Between Two Loves. Amelia E. Barr
nature was too easy and careless to ask where. He laid down his pipe and took up his violin, and as she went up the street, she heard him playing "The Bonnie House o' Airlie." In some subtle way the strains made an unpleasant impression on her, and she walked rapidly onward, never stopping until she reached a quarter of the town where there were no mills, but many squares and terraces of comfortable houses. She unfastened the gate of one set in a small garden, and went in. The main path was lined with hollyhocks of every color, and as she lingered to admire them, the front door opened, and an old lady called to her.
"Sarah Benson, I saw you coming. Walk in."
"Nay, but I was going round, Mrs, Allison. Is t' preacher in?"
"Yes, he is in. There is nothing wrong, I hope, Sarah?"
"Nay, I hope not. I want to tell him summat, that's all."
"Well, then, he is in his study. Go to him."
It was not quite so easy to tell the preacher her trouble as she had thought it would be. She hesitated so much that he said, "Sarah, you must be candid with me. I can't advise you upon half-lights. What is wrong with Steve?"
"He wont stick to his loom, sir, and he's that fond o' rambling about t' country-side that he might as well have no home at all, and I'm feared Master Burley will lose patience wi' him and turn him off, and there's no telling then what will be to do."
"Well, Sarah?"
"The master, sir, he likes me, and he has spoken words that I might listen to if I knew what to do about Steve."
"Do you mean me to understand that Jonathan Burley has asked you to marry him?"
"To be sure I mean that. I am a decent lass, sir, and he would say no wrong word to me."
"You would be a very rich woman, Sarah, and could do a deal of good."
"But not to Steve, there is no love between Steve and Burley. If I married Burley, Steve would go, and I know not where to. He would niver have bite, nor sup, nor day's work from him, and Burley would fret none if he thought I was rid o' the charge o' Steve!"
"And you think Steve needs you? Is that it?"
"I'm sure that Steve needs me. There's nobody loves him but me. I keep a home for him to come to when he's tired out, and if I didn't listen to his fiddling, and his tales o' all he's seen and read, why he'd varry soon find public-houses where he and his fiddle would be more than welcome. I'm sure o' that sir."
"You are very likely right, Sarah. Now, do you love Jonathan Burley?"
"Nay, I think not. I know nothing about love, but it seems to me I hev no heart for any one but Steve."
"Then if you are the good girl I take you to be, Sarah, you will not marry a man you do not love, and you will stand by a brother you do love just as long as he needs your help to keep him out of sin and danger. Steve is not a bad lad, the things he likes are good things if he does not neglect his duty for them. Go home and do the best you can to keep him right."
"Thank you, sir, I will do that for sure, I will."
As she went home, she bought a slice of ham for Steve's supper, and as he ate it, she talked to him of his rambles and his specimens until he was in his very happiest humor. Then she told him how Burley had admired his work, and somehow made him feel that it would not be very hard to go back to it in the morning.
"And, Steve," she added, "suppose thee and me join t' building society, and buy our own cottage. Then thou could hev a bit o' garden and grow all t' flowers in it thou likes best. If thou will only stick to thy loom, it will be varry easy work, lad, and I'm sure there will be no one as will hev a finer garden than thee."
This idea charmed Steve. He declared he would work every day, he would work over-hours for it, and in the glow of this new hope he went to bed. Sarah, also, was full of rest and confidence, and as she went about her common household tasks, Steve heard her cheerfully singing.
"O Lord, how happy is the time.
When in thy love I rest;
When from my weariness I climb.
E'en to thy tender breast.
"And, anywhere or everywhere.
So that I do thy will,
And do my life's work heartily,
I shall be happy still."
For, after all, there was in Sarah's heart a sense of disappointment, and a consciousness of resignation to some duty, which she had set before her own interest and pleasure. She had said, truly enough, that Steve was dearest of all to her; and yet, if—if—she would not think of the ifs at all; still, no woman, perhaps, ever resigned the prospect of wealth, honor, and a true affection without some lingering looks backward.
The Beginning of Strife
CHAPTER II.
THE BEGINNING OF STRIFE.
"Alas! how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love."
"O woman, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made!"
"Like as a father pitieth his children."
"Jonathan, does ta understand what I want thee to do to-night?"
"Thou made it plain enough for an infant-school. Thou wants me to come to the class-meeting, and I tell thee I can't do it."
"Thou hes been as unrestful as a shuttle in t' sheath lately. Whativer is the matter, then?"
"I may tell thee that I hev heard Aske isn't as kind to my daughter as he ought to be, and I'm bound to find out whether he's doing right by her or not."
"Stay at home and t' news will find thee. I niver knew any good come o' melling between a man and his wife. Women take a deal o' training, Jonathan. You can't make a good wife by putting a gold ring on her finger, any more than you can make a good joiner by buying him a box of tools."
"I'd speak about something I understood, if I was thee, Ben Holden. Women are a bit beyond thee."
Jonathan was standing by his harnessed gig as he talked, and as soon as he had given his friend this bit of advice, he drove out of the big gates and took the straight road to his home. There were few rich men in the county who had a more beautiful home. Burley House was no spick-and-span new dwelling, gorgeous with paint and gilding and gay upholstery. It was a fine pile of solid stone, that had been a favorite residence of the Somers family for centuries. It stood in the midst of a wooded park, and before it was a fair, old-fashioned garden, smelling of all the scents of Paradise. When Jonathan bought the place, people expected that he would be proud to continue the old name, and to call himself Burley of Somers Court. But he had rather resented the expectation. "It is not Somers Court now," he said, "it belongs to me, and it is Burley House for the future. The Somers have been wasters, and drinkers, and dicers, and I won't call my home after their name. Why should I?"
He drove rapidly until he entered the park; then he walked the horse under the great elms, and let his thoughts wander back to the village, back to the beautiful woman who had become so dear to his heart. The brooding darkness on his brow cleared as he remembered the light and peace of Sarah's face, and when he lifted his eyes to his many-windowed, stately home, he thought of her as its mistress, and felt that his life without the hope would be a very sombre one indeed.
As he entered the door his daughter came slowly forward to meet him. She was an exceedingly lovely woman, tall, radiantly fair, exquisitely formed, and with a