the measure with her toes, in wild imitation of a galloping horse.
As she lay, she repeated with monotonous reiteration: "Trappings of crimson, and silver bells: mane and tail, like foam of the waves; a palfrey as white as snow!"
The Prioress entered, closed the door behind her, and looked searchingly at the prostrate figure; then, lifting the master-key which hung from her girdle, locked the door on the inside. ”

“ She lived in my family for some years; and she is in the house at this moment. There is no one in the world whom I more cordially respect; and, when I say that I regard her as a friend, I need not tell you what I think of the value of her word."
"Quite enough, Mrs. Barclay. Quite enough. We have nothing more to ask. We are greatly obliged to you, ma'am. Good morning—good morning."
When Mrs. Barclay had seen them out, and entered the parlor, the quick yet full gaze that Jemima raised to her face was a thing never to be forgotten. Mrs. Barclay turned her face away ”

“ He put his arms about her, holding her in a clasp of close possessive tenderness.
He did not yet understand what had happened; but he knew the great gift he desired had been given him. He waited for her to speak.
She lifted her face to his.
"Guy," she said; "ah, take me, hold me, keep me! I am altogether your own. I will explain to you fully, by and by. The stone was very great; but lo, as we reached it, the Angel of the Lord had rolled it away.... No other man has a shadow of claim over me. I am free to say, to the only man I have ever really loved: Take me; I am yours. ”

“ And underneath these high voices was the gruff bass voice of Gabriel Carnine and the baritone of Jake Dolan. And when Mrs. Barclay heard the piping treble of her son, and the tinkle of his guitar, her eyes filled with tears of pride.
The serenaders waked the chickens, and the crowing roosters roused Mrs. Barclay, and in the hurry of the hour she forgot to look for her son. As "the gray dawn was breaking," a hundred men came into the room, and found the smoking breakfast on the table. It was a good breakfast as breakfasts go when men are hungry. ”

“ Over their heads, in the meadows, walked lovers, arm in arm; young men and maidens out in the gathering twilight. All nature, refreshed, poured forth a fragrant sweetness. But the rose, with its dewy petals, seemed to the youth less sweet than the lips of the maid. This, he shyly ventured to tell her; whereupon, as she bent to its fragrance, her cheeks reflected the crimson of those delicate folds.
So walked and talked young lovers in the Worcester meadows; little dreaming that, beneath their happy feet, the Knight and the Prioress paced slowly, side by side, through the darkness. ”

“ Shall we sit gawking while a boy gropes his way out of a man's life, back through forty years, and puts his head in shame and sorrow against a mother's breast? How he stumbles and falters and halts, as the truth comes out—and it must come out; on the whole the best thing there is to say of John Barclay on that fateful December day in the year of our Lord 1903 is that he did not let his mother learn the truth from any lips but his. And so it follows naturally, because he was brave and kind, that instead of having to strengthen her, she sustained him—she in her seventies, he in his fifties. ”

“ Barclay was not merely a popular authoress. The ideals she preached were high and noble and tended to elevate her readers."—Church Family Newspaper.
"The underlying quality of Mrs. Barclay's literary art was her wonderful gift of depicting home life, and it was this characteristic which made her name loved in countless homes all over the land."—Lady. ”

“ At once she was reminded of the scene in her cell, when he had taken up that attitude while still garbed as a nun, and she had said: "I know you for a man," and, in her heart had added: "And a stronger man, surely, than Mary Seraphine's Cousin Wilfred!"
"We ride on to-day," said the Knight, "if you feel able for a few hours in the saddle, to the next stage in our journey. It is a hostel in the forest; a poor kind of place, I fear; but there is one good room where you can be made comfortable, with Mistress Deborah. I shall sleep on the hay, without, amongst my men. ”

“ But Barclay’s proximity held him down. Their greeting made him disagreeably aware of the lawyer’s presence; and his incongruity as he stood behind him was like a cold draught blowing on his back. He made a hurried murmur of civility, then, as he glanced again at Miss Hersey’s face, he suddenly set his heels together, and, bending over her hand, held it to his lips.
She was old enough to look as if she had never been young, but seventy years do not rob a woman, who has ever been a woman, of everything ”

“ We shall not be wanted. We know too much about our lady’s ways and wishes. Pipes in the Oak Room she never did allow, nor whisky and soda in the morning. Her ladyship’s last word to me was: ‘If possible, go with Sir Nigel, Thomas, you and Mary. You know his ways, and I would like to feel Mary was there to do his mending and airing, and see that he has properly cooked meals.’ Our dear lady has left an annuity of two hundred a year between us, and we have our savings, and no encumbrances, thank God. It isn’t a question of wages ”

“ Her
voice rose to a piercing scream. "Ah, HA! That will I NOT! A dead
God cannot help me! I want life, not death!"
Shrieking she leapt to her feet, flew across the room, beat upon the sacred Form with her fists; tore at It with her fingers.
One instant of petrifying horror. Then the Prioress was upon her.
Seizing her by both wrists she flung her to the floor, then pulled a rope passing over a pulley in the wall, which started the great alarm-bell, in the passage, clanging wildly.
At once there came a rush of flying feet; calls for the Sub-Prioress; but she was already there. ”

“ Virgin Mother holding upon her knees the holy Babe.
Moonlight flooded the cell with a pure radiance.
Mary Antony's posy of weeds, offered, according to promise, at the Virgin's shrine, took on, in that silver splendour, the semblance of lilies and roses.
The Prioress knelt long, with clasped hands and bowed head, as white and as motionless as the marble before her. But at length she lifted her face, and broke into low pleading.
"Mother of God," she said, "help this poor aching heart; still the wild hunger at my breast. Make me content to be at one with the Divine, and to let Nature go. . . . ”

“ She hesitated; half put out her hands; but his not meeting them, folded them on her breast.
"Hugh, it seems hard that I should clip your splendid wings; but—oh, Hugh! Think you the heart of a nun can ever become again as the heart of other women?"
"Heaven forbid!" said the Knight, fervently, thinking of Eleanor and
Alfrida.
And, as leaving the arbour they walked together over the lawn, she smiled, remembering, how that morning the Bishop had answered the same question in precisely the same words. Whatever Father Gervaise might have said, the Bishop and the Knight were agreed! ”

“ Her Little Boy Blue had come back to her. Oh, bliss unutterable! Why worry about the future?
"How silly we were, dear!" he said. "How silly to suppose we could part like that—you and I!" Then his sudden merry laugh rang out—oh, such music! such sweet music! "I say, Christobel," he said, "it is all very well now to say 'Stop, and be good.' But on the seventh day, when the walls fall down, and I march up into the citadel, I shall give you millions of kisses—or will it be billions?"
"Judging from my knowledge of you, Boy dear," she said, "I rather think it would be billions." ”

“ Above her on a bough, a robin perched, bending to look, with roguish eye, at the scattered peas.
To the Prioress it seemed that indeed the old lay-sister must have taken leave of her senses.
Stooping, she tried to raise her; but Mary Antony, flinging herself forward, clasped and kissed the Reverend Mother's feet, in an abandonment of penitence and grief.
"Nay, rise, dear Antony," said the Prioress, firmly. "Rise! I command it. The day is warm. Thou hast been dreaming. No bold, bad man has forced his way within these walls. No 'Knight of the Bloody Vest' is here. Rise up and look. ”

“ The World and the Flesh have called; the Reverend Mother will not come back. . . . Stir the broth well, but flavour it to thine own taste. Thou wilt sup on it thyself this night. When the World and the Flesh call loudly enough, the best of women go to the Devil."
"Liar!" said Mary Antony, brandishing her wooden spoon. "Get thee behind me—nay, rather, get thee in front of me! I have had thee skulking behind me long enough. Also in front of me, just now, being into the fire, thou wilt feel at home, Master Devil! Only, put not thy tail into the Reverend Mother's broth." ”

“ She will abide by it; and so, Sir Knight, must you."
The rain had ceased. The storm was over. Sunshine flooded the cell.
Once more the Prioress spoke, and her voice was gentle.
"I know the disappointment to you must be grievous. You took great risks; you adventured much. How long you have plotted this intrusion, I know not. You have been thwarted in your evil purpose by the faithfulness of one old woman, our aged lay-sister, Mary Antony, who never fails to count the White Ladies as they go and as they return, and who reported at once to me that one more had returned than went. ”

“ Tears filled the eyes of the Prioress; at first she could not trust her voice to make reply.
Then, stooping she picked up the nosegay.
"Our Lady shall have it," she said. "I will place it before her shrine, in mine own cell. She will understand—knowing how often, though the hands perforce do weeding, yet, all the time, the heart is gathering choicest flowers.
"Aye, and sometimes when we bring to God offerings of fairest flowers, He sees but worthless weeds. And, when we mourn, because we have but weeds to offer, He sees them fragrant blossoms. ”

“ Will you give her my dear love?' And then he looked round for the violets which were beside his bed. 'Give her these, will you, old fellow, and tell her I shall see her as soon as I can get on the soft side of old Rob.' He does not look to me as if he could live long."
"Then we will make him happy, until—as long as he lives. Do not trouble any more about it—my share of it, I mean. Just try and think of me as if I were really Phil, not Philippa any more. Will you help me?"
"I wish Marion were here," repeated the Major earnestly. "But it is impossible; she cannot leave the boy. ”

“ Barclay's breath away. She merely said, "Thank you!" and let the talk drop.
CHAPTER XXI. GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. Mrs. Barclay found her room pleasant, her bed excellent, and all the arrangements and appointments simple, indeed, but quite sufficient. The next morning brought brilliant sunlight, glittering in the elm trees, and on the green sward which filled large spaces in the street, and on chimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the Connecticut river which was visible in the distance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, and at the same time the sight was inspiriting. ”

“ The syce made no answer. He stroked the velvet nose of his charge and the stranger became aware from his attitude that they were no longer alone. She turned sharply, and the woman standing at the head of the steps immediately behind her returned her stare with a faint smile.
"Do you want Mr. Barclay?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, I do." The Eurasian hesitated. The fair-haired fragile-looking woman in the dark riding-habit seemed to frighten her.
"I've come all the way from Calcutta," she stammered.
"That's a long way. I'm sorry—Mr. Barclay is away—has been away for many weeks. ”