The Treasure of Heaven Part 53

born so grumblesome like. Twitt 'ud be at 'is best composin' a hepitaph for Mr. Arbroath now!"

As she said this the corners of her mouth, which usually drooped in somewhat lachrymose lines, went up in a whimsical smile. And feeling that she had launched a shaft of witticism which could not fail to reach its mark, she trotted off on further gossiping errands bent.

The tenor of her conversation was repeated to Angus Reay that afternoon when he arrived, as was often his custom, for what was ostensibly "a chat with old David," but what was really a silent, watchful wors.h.i.+p of Mary.

"She is a dear old soul!" he said, "and Twitt is a rough diamond of British honesty. Such men as he keep the old country together and help to establish its reputation for integrity. But that man Arbroath ought to be kicked out of the Church! In fact, I as good as told him so!"

"You did!" And Helmsley's sunken eyes began to sparkle with sudden animation. "Upon my word, sir, you are very bold!"

"Bold? Why, what can he do to me?" demanded Angus. "I told him I had been for some years on the press, and that I knew the ins and outs of the Jesuit propaganda there. I told him he was false to the principles under which he had been ordained. I told him that he was a.s.sisting to introduce the Romish 'secret service' system into Great Britain, and that he was, with a shameless disregard of true patriotism, using such limited influence as he had to put our beloved free country under the tyranny of the Vatican. I said, that if ever I got a hearing with the British public, I meant to expose him, and all such similar wolves in sheep's clothing as himself."

"But--what did he say?" asked Mary eagerly.

"Oh, he turned livid, and then told me I was an atheist, adding that nearly all writers of books were of the same evil persuasion as myself.

I said that if I believed that the Maker of Heaven and Earth took any pleasure in seeing him perambulate a church with a cross and six wretched little boys who didn't understand a bit what they were doing, I should be an atheist indeed. I furthermore told him I believed in G.o.d, who upheld this glorious Universe by the mere expressed power of His thought, and I said I believed in Christ, the Teacher who showed to men that the only way to obtain immortal life and happiness was by the conquest of Self. 'You may call that atheistical if you like,' I said,--'It's a firm faith that will help to keep _me_ straight, and that will hold me to the paths of right and truth without any crosses or candles.' Then I told him that this little village of Weircombe, in its desire for simplicity in forms of devotion, was nearer heaven than he was. And--and I think," concluded Angus, ruffling up his hair with one hand, "that's about all I told him!"

Helmsley gave a low laugh of intense enjoyment.

"All!" he echoed, "I should say it was enough!"

"I hope it was," said Angus seriously, "I meant it to be." And moving to Mary's side, he took up the end of a lace flounce on which she was at work. "What a creation in cobwebs!" he exclaimed--"Who does it belong to, Miss Mary?"

"To a very great lady," she replied, working busily with her needle and avoiding the glance of his eyes; "her name is often in the papers." And she gave it. "No doubt you know her?"

"Know her? Not I!" And he shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "But she is very generally known--as a thoroughly bad woman! I _hate_ to see you working on anything for her!"

She looked up surprised, and the colour came and went in a delicate flush on her face.

"False to her husband, false to her children, and false to herself!"

went on Angus hotly--"And disloyal to her king! And having turned on her own family and her own cla.s.s, she seeks to truckle to the People under pretence of serving _them_, while all the time her sole object is to secure notoriety for herself! She is a shame to England!"

"You speak very hotly, sir!" said Helmsley, slowly. "Are you sure of your facts?"

"The facts are not concealed," returned Reay--"They are public property.

That no one has the courage to denounce such women--women who openly flaunt their immoralities in our midst--is a bad sign of the times.

Women are doing a great deal of mischief just now. Look at them fussing about Female Suffrage! Female Suffrage, quotha! Let them govern their homes properly, wisely, reasonably, and faithfully, and they will govern the nation!"

"That's true!" And Helmsley nodded gravely. "That's very true!"

"A woman who really loves a man," went on Angus, mechanically fingering the skeins of lace thread which lay on the table at Mary's side, ready for use--"governs him, unconsciously to herself, by the twin powers of s.e.x and instinct. She was intended for his help-mate, to guide him in the right way by her finer forces. If she neglects to cultivate these finer forces--if she tramples on her own natural heritage, and seeks to 'best' him with his own weapons--she fails--she must fail--she deserves to fail! But as true wife and true mother, she is supreme!"

"But the ladies are not content with such a limited sphere," began Helmsley, with a little smile.

"Limited? Good G.o.d!--where does the limit come in?" demanded Reay. "It is because they are not sufficiently educated to understand their own privileges that women complain of limitations. An unthinking, unreasoning, unintelligent wife and mother is of course no higher than any other female of the animal species--but I do not uphold this cla.s.s.

I claim that the woman who _thinks_, and gives her intelligence full play--the woman who is physically sound and morally pure--the woman who devoutly studies the n.o.blest side of life, and tries to bring herself into unison with the Divine intention of human progress towards the utmost good--she, as wife and mother, is the angel of the world. She _is_ the world!--she makes it, she rejuvenates it, she gives it strength! Why should she condescend to mix with the pa.s.sing political squabbles of her slaves and children?--for men are no more than her slaves and children. Love is her weapon--one true touch of that, and the wildest heart that ever beat in a man's breast is tamed."

There was a silence. Suddenly Mary pushed aside her work, and going to the door opened it.

"It's so warm to-day, don't you think?" she asked, pa.s.sing her hand a little wearily across her forehead. "One would think it was almost June."

"You are tired, Miss Mary!" said Reay, somewhat anxiously.

"No--I'm not tired--but"--here all at once her eyes filled with tears.

"I've got a bit of a headache," she murmured, forcing a smile--"I think I'll go to my room and rest for half an hour. Good-bye, Mr. Reay!"

"Good-bye--for the moment!" he answered--and taking her hand he pressed it gently. "I hope the headache will soon pa.s.s."

She withdrew her hand from his quickly and left the kitchen. Angus watched her go, and when she had disappeared heaved an involuntary but most lover-like sigh. Helmsley looked at him with a certain whimsical amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Well!" he said.

Reay gave himself a kind of impatient shake.

"Well, old David!" he rejoined.

"Why don't you speak to her?"

"I dare not! I'm too poor!"

"Is she so rich?"

"She's richer than I am."

"It is quite possible," said Helmsley slowly, "that she will always be richer than you. Literary men must never expect to be millionaires."

"Don't tell me that--I know it!" and Angus laughed. "Besides, I don't want to be a millionaire--wouldn't be one for the world! By the way, you remember that man I told you about--the old chap my first love was going to marry--David Helmsley?"

Helmsley did not move a muscle.

"Yes--I remember!" he answered quietly.

"Well, the papers say he's dead."

"Oh! the papers say he's dead, do they?"

"Yes. It appeared that he went abroad last summer,--it is thought that he went to the States on some matters of business--and has not since been heard of."

Helmsley kept an immovable face.

"He may possibly have got murdered for his money," went on Angus reflectively--"though I don't see how such an act could benefit the murderer. Because his death wouldn't stop the acc.u.mulation of his millions, which would eventually go to his heir."

"Has he an heir?" enquired Helmsley placidly.

"Oh, he's sure to have left his vast fortune to somebody," replied Reay.

"He had two sons, so I was told--but they're dead. It's possible he may have left everything to Lucy Sorrel."

"Ah yes! Quite possible!"

"Of course," went on Reay, "it's only the newspapers that say he's dead--and there never was a newspaper yet that could give an absolutely veracious account of anything. His lawyers--a famous firm, Vesey and Symonds,--have written a sort of circular letter to the press stating that the report of his death is erroneous--that he is travelling for health's sake, and on account of a desire for rest and privacy, does not wish his whereabouts to be made publicly known."