The child was brought, praised and caressed, and Mr. Torrance was so devotedly kind to Kathleen, that she began to feel as if the events of the last two days were only an idle dream, from which she had happily awakened. But she was soon to know that such dreams often recur.
CHAPTER XXII FRUITS MEET FOR REPENTANCE
THE four years which followed Kathleen's first quarrel with her husband were far from happy ones. When a mask has fallen off, the wearer seldom cares to replace it. In like manner, when a certain character has been assumed to gain a selfish end, if the counterfeit is discovered, the pretender ceases to act an unnatural part.
John Torrance became in time less anxious to hide from Kathleen that he differed widely, both from her ideal and what he had determined to become after marriage. He was more than ever from home, and she knew less and less of the places and persons amongst which and whom he spent his time apart from her.
Some young wives might have yielded, and gone to places which in girlish days they had been taught to shun.
"Come with me, Kitty," John would say. "I want some one to keep me out of mischief."
She knew this, but was well aware that she would be helpless. Such influence as she possessed in their early married days had long vanished. She strove to make home attractive, she studied her husband's wishes and obeyed him in all that was right. She possessed her soul in patience amidst many provocations. She knew nothing of money matters, but hitherto Mr. Torrance had kept her purse well supplied, and often complimented her on her modest expenditure, saying, "You are really economical, Kitty, but you are always well dressed."
She would smile with pleasure, rewarded by the words for the trouble she had given to externals. She often said to herself, "John shall not find me indifferent in little things."
Aylmer Matheson was only too well informed as to Mr. Torrance's position, and often asked himself, "How many years will pass before he is as much embarrassed as he was when poor Kathleen's splendid, but mistaken generosity saved him from ruin and made him rich?"
Aylmer had again tried to induce Mr. Torrance to make a will, but in vain, and he desisted from any further effort, at Kathleen's request.
She had been resolute in one respect. The income of the little property which could not be alienated had been invested year by year, to accumulate in trust for her child.
"Nothing shall induce me to touch a penny of this," said Kathleen. "This shall be secured to my boy. It may be his only heritage."
In seven years and a half, the annual three hundred and fifty pounds, with interest added, made no unimportant sum, and Kathleen rejoiced that it had not been disturbed.
One evening Mr. Torrance alluded to this "separate fortune," as he called it, and said—
"If I want to borrow a few hundreds, Kitty, you will let me have them."
"Surely you have no need to borrow, least of all from me," she said.
"Why, is it not natural that married people should mutually accommodate each other?"
Kathleen was silent, but thought was busy. If her husband was in want of money, what had become of the great sum placed in his hands together with the income from the estate? She had kept household expenses within proper bounds, and since their first two years of married life there had been nothing to account for any present scarcity of money.
"Do you mean that you will not lend me a few hundreds?" said Mr. Torrance.
"You cannot be in earnest in asking," replied Kathleen.
"You will soon find out that I am if you refuse!" was the angry response.
Mr. Torrance looked furious and menacing, and Kathleen was determined not to yield.
"The sum you allude to is equally out of my power and yours. When, after I had given you all else, you refused to secure to my boy his rightful heritage, I resolved the trifle left should never be alienated. I put it out of my own power, and placed it in trust for Kenneth."
"Do you dare to tell me this?" shouted Mr. Torrance.
"I do. I rejoice to think that this money cannot be touched even by you or me. Kenneth will not be penniless, though it is dreadful to think that what came from my dear father has been squandered in a few years by a—"
"You had better finish your sentence, madam."
The pause gave Kathleen time to overcome her first anger, and to substitute other words for those which might, without it, have been spoken.
"By a man whom experience has failed to teach or improve. A man who having twice trod the road to ruin, finds it more attractive than any other, whose promises were uttered only to be forgotten, on whose honour I relied, to find it but a broken reed."
Kathleen rose from the breakfast-table and left the room, feeling nearly broken-hearted. She had borne much, but the attempt to get possession of the last fragment of her fortune tried her beyond endurance.
As the door closed behind Kathleen, an evil smile came on her husband's face. He did not follow her, but he said aloud—
"Before you are many hours older you will be glad to change your tone, my fair Kathleen."
An hour later, Mrs. Ellicott and Geraldine were startled by Kathleen's appearance at Monk's How. Her coming suggested some new trouble, and into their sympathetic ears she poured the story, not only of this last trial, but of many preceding ones hitherto unsuspected.
"I blame myself," said Kathleen, humbly, "because I sinned against conscience and knowledge by marrying one in whose life the fear and the love of God had no part. I indulged my self-will at the cost of pain to my best friends. I trusted fortune, my hope of happiness, the future of my child—all that marriage might bring—to one whose past life proved him unworthy of trust. Even John said it would be better for him if he were not so trusted, and oh! how truly he knew this! You know, dear aunty, how I used to chafe at little contradictions and crave after forbidden things, just because they were forbidden. Yet that night when you told me my mother's story, my longing after one prohibited amusement was quenched for ever. Things that I thought I should enjoy when I became my own mistress, lost their relish as soon as I tasted them, and I would have given the world to live with John the old peaceful life such as ours was, when we were together at the Hall before my marriage."
"It is an awful thing to pass the years with one to whom you are joined by the closest and most sacred ties, and yet to be as far as possible asunder in all that concerns the soul and eternity. I doubt if John and I ever joined in real prayer in our lives, for even when we went to church together, he always said it is 'only for the look of the thing and to please you, Kitty, that I go.' Even that poor concession soon ceased, as you know."
Tears stopped Kathleen's utterance for a while. She had begged her aunt and cousin just to let her tell her tale uninterrupted.
"For," she said, "if you begin to pity me and speak lovingly, it will never be told. I shall break down, and cannot begin again."
"You have had one great blessing out of the trouble, one light that has pierced the darkness, Kathleen," said Mrs. Ellicott. "You have been brought nearer to God, and realized, as you never did before, the love that never faileth."
"Oh yes. This is now my one great joy. Silent to others, even to you, how could I have lived without the comfort and strength He gave me, though I felt so unworthy even to ask for it? I was—I am so lonely, though I am a wife and a mother. Yet my very loneliness has drawn and driven me to God. I have needed much discipline, and it has taken a long time for me to learn the truth about myself. I started on my married life with the idea that I—weak, sinful, and to a great extent ignorant of my own need—should prove a source of strength to my husband, and be his helper and safeguard on the path we were to tread together until life ended for one of us. It is true that I soon began to regret the sorrow I had caused to dear earthly friends by my wilfulness; but I placed them first. Now, by the enlightening power of the Holy Spirit, I see my sinfulness and ingratitude towards my Heavenly Father. In all my wilful words and acts I rebelled against Him, and in paining the dear earthly friends whom He had graciously given to watch over me I showed the basest ingratitude for His goodness to me."
"When I first realized all this, and felt that nothing I could do would make amends for the past, all seemed dark and hopeless around me. But God had another message for me and it was one of love which I had often heard, though it never reached my heart before, and of forgiveness for the sake of Jesus, 'who loved us and gave Himself for us' when He died on Calvary. I can now say, 'He gave Himself for me,' for I believe it with all my heart, and I 'rejoice with joy unspeakable.'"
Despite her recent sorrow and present anxiety, there was a light in Kathleen's face which betokened the peace which passeth all understanding, a light which her aunt and cousin had never seen there before. Needless to say, she had their rejoicing sympathy.
There was a brief silence; then Kathleen said—
"If only John could feel as I do in these things, what a happy life might yet be before us! but I dare not hope for it, though I keep on praying always. I am now sorely in need of guidance, and after earnest prayer I have come to the conclusion that I should be wrong not to seek the help of my three best earthly friends. It would be neglecting the means placed within my reach. I must care for my boy. I will be firm in defending the little that is left for him, and I beg that you will tell Aylmer all I have told you, and ask him to join you in standing by me and strengthening my hands."
"I have other troubles which I must tell you before I go. One is about Ralph. He is greatly improved, for John has, in most things, allowed others to influence him for good—Aylmer especially—and not in vain. Of late he has taken an opposite course, to punish me for having wished him to make a will and secure the rights of my boy, without leaving Ralph's future unprovided for. You remember Ralph's foolish jealousy of his little brother, which really arose out of his great affection for me. John has been taking pains to revive this un-brotherly feeling, when Ralph has been at home for the holidays. I could not tell you how I suffered the last time."
"Poor Kitty, you have been wounded in your tenderest feelings!" said Ger.
"It is not on that account only I grieve. It is for Ralph himself I do so want him to grow up a good man. I have tried to make him look on the little brother as one to whom he should act as a defender and guardian. Often Ralph and I have been very happy. He is a fine youth, with many noble aims and longings. I have tried to strengthen these, and I have really opened my heart to him more than to older friends. I do not mean in a complaining way, but about the best things of all. We have read and prayed together many a time, and I am sure we have both been happier for this."
"I do not know how it came about, but some one told Ralph of his father's early career, and of the disgraceful ending to his military life. It was an awful trouble to the boy, and he came to tell me, and ask if it could be true."
"How sad for you and for the boy, dear Kitty!" said Ger.
"It was indeed, for what could I say? I had to own the truth; but I said that people were often sorry for the faults of their early days, and that it was possible for them to repent and, in God's strength, to live noble after-lives."
"'You knew before you married father, didn't you?' he asked; and I said, 'Yes, I did.'"
"Ralph was very thoughtful for a little while, and then with a burning flush on his face he said, 'I don't think father has led a noble life since, do you, mother?'"
"Perhaps I did the worst possible thing when I answered, 'Your father has always told me he was sorry for the past. He never brought any of the old visitors to the Hall, whom you used to dislike at Monk's How.' I wanted to make the best of my husband in the eyes of his son."
"Ralph asked another question. 'Did father promise that he really would keep away from those men?'"
"Fancy how hard it was to say 'Yes,' and then to hear Ralph reply, indignantly, 'My father has not kept his word to you. He has acted dishonourably, I know.'"
"I tried to speak hopefully, but Ralph was not to be easily cheered. He is close upon eighteen now, thoughtful and manly. I am very anxious about his future. He used to say he would be a soldier, as his father had been, but after that miserable tale came to his ears he gave up the idea. He thought that, no matter what his life might be, some one would identify him as the son of that Captain Torrance who had perforce to leave the service for dishonourable conduct. What to do for Ralph I know not. I have spoken earnestly to John more than once, and the last time—he was not quite himself, though that is a pitiful excuse to make for him—he laughed in my face, and said, 'You forget that Ralph will be master of the Hall.'"
The reminiscence was too much for Kathleen, and her tears could not be restrained. Her aunt and Geraldine were most indignant at this insult. They had not thought John Torrance could be so cowardly a tyrant. All that love could suggest they said to comfort Kathleen, yet felt that the task was an impossible one.
"I have one other trouble—a great one, I mean—the state of John's health," said Kathleen. "He is far from well, though he looks strong, and ridicules my anxiety. Some, perhaps, who bore such a burden as I do, might be indifferent, or think it would be no misfortune were he to die."
Kathleen shrank from uttering the last word, and it was followed by a burst of passionate weeping, during which she sobbed out—
"I have loved him truly—my husband, the father of my little child. I cannot bear to think of it, after all that I have had to endure at his hands. Besides and above all comes the thought, John is living without God and without hope in this world, and what is there beyond?"
Thus Kathleen ended her pitiful story, and left it with her aunt and cousin to repeat to Aylmer. "Remember," she added, "whatever John says, 'I will not give in with regard to the little sum saved for Kenneth. I must go back now; my child will want his mother.'"
