The Treasure of Heaven Part 46

For a moment such a great wave of triumph swept over Helmsley's soul that he could not speak. But he mastered his emotion by an effort.

"I'm afraid,"--he said--"I'm afraid I should be no use to you in such a business,--you'd much better speak to her yourself--"

"Why, of course I mean to speak to her myself,"--interrupted Reay, warmly--"Don't be dense, David! You don't suppose I want _you_ to speak for me, do you? Not a bit of it! Only before I speak, I do wish you could find out whether she likes me a little--because--because--I'm afraid she doesn't look upon me at all in _that_ light----"

"In what light?" queried Helmsley, gently.

"As a lover,"--replied Angus--"She's given up thinking of lovers."

Helmsley leaned back in his chair, and clasping his hands together so that the tips of his fingers met, looked over them in almost the same meditative businesslike way as he had looked at Lucy Sorrel when he had questioned her as to her ideas of her future.

"Well, naturally she has,"--he answered--"Lovers have given up thinking of _her_!"

"I hope they have!" said Angus, fervently--"I hope I have no rivals! For my love for her is a jealous love, David! I must be all in all to her, or nothing! I must be the very breath of her breath, the life of her life! I must!--or I am no use to her. And I want to be of use. I want to work for her, to look upon her as the central point of all my actions--the very core of ambition and endeavour,--so that everything I do may be well done enough to meet with her praise. If she does not like it, it will be worthless. For her soul is as pure as the sunlight and as full of great depths as the sea! Simplest and sweetest of women as she is, she has enough of G.o.d in her to make a man live up to the best that is in him!"

His voice thrilled with pa.s.sion as he spoke--and Helmsley felt a strange contraction at his heart--a pang of sharp memory, desire and regret all in one, which moved him to a sense of yearning for this love which he had never known--this divine and wonderful emotion whose power could so transform a man as to make him seem a very king among men. For so Angus Reay looked just now, with his eyes flas.h.i.+ng unutterable tenderness, and his whole aspect expressive of a great hope born of a great ideal. But he restrained the feeling that threatened to over-master him, and merely said very quietly, and with a smile--

"I see you are very much in love with her, Mr. Reay!"

"In love?" Angus laughed--"No, my dear old David! I'm not a bit 'in love.' I love her! That's love with a difference. But you know how it is with me. I haven't a penny in the world but just what I told you must last me for a year--and I don't know when I shall make any more. So that I wouldn't be such a cad as to speak to her about it yet. But--if I could only get a little hope,--if I could just find out whether she liked me a little, that would give me more energy in my work, don't you see? And that's where you could help me, David!"

Helmsley smiled ever so slightly.

"Tell me how,"--he said.

"Well, you might talk to her sometimes and ask her if she ever thinks of getting married--"

"I have done that,"--interrupted Helmsley--"and she has always said 'No.'"

"Never mind what she _has_ said--ask her again, David,"--persisted Angus--"And then lead her on little by little to talk about me--"

"Lead her on to talk about you--yes!" and Helmsley nodded his head sagaciously.

"David, my dear old man, you _will_ interrupt me,"--and Angus laughed like a boy--"Lead her on, I say,--and find out whether she likes me ever so little--and then----"

"And then?" queried Helmsley, his old eyes beginning to sparkle--"Must I sing your praises to her?"

"Sing my praises! No, by Jove!--there's nothing to praise in me. I don't want you to say a word, David. Let _her_ speak--hear what _she_ says--and then--and then tell _me_!"

"Then tell _you_--yes--yes, I see!" And Helmsley nodded again in a fas.h.i.+on that was somewhat trying to Reay's patience. "But, suppose she finds fault with you, and says you are not at all the style of man she likes--what then?"

"Then,"--said Reay, gloomily--"my book will never be finished!"

"Dear, dear!" Helmsley raised his hands with a very well acted gesture of timid concern--"So bad as all that!"

"So bad as all that!" echoed Reay, with a quick sigh; "Or rather so good as all that. I don't know how it has happened, David, but she has quite suddenly become the very life of my work. I don't think I could get on with a single page of it, if I didn't feel that I could go to her and ask her what she thinks of it."

"But,"--said Helmsley, in a gentle, argumentative way--"all this is very strange! She is not an educated woman."

Reay laughed lightly.

"No? What do you call an educated woman, David?"

Helmsley thought a moment. The situation was a little difficult, for he had to be careful not to say too much.

"Well, I mean,"--he said, at last--"She is not a lady."

Reay's eyes flashed sudden indignation.

"Not a lady!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed--"Good G.o.d! Who is a lady then?"

Helmsley glanced at him covertly. How fine the man looked, with his tall, upright figure, strong, thoughtful face, and air of absolute determination!

"I'm afraid,"--he murmured, humbly--"I'm afraid I don't know how to express myself,--but what I want to say is that she is not what the world would call a lady,--just a simple lace-mender,--real 'ladies'

would not ask her to their houses, or make a friend of her, perhaps--"

"She's a simple lace-mender,--I was a common cowherd,"--said Angus, grimly--"Do you think those whom the world calls 'ladies' would make a friend of _me_?"

Helmsley smiled.

"You're a man--and to women it doesn't matter what a man _was_, so long as he _is_ something. You were a cowherd, as you say--but you educated yourself at a University and got a degree. In that way you've raised yourself to the rank of a gentleman--"

"I was always that,"--declared Angus, boldly, "even as a cowherd! Your arguments won't hold with me, David! A gentleman is not made by a frock coat and top hat. And a lady is not a lady because she wears fine clothes and speaks one or two foreign languages very badly. For that's about all a 'lady's' education amounts to nowadays. According to Victorian annals, 'ladies' used to be fairly accomplished--they played and sang music well, and knew that it was necessary to keep up intelligent conversation and maintain graceful manners--but they've gone back to sheer barbarism in the frantic ugliness of their performances at hockey--and they've taken to the repulsive vices of Charles the Second's time in gambling and other immoralities. No, David! I don't take kindly to the 'ladies' who disport themselves under the benevolent dispensation of King Edward the Seventh."

Helmsley was silent. After a pause, Reay went on--

"You see, David, I'm a poor chap--poorer than Mary is. If I could get a hundred, or say, two hundred pounds for my book when it is finished, I could ask her to marry me then, because I could bring that money to her and do something to keep up the home. I never want anything sweeter or prettier than this little cottage to live in. If she would let me share it with her as her husband, we should live a perfectly happy life--a life that thousands would envy us! That is, of course, if she loved me."

"Ay!--that's a very important 'if,'" said Helmsley.

"I know it is. That's why I want you to help me to find out her mind, David--will you? Because, if you should discover that I am objectionable to her in any way, it would be better for me, I think, to go straight away from Weircombe, and fight my trouble out by myself. Then, you see, she would never know that I wanted to bother her with my life-long presence. Because she's very happy as she is,--her face has all the lovely beauty of perfect content--and I'd rather do anything than trouble her peace."

There followed a pause. The fire crackled and burned with a warm Christmas glow, and Charlie, uncurling his soft silky body, stretched out each one of his tiny paws separately, with slow movements expressive of intense comfort. If ever that little dog had known what it was to lie in the lap of luxury amid aristocratic surroundings, it was certain that he was conscious of being as well off in a poor cottage as in a palace of a king. And after a minute or two, Helmsley raised himself in his chair and held out his hand to Angus Reay, who grasped it warmly.

"I'll do my best,"--he said, quietly--"I know what you mean--and I think your feeling does you honour. Of course you know I'm only a kind of stranger here--just a poor old lonely man, very dependent on Miss Deane for her care of me, and trying my best to show that I'm not ungrateful to her for all her goodness--and I mustn't presume too far--but--I'll do my best. And I hope--I hope all will be well!" He paused--and pressed Reay's hand again--then glanced up at the quaint sheep-faced clock that ticked monotonously against the kitchen wall. "She will be coming back from church directly,"--he continued--"Won't you go and meet her?"

"Shall I?" And Reay's face brightened.

"Do!"

Another moment, and Helmsley was alone--save for the silent company of the little dog stretched out upon the hearth. And he lost himself in a profound reverie, the while he built a castle in the air of his own designing, in which Self had no part. How many airy fabrics of beauty and joy had he not raised one after the other in his mind, only to see them crumble into dust!--but this one, as he planned it in his thoughts, n.o.bly uplifted above all petty limits, with all the light of a broad beneficence s.h.i.+ning upon it, and a grand obliteration of his own personality serving as the very cornerstone of its foundation, seemed likely to be something resembling the house spoken of by Christ, which was built upon a rock--against which neither winds, nor rains, nor floods could prevail. And when Mary came back from Church, with Reay accompanying her, she found him looking very happy. In fact, she told him he had quite "a Christmas face."

"What is a Christmas face, Mary?" he asked, smiling.

"Don't you know? A face that looks glad because other people are glad,"--she replied, simply.

An expressive glance flashed from Reay's eyes,--a glance which Helmsley caught and understood in all its eloquent meaning.